#prompt: post-adrenaline puking

[monthofsick]

Day 6 - Post-Adrenaline Puke

fandom - SHINee

sickee - Onew

caretaker - mostly Key

summary - After a stage filming and a stressful schedule, Onew pukes in the car ride to a photo shoot.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: emeto, stress, overwork, motion sickness, real person fiction

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53746774

If this is too late, I'm sorry 😭

[folkwitchofthewest]

Hostage

Author’s note: Hello peeps! This is my first post here on Tumblr. I am very excited, and I hope you enjoy the story. This story was based on a writing prompt I found and immediately fell in love with it. Angst and fluff are 2 of my specialties. Also the reader in this story is a yokai, you decide what kind. Anywho, happy reading!

Description: ROTTMNT Donnie x F! Reader!

During the battle for NYC, reader is captured by the Kraang, and is held hostage. Used as a bargaining chip to force the turtles, mainly the reader’s genius boyfriend, into surrender. After the battle they wake up in a strange place with a familiar voice.

Reader’s guide: Y/N (your name), e/c (eye color), (y/s) your species.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, fluff at the end.

Word count: 2,838

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was bad. This was very, very bad, you thought as the leader of the Kraang slammed you into the floor for the second time during your fight.

A cry escaped past your lips, no matter how hard you tried not to make any noise, you didn’t want to give that thing the satisfaction of knowing how much pain it was causing you. A choked gasp was drug into your lungs as it pressed its seemingly unbreakable and ridiculously powerful robotic hand into your chest, restricting your breathing, like a snake constricting around its prey.

You were the Kraang’s prey, you realized with a shudder. And true to form, as prey would, you squirmed, and struggled as if your life depended on it. Because it did.

“Stop struggling, weakling,” Kraang shouted, as lifted you off the ground just enough to slam you back down again.

Another pained gasp slipped past your defenses, as you scrunched your face in pain, and bit your already abused bottom lip hard to keep from groaning. A ragged cough tore out of your burning lungs, feeling as if someone was raking rusted barbed wire through your chest. Thank goodness you were a yokai, or you doubted you would have survived this whole ordeal thus far.

“Your resistance is futile,” he growled, menacingly lowing his pink face closer to yours,” And yet, I might still find some use for you.”

You shudder as his hot breath brushed against your face. You wanted to gag, scream, cry, push the monster away, but alas you couldn’t make your body obey the simple command to move. Sharp claws wrapped around your limp body and picked you up as if you weighed no more than a feather.

“Come, let’s see just how much these menacing little pests care about you,” your pink captor sneered.

No, he had seen the bond you shared with the turtles, with Donnie. When had he seen it? The invasion had only begun a few hours prior. He planned to use you as a hostage. Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky, no. You were going to be a bargaining chip in this deadly game of poker. Please no. Donnie would surrender without hesitation if it meant saving you. Your beloved purple turtle has always been your knight in shining technology, your rock, your shield, your everything. The Kraang could not do this. You wouldn’t let it!

An adrenaline rush shot through you, a grim determination settled over you, and you began to thrash, and kick, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming!” Kraang snarled, holding you up by the throat. Out of nowhere the metal fist of the suit punched repeatedly in the stomach. Blood spurted out of your mouth suddenly, coughing and spluttering. The fit left you gasping for breath as warm slick blood ran down your chin and neck. The coppery taste left in your mouth made you want to puke.

‘Coughing up blood after severe trauma is most likely a sign of internal bleeding,’ you remembered Leo telling you once.

Oh great, you would probably bleed to death before this was all said and done, and no one would be any wiser. You suddenly felt extremely light headed, and weak.

“Y/N!” the voice of your beloved boyfriend screamed somewhere to your right.

In a dizzying blur of far to quick motion you were suddenly face to face with Donnie, who looked as if he had just laid eyes upon the most horrifying sight ever. Claws dug into your left wrist and jaw, as your head was lifted slightly, your body going rigid, tears finally cascading down your cut and bruised cheeks. Tears of fear, for your life and your boyfriend’s, and pain as your arm was twisted cruelly behind your back.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, locking eyes with Donnie.

“Don’t apologize, dearest,” Donnie shook his head, ever so slightly.

His white knuckled grip on his tech staff looked as if he could shatter the device with his bare hands at any moment. His body was ramrod straight, and if you looked closely you were sure you could see a small tremble claim him.

“Let her go, and I might let you live,” Donnie snarled words dripping with venom, as he elegantly twirled his staff to point threateningly at the Kraang.

A nauseatingly amused laugh came from the slimy monster behind you.

“You are in no position to make threats, you wretched little thing. You see, if you do not surrender, I will kill this one,” the Kraang smirked, scraping his claws from your jaw to around your throat.

Donnie twitched. He was enraged, and terrified, feeling so many emotions he did not understand nor wish to feel. How DARE this monster threaten you?! The poor turtle stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity in his head.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve, threatening your mate? Lower your weapon and surrender. Or she dies,” Kraang smirked, a strangled sob escaped your lips as it’s cold, hard, claws pressed around your delicate throat a bit harder,” On your knees. Now.”

An ultimatum was laid in front of the genius, and for once in his life, Donnie did not know what to do. If he surrendered, he lost the world; if he did not, he lost his world. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. You were not his mate, not yet anyways, you were both still teenagers after all. But in the few short years he had known you he had fallen hard, and knew you were the only one for him the moment he laid eyes on you. He could not lose you.

“NOW!” Kraang roared, wrenching your arm behind your back so violently a sickening pop filled the air, and you felt a blinding searing pain rip through your shoulder.

You screamed, loud, long, blood curdling. The hand around your throat the only thing keeping you upright as you suddenly feel your strength leave you. The marrow in Donnie’s bones seemed to freeze. The sound shattered his heart, and he knew what he had to do.

His staff clattered to the ground as he raised his hands slightly in surrender, dropping to his knees.

"Wait, don't hurt her. Please," His voice held tense resignation that you had never heard.

“D-Donnie, n-no. D-Don’t give h-him w-what he w-wants,” you begged, through the tears and blood streaming from between your tightly clamped teeth.

“Beloved, save your strength. Everything will be alright. I promise,” Donnie tried to reassure you, his voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

The sight of Donnie on his knees, head bowed, looking at you as if his soul had been crushed with those heart wrenchingly beautiful eyes, hands in the air to signal he would not put up a fight. The sight forced open a pit in your stomach that threatened to swallow you whole. The pain you felt now, looking at him, was so much worse than the physical pain plaguing your body.

Kraang's laugh echoed in your ears, taunting you and your dear boyfriend. Your eyes squeezed shut, you could no longer keep them open. Your alertness was fading, and icicles began floating in your veins. You were cold, and disoriented. Where was Donnie? You knew he was close, you could hear his voice, muffled as it may be. He always kept you warm and safe.

Suddenly you were flying, weightless and free. And then the world came crashing down, ever so painfully around you. It felt like there was fire everywhere, licking your skin, deep in your bones. Fire so hot, it felt like freezing cold water had been dumped all over your body. And then something soft, and strong lifted you from the fire. You cracked your eyes open, and purple filled your vision. Donnie? Was he…was he cradling you in his arms? You could barely hear his voice over the blood pounding in your ears, crushing your skull. He was saying something, but you could not make out what. All you knew was exhaustion, and pain. Darkness, blessed, sweet darkness beckoned to you. Donnie was here, Donnie was holding you; if he was then you were safe, and everything would be ok just like he promised. You let the darkness have you, while Donnie’s pleas for you to stay with him went unheard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something soft and warm was wrapped around you, and something squishy under you. These were the first things you were aware of as your muddled brain emerged from the void. Annoying beeping pierced through your consciousness next. What was that, and wasn’t someone going to turn it off? It sounded like the microwave announcing whatever delicious food it had been warming was ready to be eaten. The thought of food made you nauseous, or was that the oddly salty smell that filled your nose and mouth? You felt floaty, like you were drifting lazily on a cloud through thick and heavy fog.

“Y/N…….ome…ack. Lease…..cme…ba,” a smooth rich voice drifted into your awareness.

It was soft, and comforting. Whoever it belonged to seemed slightly distressed. Who did that voice belong to? You knew them, and you trusted them with your life. That much you remembered. Something soft brushed across your cheek, the touch light as a feather.

“Open your eyes darling,” the voice called again, still muffled, feeling like cool aloe on a searing burn.

Maybe you should do as the voice asked. It sounded important. And you trusted this person, what was their name again? It was right on the tip of your tongue.

“Y/N, please come back to me,” the voice was clear this time, desperate, longing.

A sharp inhale and your eyes snapped open, bright light came flooding in, blinding you. A small quake ran through your body, which felt oddly weak and heavy. A sensation ran through your body, one you had never felt before. It wasn’t pain, simply an uncomfortable burn in your muscles, especially your chest and left shoulder.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me, dearest?” A purple mask and wide, concerned, bloodshot eyes filled your field of vision, shielding you from the harsh lights above.

“Donnie?” your voice barely above a whisper, but full of deep affection.

“Oh beloved! Are you alright? Are you in any pain? Can you breathe properly?” he peppered your tired mind with concerned questions, his hands hovering over you as if he wanted nothing more than to touch you, but afraid you would break like glass under his calloused fingers.

“I’m ok, sore but perfectly fine. I promise,” you reassured him, your hand reaching out to grasp his.

Your throat felt like sand, dry and scratchy. Your e/c eyes drifted over to a cup sitting on a small table behind your dear boyfriend. Donnie followed your line of sight, and quickly scooped up the object of your desires. He gently held the straw to your lips and instructed you to sip, not gulp.

You did as you were told and a sweet reward met your parched throat. Your eyes drifted around the room’s bland walls and obnoxiously beeping machines, while Donnie’s never left your battered face. He looked pale, the bags under his eyes prominent despite the mask, eyes puffy, and red. Had he been crying? Once you had your fill and your voice felt suitable for civil conversation, you looked to Donnie once again.

“What happened? Where are we?” You inquired, softly.

Donnie explained that after the battle the family escaped to a yokai hospital in the Hidden City. After all, they couldn’t very well waltz into a human hospital with 2 frantic humans, an exhausted rat, 4 mutant turtles in varying states of injury, and a critically injured y/s yokai asking for help. Besides every medical center topside was surely flooded with casualties nor would they know how to treat the injured beings. Yes, the Hidden City was certainly their best bet to get the treatment they all so desperately needed.

He also gave you a run down on his brothers and his own injuries before moving to yours. An abundant collection of ghastly looking bruises and nasty gashes littered your body. Plus an unholy number of sprains, tears, and pulled muscles. As you suspected, you did in fact have extensive internal bleeding, a punctured lung from multiple broken ribs, a badly dislocated left shoulder, a severe concussion, and several broken bones.

“I thought I was going to lose you. For 12 deplorable hours I thought I would have to navigate my way through this dreadfully dark life without you, my light. You are the air I breathe, and while we were waiting for news it felt like I was suffocating, terrified of losing my air. My precious diamond, do not ever scare me like that again,” Donnie blurted out, rare emotion filling his voice as even rarer tears flowed from his expressive eyes.

He quickly buried his head in your shoulder. Whether it was to hide his tears, the blush that was rapidly growing on his cheeks, or to find comfort you did not know; however you were left speechless at the uncommon display.

“Donnie,” you stammered, failing to find your words just yet.

You settled for running your hand over his bandana covered head, and caressing his cheek. Donnie was never one for physical touch unless it was someone he was very close with, or he was in need of a way to express emotions he was uncomfortable with. He was never good with feelings either, so such an outright statement driven by emotion was quite unheard of.

“I’m sorry, I just - I was only - I was simply…..frightened. Beyond belief,” Donnie muttered into your shoulder, obviously having a hard time finding the words to express how he was feeling.

Now this was more on brand for your certified mad scientist. He must have put a lot of thought into what he was going to say to you when you woke up, and you suspected had a little chat with Dr. Feelings.

“Tello, look at me darling, please,” you requested, your fingers moving his chin up so his red rimmed eyes met your tired ones,” Dearest, I will never leave you. I swear as sure as Metro Tower is still standing I will always fight to stay by your side. What we have, well, you would think someone tore it right out of one of those nauseating love novels Leo reads. You are my guiding light, what makes life worth living, you are my everything. I love you, Donatello. I always have. Today, tomorrow, and forever.”

His eyes seemed to bore holes into your very soul as he soaked up the meaning and significance of your words. And suddenly more tears sprang forward in both your eyes as a smile graced his lips for the first time that night.

“I love you too. More than you will ever know,” he sniffed, as you brushed his tears away.

“You look exhausted. Have you slept at all?” you questioned, resting your hand on his cheek.

Donnie simply hummed and leaned into your wonderful touch.You let out a sigh, and painfully shuffled over in your surprisingly soft hospital bed. His drawn on eyebrows shot up in a silent question, rather alarmed. You couldn’t help but giggle at the expression on his face, you found it quite adorable.

“Come,” you said, patting the empty space in the bed,” keep me company.”

“Leo would freak if he saw us, spouting some nonsense about tearing your stitches or infection,” a sly grin creeping onto his features as he slipped off his battle shell, and climbed into bed with you.

“Well, it’s a good thing it's only us then, isn’t it?” You giggled.

After several minutes of readjusting making sure not to jostle each other's injuries, you were both comfortable, cuddled up close to each other. Your head rested on his plastron, and his arms were wrapped snugly around you. You began to gently draw patterns on his plastron, this always relaxed him, and you knew exactly how to get him to sleep.

A contented churr rumbled through his chest, deep, comforting. A contented sigh escaped your lips as your eyes became heavier.

"I love you, darling," you whispered.

"I love you as well, beloved," he whispered back, before drifting off to sleep.

In that moment, everything was perfect. Yes, you had all been through hell. Yes, it was going to be a struggle to return everything back to normal. But you would all be there for each other, because that's what family did. You were safe in Donnie’s arms, and he in yours. You had 0 intentions of letting him go anytime soon, vowing to keep away the nightmares you knew would surely come.

But for now everything was alright. You had all survived, and would continue to do so.

You finally lost the battle with sleep, and your last conscious thought was of your purple turtle, and the undying love you held for him.

[sicknessbysalem]

Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Six

@monthofsick | day six: post-adrenaline puking

once again, i am revisiting some days i missed because im not feeling the last few prompts at this time.

(also once again these characters originally belonged to @simplysickness but they have given the characters to me)

if you have any requests or questions feel free to send (please send)!

tw emeto, caffeine overload, brief/vague mention of mental health issues, bad coping mechanisms

In the dimly lit garage, the scent of motor oil hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of sweat as Xavier tinkered with his bike, his hands deftly maneuvering around the engine with practiced precision. The fluorescent glow of the overhead lights cast sharp shadows across his furrowed brow, accentuating the lines of fatigue etched into his features.

"Hey, Cass," Xavier called out, his voice rough from exhaustion as he glanced over his shoulder to where Cassidy sat on the tabletop of his workbench, leaning against the workbench, concern etched into his features. "Hand me that wrench, would you?"

Cassidy stepped forward, handing over the tool with a gentle touch, his eyes scanning Xavier's face with worry. "You sure you're up for this, Xav? You look like you haven't slept in days."

Xavier chuckled, the sound hollow in the confines of the garage. "Just needing a bit of a distraction lately. Not sure why, maybe with you and Amity being in college, need something to fill my time."

Xavier reached beside him, knocking back the last of the can that Cassidy brought him. Probably much to one of his boyfriends' dismay.

"How many of those have you hit today?" Cassidy asked.

"Three, maybe?" Xavier said, "It's my last one, promise. I'm almost done anyway."

Cassidy's expression softened with understanding, though a flicker of concern still lingered in his gaze. "You've been pushing yourself too hard, Xav. Racing every chance you get. Aren't you supposed to only focus on the circuit?"

"I don't have to," Xavier shrugged, "Besides, the more I race, the better I do on the circuit."

"Yeah, and you look like you haven't slept in days," Cassidy said, "If you don't slow down you'll get yourself sick."

Xavier's shoulders tensed slightly, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "I can handle it, Cass. I've been doing this for years."

But even as he spoke, a wave of nausea swept over him, a harsh reminder of the toll his rigorous schedule was taking on his body. He swallowed back the bile and the sickening sweetness of the last energy drink he had rising in his throat, his grip tightening on the wrench as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Cassidy reached out, a hand coming to rest on Xavier's shoulder, the touch grounding and reassuring. "Just promise me you'll take it easy after this race, okay? Your health comes first."

Xavier met Cassidy's gaze, a flicker of gratitude softening the exhaustion in his eyes. "I promise," he murmured, the weight of his words heavy in the air between them.

-

Race day dawned with the sky painted in hues of fiery orange and soft pink, the air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of gasoline. Xavier stood at the edge of the track, clad in his racing gear, the vibrant colors of his suit a stark contrast to the pallor of his complexion. Despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Xavier felt like maybe, just maybe he did too much in too little of time.

Cassidy stood nearby, a knot of worry twisting in his stomach as he watched Xavier's trembling hands lift another energy drink to his lips, knocking it back like it was a shot of liquor as opposed to an excessive amount of caffeine. The telltale signs of too much caffeine were impossible to miss, the jittery tremors a stark contrast to Xavier's usual steady demeanor. He approached Xavier with a gentle touch, concern etched into every line of his face.

"Xav, maybe you should sit this one out," Cassidy suggested softly, his voice laced with worry. "You're not in any condition to race."

But Xavier's jaw clenched stubbornly, his gaze fixed on the track. "I can't back out now, Cass. I've trained for this, I've worked for this. I can't just give up. I can't let the last month and a half be for nothing."

Cassidy reached out, cupping Xavier's trembling hands in his own. But, it hurt. Or something, Xavier wasn't sure how to explain it.

"I know you want this, Xav," Cassidy murmured, his voice gentle but firm. "But pushing yourself like this, it's not worth risking your health. There will be other races, other opportunities."

But Xavier shook his head, his gaze unwavering as he met Cassidy's eyes with a fierce intensity. "I have to do this, Cass. For me, for us. I need to prove that I can still compete, that I'm not just a has-been."

Cassidy's heart ached at the raw vulnerability in Xavier's words. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Xavier in his arms, to shield him from the relentless pressure weighing him down. And it was all pressure he was putting on himself, Cassidy knew that. But he was putting that pressure on himself as a coping mechanism, Amity explained that many times. Putting race pressure on himself, putting excessive caffeine in his body, it was a coping mechanism to avoid facing his internal struggles. A bad coping mechanism, but a mechanism nonetheless.

"I have to go, race time," Xavier said, knocking back the last of the can he had, handing it over to Cassidy, proving it was empty, making a statement that was the last one.

-

As Xavier crossed the finish line, a surge of triumph surged through his weary body, the deafening roar of the crowd echoing in his ears like a symphony of victory. But as the adrenaline that had propelled him through the race began to fade, a wave of nausea swept over him with crippling intensity.

The world spun around him in a dizzying blur, his vision swimming with dark spots as he fought to keep his balance. He needed to get off the track, for several reasons.

Cassidy's voice cut through the haze of exhaustion, sharp with concern as he rushed to Xavier's side, a hand coming to rest on his quivering shoulder. "Xav, are you okay? You don't look so good."

Xavier swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, the taste of stomach acid and the energy drink a strange mix of sweet and bitter on his tongue as he forced a weak smile, continuing to walk off to the side with his bike, "I'm fine, Cass. Just need a minute to catch my breath, that's all."

But even as he spoke, a violent wave of nausea tore through him, his stomach lurching with agonizing intensity. Xavier staggered to a halt, his hands trembling as he struggled to unclasp the helmet strapped to his head.With a strangled gasp, Xavier ripped off his helmet, the cool air of the racetrack washing over his clammy skin in a welcome relief.

Cassidy's brow furrowed with worry as he watched Xavier's pallor turn ashen, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he clutched at his stomach.

"Xav, you need to sit down," Cassidy insisted, his voice urgent with concern. "You're not okay."

But Xavier waved him off weakly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep the contents of his churning stomach at bay. "I just... need a moment," he managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a trembling hand, Cassidy reached out, offering Xavier a steadying arm as he guided him to a nearby bench, the cold metal biting into Xavier's aching muscles as he collapsed onto the hard surface. The world spun around him in a dizzying whirl, the sounds of the racetrack fading into a distant haze as darkness threatened to consume him whole.

As Xavier sat on the hard metal bench, the world around him seemed to spin faster and faster, the cacophony of voices and engines blending into a disorienting symphony of chaos. With each passing moment, the relentless grip of nausea tightened its hold on him, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

Cassidy hovered nearby, his features etched with concern as he watched Xavier's condition deteriorate with growing alarm.

"Xav, I told you this would happen," he said softly, his voice tinged with panic as he reached out a hand to steady Xavier's trembling form.

But before Xavier could respond, a violent wave of nausea tore through him, the contents of his stomach rising up with agonizing force. With a strangled gasp, he doubled over, retching violently onto the ground, the bitter taste of bile filling his mouth with every heave.

Disgust and dismay washed over Xavier in a sickening wave as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, the acrid stench of vomit lingering in the air like a foul miasma. Shame burned hot in his chest as he glanced up at Cassidy, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Cass," Xavier murmured, his voice thick with self-loathing. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

But Cassidy's expression softened with compassion as he knelt beside Xavier, a hand coming to rest on his trembling shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured, his voice gentle but firm. "You pushed yourself too hard, that's all. Let's get you home."

With Cassidy's steady support, Xavier struggled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as he leaned heavily on his boyfriend for support. The world spun around him in a dizzying blur, the sounds of the racetrack fading into a distant haze as he stumbled toward his bike. The weight of his exhaustion was draggung him down like an anchor in the storm, but he needed to take care of things before they could go.

“Hey, hey,” Cassidy said, “Here. Let me help. And then we really should get you home… and in bed.”

Xavier glanced up at Cassidy, a flicker of gratitude softened the edges of his despair, a reminder that no matter how far he fell, his boyfriend would always be there to lift him back up again.

“I’m sorry,” Xavier said, “Seriously.”

Cassidy nodded, “Yeah, I know. It’s okay…”

[caspersickfanfics]

Post-adrenaline puking

For @monthofsick day 6

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, near death experience, nightmare reference, imagined death (?) (thinking about "what if [character] died")

A/N:

No ask for this one, just my own brain thinking it'd be great if Cyno and Tighnari were fighting together and then Cyno almost died and he's totally fine but Tighnari is horrifically shaken up by the whole experience.

There was something uniquely exhilarating about fighting with Cyno. Although Tighnari was more than capable of handling The Withering on his own or with his team of forest rangers, something about teaming up with the person Tighnari was closest to enhanced his own strengths. As a general rule of thumb, Tighnari didn’t much like fighting, but this… he would never admit it out loud, but fighting alongside Cyno felt more like play.

They took down the last ruin monster together, and despite the energy-sucking effects of The Withering, Tighnari felt like he could fight ten more as he moved to destroy the tumor. A single shot should do it, now the they’d destroyed the monsters and the branches. And yet… It didn’t. Tighnari frowned. Had he missed? A sense of foreboding rose in his bones, but he brushed it off as he heard Cyno laugh.

“Tighnari! What does an archer say when he misses his target?”

Tighnari ignored this, taking aim for a second shot. As he did so, he heard three things:

The complete silence of the wind

Cyno’s carefree voice saying, “Oh, bow”

A creak that comes not from nature, but machinery

He whipped around just in time to a final infected ruin monster appear behind Cyno, already charging up. He didn’t know how it had gotten past both of them, but he knew without a doubt that it could take his partner from him forever with a single strike.

“Cyno!” Tighnari’s stomach flipped; he felt felt the blood drain from his face and with it went any sense of fun. For a moment where time was frozen, Tighnari saw snapshots of Cyno, making unfunny jokes to lighten a tense mood, playing TCG with the highest degree of intensity, returning to their home weary to the bone but full of love after months of nonstop work. He saw him helping Collei through panic attacks, reminding her that her illness did not define her or make her weak, tucking her in after a bad dream and staying with her the better part of the night, teaching her tracking and spatial awareness to ensure she’d be able to sense when danger was near. He saw Cyno as he was years ago, awkward and uncertain in the early stages of their friendship, recalled the wonder in Cyno’s face as Tighnari taught him how to brush his tail. He saw Cyno asleep in their bed, peaceful and entirely relaxed and safe.

Then he saw Cyno, cold and stiff. Lying flat, but not sleeping. Entirely unmoving. This Cyno he had seen before, too, many times since his dreams had returned, but only ever in the worst of his nightmares.

And then the hands of time began ticking, and Tighnari lost track of himself. He had a thought that he’d need multiple shots to take it down, and then he was moving. Two shots from a distance, running closer before the second one hit. The machines weapon went off, its laser beam striking too close to Cyno for comfort, but Tighnari’s body continued to move. Positioning himself in close quarters and knowing that he could hit its weak point up to five times in succession if he got lucky.

He did get lucky, but it didn’t feel that way. There was no immediate sense of relief as the ruin monster fell to the ground. Tighnari wasted no time destroying the tumor. The Withering cleared, but his chest stayed tight and painful, and oxygen felt just out of his grasp. He heard Cyno whistle and then speak as though he were a mile away.

“Wow, that was kinda hot. I had no idea you could–” Cyno’s breath stuck in his throat the moment he caught sight of Tighnari. Ears pinned to his head, tail quivering weakly, eyes wide. A single glance and he could tell something was wrong. He just didn’t know what.

Then Tighnari doubled over and vomited, and Cyno was at his side assessing the damage before a single thought crossed his mind.

“Are you hurt,” he demanded. No response, just a moan and a shuddering back, and then a hand clasping Cyno’s arm, tight. “Tighnari.”

“‘m fine,” the forest watcher mumbled, voice hollow and still thick with nausea; decidedly unconvincing. A harsh heave brought another wave of puke splattering across the uneven forest floor. Cyno held his companion steady with his free hand on Tighnari’s shoulder. When the retching stopped, the matra took it upon himself to conduct a quick but thorough examination, only breathing a sigh of relief after he confirmed that Tighnari had sustained exclusively surface level injuries.

“Right,” Cyno spoke with an attempt at confidence. “You’re okay.”

Except Tighnari did not look okay at all. His skin was washed out and covered in beads of sweat, and his ears stayed pressed into damp hair. The way he gasped for air made Cyno’s chest hurt. Most concerning were his eyes: unblinking and dilated, red-ringed but dry, they traced all of Cyno’s movements as if tied to him by invisible strings.

“You–” Tighnari started, only to be cut off with a retch. His grip on Cyno’s arm tightened impossibly further. Cyno didn’t mind; he simply moved closer and rubbed firm circles onto the ill forest watcher’s arched back until he threw up again and his airways cleared. Cyno was rattled, impatient for an explanation and reassurance, but not enough to rush Tighnari into speaking. He took a slow breath before speaking again.

“Let’s sit." The matra’s voice was deliberately soft with the suggestion, and his movements as he guided Tighnari to rest on a fallen tree were gentle. He was still clearly feeling unwell. He curled up, one arm wrapped around his knees, feet pulled close to his body, looking much smaller than he was. Even his tail had curled closely around him. Every so often a wet burp would bubble out of him, but Cyno doubted there was anything left in his stomach. Since he hadn't brought any extra supplies, Cyno used his own bare hand to wipe the area around Tighnari’s mouth clean. He tried not to think too hard about what it meant that Tighnari, who was usually so insistent about taking care of himself, expressed no resistance to this action. He still hadn’t let go of Cyno’s arm, though his grip eased somewhat over time. As Cyno eyed the place where their skin touched, he thought about how scared he had been at the idea of Tighnari being hurt; he thought about the number of times Tighnari had examined him for injuries, and the intensity of his gaze just minutes ago.

“Ah,” Cyno said quietly. It was so obvious. “I’m okay.”

The words, simple as they were, clearly meant a great deal to Tighnari. His tail twitched and unraveled, brushing Cyno’s shoulder and falling to rest nested between both of their thighs. Tighnari’s eyes, which had been staring blankly at the ground in front of him, drifted to Cyno’s face.

“You almost died,” Tighnari croaked. A shiver ran down Cyno’s spine.

He didn’t know if Tighnari was right, though he trusted the forest watcher’s judgement. He wanted to deny it. He knew, really, that it didn’t matter exactly how close he had come to fighting his last. If he had scared Tighnari to this extent… He didn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, both helplessly and genuine. “I didn’t mean to.”

Tighnari’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his nose twitching. His mouth quirked up slightly, like he wanted to laugh but was too tired to muster up the energy. “I know.”

Cyno nodded. There was a much bigger conversation to be had, he knew, but now was not the time. Tighnari’s complexion had improved somewhat, but he was still incredibly shaky. His grip on Cyno’s forearm had weakened, and he had slumped against Cyno’s side. It was… disconcerting, seeing how steady he usually was, and Cyno wanted him to rest and feel better as soon as possible.

“Do you still feel sick?”

Tighnari took a moment to answer, and Cyno knew he was taking stock of his body. He waited silently, comfortable with this familiar process, until Tighnari shook his head. “Not sick, just tired and weak. I–” He hesitated and Cyno offered when he hoped was an encouraging expression. Tighnari’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m not sure I can walk, to be honest.”

This was not surprising to Cyno. “I’ll carry you.”

The blush darkened. Cyno stood, facing away from Tighnari, and nodded at his own back. “Get on.”

Tighnari scoffed audibly, and then there was a soft “You’re ridiculous,” but soon a weight settled against Cyno and he smiled slightly.

“What did the forest ranger say to the fox?” He asked. Tighnari groaned, Cyno’s smile grew, and together, they set off towards home.

–––

Send asks here!

[danafeelingsick]

Nov(emeto)ber 2023 (CLOSED)

event prompts list | event rules | my rules for requesting

requests are open once again for novemetober! drop a prompt and character in my askbox, and don't be afraid to be specific (i'm stupid)

• these will be around 1000-word drabbles

• let me know if you want to be mentioned in your request!

• willing to write for:

genshin impact (main interest at the moment)

giving preference to my favorites (itto, diluc, kaeya), characters i haven't written for before and the new fontaine characters (Neuvilette, wriosthley, navia, furina, etc)

other media: limbus company | trigun (manga, anime and reboot) | my senpai is annoying (anime) | my adventures with superman (cartoon) | my happy marriage (anime) | undead unluck (anime) | stardew valley (game)

nameless characters like A & B / Sickie & Caretaker, self-inserts / Y/Ns are also allowed

PROMPTS LIST

be sure to check out the original prompt list for more information!!

1. Sharing a receptacle [CLOSED | Tighnari / Cyno]

2. Can’t stop puking [CLOSED | Furina]

3. Bad news = bad stomach [CLOSED | Navia / Clorinde]

4. Messy [CLOSED | Beidou]

5. Undesirable caretaker [CLOSED | Lyney / Aether}

6. Post-adrenaline puking [CLOSED | Vash]

7. Too feverish to think [CLOSED]

8. Choose: Loud or silent

9. Persistent sickness

10. Ill with an audience [CLOSED | Lyney]

11. Totally drained/exhausted [CLOSED | Neuvilette]

12. Group sickfic [CLOSED]

13. Professionalism failure

14. Can’t keep anything down [CLOSED | Diluc]

15. Free day!

16. Waking up puking [CLOSED | Kaveh / Alhaitham]

17. Sick for the first time

18. Unfamiliar surroundings

19. Sick in more ways than one

20. Late caretaker [CLOSED]

21. Sleepy sickie

22. Out of character / Visibly Ill

23. Subtle support

24. Panic

25. Cranky sickie

26. Nonverbal illness indicators [CLOSED | A & B]

27. Head pain/injury/ache

28. Chaotic body temperature

29. Fake “Faking it” [CLOSED | Yae Miko]

1. Motion sick [CLOSED]

2. Sick during transit [CLOSED]

3. Unconventional receptacle

4. Torture (literal or figurative)

5. Shaky/shivery

[aeryssickfics]

Day 6: Post-Adrenaline Puking @monthofsick I'm not sure if a panic attack counts but it's what happened for this prompt so -shrugs- Fandom: Genshin Impact Character: Lumine (others appear but she's the sickie and like its Very Lumine centric) Warnings: Vomiting (emeto), Panic Attack

Lumine has looked forward to her reunion with her brother, Aether. Has daydreamed about it - and dreamed about it, and had countless nightmares about being too late - but this. It was never supposed to be like this. (My spin on the First Traveler-Sibling reunion scene)

[kromabelle-art]

Whumptober 2022: Rook

OC: Rook

more Rook prompt entries: whump2020-held at gunpoint|oc2020-youth|whump2021-taunting/insults|oc2021-duel|

Dead or Alive pt 2

prompts used: no.1 “this wasn’t supposed to happen”, no.2 nowhere to run/cornered, no.3 gun to temple, no.12 "mayday, mayday!”, no.14 failed escape, no.16 no way out/”no one’s coming”, no.24 fight flight or freeze, no.26 separated

Dead or Alive part 1

Something had gone wrong. Something had gone very, very wrong with the plan. Muffled alarms. Radio silence. Gunshots sounding from inside the bank. This one was supposed to be a quick in-an-out job, nothing more. Something was wrong.

Rook nervously adjusted his crow-head mask, and kept to his spot, hoping blindly that whatever was going on inside, his father and the others would make it out soon. And then they could leave with the money and he’d know he was just overreacting again. Until then, all he could do was shake violently from adrenaline and try not to puke every few seconds.

This job was supposed to be over by now.

The loud bang of a heavy door being thrown open broke the relative peace of Rook’s hiding spot, and filled the air with shouts and chaotic noise. It sent Rook’s mind into a frenzy and his body followed quickly behind. He all but stopped breathing when he realized the shouts were coming his way, and fast. A man in a bear mask­­­­­­—one of his dad’s friends—went stumbling past him, his boots heavy on the pavement. But not as heavy as his body dropping a moment later.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

The second set of footsteps slowed in their approach, but it wouldn’t be long before Rook was found. He didn’t have the time to think twice. He pushed off the wall and fled. Abandoning his post, he sprinted away from the footsteps, away from the gunshots, away from the bank.

“Hey!” an angry yell came from behind him, presumably from the same person who just killed Rook’s ally. “Stop running or I’ll shoot!” But Rook darted around a corner, and started weaving through back alleys, trying to lose his pursuer.

“Mayday, mayday!” he cried into his radio as he ran but got only static back. No one was answering. No one. He rounded another corner only to stumble to an abrupt stop.

Dead end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“End of the line. You’ve got nowhere to go.” The voice behind him was grave as the footsteps slowed to a walk. Frozen in place, Rook carefully reached for his radio again but the voice stopped him. “No one’s coming. All your friends are dead, and even if you’ve got anyone else leftover, you can be sure they won’t make it here in time.” There was a pause, neither of them moving or speaking. “So you’d better make peace with your gods right now.”

When Rook still didn’t respond, he heard the man sigh and step closer. And then there was something cold and hard at the back of his head. There was really no way out of this, was there?

“I have no gods,” Rook said softly, and turned his head enough to see the man, careful not to set him off. “Can I take my mask off?”

“Why?”

“You’re going to kill me, right?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no way I can convince you not to?”

“Nope. It’s my job, sorry.”

“Then I’d like to die as me…”

The man tilted his head in thought before giving a small nod, consistently keeping his gun trained on him. Rook slowly took off the crow mask, and turned a little more to face the man. They made eye contact. It was almost as if he could see his whole life reflected in the man’s eyes. Every decision, every mistake, every success. And it ultimately led up to this moment. The man pressed the gun right up to his temple, but Rook could swear he saw pity in those eyes.

“What do you think happens?” Rook asked. “When you die?”

“No idea. You ready to find out?”

“…. I guess so.”

The man pulled the trigger, and Rook’s world went black.

[builder051]

Hi! I was the one who sent in the last prompt.. I get that you feel it might be a bit tropey, which is understandable! So I was thinking maybe the post - adrenaline puke with Peter and Tony, hopefully that’s a bit more realistic and more enjoyable for you write! Was just hoping Peter could be the one with the post adrenaline?

Thank you, and I appreciate anything that you write I think you’re brill!!

Thanks, friend. I’m so glad you’re interested in my work. I have a fic in the archives about Peter having an adrenaline dump. If you go to the bio on my blog, there’s a link to my master fic list, which is further broken down by fandom and ‘verse. Most of the fics listed have a 1-line summary so you can find what you’d like. (Note: the master fic list is at least a year out of date; Tumblr doesn’t allow more than 250 links on one page, and daisy chaining is very iffy. If you know of an old fic of mine but can’t find it, let me know and I’ll lend a hand.) I do know for a fact that the adrenaline dump fic is on the master list.

[dweetwise]

day 16: bad day

prompt from: whumptober (tho i misread the title and can’t post to the challenge but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i still like it) pairing: felix x ace notes: felix’s day goes from bad to neutral to Nice (tm). also everyone except david is a shitty person in this lmao. warnings: implied emotional abuse, implied cheating, threat of violence word count: 2900

It was official; this was the worst day of Felix’s life.

It shouldn’t have been. He should have been happy, maybe a little shocked and nervous, but definitely excited. Not anxious, scared and downright spiteful like he felt right now.

His girlfriend was pregnant. They hadn’t been trying, but she was excited to tell him regardless, already thinking of baby names and giving Felix no room to voice any of his doubts. He knew this was what he claimed he’d always wanted, what he knew his parents wanted for him, to continue the family name since he was the last of his line.

He took another swig of the foul-tasting beer and wondered if she’d done it on purpose. She’d been not-so-subtly hinting at marriage for months, and Felix had always brushed her off. Maybe this was her taking matters into her own hands, forcing Felix to commit to her or drag down both his family name and professional image for having a child out of wedlock.

He didn’t want to marry her because she always seemed way more fond of his money than Felix himself, and he didn’t want to have kids because…

Well. He hated children.

He probably should have brought up that particular piece of information sooner, but he wasn’t sure it would have even made a difference. Not to his parents, not to his girlfriend, and certainly not to the ungodly amount of distant relatives and business associates who kept bugging him about settling down and starting a family.

Because, for some reason, dedicating the last twenty years of his life to doing what other people wanted him to do wasn’t enough.

He’d stupidly believed it would get better. That the twelve-hour work days and countless all-nighters on uninspiring projects would eventually pay off, when in reality all it had lead to were more boring projects. He’d thought buying his girlfriend expensive gifts and taking her on weekly dates followed by the obligatory weekly sex would make them fall in love, but instead she was pushing him into commitments he wasn’t ready for.

He downed the rest of the beer and tried to numb out the suffocating feeling of being trapped. He was doomed to keep living his shitty life exactly the way others dictated, and there was nothing he could do to change his fate.

Maybe that’s why he’d chosen this bar. It wasn’t the usual high-end, after-hour cocktail bar next to his office where everyone would recognize him. It was a shitty sports bar owned and frequented by foreigners, where nobody would approach him to congratulate him on the “good news” after his girlfriend e-mailed his entire contacts list in her excitement.

He debated getting another beer, maybe finally being able to pick one that didn’t taste like piss. God, how sad was his life that the biggest act of rebellion he could come up with was getting drunk on cheap beer in a bad part of town?

Felix clutched the glass tighter in his hand, frustrated at his life but also at himself, how he was unable to do anything but play right into everyone else’s plans. Fuck, he needed to do something different, something he’d never even considered would be in the realm of possibilities for him. But what?

He looked around the bar, seeing a group of backpackers animatedly chatting in what sounded like Spanish. He could go travelling, but that wouldn’t accomplish much except buy him a little bit of time. Not to mention his girlfriend would guilt him until he let her come along.

He could always get blackout drunk and puke his guts out in the bathroom. Maybe get into a bar fight. Try to get his hands on some drugs. Hire a prostitute.

Unfortunately none of those things seemed even remotely more thrilling than the bland beer he’d been drinking the entire night.

Felix sighed and buried his face into his hands. For forty years, he’d kept telling himself he wasn’t like everyone else, that he’d do something meaningful in his life, that he was a risk taker and not a conformer.

And he still would; he just didn’t know what. If he only got a sign—

The door to the bar slammed open and Felix snapped his head up from the noise, his table rattling from the impact of the door hitting the wall.

There was a man, his grey hair and cheap suit both wet from the autumn rain, clutching something under his arm while panting like he’d just run a half marathon. He hurried to close the door, and Felix didn’t mean to stare, but it was the most exciting thing to happen all night.

The man caught Felix’s eye and gave a quick grin.

“You saw nothing,” he offered before running up to the bar.

“Don’t tell me ya fuckin’—” the bartender started, clear annoyance on his features.

“Oops, gotta run, I was never here!” the man offered good-naturedly before hopping over the bar and disappearing into the back.

“Ace for fuck’s sake!” the bartender cursed, yelling at the doorway to what had to be a back room or kitchen. Still, he made no move to follow him, instead sighing in agitation and aggressively started cleaning a couple of pint glasses.

Felix realized three things at once; one, the new customer screamed trouble. Two, he clearly knew the bartender. And three, Felix was intrigued.

He made his way to the bar with his empty glass, placing a ten euro bill on the worn wood that earned him a fresh glass of beer in only a couple of seconds. He appreciated that the bartender hadn’t tried to make small talk during the entire evening, and lamented the fact that he had to break the silence.

“Who is your friend?” Felix asked, trying to ignore the self-consciousness that always surfaced when he had to subject the world to his extremely obvious German accent.

“'Friend' is a strong word,” the bartender huffed in annoyance, though it seemed to be directed at the person they were talking about and not Felix. “'A pest who keeps comin' back like a boomerang no matter how many times I kick 'im out' sounds more fitting.”

Felix hummed in acknowledgement and sipped at his beer, deciding to sit down at the bar instead of returning to his table.

“He seems interesting,” Felix mused, trying to fish more information about the man.

Instead of humoring him, the bartender stopped cleaning the glasses and gave him an incredulous stare.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” he deadpanned. “The hell's a guy like you see in a rat like 'im?”

“That wasn't what I meant,” Felix insisted, staring at his glass in embarrassment. He was just curious, he wasn't… interested, at least not that way. God, why could he never communicate properly? This is why he never tried anything new.

He heard the bartender sigh long and loud, like this wasn't the first time he'd had to put up with a similar situation.

“Look mate, whatever yer thinkin', don't,” he offered, like that was supposed to help Felix at all. “Guy's way more trouble than 'es worth, an' he sure as hell ain't here to make friends.”

Felix didn't have time to reply, not that he even knew what he would have said, before the door slammed open once again and heavy footsteps stomped into the bar.

“Oi!” the bartender shouted in annoyance. “Don't go draggin' mud into my bar!"

“Where is he?” one of the new patrons demanded in German, and his voice was threatening enough to make Felix glance over his shoulder at the new arrivals.

He saw a group of four men that looked like bad news, their cheap clothing and poorly made tattoos making Felix think of some lowly local gang.

“Read the sign, mate,” the bartender scoffed, pointing at a metal plaque in the style of a road sign that said ‘Service in English only’.

“What a fucking moron,” one of the thugs commented, not even attempting to switch languages.

“We know he's here!” the man at the front barked out and proceeded to slam a fist against the bar.

“I got no bloody clue what yer talkin' about!” the bartender claimed. “But if yer gonna come to my bar an' start a fight, so help me—”

"Let's just beat him up!” one of the men was getting impatient.

“For the last time, where is he!?” one of the thugs surged forward and grabbed the bartender by his collar.

“You've got the fuckin' wrong place, I dun know shit about what ya even want!” the bartender, to his credit, didn't even bat an eye. Then again, it looked like he could easily hold his own in a fight.

Felix heard a gasp and noticed one of the Spanish kids cower closer to the corner they were sitting in, observing the scene with fear in her eyes.

The tension in the air seemed like it was about to snap, and instead of making Felix want to bolt into the safety of his mansion, it made his adrenaline start pumping.

This was what he needed. A thrill.

“You heard the man,” Felix raised his voice, finally turning to address the group. “You're in the wrong place.”

“Shut the fuck up, this doesn't involve you!” one of them eloquently responded.

“It started involving me when you barged in and ruined my night,” Felix explained calmly despite feeling his palms start sweating from nervousness, years of faking an unphased persona finally coming to use.

“Okay, the fuck's your problem!?” the guy who seemed to be the leader demanded, finally letting go of the bartender in favor of looming over Felix threateningly.

“I said,” he emphasized, slowly lifting his pint glass to take a sip of his drink and flash his ring with the family insignia. “You've got the wrong place.”

There was a moment of silence when all Felix heard was his own heart beating in his ears, keeping his expression neutral and looking at the thugs like they were nothing more than a fleck of dirt on his expensive suit. Hopefully, they'd recognize the symbol, even if the Richters hadn’t been involved in the local underworld for years, not after the disappearance of his parents.

“The fuck is he on about?” one of the men, who looked to be the youngest, demanded. “Let's just beat them both up and—”

“Shut up,” the leader barked, glancing at Felix fleetingly. “We seem to have gotten lost on the way.”

Felix couldn’t help the smug smile.

“Happens to the best of us,” he said.

The group slowly started slinking out of the bar without further complaints, with Felix's eyes following them the entire time as if daring them to protest.

“Sorry for bother,” one of them even offered to the bartender in questionable English before the door closed after them.

“I'll be damned,” the bartender huffed and crossed his arms, giving Felix a look that could generously be described as somewhat impressed. Felix offered a shaky smile in return before he focused all his attention on staring at the surface of the bar and trying not to tremble from fear as the adrenaline left his body. He hoped it wasn’t obvious he was taking unnecessarily deep breaths and that cold sweat was running down his back under the suit.

That had been the most idiotic thing he had ever done. It was stupid, it was dangerous, and unnecessary and—

And he'd never felt such a rush of absolute victory before.

There was a thud as a beer was placed in front of him, and he glanced up to see the bartender smirking at him.

“It's on the house,” he said in a heavily accented but otherwise fluent German.

Well. It seemed this night was just full of surprises.

Soon after, Felix found himself sitting in a corner booth nursing his two beers. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt good, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol buzzing in his system.

He’d proved to himself that he had balls. He was one wrong move away from ending up in a bar fight, and even that thought didn't make him cower in fear like it would have before. Despite never being in a fight before, his confidence was soaring, and he liked to imagine him and the bartender could have easily taken the four thugs.

And then his night only got better as a handsome stranger slid down into the opposite side of the booth.

“So, King told me you saved my ass just now,” the man said with a charming smile, casually leaning closer and propping his chin up on his elbow like they were old friends catching up.

It took Felix longer than he'd like to recognize the man as the one that caught his attention earlier. Without the baseball cap, sunglasses and cheap suit jacket, he cleaned up rather well, dressed in a simple light pink button-up and jeans. Slightly messy, silver hair was a stark contrast to the mischievous brown eyes and almost youthful, cocky smirk on his face.

Felix suddenly realized why the bartender thought he was interested in more than just the man's colorful personality.

“I suppose that's true,” Felix said after a way longer silence than was socially acceptable, but his companion was courteous not to mention anything.

“Well, whether you meant to or not, you have my thanks!” the man grinned good-naturedly. “I would have bought you a beer, but I see David's already got you covered,” he added, gesturing to the two pints where Felix was still working through his first.

“Yes, it's…” Felix started, debating whether he should be honest about his distaste for the drink or not. Fuck it, drunk and brave had worked earlier. “A shame it doesn't make it taste any better.”

The man barked out a laugh and Felix smiled at the success of his joke.

“I know, right?” his companion snickered. “I keep telling him to mix it up, maybe get some nice wines too, but he insists on importing that awful stuff the Brits call beer.”

Felix smiled politely, not knowing what to add to the statement. Regardless of what the bartender—David?—had claimed before, the two definitely seemed to be friends.

“I'm sorry, where are my manners!” the man suddenly seemed to realize, offering his hand over the table. “I'm Ace.”

“Felix,” Felix replied, returning the handshake firmly, like his father and numerous career coaches had taught him.

“So, Felix,” Ace continued, retracting his hand but leaning over the table even further. “What brings you here? I think I'd remember seeing someone like you before.”

Was that flirting? It had been so long since anyone had showed any interest in Felix, he couldn’t even recognize what was just casual conversation, too used to business world small talk about the stock market and someone's secretary's family.

“I needed a change,” Felix said, before realizing he probably shouldn't be revealing too much. “—of scenery,” he hastily added.

Ace regarded him silently for a few heartbeats and Felix gulped down some beer to try not to fret under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Scenery, huh?" Ace hummed. "Seen anything you like so far?”

Okay, that had to be flirting. Right? Felix stared at Ace's face, but the other wasn’t giving anything away. And Felix thought he was good a keeping a straight face.

“Maybe,” he answered simply, keeping eye contact much longer than appropriate on purpose.

Ace didn't look away and Felix wondered if he was the only one who noticed the tension in the air.

He always sucked at flirting, even in his native tongue, and now he had to do it in broken English. He thought he'd been pretty obvious, but he still wasn’t sure if Ace was just being friendly. Maybe he wasn’t even into men.

Well, to be fair Felix didn't think he was either, university time experimentation aside. There was something about this particular night, like he was desperate to prove to himself that he was still capable of making decisions for himself.

He’d always thought he wouldn't cheat, but he also knew that if Ace offered, he wasn’t going to say no. If this was the only thing in his life he still had control over, he was going to make the most of it, and he no longer cared if that made him a bad person.

“You know, I've stayed in a bunch of different hotels in the area while I've been here,” Ace mentioned out of the blue, and Felix furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “There's a pretty good one just down the street.”

Felix swallowed, at last realizing what the other was getting at.

“Really?” he asked, trying to mask his suddenly surfacing nerves.

“Yup. Kinda cozy, very… discreet,” Ace chirped casually, like he was talking about the weather and not propositioning a stranger.

Felix cleared his throat and shoved a hand in his pocket, managing to fish out a crumpled twenty euro bill despite his sweaty palms. He slapped the money on the table, hoping the tip would convey his gratitude to David for setting him up for the best night of his life.

Finally, he stood up from the booth and offered Ace a nervous smile that probably made it glaringly obvious just how eager he was.

“Lead the way."

[ftb-writes]

And the truth is revealed! I was waiting to post the Marvel fic for Captain Steve Rogers's birthday! Happy Birthday, OG Cap! And the next fic will be Skyrim!

No, but in all actuality, everyone. This was a really difficult fic for me to write, purely because it dealt with some darker themes, and very heavy-handedly. I had trouble writing this 'What if?' fic because it was so dark, and right from the get go. I had to put it down for a couple days at a time as I was writing. So, before you go into this, a few warnings. There is a bit of body horror, though I tried not to get too detailed. There is child death. There is implied (though not *directly* witnessed by the characters) torture. Of both adults and children. Admittance to suicide ideation. Implied cannibalism, and something that ended up sounding like a weird, pseudo-magical prion disease. Implied (though not stated) sexual torture/abuse. This fic is very dark. Please, proceed with caution.

*Please. Please, sir; kill me.

** Thank you.

It is dank in the cramped cellar-turned-laboratory of the crumbling Erskine estate. The age of the damp air hits Steven like a steam train. He chokes on the smell of death and rot wrapping cloyingly around him and the other Avengers. Next to him, Sam and Bucky are gagging, and he hears Tony curse quietly. For once, Steve lets the foul-mouthed inventor be -- the stench is bringing bile to the back of his throat.

The lights don't flick on, despite all the others in the abandoned estate working, and Steve sighs as he flicks the switch up and down a few times ineffectually. The agents with them silently pull out torches. Steve feels his mouth from a grim line as the artificial light washes away the perceived innocence of his old friend.

Abraham had shelves of jars lining the walls, all filled with formaldehyde and bits of human tissue, organs, even a whole fetus suspended in one. The cells on the other side of the ring of light the agents wield are rusty and blood-stained, and have rotting remains still trapped inside. Steve can't bring himself to look at the rib bones jutting up.

As they make their way deeper, the team quickly discovers that the celler opens up into a much larger space -- larger than was reported. They split up and begin to look around, and both the Avengers and the agents accompanying them are horrified by some of the remains they are finding. No one comments on how young the victims all are.

Steve steps around a shelf and notices another victim, this one tacked to the wall and opened up like an anatomical doll. He feels himself heave, and only just avoids puking. There's still some form, but she's mostly sludge by this point. It would have been a gruesome way to go.

To his horror, the girl lifts her head, and Steve chokes on a scream that threatens to tear out of him.

"Bitte," the little girl wheezes. "Bitte, Herr; Töte mich."*

Steve doesn't realize he's crying until after he's fired. He hears one of the nearby agents uttering a prayer for her. "This was a mistake," he tells the team. "We shouldn't be here. This place should have been left to hell."

No one responds.

A few minutes later -- and Steve's morbidly relieved none of the other victims still live -- Bucky mutters a curse of his own. "Stevie, you'll want to see this. Can I get a medic over here?"

Steve weaves his way around shelves, cells, and even a chain-covered operating table. Bucky motions him over to one of the cells, and Sam is just breaking the lock.

Inside the cage is Johann Schmidt, bound, bloodied, and bare. He barely reacts to their presence, but Steve can still see the small flinch. The German isn't looking at any of them, staring out the opposite side of the cell into the dark.

It's Steve's turn to swear. "Get a blanket," he tells the medic that's arrived. As they hurry off, Steve cautiously climbs in with Schmidt and starts cutting away the ropes.

"He's still alive," the German whispers. "Erskine. The fools used the wrong bullet."

"He's delirious," Sam huffs.

"That monster did all this," Schmidt continues, as if Sam hadn't spoken. "And now he's going to do it all to you, Rogers. You should not have come."

The medic returns at that moment, and Steve takes the offered blanket and wraps Schmidt up, before carefully lifting him. "What do you mean?"

"He's still down here," Schmidt breathes.

All the torches go out simultaneously. One of the agents yelps, and then gurgles. Schmidt begins to shiver.

"Please," he whispers. "Shoot me. I can't-"

Steve sets the German on his feet and draws his gun, but catches Schmidt as his legs give out. To see the once proud founder of HYDRA helpless -- Steve doesn't dare think what must have happened to him down here, alone and in the dark.

"Can you walk?" Steve asks, and Schmidt shakes his head.

"Can't feel my legs," Schmidt grunts, and Steve hates the spike of pity and fear that lurches through him.

"I'm going to get you out of here," Steve murmurs.

"I'm a dead man, Rogers. Finish the job and save yourselves. He's not even human anymore."

"What-" Steve starts to ask, and a massive black shape lurches out of the darkness and sinks long claws into the flesh of Schmidt's thigh.

The German screams, and as Steve empties the rest of the magazine into the thing's face, Schmidt pulls the shield free and slams it into the beast's chest. Sam and Bucky are shouting.

"I don't want to be hurt again," Schmidt wimpers, just loud enough for Steve to hear.

He reloads as best as he can one handed -- there's no way he's letting Schmidt go now -- and fires directly into the thing's wrist. It howls, but releases Schmidt and Steve scoops the German up and runs.

He can hear the thing barreling along behind him, whatever it is. Steve hadn't gotten a good look at it, but it reeks of decay, with a bleached skull for a face, and thick, dark fur. It looks like something out of a bad horror film, only real, and Steve can hear agents behind him screaming, and his team calling directions to the exit. Schmidt is sobbing like a child in his arms.

Somehow, in the dark, Steve manages to find the doorway, stumbles up the stairs, out of the cellar. Peter is right behind him, no doubt shoved ahead by Tony, and right behind Peter is the inventor himself. The rest of the Avengers make it out all right, but they've lost most of the agents, and the medic that had brought Steve the blanket. Thor slams the door shut, and the silence is deafening. The group slowly makes their way out to the trucks, stumbling over their own feet as the adrenaline wears off.

In the bright, summer light, Dr. Banner begins to look over Schmidt's wounds, and Steve asks about that beast.

"They have many names; none should be spoken aloud. They eat us mortals, Rogers. Erskine is a monster now. I came -- I was looking for signs of my son. For his sake, I hope the boy's long dead. I -- He-"

Bruce shushes him gently. "Once we get Erskine cleared out, you can search for his remains."

"Danke," Schmidt murmurs, "but he's probably been eaten."**

Steve shakes his head. "I'm so sorry," he tells Schmidt, and means it. "How long had Erskine been torturing people? When he-?"

"Even before he left Germany," Schmidt whispers. "That's why -- I wanted everyone to see what me and the others saw. They're all buried around out here, now. I'm the only one left."

"The others?" Steve prompts.

Schmidt swallows thickly. "When the Nazis were financing the super soldier program, and they had just signed Erskine on, there were about fifty-seven other kids that had been shipped out here. For… experimentation. I happened to be the most fitting candidate. So he didn't kill me, but I wish he had. I suffered so much under his thumb. Am still suffering."

"Other kids," Sam asks. "What do you mean, other kids?"

Schmidt looks at them in shock. "You mean, you didn't know? No one over there knew?"

"Knew what?" Steve hands him a bottle of water, and Schmidt sips from it before he answers.

"Rogers, I was only fifteen during the war. Three years younger than you. I was selected because I'd been an orphan for most of my life by that point. I arrived when I was, I'm not sure, maybe eight? By twelve, I already wanted to die." Schmidt seems concerned. "Did none of SHIELD really know how old I was?"

"No," Steve sighs, and he feels guilty now. If he'd known all of this during the war, he would have tried at least a little bit harder to de-escalate things between him and Schmidt. Maybe, the German might have been talked out of world domination. But then again, if he'd known all this during the war, a lot of things would have been different.

"I can see those sad puppy dog eyes from over here, Rogers. I assure you, nothing you could have said at that point would have stopped me. As I said, I wanted to die. At least as the Red Skull, no one would hurt me."

Before Steve can think of a response, Schmidt clears his throat. "We should come up with a plan. Before it gets dark. Things like that can't come out during the day. However, once it gets dark…"

Peter raises his hand quietly, as if trying to ask a question in school. "I'd rather not be eaten thanks," he admits, "I have a math test next week."

Schmidt laughs, surprisingly. "A good head on his shoulders, Junior," he says to Tony. "Now, do any of you have silver bullets?"

One of the remaining agents laughs, but as Schmidt silently turns his attention toward the agent, they realize no one else is laughing. The chuckles awkwardly trail off. No one actually answers Schmidt.

"Well then, the best thing we can do is leave to get some, and try to make it back before sundown. Otherwise he might just run off, and we'll never see him again."

"I'll go," Steve offers. "The rest of you, stay here and make sure he doesn't leave. Schmidt, you want to come with me?"

Schmidt hesitates, obviously a bit uncomfortable, but he shrugs and nods. "I'd rather be as far away from -- the thing Erskine has become as possible."

"We'll take care of it," Steve promises Schmidt, as the two climb into one of the trucks. "That thing, whatever it is, isn't natural. That's for sure."

"No." Schmidt shifts in the seat, clearly trying to get more comfortable while also favoring his injured leg. "No, it's not."

[delimeful]

First time they saw Patton cuddling with Virgil? (Like y’know the energy thing maybe?) Or Virgil protecting the three of them from some other alien?

Okay, now that Making Adjustments is out in full, I’m posting all the asks that inspired me for certain parts or even just to continue writing! Thank you to everyone who sent in ideas/what they wanted to see/theories, I really appreciate it! All asks under the cut!

@ironwoman359 said: I’d be really interested to read about what the first week or two aboard the ship with all four of them was like. I’m sure it was a big adjustment for all of them, and it’d be really cool to see!

@skeletonsloverockcandy said: WINBAR prompt - Virgil’s first night on the ship, is not with Patton, and gets a nightmare. Logan finds him and Virgil has to explain his nightmare/dreams

@the-princey-pie said: Logan mentioned that Virgil would probbaly have trouble fitting through the space ship doors. Now I really want to see Vorgil stepping into their spaceship the first time/navigating it for the first few weeks.

@indigomasquerade97 said: WIBAR prompt. Virgil is Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. You know the scene I’m talking about! ;) Roman is still freaked out with the idea of having a human on board, and one night (maybe on patrol, since he is still jittery from loosing Patton and doesn’t want to loose him - or Logan - again) and he gets freaked out by the nocturnal human suddenly being in the room? IDK

Anonymous said: So. I was wondering for the WIBAR prompts, what was Virgil’s first night on the ship like? How did Roman and Logan act towards him? And is he worried that his relationship with Patton is going to change now that he’s back with his family? Sorry if this is a lot…

Anonymous said: WIBAR prompt idea: Food! Since food is often culturally connected for humans, would it be the same for our alien friends? And if they have any, from Virgil’s pov., strange food items etc. Would be interesting to see considering they are all from such different species. :D

@justanotherpurplebutterfly said: WIBAR: did Patton tell his crewmates how to interpret Virgil’s body language? Did they figure it out for themselves? Did they struggle to remember when they saw him smile or stretch (and make himself big) or something?

Anonymous said: I would love to see some V POV or adjustment period/cultural differences! (particularly L/R’s reactions to V smiling, differences in diet/hunting styles, what V considers a threat vs. what LMP consider threats… anything that highlights the deathworlder in Virg! (Space Australia is like my fav thing that came out of tumblr)) also maybe some more of L/R’s thoughts on Patton befriending a space boogieman?? I really really love this au! :)

Anonymous said: OoOOooh okay how about,, Virgil’s POV as they head back to Roman and Logan’s ship and get on, (and maybe if he doesn’t know the species Logan and Roman are he could ask? That seems the easiest way for us to learn more about the boys without it being too awkwardly shoved in) and V’s probably awkward because he doesn’t know Lo and Ro and Ro’s openly hostile and he wasn’t expecting to go along with them and idk you decide. Also :DD wibar’s not done yet!! Tysm; I’m really enjoying it!

@bishopriecke said: Okay, so I’ve got a couple prompts so I’ll send them separately in case that’s how you’d wanted them? The story is absolutely adorable and it made me think of the sleeping habits back on the ship. There’s space for Virgil, but will Pat gravitate to sleeping with him, since it was such a comfort and Virgil only gets sleepy if he snags energy during cuddles? If he’s tired/virgil’s stressing over something will he wander over to where Virgil is chilling and settle in his lap? How’s Ro&Lo react?

@bumblebeekitten said: Do any of the others attempt to learn Virgil’s language? Or maybe Virgil quietly tries to dispel some of the more hurtful rumors about ‘deathworlder humans’?

Anonymous said: What would wibar Roman and Logan do if they couldn’t find Patton? Would they assume Virgil had done something?

Anonymous said: While waiting for more WIBAR, I keep re-reading everything (Act 1, Intermission, all the world building asks). Right now, I just want to plead with Patton to go find Virgil as he needs comfort, to calmly tell Logan that I don’t blame him, and to hiss at Roman that, while he has had bad experiences and that is valid, he needs to be nicer. Granted, a reaction like that from a human fan-nut probably wouldn’t help Virgil’s case… but he needs a hug so much right now!

Anonymous said: i’m thinking there’s lots of potential for hurt/comfort with this chapter. Virgil’s obviously panicking so i reckon he’s gonna have to try and convince himself that he can trust Patton if not the others. i feel like virgil still wont trust the others but they’ll get to see that he’s not always this big, strong deathworlder and he gets scared just like them. he’s been traumatised and he cares for Patt a lot and theyll try to understand eachother better and hopefully become friends/gain some trust

Anonymous said: that is very much wishful think and a need for my boys to be happy though haha. soz, that probably wasnt very helpful for writing but thats just something i’d like to see happen but i KNOW that whatever you end up writing is gonna be fabulous (ran out of room on my last ask and couldnt even sign it, whoops)

@justanotherpurplebutterfly said: I’m mainly really curious how Roman will react. If he has even have as big of an imagination as buobba Roman then he will probably interpret Virgil’s outburst as a violent attack and try to frame him as a danger they shouldn’t keep on the ship. However if he was able to detect Virgil’s fear then this might be the first step of them growing closer. Idk which I like better, because on one hand I want them to to get along and witness wacky human things in an amicable atmosphere, but on the other hand, misunderstandings are soooo good!!!! Most of all I want Virgil to get a hug though. Poor boy deserves one. I don’t care with who it is, although I suspect it will be Patton because no way the other ones trust Virgil enough and vice versa.

@yalltookmyurlideas said: Haha wibar fears? There are,,, so many. My main fear is that Roman will misinterpret Virgil’s panic to mean he’s hiding something and not see it for the panic and fear it is.

Anonymous said: I was thinking about for WIBAR, are we going to find out more about Virgils life on Earth? Is there angst there or is it irrelevant? Also would Logan and Roman go after Virgil themselves so as not to worry Pat or would they realise this was a situation they couldn’t solve? OR does Roman think V is attacking them and goes to hurt him? Sorry long ask but I’m excited for the chapter 😅😅🥰🥰

Anonymous said: Ayyy super late gang, barely got a hour of sleep bc anxiety/nightmares so yeehaw. I guess for WIBAR, the most essential thing to consider is how you want Making Adjustments to sorta add onto its characters & how they interact. Idk that ofc, but I think the situation is going to resolve into a ‘im only human’ (the irony) kinda situation and the crew (maybe minus patton??) only /starting/ to grasp the human is a bunch of damaged goods who is lowkey more scared of them than they are of he (½)

Anonymous said: (2/2) how i see the situation going down? Depends who finds him. If it’s Pat, he could sing him clam like in the cell. If its Roman or Logan, odds are Virgil’s gonna b scared & his response will be to Fight or Freeze, as he already did the Flight option. Virgil reacting like a cornered animal would be terrifying Ro and Lo. (Also Ro and Lo going to wake up Pat for Human Help has the same vibes of a child waking up their parents to tell them they puked lmao)

@killerfangirl3 said: After where you left last chapter, I am 100% terrified Roman will find Virgil before Patton and cause real danger to everyone. After all Virgil is flooded with adrenaline right now and he barely knows how his strength affects the metal? of the ship as it is. The sudden increase in strength if he was attempting to defend himself could cause him to put a hole in the ship.

@hotchocolatehugs said: Oh! Also, would Virgil calm down if Patton found him, or would it just make him worse/more crazed? I dunno about his state of mind, but if I were in his position I would probably be acting aggressively to anyone who came in. Do aliens have hot chocolate or tea, or some equivalent drink? Because I think Virge needs a calming drink. (sorry if this is too much!)

Anonymous said: I saw your latest post and all I could think about is Virgil stuck on the appliance, really high up and close to the ceiling unseen while he sees Roman and Logan below. Maybe a bit of a language barrier while they say some words that Virgil may not no yet and jumping to conclusions and filling in the blanks in the sentences

Anonymous said: I’m afraid that In WIBAR, Roman may keep Pat from going to find and comfort Virgil and just…leave him up there

@katelynn-a-fan said: Mission impossible theme while looking for Virgil. Too short can’t see Virgil on top appliance. Mission impossible theme continues and fades into the distance. (That’s all I got)

Anonymous said: WIBAR suggestions/predictions/fears: I worry about Roman or Logan finding Virgil before Patton - Roman because I don’t think he will be understanding about how afraid Virgil is; Logan because I think that would scare Virgil more. He might break out of his flight stage into fight, and that could make them fear him more. But, while worry about this scenario, maybe it would be for the best. Maybe one or both need to find him at a low to see that he isn’t a monster, just scared.

@enby-phoenix said:

OK so wibar thoughts! I’m a little concerned that Roman will think that Virgil was genuinely trying to attack him with that chair and also probably trying to hurt Logan, and he’s gonna get upsetti. I also think that the way they figure out what’s made Virgil go all fight or flight will probably involve Logan doing the memory share thing, but it’ll take them a bit to get close enough without Virgil threatening to bite Logan’s hands off.

Also PLEASE let my boy eat a full meal and get some proper sleep!

I would also love to see Virgil curled around Patton protectively but everyone knows that it’s Patton who’s making Virgil feel safe.

Another prediction is that Logan, realizing that SOMETHING bad just happened, and knowing that all his information on humans seems to be incorrect or at least not apply to this one, will go to Patton for advice on what to do regarding Virgil’s sudden change of behavior, and how to calm him down again. Cause Patton is the resident expert on Virgil.

I also imagine that Logan might keep his note taking to himself again for a bit, until Virgil believes that he’s not the bad kind of scientist.

I love that Virgil climbed on top of the tallest thing he could find, and I imagine that if it’s above everyone else’s usual eyelines, they each walk past him multiple times while they’re worriedly searching the ship for him.

I’m mostly imagining Virgil clinging to Patton like a lifeline and the other two aliens worrying for their tiny friend but Patton knows that Virgil is just scared and sings him the “calm down baby it’s okay I’m here” hatchling soothing song until Virgil calms down a little, and then still staying with him while explanations are had. They do not come out of the small space on top of the tallest appliance and Roman doesn’t like that but he’ll deal.

Now that I’m thinking about it more, one of the best ways for Logan to gain (at least a little bit of) Virgil’s trust would be for Virgil to see his honest reaction to what the other scientists did to him. Cause based on what I know of Logan, he would be horrified. And that might help Virgil to realize that Logan ISN’T LIKE those other scientists.

Anonymous said: *gets out the defibrillator to help kickstart the creative juices* At this point Virgil is running on fumes and when the trio find him Patton tries to comfort him. But he’s too stressed and feels betrayed and there’s just too much inner turmoil for him to hold back so he finally breaks down in front of them. Perhaps it’s not Patton that manages to calm him down, but Roman who finally recognizes him as a traumatized person rather than “just an evil human” :D

@enby-phoenix said: tbh Virgil probably hisses at either Logan or Roman at some point and it makes them nervous and confused.

Anonymous said: Roman forcing Virgil down from his hiding spot. 'Blade’ to his neck and tying him to a chair. Virgil thinking that he shouldn’t have run and that they are going to be even angrier at him now, ergo more painful experiments. Begging to be put under for the cutting away and to please don’t get mad at Patton (just in case Patton was trying to be a good friend).

Anonymous said: Suggestion for WIBAR - Roman goes looking for Virgil, all ready for a confrontation. But, when he finds him, Virgil unknowingly makes some sort of gesture that means fear/terror to Roman’s people and he stops and evaluates the situation with clearer eyes. This gives Patton/Logan/both a chance to get there.

Anonymous said: Can we get somr wibar fluff/angst?

Anonymous said: I’m just waiting for WIBAR Virgil to just pass out and the panic of everyone that sees him. Or Roman threatening him or Logan goes to touch him and BAM he’s on the floor!

Anonymous said: Stuff for WIBAR: 1: who’s gonna find Virgil? 2: what’re they gonna do with him? 3: how’s he gonna react? – Options: Patton: tries to comfort him Virgil: can’t decide whether to trust or not, maybe leading to emotional outburst and sad PatPat – Logan: scared cuz danger goblin had an outburst at him. Wondering what he did wrong & how to best proceed Virgil: 'he’s gonna do tests on me’ fight or flight – Roman: 'so, if you hurt my friends imma hurt you’ Virgil: fight or flight – ½

Anonymous said: 2/2 Of course those aren’t the only options, but it was fun for me, and I hope it got creative juices flowing for you as well. I love all your writing, and I want you to know that you can take as long as you need to be proud of your work. It’s okay. And take care of yourself too! You can’t make as good of work when you aren’t feeling as good as usual

[monthofsick]

Nov(emeto)ber Rescheduled Prompt List (February 2024)

Daily prompts typed out below for February, 2024!  You can also find them on the Prompt Page.  If anyone has trouble with visibility please let me know! You can find the Rules Page here.

I highly encourage everyone to check out the linked posts for additional inspiration! However, please also note that you are more than welcome to interpret the prompt separate from the inspiration post.

Sharing a receptacle (submission by @nerdlycharming)

Can’t stop puking

Bad news = bad stomach @angstyaches

Messy @jurassicsickfics

Undesirable caretaker (submission by @danafeelingsick): the sickie dislikes or has a grudge against their caretaker, but needs their help anyway.

Post-adrenaline puking @someonesgrossblog

Too feverish to think

Choose: Loud or silent

Persistent sickness

Ill with an audience @darthhopereblogs

Totally drained/exhausted

Group sickfic

Professionalism failure @fevers-and-emeto-oh-my and @sickficideas

Can’t keep anything down

Free day!

Waking up puking

Sick for the first time

Unfamiliar surroundings

Sick in more ways than one

Late caretaker @feelingpoorly

Sleepy sickie @fluffyllamas-23

Out of character / Visibly Ill @feelingpoorly

Subtle support @emphasis-on-the-comfort

Panic @danafeelingsick

Cranky sickie @angstyaches

Nonverbal illness indicators @emphasis-on-the-comfort and @jurassicsickfics

Head pain/injury/ache @syncope-syndrome

Chaotic body temperature

Fake “Faking it:" Sickie is playing up their illness at first, or faking it all together, until suddenly they're not. Optional "I told you I didn't feel good" dialogue.

Alternative Prompts

If any of the assigned daily prompts don’t work for you, feel free to substitute with the following:

Motion sick

Sick during transit

Unconventional receptacle

Torture (literal or figurative)

Shaky/shivery

Note: If I’ve tagged you here, it’s because I think you’re brilliant and used your content as inspiration, so I wanted to give you credit. If you’d rather I don’t include your @, a link to your post, or the associated prompt altogether, please do let me know and I will remove it no questions asked! And if I missed anyone, please let me know as well so I can fix that.

[hurtfairchild]

Clary/Jonathan, 3k, Rated E

Tags: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, Doggy Style, Missionary Position, Sibling Incest, Dubious Consent Due to Magic Bond, Post-Episode: s03e19 Aku Cinta Kamu, Morgencest, Soft Siblings, Strangely Soft and Fluffy???

@bannedtogetherbingo2020 prompt: Sympathetic Villain

Read on AO3

Part 2 of the Blood & Bone Series

Following their heated fuck in the Bone Chandelier club, Clary finds herself letting Jonathan in. She has to deal with what she's doing now, with no excuse of drugs or adrenalin, and that proves a bit more chaotic than expected.

Three knocks resounded at the door.

Clary swallowed. She was still aching for him, but it wasn’t the same anymore. She wasn’t high on her own power, on adrenalin, on Seelie drugs. She was sober and she had no reason to want him. No excuse.

He was waiting for her to let him in, she guessed. How gentlemanly. Now that she thought about it, Jonathan had never been forceful. The first time he’d kissed her, when he was still wearing Sebastian’s skin, he had stopped the second she had pushed him back.

He had saved her life when Lilith had been hit by the Mark of Cain, and yes, he’d kidnapped her, to an extent but… The entire time, he had done his best to keep her safe, he’d bought her anything she wanted.

The rune on her chest didn’t feel any different than her other runes, he wasn’t using it to hurt her the way he could have. And in the club, she’d wanted it as much as he had. Hadn’t she? Clary didn’t actually know.

She stared at the door for a long moment, thinking about not opening it, about pushing him away. The thought made her heart and her pussy ache. She needed him.

Clary stood up, padded across the dark room to the door. She twisted the knob. The door opened.

He was standing there, shirtless, the light of the corridor shining behind him, his face deep in shadows. Clary swallowed again. He looked handsome, like this. More than handsome. Gorgeous. Angel-like.

He stepped in and she stepped back. He closed the door behind him, then reached towards the light switch.

Clary shook her head. “No…”

Jonathan’s hand fell to his side. She walked away from him, turning her back on him to get back into bed. The fact that he was behind her made her skin erupt with goosebumps, as if she was turning her back on a predator, showing vulnerability. His eyes were on her again, slipping down her back to her ass.

She got into bed, pulling the sheets up. She was still clothed, with her tank top and some shorts that she liked sleeping in. He was wearing some sleep pants. In the dark, she couldn’t really see the details of his figure, she just saw his general silhouette, tall and leaner than Jace, skin pale under dark runes.

He got into bed next to her.

Clary’s breath itched. Her body felt warm and needy, her pussy starting to get wet out of nowhere, as if the mere presence of Jonathan by her side, in her bed, was arousing.

“I can’t stop thinking about what we did in the club,” Jonathan whispered.

“Me neither,” Clary replied, though she doubted it was the same things they were thinking about. She’d come on her brother’s cock. They had fucked in the middle of a crowded club, and she’d wanted it. Her brother had been inside of her, the third guy to ever be with her in that way.

It had been the best orgasm of her life. Clary wanted to puke. Nausea rose every time she thought about the fact he was her brother. When she remembered his cock inside of her, as long as she pretended it wasn’t actually him, it was okay.

She’d showered his touch off, yet all she wanted right now was more of him on her.

Jonathan shifted next to her. His hand landed on her stomach. She shivered. He reached up, slowly, to caress her breast.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded. He was almost sweet about it. Jonathan started playing with her right nipple. He was pretty good at it, actually, the feeling of his fingers going straight to her pussy. She’d never imagined he had much experience in terms of sex. Though maybe Clary didn’t know what was good.

Simon had been with only one girl before her, briefly, and though Jace was much more used to sexual activity, Clary didn’t have much to compare him to. Maybe she was just very easily turned on.

Jonathan massaged her nipple a bit harder and she moaned quietly. Maybe she was, indeed.

Jonathan shifted, moving closer. His other hand slipped into her shorts, fingers teasing her clit briefly before dipping into her folds. Clary moaned again.

“You’re wet already,” Jonathan whispered. He was incredibly close. “And I’m half-hard…”

Jonathan kept on playing with her nipples and barely with her clit for a while. Clary’s mind was running wild, trying desperately to make sense of the growing wave of desire rising inside of her. It wasn’t hers, it couldn’t be. Jonathan was barely really touching her, and she was getting as turned on as she was when Jace was full-on eating her out.

Jonathan stopped touching her after a moment. In the dark, she could feel he was staring at her.

“You don’t seem very into this,” he whispered. “You’re barely moving and not even touching me.”

He sounded sad. Something inside Clary suddenly screamed at her to kiss him, touch him, make him feel good the way he was making her feel good. Without really knowing why, she listened to the voice.

Clary turned onto her side, reaching for him and clumsily finding his lips. She kissed him hard, open-mouthed. Jonathan’s hands came back to her, cupping her ass with one and holding her close with the other. She wrapped her leg over his hip.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips. Jonathan kissed her back deeply.

Against her hips, his cock was getting harder. The layers of clothing were much thinner than the ones they’d been wearing at the club, and it was obvious the effect she had on him. Clary moaned as the hardness slid against her pubic mound. She was growing much wetter suddenly, like a switch had been turned on when she’d started showing affection back.

The burning desire that had taken over in the club was back. Jonathan rolled them over so Clary was laying on her back. He reached down to pull her top off, and helped her wriggle out of her shorts. He quickly got out of his pants as well.

Moonlight from the window suddenly illuminated his skin as he leaned back on his knees a moment, looming over her. His eyes were dark, staring right at her with hunger and lust. His face, uncomfortably familiar to her, was serious. This was Jonathan, this was her brother. The reminder made Clary’s nausea briefly come back.

She shook her head. The ache in her groin was overwhelming. She couldn’t back out now, or she felt like she would die from frustration. She needed his cock in her as soon as possible. But if she saw his face like this… She didn’t know if she would handle it well.

Clary rolled herself onto her stomach before pushing herself onto her hands and knees.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Like this.”

Jonathan seemed to hesitate for a moment, his hands coming to rest on her hips lightly. Clary bit her lip. She hoped he wouldn’t ask why she suddenly wanted it doggy style.

His fingers tightened on her and he lined up his cock with her pussy before thrusting in hard, suddenly. Clary’s loud moan resounded in the completely silent room. The Seelie Queen could probably hear her.

Jonathan was groaning slightly behind her, giving her some time to adjust. Clary was breathing hard. His cock was big and filled her perfectly, going deep inside of her. It was everything she needed, everything she wanted. He fit perfectly inside of her, like she was made for his cock.

Clary closed her eyes. “Come on,” she whispered. Get it over with .

Jonathan pulled out and she whined quietly. The sound coming out of her mouth made her flush with shame. “J-”

She’d started saying his name but he impaled her suddenly. Her groan was much louder than her earlier moan had been. He started fucking her then, strong, deep strokes, not the fast and shallow pace he’d had in the club. He was taking his time and she felt every inch of his cock slide in and out.

“You feel so good, my sweet sister,” Jonathan groaned behind her. Clary shuddered at that.

She kept her eyes shut, and tried to remember the last time Jace had fucked her from behind. He had told her it was one of his favorite positions for rougher things, and she’d agreed to try it out. It had been incredibly hot and fun. She tried to tune out Jonathan’s voice and replace it with Jace’s. For a moment, it worked.

It worked so well that Clary came without even thinking, and she screamed out the name of her lover. Jace .

Jonathan stopped fucking her. Clary’s eyes opened wide. Fuck. What had she done?

Jonathan pulled out of her and she whined at the loss. Her orgasmic bliss was ruined by the knowledge she’d fucked up, that she’d said the wrong name, that Jonathan was going to be so mad at her that he probably wouldn’t come close to her again.

Jonathan’s hands were harsh on her, grabbing her and flipping her over roughly.

“What the fuck?” he asked. His face was distorted by pain and rage and Clary started babbling apologies without meaning to.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Jonathan, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry-”

Clary felt like she couldn’t breathe. She looked up at Jonathan, lit by moonlight, his pale skin glowing and his red hair looking almost black. He looked so incredibly hurt. Clary bit her lip, looking up at him. For a second, she was afraid of what he would do to her. He’d never really tried to hurt her, but this… For some reason, this was worse than anything she’d ever done to him.

She reached up to him. Her hand slid over his torso, up the smooth skin to his face. She cupped his cheek, sitting up to look at him, in the dark.

“Please, forgive me.”

“Why did you let me in?” Jonathan snapped. “Why did you ask me to fuck you, if you don’t want it?”

Clary swallowed. “I want you. But you’re my brother.”

Jonathan nodded. “I am.” He looked at her a little more. “You… you could tell me no. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Clary felt the hurt growing through her, his hurt, his pain. She shifted, moving in closer, until they were both kneeling on the bed in mirroring positions. Her hand was still on his cheek, caressing the slightly stubbly skin there.

“I know,” she whispered. “I… I’m sorry.”

Jonathan wrapped an arm around her and brought her close. She leaned against the touch, despite the growing awkwardness.

“I’ll do anything, I’m so sorry,” Clary added before he could start anything. “Anything you want to do to me, I’ll do.”

Jonathan’s breath hitched. “I want to fuck you, and I want you to look at me the entire time. No Jace, no proxy, nothing, you and me. You feel shame, but… this is just sex. You want me, I want you, the other way around, the bond… the bond needs us to be close.”

Clary swallowed. “No one can know.”

Jonathan looked at her. “We fucked in a crowded club three hours ago.”

Clary felt her face get warm at that. They had. They had done that in front of seelies and mundanes and werewolves and maybe warlocks too, and even though she hoped they wouldn’t say anything to anyone, she knew that was too much to ask.

Jonathan’s hands slipped down to her ass, then lower, and he picked her up slightly, manhandling her until she was back to laying on her back on the bed, looking up at him. There was a tenderness in his face that she didn’t think she’d seen in him before.

“You okay?” he asked. “I won’t do anything if you don’t want it.”

Clary didn’t know how to reply. She felt soft and warm and though it wasn’t the burning desire of earlier, it was something. Something deep, like a low fire. Clary nodded. “I’m okay.”

Jonathan pushed her legs apart, settling in between them. He draped himself over her and his face was level with hers, his eyes staring right into hers. He was growing harder, his desire starting up again as he held himself over her. As if in response, she felt herself grow wet.

He angled himself so the head of his cock was pressing at her entrance and slid in. It was not like the other times. This time he went slow and deliberate. Clary and he moaned in unison.

Instinctively, she wrapped herself around him, bringing him closer. The change of angle made him slide in just a little deeper inside of her. Clary gasped. She wanted him to move, to fuck her, to make the pleasure rise and rise until she forgot who he was, what she was doing, why they were like this.

He didn’t. Jonathan just looked at her. His eyes were so incredibly blue when she saw them up close like this. It was the one way in which he didn’t really look like the rest of their family. His eyes. Unless he was giving into his demon powers, they were clear and blue and Clary lost herself in them.

His chest was pressed against hers, hard and flat. She traced his sides gently. He shuddered against her. There was no escaping him now, not when they were like this, embraced so tightly. Their breaths mingling as they stared at each other. His cock sheathed deep inside of her.

He filled her perfectly, even more so than before. Clary’s pussy clenched around him, desperate for some sort of motion, some sort of friction. Like this, it was overwhelmingly not enough pleasure. It was like being teased ruthlessly but denied the actual thing that would give her pleasure.

“Please,” Clary whimpered.

Jonathan didn’t move. He just stared and waited, his eyes mapping her face.

Clary groaned a little, in frustration. “Please… please move.”

“Say my name,” Jonathan said. He was firm, unwavering.

The tone alone made Clary shiver, her pussy clenching around him again. She couldn’t help herself. No matter how hard she wanted to run away from this. No matter how hard she wanted to keep pretending this wasn’t happening, it was turning her on.

How could he not care about what they were doing? How could he be so… casual about the horror of this act? Clary couldn’t understand why he wasn’t crumbling under the same shame she felt.

He still wasn’t moving. “Say my name, Clary, or I’m never going to touch you again.”

No. He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t stay away from her. Clary’s eyes went wide, her arms tightening around his torso. No. Even trying to imagine not being close to him, not feeling his body against hers, was filling her with dread and sorrow at this very moment. It was wrong, so horribly wrong, so incredibly foreign.

She recognized that feeling, the same one that had fuelled her rage at Jace in the club, when he’d tried to take her away from Jonathan. That terrible fear of being away from her brother. From half of her soul, from the one thing that gave her a place in this world. The one person that kept her from floating away into nothingness, forever alone and orphan… That was what had made her push Jace away. And what had made her pull Jonathan closer.

“Jonathan,” she breathed out, barely a whisper.

Jonathan smiled. “Clary.”

He pulled out of her. She missed the feeling of him immediately and grabbed at him, her nails digging into his skin, her entire being refusing to be away. He thrusted back into her, to the hilt.

“Jonathan!” Clary moaned.

“Yes,” he praised. “Say it.”

The clearness of his eyes was now dark desire. He started moving in earnest, his thrusts still relatively slow but deep, hard, claiming. Clary moaned and gasped, repeating his name over and over.

He picked up the pace. His skin was glistening with sweat, his eyes never leaving hers. Suddenly he moved, leaning down to kiss her, claiming her lips now.

Clary kissed him back. For the moment of that kiss, she closed her eyes, but this time it wasn’t Jace she saw. It was just him. Jonathan. He was the only thing she could think about. The only person she cared about right now.

He was merciless in his thrusting, never letting up. Clary writhed underneath him. Suddenly he shifted, changing the angle involuntarily. Clary came. She screamed his name, her hands leaving tracks of blood down his back.

Jonathan came inside of her right after, shouting her name as well. Clary panted underneath him, feeling his body get slightly heavier on top of her, his bare skin slick with sweat and blood underneath her hands. She rested on the mattress, unmoving and exhausted, the feeling of his cock still inside of her almost distant.

She’d never come this hard before, so hard she thought she was losing her mind.

The sound of a stele reactivating a rune resounded in the relative silence of the room. She shifted. Inside of her, Jonathan’s softening cock started growing hard again.

“Stamina rune?” Clary asked. Her voice was quiet.

“I’m not done fucking you yet,” Jonathan whispered. “If you want to.”

Clary found herself unable to say no.

They kept going for hours. Clary lost count of the number of orgasms from both her and him, lost count of the number of stamina runes they used. Lost count of the time spent in bed with him. If anything other than him had mattered before, it surely didn’t now. All she cared about was him.

They barely changed positions, holding each other close and looking into each other’s eyes as they screamed each other’s names over and over and over again. Clary stopped thinking about anything. When she fell asleep hours later, their bed humid with sweat, hours worth of his come dripping out of her steadily and without stopping, the only thing in her mind was Jonathan.

[theycallmebecca]

If you are taking requests :) I’d like a "Really? This is the moment you choose to tell me that you love me?" w C.Evans, please :)

Hi there lovely people! Here is another drabble for you guys! As of me drafting this (early AM), I have received 24 of 25 prompts. However, because I am so close and I don’t want to discourage anyone who wants to submit a prompt because of the 1 spot remaining, I have decided to accept any prompts I get from people who haven’t submitted a prompt yet until 4 PM my time (7 PM eastern time). So this is your last chance if you haven’t submitted a prompt yet! At the scheduled time of this story posting, 2 PM, you’ve still got 2 hours!

Since Tumblr can sometimes be a brat about links, I will reblog this post with a link to the masterlist, prompt list and tags.

Title: Great Heights

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Prompt #: 24 - “Really? This is the moment you choose to tell me that you love me?”

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

The plane engine’s roar made it hard to hear as you and Chris waited to jump. You still weren’t sure you wanted to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, but Chris was all for it.

“It’s a crazy rush,” he insisted. “You want to scream and puke at the same time.”

Neither of those two things had made you want to jump, but now you were in the plane and it was almost at jumping altitude.

“HEY!” Chris shouted as he gestured from across the plane from you. “I LOVE YOU!”

Your mouth dropped in shock and you yelled back the first thing that came to mind. “REALLY?! THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU CHOOSE TO TELL ME THAT YOU LOVE ME?”

Before he could reply, the door to the plane opened and it was time to jump.

Chris blew you a kiss before he and his jumping partner left the plane.

You were seething at the way he’d chosen to declare his love for you. What if one of you died? What if both of you died? You hated him for doing this to you.

And then it was your turn to jump out of the plane and you didn’t hesitate. All you wanted to do was get to the ground and clobber Chris.

All thoughts of Chris left your mind as you left the plane and started to fly, or so it seemed. Adrenaline surged through your body and you found yourself deliriously happy.

When the parachute opened, you were almost disappointed. The rest of the way to the ground was a slower pace, but it allowed you to marvel at the beauty around you.

The landing went smoothly and your jump partner helped you get unhooked from all the equipment. It was only as your breath truly caught up with you and you saw Chris headed your way, that you remembered his declaration.

You met him halfway, but instead of giving him the kiss you knew he was expecting, you pounded your fists on his chest.

“Why??? Why would you do it that way?” You demanded not bothering to keep your voice quiet. “WHY?!”

“It was the only way to make sure you got off the plane,” he confessed, annoyingly unphased by your assault.

“You could have told me later,” you insisted. “Why did it have to be right then?”

“Because that was the only way to get you here without a big fuss,” he said as he grabbed one of your fists and spun you around so your back was towards him.

“Oh, Chris,” you breathed in awe at what you saw. Somehow, he had arranged for the two of you to land near a field of wildflowers where he’d had a sunset picnic setup for the two of you.

“Still mad at me?” He asked, in a teasing tone.

“Tell me again,” you whispered as you turned back towards him.

“I love you,” he said and then he kissed you.

[caspersickfanfics]

Novemetober: Rescheduled

I will be taking requests for the following Novemetober prompts for February until they are filled! I recommend sending asks ASAP to ensure I have time to write them, and to make sure I don't start writing something else for that day first.

Daily Prompts

1. Sharing a receptacle [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno & Tighnari]

2. Can’t stop puking [COMPLETE | Sick Alhaitham]

3. Bad news = bad stomach [SKIP]

4. Messy [COMPLETE | Sick Kaveh]

5. Undesirable caretaker [TENTATIVELY | Sick Alhaitham]

6. Post-adrenaline puking [COMPLETE | Sick Tighnari]

7. Too feverish to think [IN PROGRESS | Sick Cyno]

8. Choose: Loud or silent [COMPLETE | Sick Bachira]

9. Persistent sickness [IN PROGRESS | Sick Cheng Xiaoshi]

10. Ill with an audience [SKIP]

11. Totally drained/exhausted [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno]

12. Group sickfic [OPEN]

13. Professionalism failure [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno]

14. Can’t keep anything down [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno]

15. Free day [IN PROGRESS | Sick Tighnari]

16. Waking up puking [IN PROGRESS | Sick Lu Guang]

17. Sick for the first time [IN PROGRESS | Sick Cyno]

18. Unfamiliar surroundings [IN PROGRESS | Sick Tighnari]

19. Sick in more ways than one [COMPLETE | Sick Kaveh]

20. Late caretaker [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno]

21. Sleepy sickie [COMPLETE | Sick Cyno]

22. Out of character / Visibly Ill [TENTATIVELY | Sick Alhaitham]

23. Subtle support [OPEN]

24. Panic [COMPLETE | Sick Tighnari]

25. Cranky sickie [COMPLETE | Sick Kaveh]

26. Nonverbal illness indicators [OPEN]

27. Head pain/injury/ache [IN PROGRESS | Sick Tighnari]

28. Chaotic body temperature [IN PROGRESS | Sick Cyno]

29. Fake “Faking it” [IN PROGRESS | Sick Ito]

Alternative Prompts

1. Motion sick [SKIP]

2. Sick during transit [OPEN]

3. Unconventional receptacle [OPEN]

4. Torture (literal or figurative) [IN PROGRESS]

5. Shaky/shivery [IN PROGRESS]

[unityghost]

Keeping Time

Part 23 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Yes, I need a social life. This story contains non-graphic references to pretty screwed-up violent scenarios. I am, in Gabriel's words, a "sadistic beast."

This story is based on the following suggestions:

1. Hi. Long time stalker of your stories here and I really should've dropped a review long ago. Love this series so much and I get excited when I see you post it. You mention Sam's trauma and how it relates to Gabe... This fic makes me want a scene where Gabe is able to help Sam through a nightmare or flashback. He might feel less useless or indebted to Sam as well as proving he can power through some of his stuff to help Sam. (WinchesterKarma67, Fanfiction.net)

2. "Now I really just want to see Sam get triggered hard core in front of Gabriel, and Gabe trying really hard to take care of him the same way." (Kim, Archive)

Thank you guys for the suggestions! I'm not taking any prompts or requests at the moment, unfortunately, because I have quite a few.

Thanks for reading!

“I feel weird,” said Gabriel.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and peered down at him. “How so?”

“I feel almost …” Gabriel lifted his head from the pillow. “Well-rested?”

Sam’s face brightened. “Nothing bothered you last night?”

“I don’t remember dreaming at all.”

“Gabriel, that’s great! But listen, when was the last time you had anything to eat?”

Gabriel snorted. “Maybe you can forget about the fancy overpriced CBD flaxseed bar you force-fed me before bed, but I can’t.”

“I thought we could have breakfast together. That’s why I came in to wake you up. We can go before everyone gets out of church for brunch.”

“Well, just because I didn’t puke up your hippy-dippy vegan brick at 3:00 A.M. doesn’t mean I’ll be able to eat. Don’t let your expectations get out of control.”

“I’m not going to get mad if you can’t have anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, I know; I just - anyway, sure, let’s go. Give me a second to make myself presentable.”

Although Gabriel was definitely better this morning, watching Sam exit the room gave him the same chill he experienced in his most desperate moments, the same feeling that perhaps Sam wouldn’t come back - or that when he did, it would be to scold Gabriel, to yell at him for being too attached and endlessly helpless. That was when the fear crept in, so that Gabriel almost began to hope that Sam would leave him alone.

Sam had given Gabriel so much, and still there was the voice in Gabriel’s head, punctuated by kicks to the ribs, stomach, and face: Spoiled rotten; always on your knees whining for more! Because nothing is ever enough for your greedy ass!

Gabriel gritted his teeth and shoved himself from the bed.

There was breakfast with Sam to look forward to. Asmodeus would not be allowed access to this morning.

Once he and Sam were winding through the quiet backroads that led to the diner, Gabriel felt a little more relaxed. But it was inevitable that sometimes - more often than he’d like to admit - these episodes of fear and shame crept out of nowhere and held him in their grasp for the rest of the day.

Sam glanced at him from the driver’s side. “Something wrong?”

Gabriel shook his head, trying to clear it. “‘Course not. Why?”

“You looked kind of upset.”

“Nope, that’s just my resting bitch face.”

Sam was quiet for a while. Then he said, “You know, if something’s bugging you, you can tell me.”

“You’ve made that clear, and somehow I’ve come to believe you.”

“I’m just saying … even if things are going okay. Even if you got a good night’s sleep, or started feeling stronger, or anything like that … I don’t know, I just don’t want you to think you have to be all right even at the best of times.”

Gabriel stared through the window, watching the scenery glide past. “Well, sooner or later, I will be.”

“Of course you - ”

“Sam!” Gabriel shrieked.

Sam slammed on the brakes with a cry of alarm. A boy aged about eight or nine stood frozen in front of the Impala, ogling Sam and Gabriel through the windshield with a combination of shock and satisfaction on his face.

Gabriel turned to glance at Sam, who was already throwing open the door to yell, “Are you out of your mind?”

The boy gave a nervous smile.

Sam glared at him. And there was something strange in his eyes, something Gabriel couldn’t quite identify.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam demanded. “You could’ve gotten killed!”

“I won,” the child declared. “I won the dare and I probably would’ve won even higher if you’d kept on going. I definitely would’ve made it across. Which makes me a champion.”

Gabriel continued to scrutinize Sam’s expression, trying to figure out what lay beneath the incredulity.

Mouth set tight, Sam heaved himself out of the car and strode over to the child, who suddenly looked far less self-confident with Sam towering over him.

Gabriel’s breath caught. He could see the same terrified fury that came to life whenever Gabriel alluded to a desire to hurt himself.

Gabriel unbuckled his seat belt, pushed open the door, and stepped out of the car. “Sam, come on, he was just being stupid.”

“I was being brave,” the little boy objected. “I’m a - ”

“Not a champion, pal. A crackbrained prepubescent nimrod. Go home and meditate on the tender line between courage and recklessness.”

The child opened his mouth to respond, but Gabriel grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him back to the Impala. To the child, he added, “Get your butt home, Evel Knievel.”

Once the two of them were seated again and the child had slunk away, Gabriel turned to Sam. “What’s up, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Sam spat.

Startled, Gabriel leaned away from him. “Did I - ”

“No.” Sam’s face softened. “No, you didn’t do anything. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay; I’m totally fine. Let’s just keep going.”

Gabriel stayed pressed into the door. “You’re not fine. You’re worrying me.”

Sam waved a dismissive hand. “Adrenaline rush, that’s all. You getting hungry yet?”

“Is that a joke? When am I ever hungry? Look, if you’re freaked out by this whole thing, we can go back; you can cram another organically-sourced monstrosity down my throat.”

“No, no, I’m gonna be fine. I mean, I am fine.”

“Sam.” Gabriel reached out to him and Sam jerked away.

“Don’t, Gabriel.” He took a shaky breath. “Just don’t.”

Gabriel wrapped his arms around himself. “All right. Okay. Let’s go if you want to go.”

Sam closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Just - don’t touch me right now, all right?”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t - ”

“Didn’t know, I know. I’m not pissed at you, all right?” When Gabriel didn’t move forward again, Sam snapped, “Just sit up, Gabe. I’m not gonna hit you or anything.”

Gabriel swallowed, heart pounding. Hating himself for his fear, he leaned further backward, tempted to open the door and flee.

Sam’s expression shifted into one of alarm. “Wait, wait, I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He held out his hand, waiting for Gabriel to accept it. After a few moments, Gabriel stretched out shaking fingers and allowed Sam to grip them.

“It’s okay,” Sam repeated quietly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just - I’m sorry. I don’t know where my head is right now.”

Gabriel tried to even out his breathing. “You’re probably more discombobulated than I am, huh? Could use some food?”

Sam gave a faint smile and released Gabriel’s hand to take the wheel again. “Probably, yeah.”

Neither of them said anything more until they had walked through the doors of the eatery and taken a booth together.

Gabriel gazed down at the sloppily cleaned silverware, swallowing against the tightness in his throat, revolted by his own panic.

“Hey.” Sam’s voice was soft. “I was a little freaked out, that’s all. No one’s angry. Not at you. I promise.”

Gabriel’s hands had begun to shake. He lowered them to his lap so that they were hidden underneath the table. “What happened, Sam? What did that do to you?”

“I told you, it was adrenaline.”

“Don’t try to sell me that crap; you face way worse than that at least once a week and I’ve never seen you react like this.”

“I was …” Sam avoided Gabriel’s eyes. “It was nothing.”

Gabriel leaned closer to him and lowered his voice so that only Sam could hear. “He’s not here, you know. Whatever you thought you saw back there, it had nothing to do with Lucifer and everything to do with that little squirt being a dumbass.”

Sam didn’t seem surprised by Gabriel’s intuition. “Reflex. Hard to fight.”

“Understood. Look up at me, macho-nacho.” Sam didn’t. “All right, I can’t decide if you need caffeine, chamomile, or Corona, but let’s get you something to bring you back to the present.”

“I’m all here.”

“You’re miles away. I have eyes, ears, and common sense. Can you tell me what - ”

“Boys.”

The two of them looked up as a young waitress with sharp features and red hair hair cropped short slid menus in front of them. “Anything to drink, fellas?”

“Coffee for me,” Gabriel told her, “And lemonade for my partner in crime. As you can see, he’s showing all the classic signs of low blood sugar. Shaky, spacey, practically see-through.”

The waitress frowned. “Well Jesus honey, you need me to get a doctor on site?”

“No,” Sam said hastily. “No, I’ll be fine. But uh, lemonade would be great. Coffee too.”

“Copy that. I’ll have it right out.”

As she hustled toward the kitchen, Sam turned to face Gabriel. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“Let me feel your pulse,” Gabriel replied.

“What?”

“Let me feel your pulse and then look me in the eye and tell me I shouldn’t worry about you.”

“You should eat something is what you should do.”

“I’ll eat anything you want me to just as soon as I’ve got some indication of how I can bring you out of this.” Sam didn’t answer, and Gabriel’s tone grew desperate. “I know, Sam. I know what it’s like to be trapped in your own head. And I can’t - ” Gabriel cleared his throat. “I can’t watch you go through it. I mean, I know I’ve seen it before and I promise this has nothing to do with me not being able to handle what you talk about. In fact, you don’t have to talk about anything. I’m not asking for that. I’m asking what I can do. Because I know I can do something.”

“Look, Gabe - ”

But it was then that the waitress placed a tall glass of pink lemonade in front of Sam, followed by a donut drenched in powdered sugar. “On the house,” she told them, and then set down two mugs of coffee.

“Many thanks,” said Gabriel. “He’ll be up and at ‘em as soon as he guzzles that down.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, and left them alone once more.

Sam took his butter knife and cut the donut in half. “Here.”

Gabriel accepted his piece. “I’ll eat this if you tell me what I can do to help you.”

“What do you think you can do?” Sam sounded frustrated again. “I just have to let it pass. And I’ll be fine. I will. This happens all the time.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring. Listen, I used to think the same thing: let the pain run its course. And it works, am I right? It works when you do nothing to intervene. But when somebody steps in, it doesn’t have to last for hours on end.”

“It’s not going to last for hours.”

“It’s already gone on too long.”

“So what do you want from me?” Sam was edging toward anger. “Do you want me to tell you everything? The way you hate when I ask you to do the same thing? Huh?”

“That isn’t what I meant. Sam, I … I’m not … ”

He’s not violent. He’s afraid.

Gabriel took a deep breath.

He won’t hurt me. Not in front of all these people. No. No, not ever.

“It’s just,” Gabriel muttered, “I know I can’t fix it, but I want to make it better.”

Sam gave a derisive laugh. “‘Better’?”

Gabriel stared down at his half of the donut, suddenly sick to his stomach. “I don’t want to see you struggling, especially not over something like what happened to me.” He raised his eyes. “You understand, Sam?”

Sam continued to glare at him. Abruptly, Gabriel got to his feet.

Sam looked startled. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I uh, I thought - I thought you might - I don’t know.” He sat down again. “I thought you might want me to leave.”

“No.” Sam sounded bewildered.

“Then stop.” Gabriel’s voice shivered. “Please. Please.”

Sam shut his eyes, trying to calm himself down. “I’m sorry. It isn’t you, I just …”

“Have a temper you try to control around me. An effort that doesn’t go unnoticed. Look, Sam - not to thicken the already lavishly decorated soap script we have going, but I care about you. I care about what’s ravaging your brain. Because if anyone knows how much those memories suck, how fast they can drain the life out of you and make you feel totally gone and like no one else is there, and everything is dark and broken - you’ve got me for that, even if you don’t want to talk. It’s like when I don’t want to say anything to you. That doesn’t always matter, does it? What matters when I’m like you are now is that you’re the only one who doesn’t seem like some contorted, sinister version of himself. And I’m the safe one here when everything else feels like it did in Hell. When things feel different, and gross, and untrustworthy, and some twisted parody of what’s supposed to be safe. It’s me, Sam. I’m here to keep you safe. Exactly the way you do for me.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not your responsibility.”

“No, it’s not. I know that. I know because you’ve already told me thousands of times and I trust you enough to assume that you’re probably onto something. But do you really believe that after everything you’ve done for me - when you find me on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night too weak to even keep my head over the toilet bowl, when you lie in bed with me just in case it happens again, when you let me hold your hand where other people can see - you think that after all of that, I’m callous enough to let you bleed out on your own?”

Sam folded his hands on the table. His fingers twitched. “What if it hurts you?”

“Then don’t give any specifics if you don’t want to; just let me - let me - I don’t know, can I come over there and hug you?”

That took Sam by surprise. “Yeah, sure.”

Gabriel moved around to the other side of the table and wrapped his arms around Sam, who returned the embrace and, after a moment’s deliberation, rested his head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“You are unyielding and unreasonable,” Gabriel told him, “And it’s stupid that you care about others more than you care about yourself. It’s stupid that you can give me what you do and still think you should just hole up in your room and panic without anyone there to wait it out with you. How would you feel if any of us put ourselves through that? You know I’ve done it, and frankly I can’t imagine Dean hasn’t too. And Castiel? There’s no conceivable way that my brother hasn’t taken his fair share of breakdowns and crammed them into a moldy cabinet somewhere no one ever thinks to look. And if you’re in pain, if you’re hurting because of what happened to you, don’t lock yourself away from me.” He strengthened his grip. “Just let me help you, Sam.”

Sam didn’t reply, and neither of them said anything for a few minutes. Gabriel didn’t try to pull away: he knew what it felt like to have to let go before he was ready.

Then Sam muttered into his ear, “Just tell me when you think you it’s too much, all right?”

“You got it, Sam.”

At last, Sam eased himself upright. Where his face had been pale before, he now looked flushed and feverish. “All right. So …”

Gabriel waited.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked again.

“I’m sure.”

Sam hesitated, perhaps sifting through the potential repercussions - both for himself and for Gabriel - of explaining what was wrong.

Then, in a slow, cautious tone of voice: “I’m not really sure what I thought I’d be. In terms of life outside hunting, I mean. But in my head I - the idea of having a normal life after college, with a wife and kids and … and just forgetting everything else - I didn’t know if I wanted it; sometimes I think maybe I was just jumping from one extreme to the other. You know - the life of a hunter versus the life of some corncob-pipe husband and dad.” He paused. “But that’s the thing. I really did spend a lot of time thinking a lot about what it might be like to get married and have kids. Just get the chance to be a - a person, you know?” Sam picked at a sticky splotch on the table. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been the best thing for me. There’s no way of ever figuring that out now. And no need to wonder, I guess; no point in missing what I never had, and what maybe I didn’t really want after all. But …”

Sam stopped again, and this time he seemed to be wrestling with the urge to cry.

Gabriel didn’t intervene. Sam could be the one to decide if he wanted to say more.

“Most days,” Sam went on when he was ready, “I don’t think about it. I can’t. Because it won’t happen, ever. It’s too late for - for - crap - ” He used the heels of his hands to wipe his eyes. “Yeah, sorry, um - it’s just - Lucifer knew. He could get inside my head, easily. He could see everything.” Sam swallowed. “And he showed me what it might have been like - me, and the woman I loved, and … and the kids we might’ve had.”

Gabriel’s chest tightened. That shouldn’t have been taken away from Sam.

“He’s nothing if not thorough,” Sam continued. “Didn’t exactly make me believe it was really happening. I never thought I was out and free or it had all been a dream or whatever. He was with me the entire time, just letting me watch things play out. The life I thought I wanted. The life I thought I probably would’ve had. It took a while. I just stood and watched. I couldn’t stop watching. Because there she was, and the kids too, and I … just in those few minutes of watching them, I got to know them so well.” He took in harsh breaths through his nose.

“Easy does it,” said Gabriel. “Here.” He offered Sam the glass of lemonade. Sam accepted and took a few sips before going on.

“I remember exactly what they looked like, and their names too. There were three of them. Um - and - you know, I thought he probably just meant to torment me with, ‘Look what you missed out on; look at all the mistakes that erased this from your life. Look at every idiotic decision you made that took you away from what you never even deserved.’”

Gabriel recoiled. “Is that what he said to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does; did he trash-talk you like that?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk about the weather. So anyway, I figured that was his goal: to force me into bystander status for what might’ve been mine. But then - then he - we - ”

“Wait.” Gabriel gripped his shoulder. “Wait. Slow down. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm. If you don’t want to say what happened then you don’t have to. I get it; spilling the truth can make things worse, not better. So don’t push yourself.”

Sam’s face had taken on a peculiar mix of terror and weariness. “I’ve never brought it up before. Now’s as good a time as any, right? And for my sake, I guess, I’m glad you understand. Not sure anyone else could.”

“I do. And I know going over it, out loud - sometimes it’s the worst thing, and sometimes it’s the best.”

Sam shuddered in Gabriel’s grasp. “Yeah, so anyway, he - um - it wasn’t just dragging me down a would-be memory lane. It ended with him - with - ” Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “When I was afraid maybe I was gonna hurt that stupid little kid - ”

Gabriel slid his hand off of Sam’s shoulder. “Oh no. Sam, no.”

“ - I thought about the knife in my hand, and what it felt like to - ”

“No, Sam - oh God - ”

Sam shrugged a shoulder to discreetly wipe his face on his sleeve. “Too much?”

Yes, Gabriel wanted to say, but not because it brought up memories for him. It was simply that he couldn’t stomach the image of Sam being coerced into something so depraved, something that would break him over and over again for the rest of his life.

“Okay,” Gabriel breathed. “Okay, listen. Let’s do the math here: the kid that ran in front of the car? He’s an idiot. Like all children have been since the beginning of time. Take my word for it, Sam: that much has never changed. He didn’t get hurt. Not at all. And more importantly, this has nothing to do with Lucifer. He isn’t here. Okay? He’s not. I’m here. Right here.”

Sam nodded, eyes lowered and full of tears.

“Sammy, you got stuck with the annoying archangel, not the bully. Here, have some more of this.” He nudged the glass of lemonade toward Sam, but Sam shook his head.

“Do you get it too?” Gabriel asked. “Feeling like you gotta throw up?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you want to go home?”

Sam blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

“Come on, you.” Gabriel guided him to his feet. “I would offer to drive but frankly I don’t know if I remember how.”

Sam wiped his eyes. “It’s fine. I can drive.”

“Are you sure? Because we could get Cas over here. ”

“I don’t want him to see. Can we keep this just between us?”

“I never assume otherwise. But you know they’d understand, right?”

“Yeah, but this just … isn’t the right time.”

Gabriel wondered if that time would ever come.

Sam left a handful of bills on the table. The waitress caught Gabriel’s eye, glanced at the nearly-full glass, and frowned.

“Hold on,” Gabriel said to Sam, and went over to her. He lowered his voice. “Poor guy just ain’t feeling well. Stomach virus or something. Gonna get him home and resting stat.”

She looked crestfallen. “Wish there was something I could do.”

“Hey, you were a real help. Thank you. And don’t worry, I’m pretty sure he caught it from me. The least I can do is show him a little TLC.”

She smiled. “Make sure he stays hydrated.”

“Don’t you worry. I know exactly how to get him back on his feet. Learned it all from him.”

The drive back home was slow, but smooth. Sam was being careful, Gabriel realized, afraid of another near-tragedy with an impulsive child.

Then, just a few minutes from home, he pulled off to the side of the road and sucked in a shaky gasp of air.

Gabriel leapt out of the car and scurried around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and helped Sam lean forward to vomit on the pavement.

He kept his hand on the back of Sam’s neck while Sam choked, heaving deep breaths and spitting out bile. When Sam raised his eyes to meet Gabriel’s, neither of them spoke.

Gabriel returned to the passenger side and climbed in. The remainder of the drive was silent.

Once they were back in the bunker, Gabriel gestured for Sam to follow him. “Come into my room. Let’s hang out.”

A little uncertain, Sam did as Gabriel asked. When they reached the bedroom, he said, “You don’t gotta take care of me in here. Or anywhere else.”

“What a relief. I thought I was contractually obligated.” Gabriel sat on the bed. “ Christ on a crabcake, Sam. If your room can be my recovery chamber, then mine can be yours.”

With some reluctance, Sam closed the door and sat next to Gabriel. They were quiet.

“It’s okay, you know,” Gabriel said at last. “That kid is gonna be fine. You didn’t hurt him.”

Sam swallowed. “Um. No. Honestly, I … no.”

“No what?”

“No, it’s … it’s not okay. It really just …” Sam’s face was pale, his features tight and nervous.

“I know,” Gabriel answered softly. “I just meant that it’s more okay than it used to be.” He paused. “But I know the feeling. That you’re not really out. That maybe it would’ve been easier just to stay.”

At this, Sam looked perplexed. “What?”

“Because then you can avoid having to calculate what’s real and what isn’t. Drains a lot of energy, doesn’t it? Sam, you’ve seen how I get when someone even blinks at me the wrong number of times. ‘They’re gonna scream at me. They’re gonna start beating the living shish kebab out of me and then they’ll - ’”

“Stop. None of us would do that to you.”

“And that’s the crisis right there, isn’t it?” Gabriel squeezed fistfuls of the bedcovers in an attempt to steady himself. “Trying to disentangle the new truth from the old truth. With Asmodeus, things were simple: all it took was a couple of footsteps from outside the cell and I knew exactly what to expect. But now? When I hear you, or Castiel, or Dean, or Jack - any one of you guys could waltz past my door in the middle of the night and it takes effort to really feel that it’s you, even when I'm perfectly aware that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve got Winston Smith syndrome, Sam. I just can’t make two and two equal five. It’s all a tangle of ‘you’ll be fine’ and ‘no you won’t’ and ‘you should hate yourself’ and ‘no you shouldn’t.’ And then … and then questions. ‘Why not hate yourself?’ ‘Because Sam’ll be mad if you do.’ ‘Why can’t you just accept that you’re safe now?’ ���Because - ’” Gabriel took a shivery breath. “‘Because you’re not.’”

“Gabriel - ”

“Anyway, what can I do to make this better for you?”

“You’re making it better by letting me spend time in here.”

“‘Letting’ you. It’s a real drag but I’m a giver.”

Unexpectedly, Sam smiled. “You seem comfortable.”

“I what?”

“You seem to enjoy switching roles.”

Gabriel held up a hand. “You lost me. Because only a sadistic beast would enjoy watching you suffer. Lucifer is somehow the first to come to mind.”

“That’s not what I mean, Gabriel. I know you.”

“You know me better than anyone should have to.”

“What I’m trying to say is I know how badly you want to be useful. How you feel like you have to repay us for letting you stick around.”

“Also the fact that you’ve had to buy extra bags of coffee to make up for so many sleepless nights.”

“Like I’ve always said, none of us wants you to feel that way. Like you need to make up for being in pain. I just wanted to tell you that I think …” Sam took a moment to reflect on how to phrase his thoughts. “I think this is what you’re really good at. What you seem to be at ease doing. I just thought you should know that even if it doesn’t matter to me what you can do, this is the best thing you could ever give us. The best thing you could ever give me.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure how to reply. So he said, “I’m just glad I can play my part. I don’t care what you knuckleheads tell me; I’m in no position to keep bellyaching to Nurse Winchester without doing something to thank you.”

“Sure. Right. Because that’s the most important thing to all of us. You know, keeping around our all-purpose tool that I guess we’ve accidentally grown attached to.”

“I think I’m supposed to laugh.”

“I’m not serious, if that’s what you’re asking. All I’m trying to say is, this is something to remind yourself of when you’re … when you get how you get about your role here.”

“Hmm. Well. I’m just sorry you caught on to the fact that Mary Poppins in my secret identity. In any case, Sam, I’m only taking a leaf out of your CV. I know what works for me. I don’t know how to help you, not really, but I’m also not going to watch. I don’t think I could live with myself if I had to stand outside your door waiting for you to recover.”

Sam sighed. “I’ll be okay. I will. Really. I’m just … I’m not right now.”

“Hey, listen.” Gabriel moved his hand, hesitated, and then took Sam’s. “If all this torture - not the before, but the after - has taught me anything, it’s that ‘right now’ is the most important time of your life. And mine. And part of your ‘right now’ is that you’re out of there. So am I. We’re both safe.”

Sam didn’t reply.

“I’m the last person to take advice from,” Gabriel continued, “But it’s not that I don’t understand your tips about telling myself over and over again that everything’s okay. I just haven’t got the choreography down.”

“Well,” said Sam, “Sometimes the best way to learn the ropes is to teach someone else.”

“All right, we’ve spent enough time on me. Tell me what you need.”

Sam stiffened and slid his hand away. “I don’t need anything. I mean - you’re doing more than enough, so don’t worry.”

“There has to be something. When you ask me that question, sometimes I hold back.”

Sam hunched his shoulders. “Gabriel …”

Gabriel waited.

Sam met his gaze. “I just need those kids to be okay. I need to change what happened.”

Gabriel almost replied with But you can’t before realizing that that would be anything but helpful.

Sam didn’t need a reality check. Sam didn’t need to be reassured that none of it had actually taken place - not when he already understood that. Sam didn’t need to be told that things were all right now, that he was safe.

Because they weren’t, and he wasn’t.

“You know how it is,” Sam barreled on, “When you see a little kid and they don’t have any idea about anything? Have you ever had to watch a kid learn about death?”

“I once infiltrated a Catholic School disguised as a nun so that I could teach the headmaster a thing or two about kicking some dude out for wearing nail polish to Mass. And let me tell you, they give those rascals quite the G-rated version of Heaven. And the PG-13 version of Hell - they get some things right, and some things wrong, and if they have anything to say about it the kids are all headed to Hell for the wrong reasons. And don’t even get me started on the purity club and its abstinence-only community outreach.

“Anyway, yes, I watched the kids grapple a little. It’s confusing even if you’re given the black-and-white edition of the afterlife: you die and get to play mahjong with Jesus, or you spend the rest of eternity like I thought I was going to. But kids learn, Sam, and they work with what they’re handed. Except … I know it’s probably not the same watching your own kids learn about death by actually dying. Going from zero to sixty like that, in the most hideous way. You wanted to protect them, and I get it. I just hope you understand you did nothing wrong.” He couldn’t wind an arm around Sam’s shoulders without having to stretch a little, so Gabriel took him by the waist instead.

“No,” said Sam, and Gabriel let go. Sam’s cheeks were flushed with the effort of holding back what Gabriel knew, from experience, would force its way out by any means necessary. “I just - I don’t want you to have to - ”

“It’s all right.

“I, um - I want you to trust me, and if you know I get like this - ”

“What is it you always say to me?” Gabriel’s voice was gentle. “‘Don’t do that Gabe; you’ll make yourself sick trying so hard to keep yourself in one piece.’”

No response.

“Sam,” Gabriel pressed, “No matter how many times you try to hide because you don’t want me exposed to whatever depraved shenanigans you think your own feelings are, it makes me trust you more. I like that you don’t try and stick to a list of signs and symptoms and potential treatments when it comes to helping me. You understand me and everything going on with me because you’ve never escaped either. You’re not a spectator, not an analyst; you’re part of whatever twisted team you and I have been forced to play for.”

Sam looked up at him, jaw tight.

“I trust you,” Gabriel repeated. “I trust everyone here. But I’ll never be able to trust the others as much as I trust you. I hate that you’re like this because you’re the last person to deserve it, but it doesn’t make things worse for me, Sam. It just makes you more … whatever it is you’ve been for me.”

Sam held his gaze for a moment, and then his face crumpled.

“Okay,” Gabriel muttered, pulling him close, “It’s all okay. It is. Or it will be. I’m right here.”

“Nothing’s going to make it okay,” Sam moaned. “Nothing except going back and not hurting them.”

“Ah shit, Sam, I know.”

Sam let out a sob and strengthened his grasp on Gabriel enough that it hurt, but Gabriel wasn’t going to tell him that. “How can I miss what I never even had?”

“Grief plays dirty, Sam. Makes you think you’re crazy.” Gabriel pulled away, taking Sam by the shoulders. “You’re not crazy. Wanting something doesn’t make you crazy.”

Sam gave a strangled laugh. “How is it that applies to me and not to you?”

“It does apply to me! Wanting things makes me - makes me - not crazy. Greedy, and … and spoiled and demanding. Anyway, you’re not crazy for wanting it. For missing it. You’re not, Sam. Especially if it was just around the corner. And if you wanted it then, and you thought it was within reach - ”

“Don’t.” Sam closed his eyes. “Sorry, um, I don’t - I can’t - ”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay.” Gabriel hugged him again. “I know what that’s like, to feel like the only thing that’ll fix what’s wrong is to change what happened. Because it is. That’s not make-believe, Sam. It’s where my mind goes every time you talk about Lucifer. The way he got to fiddle with justice - it’s disgusting. I don’t know why or how or even when he made the stupid choices he did, but evil is evil even when it comes to anyone you thought you could call family. At the end of the day, the only real loose end is how Sam Winchester wound up as target practice. It’s not fair. And if I can’t fix it I don’t know what to do with myself.

“But that’s the thing, Sam: I can’t fix it. Sure enough, Sam’s tone hardened. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Committed to avoiding the debate they’d had countless times, Gabriel went on, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to accept a reality in which my own brother could manhandle your existence like that. I can’t accept a reality that involves my father turning a blind eye to the ending you got.”

“It wasn’t an ending. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“When I think about how you might not have been, I just …”

“Like you said: it’s right now that’s important. And right now I’m a mess but I’m not gone.”

Gone. The word made Gabriel’s flesh crawl. “I need you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Gabriel shivered. “Right, yeah, no, of course. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m … I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth.”

Gabriel broke away again. “I think you should have something to drink. Seeing as you puked up what little of the lemonade you managed, huh?”

“I guess.”

“You want me to go get you some water? Some tea? Some … anything?” Then, feeling desperate: “It’s not enough; I know it’s not enough. I want to give you enough. Son of a bitch, Sam - I want you to be - ”

“I’ll be okay. I’m just not right now. You’ve been there.”

“I’ve been there, and I’m never okay!” Gabriel was tired, he realized, despite how energized he had felt this morning; and the exhaustion was making him weak, giving him a headache, bringing tears to his own eyes. “And you’re not either, and I don’t know how to make that stop, and I hate that I don’t know what to do to help you. To really help you, to - to make you not feel like I feel every day. The idea of you going through that makes me want to scream and start throwing things at the wall. It makes me want to hurt something, Sam. Thinking about you, having to go deal with what I do - those memories of Asmodeus hurt like nothing else has ever hurt, and you’ve seen that, and - and watching it happen to you just slaughters me.”

“There’s no need for you to - ”

“To watch, right, whatever. I’m not saying it doesn’t suck to sit behind home plate. But what did I tell you it would do to me to step away and let you rot inside just for the sake of protecting me? That’s a special kind of torture, Sam. It’s every bit as heavy as the pain of being held prisoner and tormented and abused - losing who you are, or who you could have been - taught that you’re worthless, that you’re nothing but a freak, that you’re only good for what they can do to you - ”

“Easy, easy, calm down.” Sam rubbed his back. “Don’t worry so much about me, Gabriel. Of course it gets bad. Exhibit A, right? But this is just an off day, I promise.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth, although any effort to maintain control of himself had been wasted; and he hated that Sam had to see him like this when Sam was the one suffering, when Sam was the one who needed the chance to let go of what he felt so compelled to hide.

Voice hoarse, Gabriel said, “When it comes back to haunt you again and again - I mean yes, the present is what matters. But sometimes the memory feels like it’s part of the present, and … and I wish I could give you something different. Not just help, not just comfort. You deserve more than that.”

“So do you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel wanted to object, but he knew Sam would try to convince him otherwise. “You don’t belong to him. And the future you could’ve had doesn’t belong to him either. Whatever you wanted or needed or regretted or missed - he could play with it, but it was never his to keep.”

“Yeah, well … it doesn’t feel that way. Hey, listen, not to change the subject but - ”

“So don’t.”

“- I was wondering how you’ve been feeling lately. You’ve gone sort of quiet the last few days.”

“Quiet as in there’s been no encore since last week’s midnight performance?”

“You haven’t said much. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Gabriel looked away. There had been so many nightmares, so many instances of waking up sweaty and nauseated and confused and wanting Sam. But after that episode of rousing the entire bunker with frantic screams for help, he was determined to leave them all in peace. It was nothing short of miraculous that the previous night had brought no horrors to the surface. “Not right now.”

“Are you sure? After that last dream you had, you seemed to kind of shut down.”

“Nobody’s shutting down, compañero. A glitch here and there isn’t a big deal.”

Sam surveyed him. “All right. Just … let me know.”

Gabriel pushed himself to his feet. “I’m hydrating you. Per the Sam Winchester manual of rehabilitation. Wait here.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Nope, no, shut up and stay sitting. That’s an order, not a request.”

Gabriel moved to the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet. He gazed down at it, reading the scratches and chips and smudges.

He gripped it tight.

It was then, leaning up against the sink, empty cup in hand, that Gabriel found himself sobbing uncontrollably.

He was anything but eager to dwell on the distant past. He knew that if he were to study an old version of himself, he would either grieve for what he could never be again or be forced to grapple with the notion that there had not been a time in which Gabriel was worth anything at all.

Despite this, he remembered how differently he’d felt all those years ago, before he’d really known Sam - and, perhaps, before he’d really known Lucifer. He remembered how simple it was to scrawl in the margins of another person’s destiny in order to smooth the edges of the bigger picture. He remembered that it made sense to push for resolution.

That Gabriel couldn’t have imagined a future stained with the kind of torture Asmodeus had put him through. That Gabriel couldn’t have recognized how Sam would help him deal with the aftermath, and that his ability to coax Gabriel out of his worst moments came partly from the atrocities of which that Gabriel couldn’t have imagined his own brother capable.

The Gabriel of today, the Gabriel of right now, was desperate not to believe that anybody could have broken Sam on purpose. Of course having a family member as the culprit added an element of disappointment and disgust, but not confusion. Gabriel had long been aware of Lucifer’s wickedness and appetite for violence.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who had tortured Sam: that anyone had done so was too much for Gabriel to accept.

There was no stopping the tears, not at this point. Not after everything they had just discussed.

Gabriel was sick of tears. No matter how many times Sam insisted that there was nothing wrong with being fragile, Gabriel hated himself for his own weakness.

Now he would bring Sam the water, and Sam would be astonished by what had happened between Gabriel’s coming and going. Sam would try to soothe him, and Gabriel would allow it.

Sam was right: these stories were more than Gabriel could take on alone.

He wondered, filling Sam’s glass with trembling hands, if he could be there for Sam without Sam having to reciprocate.

Not yet, Gabriel suspected, and hoped that, before long, the answer would change.