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crimefightingspiderguy · 4 years

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to be so lonely

Summary: “Hi could you do angst spider man x female reader but with fluffy ending please and thank you.” (REQUESTED BY @icequeen2021)

Warnings: Torture is mentioned and injuries do occur. Spoilers for Spider-Man: Far From Home and Avengers: Infinity War & Endgame.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word count: 4,494

A/N: Just as a precaution, I did not proofread this because its almost 4 a.m. here and I really just wanted to get this out to you guys! I hope the requester and everyone else enjoys this, I had a lot of fun writing it. I also wanted to note that this occurs post Spider-Man: Far From Home so since I don't really know who took charge of the Avengers after Tony and Steve's deaths, I just assumed it was Sam/Falcon/Captain America for the purpose of this fic. Lastly, I'm aware that mutants have yet to be introduced into the MCU, but my guess is that they are going to claim Monica (and now Wanda) from WandaVision as mutants, so I'm running with it in this fic.

“Hello?” Peter’s groggy voice came through the darkness. You stood in the doorway, light now beaming into the room, waking Peter.

“Oh, thank goodness. I had… a bad dream. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You were one of the newest Avengers and when Peter Parker’s identity was revealed to the world, Sam told you to help him go into hiding, at least until they were sure it was safe for him to stay at the Avengers compound. You were (as you put it) cursed with the ability to see the future. After Hydra had gotten found out about the time stone, they sent you in as a spy to try to find out more about it. You studied under Dr. Strange for a couple of months before he even let you see it. One night, he let you even practice with it. Unfortunately, your genes were predisposed to be mutated, all they needed was the right amount of radiation to kick start them. To touch the stone, was to mutate your genes, triggering your curse. Your new mutation was being able to see into the future. Dr. Strange ended up finding out that Hydra sent you and realizing that they would only turn you into a weapon, he helped you fake your death and sent you to the Avengers, changing your identity and living under the radar. Your mutation was the perfect thing to help Peter while on the run, since you would constantly be one step ahead of your enemies. Peter had the ability to sense danger coming his way, so he thought he would be fine on his own, but you could see farther out into the future and see multiple paths that could occur based on one small choice, so Sam wouldn’t even listen to any of Peter’s protests to having you come along. It’s not that he didn’t want you to come along, because you two were friends, but he didn’t want to put you in extra danger of being seen by Hydra or getting hurt because of him.

“A bad dream or a glimpse into the future?” Peter asked, alert now.

“A bad dream… I think. Let me look again.” You tried to focus on your current path. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But there it was, a small branch that when followed lead to the dream you had. The only choice that had to be made was you turning on the lights to check on Peter, tipping someone watching you off that you were in fact staying here. You quickly opened your eyes and ran out to the living room. You shut off all the lights throughout the whole empty apartment you were “staying” in. You had been moving from place to place so when you found an apartment that was prepped for open house showings, the two of you decided to hang out there until you saw a showing being held and then you would tidy stuff up and ditch the place. Unfortunately, it appeared in this distant future, whoever was following the two of you got a tip that an empty apartment was all the sudden getting activity regularly.

You went back into the room Peter had taken, “Get in the closet, now.” Peter rushed out of the bed and did as he was told. You got into the closet next to him and pulled the door shut. You glimpsed into the future and quickly saw that the person was on their way, they would be there in minutes and one of the places they would in fact check was the closet. Just then, Peter’s skin lit up in goosebumps and you knew it was too late to move him.

“Can you tell who…” Peter began to whisper, but you quickly put a hand over his mouth, seeing they were about to walk into the front door. Luckily, you had locked it, so they would have to take a minute to pick the lock, so they don’t draw suspicion with a loud bang of breaking the door down.

“I’m going to do something; you have to just trust me. Whatever happens, whatever you hear me say, don’t leave the closet. You understand?” you spoke out low and fast.

“But…”

“Do you understand?” You looked him dead in the eyes, time was ticking.

He nodded. You grabbed one of his extra web shooters from his bag in on the closet floor. You slowly pulled the closet door open and shut behind you, taking one more look at Peter, putting your finger over your mouth as a reminder for him to stay silent. You moved over to the bed Peter was moments ago sleeping soundly on, leaned over to the window above it and opened it wide. You stood on the bed, positioning your body to make it look like you were trying to escape out the window. You stood in your position and waited, silently shooting a web out the window to the building across the street and tossed the shooter underneath the bed. You heard the door finally unlock and slowly creak open. They were most likely assuming the two of you were asleep and had no inclination he was there. After seeing no signs of life in the living room, he began heading for the bathroom. Looking into the future to see if your plan would work, you saw a small issue. If he took his time searching through each room, Peter would eventually sneeze and expose himself. You needed to get the guy out of there now. You looked over to the lamp on the side table on the right of the bed. You kicked it as hard as you could, causing the bulb to shatter on the hard-wood floor as it landed. You cussed in a loud enough to hear whisper and positioned yourself back half-way out the window. The man was now bursting through the bedroom door, first looking to the lamp that caused the sound, then to the person who was clearly trying to escape him.

“Shit Peter, go, go, go! Get out of here!” You shout out to a non-existent Peter outside of the building. “I’ll be fine, go now!” You put on the most panicked look you could while you whipped your head back to the man who was just now putting two and two together. He ran over to the window, yanked you off the ledge and looked outside. He saw the web hanging from the other building across the street, blowing silently in the wind, the web-shooter himself nowhere to be seen. The man’s grip on your arms painfully increased, making it easy for you to keep the pain-filled, scared look on your face.

“That was a very stupid move missy. I’m sure if you’re important enough for him to take on the run, he won’t be leaving you behind for long.” He turned out the window and yelled, “You hear that Spidey? You want the girl, you’ve gotta come and get her.” While his head was turned from you, you looked into the closet just barely able to see Peter’s eyes from the moonlight shining in and across the shutters of the closet. You shook your head slightly as you saw in the near future Peter putting his hand on the door and opening it to come save you.

“He’s not coming back; you might as well save your breath.” You said to the man as he brought his head back inside.

“Why wouldn’t he come back for you? Isn’t that his whole shtick? Saver of the defenseless?”

“Because I told him not to come back. I told him to not look back, so he won’t.”

“What makes you so sure he’ll do what you say?”

“Because if he truly loves me, he won’t come back.” You knew that no one knew of your relationship status with Peter, especially considering no one even knew you were an Avenger. So even though you were not dating Peter, they didn’t know otherwise, and you were going to use that to your advantage.

“Ahhh, so you’re his little girlfriend. That’s why you’re with him. We was starting to think you was an Avenger. We’ll this is even better because I’m sure some torture will get you talking. We won’t even need him to come find us, because you’ll lead us right to him.”

“I’d rather die.” You spat in his face.

“Oh, don’t worry, you will. But not until we find our spidey.” He smiled a nasty smile and yanked your arm out of the socket as if it was nothing, and you gave a choked-out scream.

He tossed you over his shoulder and walked out of the apartment. You couldn’t see into the closet anymore, but you could see into the future and Peter was in absolute shock, but he did as you asked and stayed put until the next morning, when he could be sure the apartment would no longer be watched.

At some point you had been knocked unconscious, or maybe you were drugged? It was hard to tell with the throbbing in your head making your memory foggy. You woke up to realize you were tied up to a chair, in a dark and empty room. You blinked rapidly trying to clear your hazed mind, and when it began to work, you looked into the future to see what was coming. You had three paths, all waiting on someone to make the next move. One path was the man from before coming in with a crowbar and breaking your bones with it, one by one, until you told him what he wanted, which you never did, resulting in you dying of internal bleeding. You shuddered at the thought, hoping your other paths would be better. The second was Peter tracking you down and coming to save you. This led to the death of both you and Peter. Your heart began to race, the image of Peter’s cold and unmoving body lying on the ground in an unnatural twist was harder to look at than the image of you weeping over him, only to meet the same fate. The third and final path was you getting out of the ropes and being able to fight your way out of the place. This third path had an uncertain ending, because while you would be able to get out of the chair, it wasn’t clear if you’d be able to fight off all of the people standing around outside of the room you were held in.

You quickly thought through all of the moves that Bucky had taught you from his years as a killing machine. There were a few that you could pull of successfully on Bucky himself, leaving you some hope that you would be able to fight them off, but looking at the sheer number of people outside that would run to attack, it’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t be ganging up on you causing a more powerful attack than even Bucky could prepare you for. You looked around the room for an escape, literally anything. You saw it in the corner to the left of you. The way out. You looked into the future after deciding that was how you would escape, and surprisingly the outcome was clear and successful. You quickly kicked off your shoe and rolled off your sock on the floor. Taking your now free toes, you stuck them into your shoe and slid the folded pocket knife you hid in the too big for you shoes in-between your big toe and second one. You pulled it out, holding onto it for dear life with your foot. You put your leg to the side of the chair, pulling your foot up into the air and back towards your hands as much as you could with the ropes constraining you. You were just able to grab the edge of the folded over knife and once you had a grip, flipped it open and began sawing away at the ropes. You saw that the men outside were unmoving and weren’t planning on interrogating you for at least another hour. The sun was setting, and they were hoping that Peter would show up in the dark to try and save you. When they were to realize that he in fact was not showing up, they would barge in and pounce on you. However, Peter not showing up depended on you getting out of the building. You saw that he was nearby in the future where he tried to save you. He was only going to save you if he sensed you needed to be saved. If you could get out of this room, you wouldn’t set off his Spidey-sense, and he would be safe, you would both be safe.

Once the ropes fell to the ground, you were able to cut your torso free and stand to run to the corner that held a vent big enough to crawl through. Cutting off the long sleeve of your shirt at the shoulder, you made a sloppy sling for your dislocated left arm. Crawling wouldn’t be a cake walk with only one arm, but you had to make do. You quickly screwed open the gate with your knife and silently pushed it to the ground and begun to crawl on your hand and knees through the ventilation system. You looked forward in time to see where this would lead you and how quickly. The sun was setting faster than normal it felt, as the dark approached, so did a twisted fate if you couldn’t get out fast. You had lucked out this time, and you actually couldn’t believe what you were seeing. About 10 feet ahead of you, the vent led out to the back of the building. They were keeping you in a room used to store things at cool temperatures and the air vent was used to release hot air in the summer and suck in cold air in the winter. You began crawling as fast as you could muster without making too much sound.

When at the end, you looked with your mind to see if danger lurked in the shadows outside the vent, but no one was near. The vent led to the back of the building where there were no other doors or windows, no way for Peter to get in and find you. Or so they thought. You slipped your hand through the slits in the grate to work at the screws on the outside. You could feel the cold rusty metal slicing your hand open, but you could care less right now as turning back would result in a lot worse than a few infected cuts. After about 5 minutes of awkwardly poking, prodding and twisting at the screws, you were able to kick open the grate. You slid outside and stood up, quickly making your way to the tree line. Peter was nearby, you saw his location before, but it was hard to distinguish it in the vast forest surrounding the building.

Looking around, seeing there was no one in sight you quickly let out a whisper of his name, “Peter.” You hoped it would be enough to catch his attention if he was within his hearing range. You waited a moment but saw nothing. You moved forward a few feet, hoping he was maybe just farther into the forest, “Peter.” You repeated. This time you saw something, not in real time, but seconds before it happened. Him whipping his head around, hearing your footsteps, your breathing, your heartbeat, the soft whisper of his name leaving your mouth. Him swinging tree to tree to get to you as quickly and as quietly as he could manage. As if he was delayed compared to the image in your mind, he landed softly next to you moments after you saw him do it in your mind.

“You’re okay.” He whispered, pulling you into a hug, trying to mind your slung arm.

“For now. But we’ve got to go. There is still a 50/50 chance they’re going to catch us when they realize in about 2 minutes that I’ve escaped.

“Well then you better hold on tight.” He lifted you up with ease and rested you on his hip, making you look like an awkwardly large toddler in his arms. He kept one arm around you as you wrapped your legs and good arm around him. He was off in seconds, swinging the two of you from tree to tree and once out of the forest, building to building.

Once you were at a safe enough distance, Peter stopped on an apartment rooftop and took the two of you under the cover of a tarp covering up empty wooden crates from any bad weather.

“We need to get you back to the compound. Have Bruce heal you up.” He said gingerly touching your shoulder.

“We can’t go back, you know that. We haven’t gotten word from anyone yet that the coast is clear, and it’s obvious that you’re still on plenty of people’s hit list. I can fix it, just give me a second.” You looked around the roof to see if there was anything you could jam your arm into to try and pop it back into place. Behind where you were hiding was a door leading down into the apartments. You stood up and headed over to it. Peter followed you, watching and listening to the surroundings for anything suspicious. You pulled the sling off your neck slowly and balled it up. You stuffed it in your mouth, causing Peter to give you a confused look,

“What are you doing?”

You answered him by slamming your arm into the wall, popping it back into place, letting out a now muffled scream into your shirt sleeve. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away with the cloth you pulled out of your mouth. You took a deep breath in and out, trying to calm yourself.

“There. All better.” You opened your eyes and gave Peter a weak smile as he stood, mouth open and face pale.

“Holy shit.” He whispered.

“Close your mouth honey, you’ll catch flies.” You push his bottom jaw up and head over to the edge of the rooftop. You looked down to see there was a fire escape a few feet below you. Looking ahead of your time, you saw the possibilities of entering each window attached to the escape. Only one of them would lead you to an empty apartment. The owners gone for the whole week. They will have a first aid kit waiting for you to tend to your hand with.

“Peter, can you lower us down to that escape?” You called over to him softly. He joined you at the ledge and nodded when he saw what you were referring to. You held onto his side again as he climbed with his sticky hands and feet down the wall and onto the escape. You grabbed his hand and led him down to the window of the currently empty apartment. You carefully slid the window open and snuck in, Peter silently following behind you.

“The owners won’t be back for a week. As long as we leave the place as we found it, they won’t be any the wiser that we were here.” You whispered to him as he shut the window. “I’m going to go find their first aid kit and get some antibiotics on my hand” You held out your gashed up hand to show him and you saw him wince at the sight of it. He was surprisingly sensitive to seeing your injuries. You figured at this point all of the Avengers were desensitized to stuff like this.

It was just months ago you all were fighting off the mad titan Thanos, you expected nothing to shock anyone at this point. It was strange getting blipped away. One second you were standing next to Dr. Strange watching him give over the time stone, the next you simply weren’t there. You couldn’t see it coming. This was the only thing you couldn’t see coming, because it was too random. You had too high of a chance of not getting blipped, just as you had too high of a chance of getting blipped, so you couldn’t have known. It was horrifying and the bases for most of your nightmares nowadays. You and Peter were the same age, which is why you think Dr. Strange took pity on you regardless of you being a Hydra spy. They had taken you against your will and forced you to serve them. Kids tended to be the best type of spy because it was harder to be suspicious of them. But because you were the same age, when you both came back, the two of you had sort of relied on each other to help one another adjust to the new lives you had to accept. The world had moved on without the two of you, while the two of you were stuck in the same spot for years. It was nice having someone who understood, especially someone your age. That’s why you were okay with risking your own life to help Peter run away. Because that’s what the two of you have silently agreed to do for months now. Protect each other, have each other’s backs, help each other through the nightmares, through the adjustments, through the pain.

Opening the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, you saw the tube of antibiotic cream. You grabbed in and closed the small door, jumping when you saw Peter standing in the mirror behind you.

“I thought you would’ve seen me coming.” he chuckled.

“I was distracted. Thinking about…” You trailed off, suddenly becoming more interesting in washing your hands to prep them for the medicine.

“The blip?” He finished for you. You didn’t even have to answer, you silence spoke for you.

“If it never happened, I wonder if we would be here right now.” You couldn’t help but grasp at lost futures that you couldn’t see.

“Maybe. I mean, Mysterio is the real reason we’re here and I feel like he would’ve come around eventually.”

“But I wouldn’t be here.” You pointed out.

“Do you regret coming with me then?” Peter asked, looking away from you now, hurt evident on his face. “Because you can leave for the compound at any time, I won’t stop you if it’s what you want.”

“No.” The word came out without hesitation, and it caused Peter to snap his attention back to you in the mirror where you finally met his eyes. “I just mean that we probably wouldn’t have gotten as close as we had. I mean yeah, we’d both be Avengers and would know each other, but I would’ve stayed locked away in the compound, and you would’ve barely given me a second thought. I wouldn’t be here because you wouldn’t have trusted me enough to let me come along. I wouldn’t be here because even if you would have trusted me to come with you, I would’ve still gotten kidnapped and I wouldn’t have been able to get out of there without getting caught because you probably wouldn’t have come back for me. I might not have been able to see those futures, but after you watch as much of the future as I have, you start to put the pieces together that one small change would’ve been catastrophic.”

“I like to think that whatever we chose, if it wasn’t a conscious choice or something out of our control, it was fate.” Peter said, “We might not have made the same choices to get us to this exact scenario, if the blip hadn’t happened, but Sam probably would’ve still ordered you by my side, regardless of my hesitation. I probably would’ve not let you get taken in the first place because I wouldn’t have trusted your judgement as much when it came to taking on that guy. We were meant to go through this together and I would’ve stuck by your side same as now.”

You chuckle at the last part about taking on the guy, you wanted to change the subject. The idea of you not getting to where you were friendship wise with Peter was a painful thought. You loved him. It was hard not to. The idea of a timeline where you didn’t love him was hard to even think about.

“I could’ve taken him on if I wanted to.” A smug smirk played on your lips

“Oh, I know you could, that’s why I was so surprised when you just let him take you. Why did you?”

You turned around to face him, “Because I was trying to get him away from you.”

“You could’ve died, you know that, right?” Peter says, taking the medicine from you and applying it to a clean cotton pad from the first aid kit, rubbing it over your hand. The images of you and Peter dead on the ground of that building flash through your mind.

“I know. But so could you have. I’d rather die and give you a head start than for you to die.”

“Why? My life isn’t worth risking yours for.”

“Because if I don’t have you… I have no one.” You admitted.

“Well, that’s not true. You have the whole team.” Peter tried to reassure you.

You shook your head, a sad smile on your mouth as you spoke, “I’m not close to them like I am you. Will you guys be sad? I’d like to think so. Will it greatly alter your lives if I was gone? No. After a couple of weeks, maybe even months, everyone would move on, including you. But if you were to die, I’d have no other friends who could bring me back to caring enough to go on. I have no family. I just have you. I’d rather die myself and know that eventually you’d be able to go on with your life, than let you die knowing that if I had just looked at a different future, I might’ve saved you. Knowing that I’ll never have anyone like you again in my life.”

“If you died, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” Peter said, a stress crease forming between his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t be able to move on because I never got to tell you that I love you.” The last part came out as a whisper as his hands set down the medicine and cotton pad. Bringing them to hold your cheeks.

You hesitantly brought your hands up to ghost over his. You might be able to see the future, but you didn’t see his confession coming. Turning your head slightly to kiss his palm, you whispered on his soft skin, “Then you understand.”

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arvandus · 4 years

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Touch (Pt 6)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all. This chapter is LONG. Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option). Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels. Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse

Part 1 Part 5

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 6 - The Long Night

After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room. You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton. It would keep the pills from rattling. You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.

You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand. Sleep was elusive, however. You stared at the ceiling pensively. Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was. You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute. It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.

By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed. Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.

Realization hit. You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter. You counted the amount and your breath stopped.

No.

You counted again.

FUCK.

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap. Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet. You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones. You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school. But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you. This wasn’t hypothetical. This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself. And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them? How long ago did he leave your room? Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time. Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it. You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead. You didn’t care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed. His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed. “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing! Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were. “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back. “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I already took them. And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped. “What the fuck, Dabi?? Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face. He was barely keeping himself together as it was. His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake. His head felt filled with cotton. And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast. He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not. The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet. He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea. He didn’t need this right now. Not with you here. Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak?

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell. He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option. Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before. I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread. Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched. He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet. A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks. His breaths were ragged and heavy. “Fuck.” He muttered. He should have eaten the stupid crackers. What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves. He threw up what he took. That was good. Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket. You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed. “He probably wants to be left alone. Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice. You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial. Why did it have to be Toga of all people? She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome. The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet. They’d probably barge in without permission. You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this? He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door. You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns. Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile. “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi? About him taking your drugs? You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier. There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily. “Is Dabi hungover? He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised. You hoped they believed it. If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation. Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions. “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked. “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated. Something easy on the stomach, like crackers. And bananas if we have any left. I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented. Then, you remembered - Shit. Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent. “Come on, Twice. You can help me carry stuff.” Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto. Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall. “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded. “Drugs are the last thing you need. Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back. “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest. But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched. You furrowed your brow. His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t. Not for this. If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop. Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon. You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far. Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away. You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them. That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had. You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter. It was better than using his arm again. He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen. No one ever does. You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you. How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night?

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door. You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles. Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk. You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want. We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin. You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand. You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help. Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile. But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing. You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt. His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him. You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him. He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it. His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.” You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him. Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat. He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go? He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone. Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills. But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns? Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips. “Get the fuck out, Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat. You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face. He said your name. He had never said it before. You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy. This wasn’t that at all. Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here. Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him. He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal. You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave. You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears. Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess. Yes, he stole from you. It still angered you. But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him. Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door.

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi? Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water. The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes. You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode. You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??” You called. No response. You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek. He didn’t respond. His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths. He was breathing. You checked his pupils – dilated. He definitely still had your drugs in his system. How much, you weren’t sure. Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe. A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes. They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy. Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height. It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs. You left his boxers on. You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious. His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze. His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw. The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side. You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again. Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly. It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver. Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed. There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed. You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall. It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side. It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now. Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him. There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again. You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature. It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising. You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time. Definitely quirk related. You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin. You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall. You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything. For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down. The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day. Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature. He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you. You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus. The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck. The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes. You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed. What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet. The rush of time slowed down. Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag. The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off. You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor. You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly. Could he even do that on his own right now? He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it. You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet. His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently. He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered. “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you. I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak. As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this. Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing? Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment? You hoped it was the latter.

“I won’t look.” You promised. You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet. With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet. You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom. Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees. His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on. A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered. You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders. By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room. It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was. 3:30am? 4? You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room. With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop. Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered. You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going.

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face. “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment. He was placid now, almost childlike. You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip. He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?” You hoped he understood.

He seemed to. He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch. Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching. His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling. He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated. Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles? Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete. Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away. If you pushed any further, it’d be too much. He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you. You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand. “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it. You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it. The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon. He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time. If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay. And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could. Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening. By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room. Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you. Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before. The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now.

A sense of trepidation filled you. You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again. Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side. His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not. Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed. Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort. If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you. The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up. The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing. It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet passed across his forehead. Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly. Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red. His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words. He couldn’t breathe. His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds. The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air. He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms. Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her. She sang. “My little Shouto. My sweet, little Shouto…” A baby cooed. Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams. She reached out a long, slender hand. “Come here, Touya. Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender. The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters. He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings. She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash. A cold dread filled him. Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames. The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face. The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs. Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear. He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice. The smell of cigarette smoke choked him. “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi. Dabi!” you called. You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness. “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears. His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room. A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door. The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly. “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake. Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince. “I need some water.” An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking. “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended. But he wasn’t fine. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair. Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face. Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too.

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.” The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them. You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose.

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short. If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself. So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently. He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground. His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell. He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire. He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight. It was short-lived though. Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand. You opened the packaging and handed him one. “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care. You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you. Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it. There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker. “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist. He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.” You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you. It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath. The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest. There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering. Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake. Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination. It didn’t seem like it belonged to him. His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone. The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called. Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him. It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.” A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look. “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful. Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain. His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering. He didn’t deserve this. Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far. You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips. You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish. But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow. The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form. A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast. Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside. The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands. Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation. It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach.

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds. They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through. Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway. Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs. Something about our next mission, I guess. Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed. “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty. A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you. The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell. His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly. He sat there as if waiting. Waiting for you? Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts. This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system. You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most. What if it wasn’t enough? It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry. You had to try.

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said. “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing.

The friend wrinkled in disgust. “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called. He turned and saw his sister. His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right. The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused. “Hm?”

“Your shirt. We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry. It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening. He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts. You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast. All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk. His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt. It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves. Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself. It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself. You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice. If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control. Your hands were on his legs now. You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds. Everything else you could handle on your own. But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind. And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills. And you couldn’t cry. Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond. You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey. Your touches were done, your quirk spent. Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention. His body no longer shook. But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain? Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over. His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness. But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper. “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions. Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks. Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality. It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal. Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders. He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants. He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t.

This was hell. He was in hell. He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear. He was cornered, with no way out.

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in. If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away. It was his only option. Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned. He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay. He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.”

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.” More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up. I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory. No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process.

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor. Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter. You winced. He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded. His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave. You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door. Fear coursed through you. Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously. “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out. You’ve already been through so much. Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic. Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t fight this. The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs. His survival depended on it. Without them, he would go insane. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself. But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him. Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit. He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk? He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it. You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested. “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged. “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you! I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE! A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head. He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path. You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind. He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear.

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step. He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving. He’d grabbed you. Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life. He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher. They were his father’s hands. And as he looked up, he no longer saw you. Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children. Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness. Did he even deserve such a thing? He fell to his knees with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips. You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in. You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul. He was falling and no longer knew where he was. He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him. It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it. He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this. All you could do was be here for him. You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands. His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal. A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain. Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack. He was unconscious.

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing. It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears. The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away. It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath. It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder. The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you. As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source.

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up. Your body and soul were spent. They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep. Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor. There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable. Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness. You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents. You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier. When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom. As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it. The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing. Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body. You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor. Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation. Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation. A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy. But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant. Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive. You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind? You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will. You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait. Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed. Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass. But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback. Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

Safety Precautions (1/2)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist:@zphilophobiaz Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: You need help finding someone and who better to help than the prodigy bats. Though it looks like you may need to ask them for a few favors. Warnings: Fighting, wounds, cursing, all the good stuff. Word Count: 1.9k

Part Two

“Oh look, a birdie in need of help.” You called down to Nightwing, who was fighting off a hoard of armed men. You jumped down to join him, taking one out with your landing before pressing your back to his. The men began to circle around you.

“Thank goodness, now I don’t have to call Red Hood for backup.” Nightwing quipped as he began counting the men.

“Anytime, I’ve been meaning to ask for a favor anyways.” Before the conversation could continue the fighting commenced. As you lunged at one of the men, another pointed his gun at you and shot. The bullet lodged itself with the suit.

“Buddy, all that’s gunna do is bruise and make me angry.” You knocked the man in your arms to the ground and stared at the culprit. His eyes widened as you sprung forward, pressing him into a wall.

“How about at a closer range.” The man mumbled out as you pressed your arm to his throat. It was too late before you realized his gun pressed against your abdomen. He fired. You threw your head back and launched it into his, content as his body went limp and slumped to the ground. You unfastened your utility belt and placed it higher on your waist to cover the wound, just as Nightwing’s hand fell to your shoulder.

“We’re missing people. There should be 3 more.”

You just shrugged, “Maybe they ran off.”

“Unlikely, I’m afraid these guys would rather be caught by me than their boss.” Just as Nightwing got to the corner, a hand flew out and collided with his nose. You watched as a gun then rounded the corner. Quickly, you kicked Nightwing’s legs from under him, forcing him to collapse to the ground as you slammed your forearm into the assailant’s wrist. His hand struck the brick wall, the force causing his finger to pull the trigger. Another bullet right into your shoulder. You slammed his hand again into the wall, causing the gun to drop. Nightwing pulled the man’s legs from under him and his head crashed against the concrete below.

“Alright, 2 more. I’ll go left.” Nightwing called out as he darted around the corner. You stalked around the corner to the right and noticed an unsuspecting victim. Quickly, you wrapped your arm around his neck. He was on the ground in minutes. You continued, rounding another corner, where you saw Nightwing deliver a punch which caused the final assailant to collapse to the ground. You tried to ignore the growing pain and eyed your compatriot.

“Where’s you ride?”

“Two blocks…why?”

“I told you, I need a favor.”

The two of you made it to the motorcycle without any more fighting, but you looked at it wondering how you were going to hold on. Before you could try and reason through it, Nightwing tossed you a helmet.

“Safety precautions.”

“Right.” You put on the helmet and all you say was black. “Is there a reason the visor on this thing is blacked out?” you commented hoping it wasn’t your vision in general.

“Like I said, safety precautions.”

You took off the helmet and climbed on the bike behind him before placing it back on your head. “You bats are ridiculous” you mumbled. Halfway to the cave, Dick noticed your grip loosening around his waist.

“Eclipse?” No response. “Hey Eclipse, are you okay?” Dick felt you begin to slide and threw his arm out, catching you as he brought the bike to a stop. “Shit.” He felt the warm liquid plastered over your shirt. Dick ripped the helmet off, “Eclipse, I need you to wake up…we are almost there.” No response. “Can’t just make this easy, can we?” He picked you up and put you in front of him on the bike, holding you firmly against his chest with one arm.

You woke up in an unfamiliar place. You tried to piece together the information you remembered. Okay, you were last with Nightwing. This is probably a safe house. Or base of operations –. Your thoughts were cut short as you realized your mask was missing. Carefully, you pulled yourself up and noticed your left arm in a sling that hugged your chest. Your chest that no longer donned your suit. As you swung your legs over the side of the bed, a familiar face ran over to you.

“Woahh, let’s take it easy.”

“My…my…mask.” You voice croaked out.

“Oh yeah, we had to take it off. You were having trouble breathing.” Dick reached over to a nearby table and picked it up, handing it over to you.

“You all know then?”

“Just me and Red Robin are here. Well and Alfred, who patched you up.”

You nodded and put the mask back on, just in case. “So that favor…”

“What, patching you up wasn’t what you had in mind?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” You leaned to get up, Nightwing stepped to your side placing his arm firmly around your waist. Normally you would complain, but you were pretty sure this Alfred character had given you too much pain medication for you to care. You pointed over to the computer where Red Robin was seated. “I need you to find a missing person.”

“Someone you can’t find?” Red Robin questioned your motives.

“I could but using my connections…let’s just say someone else could find them too. Someone who can’t find them.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do, but you’ll owe me one.”

“Deal, name should be Lily Capcini. Born September 17, 2002. 5’-2”. Green eyes. Last known hair color was a chestnut brown…that was almost 2 years ago though.”

“I’ll get to work.” Red Robin nodded your way before turning back to his computer.

“And I’ll be getting home, thanks.”

“Uhm…I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I wasn’t really asking.”

“At least let me get Alfred to check you over once more.”

You sighed but agreed to Nightwing’s terms. Almost as soon as the elevator doors closed, Red Hood strolled through, from what you assume is some sort of garage area.

“Didn’t know we were taking visitors…wait Eclipse? What happened?!”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Hood. I’m fine.”

“Heh yeah you didn’t almost fall off the bike on the way here.” You heard Red Robin mumble from his seat at the computer.

“You what?!”

“That was hours ago. Apparently your pal Alfred stitched me up good. I’m about to head out.”

“You’re just letting her go?” Red Hood yelled towards his companion at the computer.

“Dude, you know there is no way to stop her.” Red Robin began to reason just as the elevator doors opened, revealing Nightwing and Alfred.

“Miss…erm…Eclipse.” Alfred caught himself, seeing you donned the mask once again. “I must recommend you stay in our care a bit longer.”

“Sorry Al, no can do. Also, where’s my suit?”

Alfred walked over to a nearby table to retrieve it. “It is quite damaged. Three bullet holes. I can send it for repairs.”

“It’s fine. I’ll deal with it. And technically it was two and a half.”

Alfred looked at you skeptically before checking and redressing your wounds. “Well, if I cannot convince you to stay…”

“You can’t. Red Robin, let me know as soon as you find something. Now, who’s taking me out of here.”

Before the option was even given Nightwing had made his way over to you and led you to a room full of motorcycles, cars, and other miscellaneous vehicles. He handed you a blindfold.

“Sorry, safety precautions. Also, you’re sitting in front.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because you only have one arm, and I’m not having you almost face plant the asphalt again.” You rolled your eyes but complied with his request. You were only riding for a few minutes when he spoke again. “I think we’re being followed.”

“Shit. Can you lose them?”

“Just hold on.”

Nightwing slowed down for a few blocks and then gunned it, quickly making a right turn and then a left soon after down an alleyway. An alleyway where the brick wall opened, and he slowly pulled the bike in before removing your blindfold.

“Alright, give me something to throw at them.”

He just looked at you like you were crazy, you could tell that even through the mask. “Yeah, we aren’t going anywhere. This is one of our safehouses. We’ll stay the night.”

“But I need my stuff. He can’t see what’s in my apartment. I wasn’t prepared not to go back.”

“I’ll radio Red Hood, he’ll pick it up in the morning. If whoever was tailing us already know where you live, they will be waiting to see movement. Hood will have a better chance going unnoticed in the daytime.”

“He can’t get to her. I got her out. He just can’t.”

“We’ll find her. But right now, you need some rest.” You just stood there, staring at him. “Y/N. You need time to heal and we can’t do anything right now. Please.” Nightwing’s hands clasped your shoulders. “Sleep.”

You awoke to voices coming from the next room. You slowly moved out of bed and walked into the hallway, where you saw Red Robin and Red Hood standing next to Nightwing clutching a box.

“Did you find her?” You questioned the vigilante as you made your way passed them into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I found her –” you cut him off as you noticed Red Hood clutching a gold locket.

“Where did you get that?”

“Oh, your apartment. Looked important.” You stalked over and grabbed the item from his hand.

“Shit. I had to leave this behind. He planted it.” You didn’t bother to explain further but instead rushed to your room to gear up. He was coming, you could feel it. As you stepped into the doorway Red Robin slid at your feet. Helping him up you whispered. “Go. Find her. Tell her the Eclipse has faded and the Sun’s wrath shines again.”

As the hero ran off, you charged at the man slicing the air as he dodged your blades. You had to keep him busy, make sure Red Robin had enough time to get Lily to safety. He knocked you to the ground, but before you could get up Nightwing was in pursuit, Red Hood at his side. It always amazed you how in tandem they fought.

“You can’t have her!” You screamed as you rose from the ground.

“Oh I will possess her little one, just as I once possessed you.” He knocked both the vigilantes to the ground and dove through the already broken window.

“And that was…?” Red Hood questioned.

You stood there gazing at the window, “He calls himself Helios.” A moment of silence ensued as you collected yourself before you turned towards them. “Red Robin went to get Lily. Take me to her.”

Nightwing nodded and tossed you a blindfold as you made your way to the motorcycle the two of you had abandoned the night before. “Safety precautions.”

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racebox-of-higgars · 3 years

Text

No More Boring Allegories

Part One of “The Unkindest Cut Of All”

So, this is the first in a new oneshot series I’m writing. I’m gonna say here - BIG trigger warning for suicide for the whole series.

Please stay safe everyone, my DMs are always open if you ever need to talk.

Summary: "You noticed things were getting bad. He was too distant, as if he was a million miles away. He went through the motions of the day without actually being there. You sit him down, you say, “we need to talk,” and you don’t miss the way immediately puts up walls around himself. But he knows what it's about and he knows that you know, which just about destroys any chance of actually getting somewhere you may have had with him. You gave him the chance to close himself off, and he took it. That was mistake number one."

It's been six months since Race died, and Jack finally found the courage to go through and work out where things really went wrong.

Songfic based on How To Save A Life by The Fray. Title from Turtles All The Way Down by Sammy Copley

Read on AO3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/31398146

@angelslibrary

Dear Past Jack Kelly.

Jack slammed the pen down on the desk, head in his hands. This was already so stupid. Apparently it was supposed to help, supposed to give him some form of release or closure, but he couldn’t see how that was supposed to work. All it did was bring everything back to the surface, everything that he had tried to push down for the last 6 months. He wasn’t ready to confront that.

“Jack?” Davey said from the doorway. “Are you doing it?” Jack looked up at him, saw the encouraging smile he wore, then back to the paper in front of him.

“I’m trying to,” he said finally. Davey nodded.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Please.” Davey nodded again and disappeared down the hall, pulling the door shut behind him with a gentle click. Jack turned back to the paper. He could do this.

You noticed things were getting bad. Too late, but you noticed, and surely that counts for something, right? He was too distant, as if he was a million miles away. He went through the motions of the day without actually being there. So obviously, as any older brother would, you confronted him. You sit him down, you say, “we need to talk,” and you don’t miss the way immediately puts up walls around himself, his face an unreadable mask. “Sit down,” you tell him. “It’s only a talk.” But he knows what it's about and he knows that you know, which just about destroys any chance of actually getting somewhere you may have had with him. You gave him the chance to close himself off, and he took it. That was mistake number one.

Tears welled in his eyes and he furiously blinked them back. He felt sick, thinking about it all. Thinking about every mistake he had made. Maybe, if he had done things differently, Race would still be here. He had done everything all wrong, and it was his fault. His brother was gone, and it was his fault.

He pushed those thoughts back. They were the ones that got him spiralling, and he wasn’t equipped to deal with that. Not now. He furiously wiped his eyes, picked the pen back up, and kept writing.

He had this polite smile - nothing like his normal one, but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen that. You wanted to smile back, but you couldn’t. Instead, you just stared at him. You stared through his masquerade, saw straight through the facade to the hurt underneath that he tried so hard to hide. That was eating him up inside, anyone who knew him could tell, but he had this act that he hid behind. All you wanted to do was break down that act. You just wanted him to tell you the truth for once, but every word that slipped past his lips were lies. Each one drove you further and further apart. Maybe that was what ended it.

Jack and Race had always been close. They told each other everything. Maybe that’s what hurt the most about Race’s lies. They had always been open books to each other, but Race had withdrawn, closed that book, and that’s what had hurt Jack the most.

He was thinking in terms of him being hurt by Race’s actions again. That, rather than how hurt Race had been. He had been making that mistake a lot recently. It wasn’t like he could help it, after all, he was actually here to feel that hurt, Race wasn’t, but that was only because it had become too much for him, apparently. It was becoming too much for Jack, too.

You were terrified. How could you not be? You were walking this line between fearing the worst every day and placing all the blame on him, on yourself. One wrong foot, and you’d fall, and either way would fuck everything up. If you let him know how afraid you truly were, it would only push him away further. If you started blaming him, he’d get worse. If you started blaming yourself, you would end up in the same position he was, and what use to him would that be? It was like some sick tightrope, where one just of wind, one toe out of line, and you would plummet and everything would spiral out of control. As if things weren’t already out of control, completely beyond your efforts. At that point, there was nothing more you could do. It was already over.

Jack furiously wiped his eyes as he went through the motions of Race’s last weeks in his head. Of course, trying not to blame himself hadn’t worked. He did now more than ever. Tears smudged the ink slightly as he wrote, but he powered through. His wrists cramped, but he was finally getting to the root of it all. This had started out as some stupid exercise, but he was beginning to find something in it all.

You tried to talk to him again. Of course, as always, he turned you away with one of those perfectly crafted smiles that only you seemed to be able to see through. A short, “I’m fine, Jack,” and one of those smiles, and you knew there would be no getting through to him. You wondered why you even tried. He didn’t want to be saved.

He didn’t want to be saved. That’s what had resonated with Jack the most. Race hadn’t wanted him, no matter how hard Jack tried to believe that he did. If anything, by pushing him Jack had only pushed him away more. He had gone wrong in so many places, he could see that now, but hindsight wasn’t going to do him or Race anymore. Hindsight couldn’t bring Race back.

You tried to set things out logically for him. After all, you could see everything from the outside, so you could use that perspective to help, right? Wrong. You couldn’t see everything. You couldn’t see how much everything was tearing him up inside. “You think you know this better than I do, don’t you?” He had asked, bitter betrayal in his voice, and you weren’t able to answer, because it was the truth. You couldn’t tell him outright that he was wrong in the way he was coping, but you had to in some way, otherwise you would lose him forever. He didn’t want to hear it when you tried to explain that. It was as if he had put up some wall and you saw that he wasn’t listening to a word you tried to tell him. He had made up his mind.

God, he had fucked everything up. His brother was gone, and it was his fault. He had done everything he knew how to try to save Race, and yet, here he was - writing this stupid fucking letter to himself 6 months ago, but it felt like years and only seconds at the same time. Every day without Race felt as if it was a year, yet they were so monotonous that they passed by in the blink of an eye. How was it only 6 months ago? It felt like he had aged 50 years since it all happened. He had made too many mistakes. Too many fuck ups. He was only 21, he wasn’t meant to feel this old, this broken.

For the first time in your life, you prayed. You prayed that he would just see sense, like a mantra, every night. “Please, God, let him wake up. Let him listen to me. I haven’t asked you for anything before now, and I’ll never ask for anything again, just grant me this. Bring him back to me.” God doesn’t listen. You learned that the hard way. Why doesn’t God listen? Isn’t He supposed to save good people? Then why didn’t he save him, who had never done anything wrong? Race deserved to be saved. Maybe it was God’s way of punishing you.

Jack had given up on believing. After that, he didn’t see the point. If God couldn’t see that Race deserved His mercy, then surely He wasn’t there. Since then, he hadn’t believed in much of anything. There was nothing to believe in. Nobody had heard him when he screamed and cried and begged for someone, anyone to save Race, so why should he have faith in them? There was nothing. Nothing that was worth believing in, anyway.

He started yelling. You didn’t expect that from him. Every time you had confronted him before, he had always been soft-spoken, quiet as sweet lies spilled easily from his lips. Not this time. This time he exploded, hurling accusations like knives, and you were lost. What could you do in that situation? You lowered your voice, tried to make him listen to you, finally, but he wouldn’t. He was too far gone.

You saw the two paths he had ahead of him - he could spill everything, and maybe then he’d have a chance of being saved, or he’d just smile and say that he’s just not the same anymore. It’s the stress of college, that’s what he told you. And then you blew up. That was your final mistake. It was all lies, and you were sick of them. He tried to blame it on the time you had spent apart, but it was all bullshit, you knew that. You saw straight through him, but there was no way for you to make him see. Again, you wondered why you bothered trying anymore.

Except this time, you said it out loud, and that was the biggest mistake.

Jack’s tears came freely, staining the paper with streaks of black as sob after uncontrollable sob wrenched its way from his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Guilt clouded his mind, tinting everything black. Nothing was right anymore. It had all gone wrong, in that moment. Who knew one moment, just a few seemingly meaningless words could tear a world apart?

You did everything you knew how. It wasn’t enough to save him though. There never would be enough to save him, he was too far gone before you even started trying. You tried everything you knew. But even then, no matter how much you do, it won’t change anything. Because he’s gone, and you can’t save him.

#newsies #newsies fanfiction #suicide tw #angst #dead racetrack higgins #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #davey jacobs #fanfiction #jack kelly and racetrack higgins are brothers #background javid

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iceslushii · 3 years

Text

Shattered Glass

*inspired by vanoss-luigi's 'footage' fanfic*

chapter: 6

word count: 5,175

characters: Kryoz, Moo, Daithi De Nogla, BasicallyIDoWrk, BigJigglyPanda, mentions of CaRtOoNz, H20Delirious, Terroriser, SMii7Y and fourzer0seven

tw: swearing, drowning, minor mentioning of blood (!!if i forget to put a warning for anything please let me know as i'm not very good at knowing what trigger warnings to include!!)

------------------------------

He felt heavy, almost as if he was falling.. well, he certainly was, and felt like he was falling deeper and deeper. He opened his eyes and realised he was sinking. He tried swimming back up but couldn't move. As he began panicking, he also wondered what would happen next, and what happened in the first place. He was struggling to breathe properly, water filling his lungs more and more. Moments later, he hit the bottom of whatever body of water he was in, and everything suddenly turned black. "Hey.. wake up." A familiar voice could be heard.. He did as it said and opened his eyes, and he was with Kryoz and Moo. "Can't believe we found him." John said. "...wha?" "We found you floating in the lake outside Basically's house.. we brought you to Kryoz' house and managed to resuscitate you." He sat up mid-conversation. "Do you know what day it is, Nogla?" Moo asked him. "uh.. oh, I remember! It's the 29th, right?" He answered as Moo stood up. "You've been missing for a while then.. its the 1st of September now. What's the last thing you remember?" "The last thing I know.. I remember being dragged away from Marcel's house, but not before shouting: "Fock off, ya bastard! I'm not letting what happened to my friends happen to me also! ..go away! I'll make sure I can get back to CaRtOoNz at somepoint! I promised him and Kryoz I'd do so!" ..and now I'm lying on a bed with you two kneeling next to me." "That's why nobody knew where you'd disappeared.." Moo realised. "I guess? Haven't a clue why they couldn't hear me yelling." Nogla sighed, looking around the room he was in. It was rather small and bare, he could only see a bedside table, an open window on the wall he was facing, as well as a small, ebony cupboard with one door slightly open and a poster behind him with the word 'death' covering it with red marker. "We're in quite a predicament.. since you disappeared, Delirious, Terroriser, SMii7Y, CaRtOoNz and fourzer0seven have gone missing." Kryoz knows what happened the previous night, 'There was a knock on the door, and we could hear someone. "Hello?" It was Moo.. or so we thought. Scott went to go open the door and it swung closed as he stepped outside, and I could hear him screaming.. I attempted to save him but the door was somehow locked. I returned a few minutes later and managed to open it without difficulty, and Scott was nowhere to be found.' Marcel had told John everything he could remember. "That's what happened? Jeez. Whatever is happening isn't letting up." Moo abruptly ran out of the room as soon as Nogla finished speaking. "Brock?" "Yeah, I'm fine." He walked back in as if nothing had happened, although he dropped glass on the floor behind him, and wiped blood off his face. "You sure?" Nogla got up and headed towards Brock. "Mhm." Brock said as he choked up more glass, shocking Nogla. "What the fuck?!" "I'm not sure what's happening myself, besides the fact its also happening to Marcel. Both of us have been choking up glass randomly for the past few days." Moo cleared his throat before continuing to speak. "A lot has happened since you disappeared." Nogla didn't know what else to say. "Now we're here, hoping to meet up with everyone else and figure out what the fuck is going on." John added before tearing down the poster and throwing it out the window. "I feel nauseous.." Nogla stated after the poster was gone. "Me too.. now that I think about it." Kryoz responded. "I'm more dizzy than sick." Moo put his hand on the wall, trying to regain balance, before proceeding to choke up more glass. "I feel like I've been drugged or something.." was the last thing John described before the three simultaneously fell unconscious.

"I can't get to either of them.." Basically said as he tried to reach Kryoz and Moo. "That's not good, what if they'll vanish too?" "It'd mean we'd be the only ones left, which isn't good." Basically turned his chair around to face Panda, who was standing in the doorway. "What do we do then?" "We do what we've been trying to do for the past 13 days, which is figure out what's causing all of this." Basically suddenly widened his eyes, choking up a lot more glass than usual. "God.. dammit.." "There's way more than usual!" "Yeah.." Marcel forced a grin. "You're the only 'normal' one left, Anthony, and you need to figure out what is causing this and either find out why and stop it, or just stop it in general." Panda was probably the most nervous he'd ever been, he'd never been given as big of a task as this one. He went over to the radios, put down a pen and a stack of paper and muttered, "No need to worry, Marcel. I'll try my best." Marcel tried not to chuckle when he saw Anthony's 'serious face'.

"Why is Brock here? Out of the three of them, he's the only one who doesn't need to be here!" "..oh, right." "Don't 'oh, right' me, go bring him back to Marcel and Anthony!" "Fine!" "He should know better than to disobey me. I was-" "-, y'know?" "Yeah. He was-" "-, wasn't he?" "You got that right." "Well, there's only Marcel and Anthony left, one's choking up glass and the other is almost perfectly fine." "Mhm. What do we do about them?" "Leave them for now." "Okay."

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chapter 2 has 7 notes now

im just here wondering how people like this??

sorry for the small rant but im just genuinely confused-

this chapter isnt as good as i wrote the majority of it at 8 in the morning (its now 6pm) lol and when i mean majority i mean i wrote everything before the 'what do we do then?' line at 8 in the morning what will marcel and anthony do now that they may be the only two remaining? find out at somepoint xD

#banana bus squad #bbs #kryoz #moo snuckel #daithi de nogla #basicallyidowrk #bigjigglypanda #cartoonz #h20delirious #terroriser #smii7y #fourzer0seven #fanfiction #fanfic: shattered glass

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babysizedfics · 4 years

Text

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 2: Nighttime Confessions

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary:

Roman doesn’t like bedtime, Patton and Logan discuss affection, and Virgil wakes up in the middle of the night.

Chapter word count: 5,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

oOo

The door to Logan’s room felt unreasonably heavy as he pushed it open with a tired sigh. He did not bother closing it behind him, instead letting it fall shut on its own in favour of immediately flopping face-first onto his bed. The door slammed shut a little harder than he would’ve liked and he winced into his pillow. Hopefully, the sound hadn’t been loud enough to reach either Roman or Virgil’s bedrooms.

Tonight both boys had been little right up until bedtime and so required both Patton and Logan’s help in getting prepared for bed. As was expected given Virgil’s clear preference for the paternal side, Patton had taken charge of his bedtime which meant Logan was left to handle Roman’s bedtime.

Hence Logan’s current exhaustion.

It had taken a great deal of effort to even convince Roman to change into his pyjamas, let alone to stop bouncing around as he rambled about a new idea he had for a game. Logan, of course, commended his creativity, though reminded him that they would have to wait until the following day to put it into practice.

Roman had not appreciated that. He wanted to play with Virgil at that very moment and was quite disheartened to hear that it was Virgil’s bedtime and his baby brother would be too tired to play with him. Learning that it was also his bedtime had been far more cause for concern for Roman. It had taken a multitude of bargaining on Logan’s part to get Roman to agree to get into bed. Even then, it still took some coercion to get him to stop complaining and at least try to go to sleep.

Bedtime had been at 10 pm. It was now coming up to 10:45 and Logan had only just been able to leave Roman, who was finally (thankfully) drifting off in his bed.

Logan flipped over on his mattress, mentally preparing himself to get up again and get ready for bed himself. Though an energetic knocking sounded at his door before he had the chance.

He lugged himself up from his bed and over to the door, rubbing at his face wearily.

‘Roman,’ Logan sighed as he opened the door, ‘if that’s you I don’t want to hear any more whining.’

Patton stood in his doorway smiling from ear to ear.

‘Patton,’ Logan greeted, sure that his relief was quite obvious in the way his shoulders sagged. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, gosh, everything's amazing!’ Patton near-squealed and Logan hurriedly beckoned him into his room. Patton seemed dangerously close to yelling and Logan did not want Roman hearing it and then getting excited himself.

‘What has caused you such great elation at this late hour?’ Logan asked, feeling himself smile at the pure joy on Patton’s face.

‘You should’ve seen how cute Virgil was!’ Patton immediately gushed, and Logan was glad he had managed to close the door behind them quickly. ‘Oh my goodness, Lo. He was so sleepy and adorable! At first, he was nervous about being left alone, but then I switched on that star nightlight you got him and his face just lit up.’

‘Was that a pun?’ Logan narrowed his eyes.

‘I don’t even know anymore!’ Patton cried giddily, his eyes sparkling with happy tears.

Logan chuckled and leaned his back against the wall, sure that Patton was nowhere near finished.

‘Gosh, he was so happy,’ Patton said and started pacing quickly around Logan’s room, dispelling his excited energy. ‘Then I just sat by his bed for like twenty minutes stroking his hair and he was so calm then - oh my gosh - then he reached up and held my finger, Lo!’ Patton held up his finger in demonstration, his eyes wide with awe. ‘His whole hand wrapped around my finger, how friggin’ cute is that? Then he told me he loved me and he just fell straight asleep! Ahh, it was so adorable!’

By the end of his monologue, Patton’s voice had become so strangled and high-pitched that it was barely recognisable.

‘That does sound charming,’ Logan agreed, and couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous.

He was not in any way disappointed that he had taken care of Roman rather than Virgil. He was equally fond of both of them even if Roman did require much more energy to look after. Though Logan wished that Virgil would feel comfortable enough with him that Logan might experience something similar to what Patton had just described.

‘It sounds like a positive bonding experience,’ Logan smiled stiffly.

Patton’s grin faltered. After taking a deep breath, presumably to calm himself from his excitement, he moved to settle beside Logan against the wall.

‘So… How was Roman?’ Patton asked.

From his careful tone, he apparently knew it would not have been such a simple experience getting the older little to go to bed.

‘Next time we’re switching,’ Logan said simply.

‘That bad, huh?’ Patton still smiled, though it was twisted by sympathy.

‘I… wouldn’t say bad, necessarily,’ Logan said. As much as Roman’s protests exhausted him, there was something in the whole routine that had brought Logan some comfort despite the stress. ‘Though it was foolish of me to believe that Roman could not possibly get more petulant.’

‘Poor little guy,’ Patton pouted, then looked to their feet in thought. ‘Do you maybe think his bedtime should -’

‘No,’ Logan interrupted. ‘We are not delaying his bedtime.’

‘But if he was so upset about it…’ Patton said.

‘It was a reflexive response more than anything,’ Logan replied. ‘I think he just wanted an excuse to act childish. Besides, as soon as I read him a story he went straight to bed. He was clearly just reluctant to admit that he really was tired.’

‘Aww, you read him a story?’ Patton asked in delight. ‘That’s so cute!’

‘It was a purely tactical approach,’ Logan said hastily. ‘Being read to in a quiet, soothing tone can trigger an autonomous sensory meridian response in the listener’s brain. It is a widely used technique to effect deep relaxation in both children and adults alike.’

‘Mhm, of course. Purely tactical,’ Patton agreed, though he did not sound convinced.

Logan’ gaze snapped onto Patton to find a knowing smirk being directed towards him.

‘Did you do funny voices?’ The mischievous lilt to Patton’s tone was hypnotising, and Logan could not resist his imploring gaze for long.

‘Maybe,’ Logan finally admitted.

It was impossible to keep a straight face when Patton burst into giggles like that.

‘Y’know, you don’t need to do that,’ Patton said after he had collected himself.

‘Do what?’

‘Pretend you don’t enjoy being Mama Logan,’ Patton said. His hand rested on Logan’s arm gently. ‘I know you love looking after the boys.’

Logan couldn’t deny it. Though even if he wanted to, the tingling warmth spreading from where Patton’s fingers touched him had rendered him momentarily speechless.

‘And the boys love having you as a Mama,’ Patton added.

‘Well, let’s not assume,’ Logan murmured. The grip on his arm tightened.

‘Logan.’ Patton’s voice was hushed and strained. ‘I’m not assuming anything. I know that they love having you as a caregiver.’

‘How do you know?’ Logan asked. The clear desperation in his voice made him squirm.

Patton’s gaze softened.

‘Well, in lots of ways,’ he said. ‘Just earlier, Roman couldn’t stop talking about playing Doctor Who with you yesterday.’

‘Yes, he was rather impressed by my Dalek impression,’ Logan nodded.

‘He didn’t talk about your impressions, silly,’ Patton chuckled, though Logan could not find it in himself to feel offended. ‘He talked about you. About how much fun it was to run around with you and spend the day laughing together.’

‘Oh,’ Logan breathed, feeling his heart swell.

‘And I guess Virgil might be a bit of a Papa’s boy -’

Logan raised his eyebrows.

‘Alright, he definitely is,’ Patton corrected, ‘but I’ve seen the way he cuddles up to you when I’m not there.’

Logan wanted to accept it, he really did. But he could not ignore all of the facts.

‘As you have just stated, that is only when you are unavailable,’ Logan said quietly. ‘I fear - I suspect that I am a mere substitute for his one true caregiver.’

‘Sorry, Logan, but you’re wrong this time,’ Patton said easily. ‘Do you know why Virgil felt so much better when I switched on his nightlight earlier?’

‘Because he is scared of the dark,’ Logan said. ‘They both are. Though I believe Roman’s fear is bordering on nyctophobia.’

‘No - well, yes,’ Patton conceded. ‘But Virgil’s salt lamp was already on.’

Logan frowned, perplexed.

‘Why would the nightlight make him feel better if it was not to counteract a dark room?’

‘Because it’s from you,’ Patton whispered and nudged his side gently. ‘The nightlight made him happy because it reminded him of his mama.’

Logan could not respond as his throat felt too tight all of a sudden. A smile tugged at his lips.

‘I know you don’t think so, but caregiving comes just as naturally to you as it does to me,’ Patton said. He leaned against Logan’s side slightly and Logan’s breath stalled in his chest. ‘Sure, we’re very different caregivers; you make sure they behave with rules and I probably spoil them with too many sweets. But just because I’m more cuddly than you doesn’t mean I’m a better dad.’

‘Thank you,’ Logan whispered, breathing deeply for the first time since the conversation had started.

‘Besides,’ Patton added cheerily, ‘you’ve been getting a lot better at showing affection with them.’ He paused, and Logan almost though he had finished speaking, but then Patton added in a more stunted tone: ‘And…’

‘And?’ Logan prompted, unable to tear his gaze away from how Patton chewed at his bottom lip.

‘With me,’ Patton whispered and met Logan’s eyes earnestly.

The hand which had been resting on his arm all of this time snaked down to wrap around Logan’s wrist lightly.

Pleasant shivers coursed through Logan’s veins at the contact and left him stunned. Patton’s fingers had been resting casually on his arm for most of the conversation, but this touch felt different somehow. The intent behind it was suddenly impossible to ignore.

‘Oh, shoot,’ Patton breathed, his eyes falling to the ground quickly, ‘I read this wrong, didn’t I?’

Logan floundered over silent words that would not leave his lips. Patton’s hand hastily snatched off of his wrist.

‘I’m sorry, I - don’t mind me,’ Patton chuckled, though it was shaky and forced. ‘I’m just being silly. I’ll leave, don’t worry about it.’

He had pushed away from the wall but did not get far as Logan hurriedly reached out to grab Patton’s hand. Their fingers intertwined on instinct. Logan’s cheeks heated exponentially.

‘Patton…’ he started but no matter how much he tried, he could not force his mouth to form any more words.

He realised that, for once, language could not effectively express all that he wanted to say. It was terrifying. But as he had taught Roman, sometimes it was more effective to show rather than tell.

He hesitantly moved forward, glad that Patton did not step away. It did not take much movement for Logan to be stood directly in front of him, certainly violating his personal space. Silence settled in the few centimetres between their faces. Logan thought he might be suffering from heatstroke. His palms were sweaty, his face burning and his head swimming as he impulsively closed the gap between their lips.

The kiss was achingly short. Patton’s lips barely ghosted over Logan’s own before the logical side was hit full-force with the realisation of what he had just done. He snapped his head back with wide eyes.

‘I apologise, I should not have done that,’ Logan blurted, feeling as though his tongue was inexplicably too large for his mouth. ‘I have no idea what came over me to think I could kiss you without asking for your -’

‘Logan?’ Patton’s free hand came up to cup his jaw and Logan’s mouth snapped shut.

‘Hm?’ he hummed.

‘Shut up,’ Patton whispered fondly.

Logan only had a brief second to see the spark of determination in his brown eyes before Patton pushed up and kissed him again.

Their lips slotted together so effortlessly, Logan thought they might have been made for each other. He breathed out through his nose, the warm air bouncing straight off of Patton’s skin and back onto his own. The heat was unbearable matched with the burning of his cheeks, but he could not consider pulling back. Patton’s lips were soft and slid against his own in such a mesmerizing dance.

A low sigh of content sounded in his throat and a muffled hum of agreement came from Patton in response. Logan could not contain a wide smile, and when Patton accidentally ended up kissing his front teeth they both broke down into breathy giggles.

Reluctantly, Logan pulled away from him by a few inches so that they did not accidentally butt heads in their laughter. Patton’s hand fell to his shoulder and Logan responded by curling his own fingers around the nape of Patton’s neck. Through his fingertips, he could feel the shiver that coursed through Patton’s body.

‘That was,’ Logan paused to gasp an inhale, surprised by how breathless he was, ‘highly satisfactory.’

‘I’ll say,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.’

‘I am not certain of what “way” you mean,’ Logan said cautiously. He, of course, had his theory but he did not want to risk being wrong about something so significant. ‘Your phrasing was rather ambiguous.’

‘Whoops, I guess my brain’s just a bit frog -gy from the kiss,’ Patton said giddily, eyes brightening in the way they always did when he wanted to laugh at his own joke.

‘Ambiguous, not amphibious,’ Logan corrected, though he was somewhat glad for the Patton’s relapse into dad jokes. It was familiar and comforting and dispelled Logan’s anxieties about making an incorrect assumption. ‘I will hazard a guess at what you meant and be blunt: I harbour a romantic attraction towards you, Patton.’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Patton’s breath rushed from him.

‘I take it my assumption was correct,’ Logan smirked, but it was quickly swallowed by Patton’s lips.

They kissed for a long time after that. Logan’s legs grew numb, but neither of them made a move to sit down or change position. They barely allowed themselves to stop for breath, let alone something so unimportant as moving. The only matter of importance to Logan right now was kissing Patton.

Eventually, they slowed, pecking each other wherever they could reach between hushed words.

‘Did you notice Roman playing cupid?’ Patton asked against Logan’s cheek.

‘How could I not?’ Logan huffed in amusement. He kissed Patton’s eyebrow. ‘He wasn’t very subtle when his reason for braiding my hair was, and I quote, “to make you extra pretty so Dad will swoon and fall into your arms”.’ Patton snorted, interrupting the kiss he was pressing to Logan’s jaw. ‘I almost wanted to put him in timeout,’ Logan admitted.

‘Almost?’ Patton asked.

‘Well,’ Logan pulled back and looked at Patton with a smile curling one side of his lips, ‘his plan did work.’

‘Oh, I swooned for you long before that,’ Patton shook his head fondly and pushed a strand of Logan’s hair behind his ear. ‘I’m pretty sure Roman knew that already, though.’

‘He is frustratingly observant when it comes to romance,’ Logan said, stroking his thumb over Patton’s cheekbone.

‘Aw, he’s just passionate,’ Patton defended, then twisted his head to peck Logan’s wrist.

‘Even so,’ Logan sighed, feeling a pit in his stomach, ‘I dread the bombardment of invasive questions and interventions he would bestow upon us if he knew what we’ve been doing for the past -’ he checked his watch ‘- twenty-five minutes. Wow.’

He leaned forward to kiss Patton’s nose but Patton curled back as if burned.

‘You don’t want anyone to know, do you?’ Patton asked, and the hurt in his tone was unbearable.

‘That is not what I meant,’ Logan quickly corrected. He gently carded his fingers through Patton’s hair as the moral side often did with Virgil and Roman. ‘Please know, it is not that I wish to hide my romantic feelings for you. I’ve hidden them for months and quite frankly I am tired of it.’

‘Months?’ Patton smiled.

‘Of course,’ Logan said softly. ‘And while this is a welcome development, it is also a significant one that will have a profound impact on the whole household.’ Patton started nodding. ‘Roman will be rather intense in his support, possibly to a fault. As for Virgil -’

‘Virgil doesn’t like change,’ Patton finished, sounding resigned. ‘No, I get it. I don’t want to upset anyone.’

Logan pulled Patton’s hand up to his lips and kissed each one of his knuckles tenderly. Patton's breath shallowed.

‘I am certain they will be supportive when we do decide to tell them, but for now,’ Logan sighed gently and lowered Patton’s hand, ‘I believe it will be beneficial to our family dynamic if we maintain subtlety.’

‘It’s no problem, Lo,’ Patton shrugged with a smile. ‘I can be subtle, easy peasy mac and cheesy!’

Logan felt a little put out by how easily Patton had said that.

‘Well,’ he straightened his posture and focussed on not letting his disappointment leak into his tone. ‘Don’t sound so sure. It may be harder than it sounds.’

‘Nah,’ Patton said flippantly and Logan saw a cheeky smile pull at his lips. ‘You’re not that irresistible.’

Logan’s mouth dropped open in offence and Patton started giggling under his breath.

So Logan swiftly ducked to Patton’s lips with the intention of proving him wrong.

oOo

Virgil gasped, his upper body flying up from the mattress. His breath came in short pants as he reached out in panic and grasped onto the first thing he could find. He frantically ran his trembling fingers over the object. Soft. Fluffy. Real.

He clutched Minty to his chest tightly and a shaky exhale rushed from him. He was in his bed, in his room. He wasn’t hurt, no one was hurt. He was safe.

His heart still pounded against his ribs and his head swam from the violent awakening, but he knew it would get better soon and he would be able to go back to sleep. Then he shifted on the mattress and froze.

‘No, no, no, no,’ he whispered in anguish as his stomach sank.

He hid his face against his toy. He didn’t need to be able to see to know that his pyjama pants and sheets were soaked through. He gritted his teeth against a wince at the familiar feeling of wet cotton clinging to his skin.

It never got any less upsetting when he wet the bed. He knew how to cope with it, of course. It happened often enough that he had a tried and tested routine that meant none of the light sides had ever discovered his embarrassing problem. He was at least relieved that he had thought to invest in an absorbent mattress protector when he first moved in. It saved him a lot of trouble. Though it didn’t exactly make this habit any less humiliating to deal with.

Virgil usually jumped straight into action when he woke up to wet sheets, working on autopilot to clean up quickly and quietly. But at that moment he felt stuck. His legs were locked in place and his lip began wobbling.

‘Papa,’ he heard himself whimper.

It was unexpectedly high-pitched and shaky and it jolted Virgil out of his haze.

He tensed and growled in frustration. What was he doing?

The hand that wasn't cradling Minty wrapped in his hair and pulled harshly at the locks. He didn’t need his papa, he had always dealt with this on his own. It was bad enough Patton had seen Virgil wet himself in the hallway 3 days previously, he didn’t need to see this too!

Virgil eased the tugging on his hair and instead started stroking it absently. But when he had an accident last time he got lots of cuddles and kisses and it made it less scary. And the next day Papa said Virgil needed to go and get him if it happened again. Virgil didn’t want to be a bad baby.

He felt his eyes burn with tears at the thought of dealing with his wet sheets all on his own, not getting any cuddles, and being told off for it.

No, that wouldn’t happen! Virgil shook his head quickly, trying to make himself a grown-up. Why was he even debating the situation? He didn’t want anyone to know that he wet the bed, that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t get told off for not going to get his papa's help if Patton never even found out about this.

With Minty still cuddled tightly to his chest, Virgil threw the covers off and stood on shaky legs. He looked down to the sheets. The sight of the wet patch sucked all determination from his body and he started trembling uncontrollably.

He didn’t know what to do! The bed was soaked, his pants were soggy and cold, his skin was getting itchy, and there was a big, achey lump in his throat.

He sniffled and brought his thumb up to his lips. He felt yucky. With a gasp, he remembered Papa was sitting next to his bed when Virgil went to sleep. He quickly looked over but the spot was empty now. He turned in a big circle. He couldn’t see Papa anywhere in the room!

A whimper came from his throat and he hugged Minty tighter. The bright stars on the walls and ceiling made it a little bit less scary, but he still wanted his papa.

The yellow hallway light shone through the crack under his door and Virgil realised what he needed to do. He needed to go and find Papa all on his own.

He walked over to the door and opened it carefully, peeking out just in case Papa was waiting outside and wanted to surprise him.

The hallway was empty. He took a really deep breath. Monsters only lived in the dark so he shouldn’t be scared of the brightly lit corridor. He jumped out from his room and ran across the hall really, really quick.

He got to Papa’s door and knocked on it. Hopefully, he came straight out and hugged Virgil! He didn’t like standing on his own ever, but especially not in wet pants. They made him feel small and scared.

Papa didn’t come to the door and Virgil felt a sharp stab in his chest.

He knocked again, a lot louder.

When there was no response Virgil felt some invisible force weigh down his mind so that he felt much more present in his body. Patton was an incredibly light sleeper, the slightest gust of wind would wake him up. Something wasn’t right.

Virgil quickly pushed the door open and flicked the light on. His eyes searched the couch and bed frantically, finding no sign of Patton. Then with a gulp, he dropped his gaze to scout for any lifeless heaps on the floor. Nothing. Images of Patton having hurt himself or worse during the night quickly dissipated from Virgil’s mind and he sighed in relief.

Then suddenly his head felt floaty like before, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach this time. His adult ease was quickly replaced by childish desperation.

‘Papa,’ he whined to nobody.

Tears finally fell to his cheeks and he started sucking on his thumb. There were pacis in Minty’s secret pocket but he didn’t want to drop them everywhere because he was so shaky. Mama always wanted him to use pacis instead of his thumb, though.

He gasped around his thumb and turned to run out of the room. Mama could help find Papa!

He hurried to Mama’s room as quickly as he could and reluctantly took his thumb out of his mouth to knock on the door. He wanted to suck on it again but didn’t want Mama to tell him it was bad so he hugged Minty with both hands instead.

There were lots of shuffling sounds behind the door. For a bit, Virgil thought Mama wasn’t going to open it. Did he want Virgil to go away? He pouted at the thought but then the door was open and Mama was looking down at him with his eyebrows pushed together. His cheeks were pink.

‘Virgil, it’s past midnight,’ Mama said. ‘What are you doing up?’

Virgil didn’t know what to say and bit his lip. Was Mama mad at him? He looked at the ground. He didn’t want to see Mama if he looked angry.

‘Are you alright?’ Mama asked, and this time it sounded a lot softer.

He put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. It was heavy and made breathing a bit easier.

Virgil looked up again and Mama didn’t look angry at all, so Virgil wasn’t so scared to respond.

‘Papa wasn’t there,’ Virgil whispered.

‘Why do you need -’ Mama started asking but then his eyes went down and his face changed.

Virgil realised he was looking at his wet pants and he quickly dropped his hands to hold Minty in front of himself. He didn’t like it when people looked at his accidents, it gave him so many butterflies that his tummy hurt.

‘It’s alright, little one,’ Mama said.

Then there was a weird squeaky noise from his bedroom but Virgil didn’t know what it was. The words Mama said put a fuzzy feeling in Virgil’s chest that made him feel less scared, but it also made him cry more. It was weird.

‘Did you try to find Papa after you had an accident?’ Mama leaned down to look in his eyes.

‘N-not in his room,’ Virgil whimpered and tugged on Minty’s tail with the memory.

‘Uh, well,’ Mama said quietly. He sounded a bit scared too, but not really the same kind of scared. ‘Maybe he is just… on a little trip?’

Lots of scary pictures of Papa never ever coming back played in Virgil’s head. His heart jumped really hard and hot tears filled up his eyes.

‘I wan Papa,’ Virgil whined. His chest got tight and then a sob hurt his throat. ‘Papa.’

There was a loud crash behind Mama and Virgil jumped. He saw Mama's closet door had burst open and then someone scrambled out from the shirts.

‘I’m here, baby!’ Papa yelled and jogged over to him.

‘So much for subtlety,’ Mama said really quietly.

Virgil didn’t know why Papa was in Mama’s closet but he didn’t care. Warm arms were hugging him and Virgil sniffled and buried his head in Papa’s shirt. The smell made him feel happy and made his head tingle.

‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Papa whispered and patted Virgil’s hair. ‘Papa’s got you.’

Virgil cried and held Papa’s shirt tightly in his fingers. He never wanted Papa to leave again!

‘Why did you say I was on a trip?’ he heard Papa whisper.

‘I panicked,’ Mama whispered back.

Virgil didn’t want Mama to panic. Panic was really scary. He pulled his head back to look at Papa. He wanted to ask if Mama was okay but he didn’t know how to and he pouted. Words were tricky.

‘I’m so proud of you for coming to get Mama when you couldn’t find me, baby,’ Papa said with a smile. ‘Now, sweetheart, can Papa please give you a bath?’

Virgil put his thumb back in his mouth and laid his cheek on Papa’s chest again.

‘It will be nice and relaxing,’ Papa said and his chest rumbled and made Virgil feel sleepy. ‘Then we can get you in some clean pyjamas and then cuddle for as long as you want!’

Virgil sniffled. It might be scary if Papa gave him a bath because he had to be naked, but he didn’t want to do it on his own and his skin was really itchy and burning now. And Papa said they can cuddle after!

‘Yeth peas,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumb.

‘Good boy!’ Papa said and it made Virgil’s tummy feel better.

‘Virgil, did you have an accident while you were awake or did you wet the bed?’ Mama asked.

Virgil felt his cheeks get hot and he hid his face more in Papa’s shirt. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about his bedwetting. He just wanted Papa to cuddle him and help make things better, he didn’t want to talk about it!

‘Honey, I need you to be really brave for me,’ Papa kissed his head and it made a happy noise come from Virgil’s throat. ‘Can you please be a good baby and nod for Mama if your bed is wet?’

Virgil didn’t want to nod but he really didn’t want to lie, so he nodded. He didn’t like that it was quiet after he nodded. What if Papa and Mama thought he was bad and they didn’t want to look after him anymore?

He whimpered and hugged Papa tighter.

‘Shh, it’s alright, baby,’ Papa said and stroked his hair. ‘Thank you for telling us.’

‘Mama is going to make your bed for you, Virgil,’ Mama’s voice said right by his ear.

Virgil turned his head a bit on Papa’s chest and opened one eye to see Mama crouching down and looking at him. He didn’t look angry or anything, he looked friendly just like normal. But Virgil still felt a bit shy. He sucked his thumb more.

‘Do you want me to take Minty and tuck them in while you have a bath?’

Virgil looked down at the dino squished between him and Papa and thought for a bit. He kind of wanted to take Minty with him but he didn’t want them getting wet. Plus, if he had Papa with him then he didn’t need Minty to protect him anymore.

He slowly nodded and took his thumb out of his mouth so he could push Minty into Mama’s open hands.

‘Thank you,’ Mama said then stood up tall again. Virgil liked that Mama was really tall. It made him feel safe.

‘So…’ Mama said quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Papa said back.

Virgil was really confused. The grown-ups sometimes spoke in ways he didn’t understand. He didn’t really care though. Minty was held under Mama’s arm like a basketball and it looked funny. Virgil smiled then reached out to poke their nose. Fluffy!

‘Shall we continue our…’ Mama was even quieter now, ‘our discussion later?’

‘Sure, later,’ Papa whispered.

Virgil looked up and saw Papa smiling. He liked it when Papa smiled.

Mama started to walk away but then he stopped and walked back.

‘How could I forget,’ he said then lifted Minty.

It looked like he was tickling them for a bit but then he held something up. A paci!

Virgil lifted his head from Papa’s chest. He really wanted his paci. It was way better than his thumb.

‘Can you tell Mama what colour this is, little one?’ Mama asked nicely. It made Virgil’s head tingle.

The paci was dark and it had little glittery bits that were really pretty.

‘Sparky,’ Virgil said quietly.

Papa squeezed him a bit and made a funny sound.

‘It is sparkly, you’re right,’ Mama said and then he held it up to Virgil’s lips.

Virgil opened his mouth for it. When he felt the chewy smooth bit on his tongue he breathed deep in his nose and closed his eyes. Pacis always felt really nice.

He opened them again to try to say thank you with his eyes but Mama was already walking away.

‘Let’s go run you a warm bath, baby,’ Papa said and pinched Virgil’s cheek. It didn’t hurt, it was really soft and kind of tickly. ‘This is gonna be soap much fun! Are you bubbling over with excitement?’

Papa tapped Virgil’s nose and Virgil giggled and nodded. He wasn’t scared anymore!

oOo

Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! ♡

AO3 link | Next chapter

#ts agere #ts agere fic #sanders sides agere #agere virgil #little virgil #cg patton #cg logan #little/big series #little/big series fics #little accidents big developments

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girl-montag · 4 years

Text

killjoys’ origin stories (part 3)

part 1 - jet-star // part 2 - cherri cola

kobra kid and party poison

this one’s a bit longer, sorry!

he was done with classes for the day. walking home, he kept staring at the ground like he always did. there were too many things on the streets that he didn't want to see, he didn't want to be hurt by. he opened the door of their house, sighing heavily, something he would only do when he knew he was alone. except this time he wasn't. he heard a noise, like a thump, coming from the kitchen, followed by a “fuck!!!”. he felt relieved when he recognised the voice and made his way towards it.

his older brother was standing in the kitchen, cuts and bruises, dried blood all over his face and hands. a bag of (now broken) ice was lying on the floor next to his feet as he was trying to wrap one hand in a cloth. he finally looked up and saw mikey standing in the doorway. when he said “again, gee?”, sounding a bit disappointed, he just rolled his eyes. mikey pushed him into a chair and got a new bag of ice, putting it on the side of his head. “damn, you really had no luck this time, huh?”, he was now tying his hands in a towel to stop the scarce bleeding. gerard smiled, a smile made from trouble and mischief uncommon for a fifteen-year-old, that had always scared mikey: “you should've seen the other guy”. “mhmm, and what did the other guy do?”, asked mikey, knowing damn well that it was his brother’s fault, it always was, but not wanting to sound heartless or unsupportive. gerard looked tired now and mikey was sure it wasn't just cause of the injuries. he looked tired, but a kind of tired where sleep doesn't help. “he’s a typical brainwashed rich kid, mike. he was going around yelling shit about how this city is an oasis of tranquility, how we should all be thankful for the crows, how they do so fucking much for all of us... this guy that almost never leaves the house except when he’s in school and whose old man has a deal with bli is going to preach to us... he wouldn't shut up when i told him to so i wanted to make sure he did, one way or another, y’know?”. mikey nodded slowly. gerard continued then: “anyways, the teachers went crazy... i know this is like the dozenth time i've gotten myself in trouble this month but i think they’ve really had it now...”. he looked around the room trying not to meet mikey’s eyes, his gaze distant and full of guilt that he would never admit. mikey thought how the two of them weren't that different after all. “mom and dad need to have a meeting with the headmaster.”

***

“how don’t you understand!! you don’t take the pills, you finish in a bli detention centre and probably spend the rest of your life there, how is that better??!!”, mikey yelled. gerard was sitting on the floor next to him, arms crossed, defiance burning in his eyes. “taking their pills is equivalent to suicide. have you got any idea what you’re telling me to do? you’re telling me i should drown my own thoughts just because the city deemed them inadequate?? that i should become just another one of their puppets that obey everything, believe everything?? well guess what, mikey, yeah, i’d rather spend the rest of my life there, but at least i'll still be myself.”. the reason they didn't fight often, almost never, was that mikey made a promise to himself pretty early on: he won’t let anyone else be worried about him, ever. because everything hurt. the smoke in the air, the guns and night patrols, the rules, the way they were all constantly being convinced that they’re so fucking happy there. if mikey didn't try not to think about that he would’ve taken dad’s gun and ended it all a long time ago. one time he almost did, he almost pulled the trigger. but by doing that he would hurt everyone he ever loved. his brother, his dad, goddamn, his mom. and that’s the last thing he ever wanted to do. it’s not that he didn't notice the shit around him - he just decided to suffer in silence so the rest of his family wouldn't, not more than they already did anyway. and now his brother was doing the exact opposite. “how can you be so selfish?!...”, mikey screamed, scaring the living shit out of gerard, “i don’t care if it hurts, gerard, i don’t give a shit if it’s not what you want, no one ever gets what they want around here so why would you?! your parents, our parents, you think they’re going to survive losing a kid like that? you think mom...”, his voice broke for a moment and came out shaky and insecure after it, “...mom, who’s already fucking sick, that she’s gonna make peace with that?”. both of them were crying now, silent. “no one gets what they want”, mikey repeated and left the room. gerard was trying to wipe away the tears but there were too many. death has always lived here, he thought. so who’s it gonna be: you or them?, asked a little voice in his head. he went down to the kitchen and, still crying, swallowed two black pills.

but he wasn’t wrong. it was suicide. a couple of weeks after he started taking the pills, it’s like he wasn’t there anymore. whoever was that numb, quiet, obedient kid that was living in their house, that wasn’t gerard. there was no more laughter or joy, only shrugs and silence. their parents were terrified. terrified and helpless, thinking that just having him there, even like that, was better than whatever would happen to him if bli really got their hands on him. it was hard to admit, but mikey wasn’t sure which one was worse. but they all went with it. days, weeks, a couple of months. until mikey couldn’t take it anymore. he couldn't see gerard like that, not a minute longer, nor could he stay collected. he felt like he'd burst into flames if he had to spend one more night in that cage of a city. it was crazy, too crazy for him to pull off, but it looked like it was the only solution. they were going to run away. anywhere but here. he began by flushing gerard’s pills down the toilet. then taking a bag and filling it with water and food and clothes. then writing a goodbye note to their parents. and finally, waking gerard up: “come on, the desert is waiting for us”. the words ringed in gerard’s head for a while and he could’ve sworn his heart started beating just a bit faster for the first time in months. they were just down the stairs when they heard a noise behind them. they turned around quickly. their mother was coming down the stairs, in her night dress, the little hair she still had left hidden under a scarf, carrying a ray gun. “you’re going to need this”, she said and smiled, “i bet there are people out there in the desert who can teach you how to use it properly. and, well, get you another one”. they both wanted to say something - something like are you going to be okay without us, are you not against this, how the fuck am i supposed to explain how much i love you - but they got choked up on their own tears. “now give your ma a kiss before you go”. they did. and they all cried. and then the two of them stepped into the night.

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heres-harleyyy · 5 years

Text

Redemption Ch.5

Pairing - Natasha x reader (F)

Summary - this is the story of how you met the infamous Black widow, but you know her as Natasha. Meeting by pure chance thanks to your ability to teleport, a friendship blooms and turns into something more.

A/N - Sorry it took me longer than expected to write this up, I promise the next chapter with have more Natasha in it!

Warnings - Mention of dead bodys.

.Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter six // Chapter seven // Chapter Eight //

After you told Clint that you were in, he simply nodded not asking about what was on your mind, gave you a hug before stating he'd see you tomorrow and you’d be on your way.

Jumping home, you head back downstairs, passing through the living room you see your mom passed out on the sofa. Bottles of alcohol lay opened next to her, looking over her sleeping form she seemed more relaxed and younger. You understood why she turned to the drink after your fathers passing, she was only seventeen she had you. Your grandparents had cast her out for getting knocked up out of wedlock discarding the family. Your father had joined the army at seventeen with his parent's consent, in turn, taking you and your mother in. A year later your father was called away on duty leaving both of you with his parents, however, when your father died it was too much for his parents and again they cast both you and your mother out and moved across the country.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, walking over to her and placing a blanket over her. She tried so hard to be a good mother but she struggled which you couldn't fault her for. You'd miss her.

Turning away from her you head to the closet where some of your father's belongings where kept. After a few minutes, you find what you were looking for, his old military duffel bag. Grabbing it you jump back to your room and start packing what clothes you'd need, turning around to your bed you lift your mattress and grab the small that contained your savings. Quickly counting it out to make sure there was enough for your fake id before shoving that too in your bag. You then collapse on to your bed and let sleep take ahold.

After what felt like ten minutes your alarm clock wakes you from your slumber. Reaching out you slam the snooze button before groggily sitting up rubbing the sleep out your eyes. The events of yesterday come flooding back yet still you feel nothing. You quickly get up and go for a quick shower and get dressed catching your reflection in the mirror.

You looked tired, the faint colors of purples and yellow still married your skin highlight your right eye. A dent above your left eye next to your temple a permanent reminder that it was all real. That due to some solvent organisation you nearly died, you couldn't be with the girl you loved. That they had taken some from both of you.

Finally, an emotion ignites in you. Balling your fist up you lash out punching your reflection causing the mirror to crack on impact. Staring back at your distorted reflection you didn't recognise it, but you didn't care. Leaving the bathroom you head back to your room. Standing in the doorway you take one last look at the place you once called home, grabbing your bag you head downstairs taking one more look at your mother before leaving for good.

The walk to Clints takes you a little over an hour. You take in the small town that had been your home for your whole life, it's bittersweet. This place was full of childhood memories, had things been different maybe you would have grown old here. But that was no longer an option you weren't the same kid anymore.

When you arrive Clint and Laura are waiting outside, wrapped up in an embrace. Hearing you approach the broke apart. Laura had tears in her eyes she pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, slowly you hug her back.

"Take care of him please Y/N," she says trying to keep her own tears from falling.

"Always." You reply as you both part. She sniffs once before smiling at you both.

"Don't worry hun, we're not recruits yet." Clint laughs picking up his own bag. He gives Laura one last kiss before the two of you head off.

---

Getting the ids had been a breeze surprisingly, you both decided to play it safe and keep your own names just change your date of birth to say you both were eighteen. It was a simple change but still a risky one.

Thankfully though when you both went to the recruitment office they took you both on. After that things began to become a blur. The first year you both started to shine quickly becoming the top marksman of your squadron, Clint preferred long-range rifles rather than the assault. Making jokes about how he'd love nothing more than to take a bow and arrow out on to the field and create a whole new record. You, on the other hand, favoured hand to hand combat occasionally bringing in a melee weapon, something about the feeling of wielding a knife or baton made you feel more empowered.

The second-year you were both sent on tour. It was short and uneventful, only receiving a few casualties. It was then you began to feel again, it was slight but something. Of course, you loved Clint, he as your brother but the others in your squad you started to see them as family.

The third-year you are sent on tour again, yet this time it wasn't a breeze like last time. Clint and you were out on patrol round one of the tiny village passing by some small children that where playing in the street.

"You feel like we're being watched?" Clint asks, looking around shrugging his shoulder readying himself.

"They're always watching us, Clint. You know that." You reply scanning your surroundings for potential threats. Clint hummed a response.

"Strike Team Charlie how copy? Over." Sergeant Philips voice crackles through your coms. Looking back at Clint he nods before Turing around. You follow him.

"All good sir, heading back to the extraction point. Over." You answered. The sergeant gives you a quick response before the coms go dead again.

"You seem more on edge." You commented looking at your best friend. He looks back at you before shrugging.

"Just something's off, can feel it in my gut." He shakes his head and sighs.

"Probably Chefs cooking coming back on you," you laugh, lightly punching him on his shoulder. He, in turn, lets out a small chuckle. As you's around the corner you're greeted with a sight that turns your stomach. The children that were out playing in the street a mere few moments ago now lay dead. "Holy fuc-" you began but were quickly blown back by some unseen force. A scolding heat scorched your body as if you were standing next to a bonfire. You feel your back collide with the ground and deafening scream of white noise. Slowly blinking you shake your head trying to focus. Thick clouds of black smoke prevented you from seeing your surroundings. Quickly you stand making sure you can walk, which you can you quickly find cover grabbing your com only to see it was bust. "Fuck!" You throw it in your dump pouch before readying your rifle checking the surroundings. You spotted Clint still laying on his back unmoving, adrenaline began to pump through your veins, checking the surroundings quickly you ran over to him. Quickly checking to make sure he had a pulse you pull him into nearby cover checking for his com to request reinforcements but his to was bust. Voices of men screaming and gunshots caught your attention, cursing again you look around. You were outnumbered and with a man down you weren't likely to make it out alive unless you jumped...

Over the last three years, jumping had only reminded you over her so you stopped. To "have a normal life." Cursing again you grabbed ahold of Clint's plate carrier and closed your eyes, picturing the med bay. The men's voices got louder until you heard one shout next to you, you opened your eyes to see him aiming his gun at you screaming at you both just before he pulls the trigger you blink feeling your self jump. Looking around you see you're in camp a few tents down from the med bay. Clint groaned slowly coming round from the blast.

"Medic!" You scream at the top of your lungs finally coming back to reality. The medic team came charging out taking Clint into the tent, they took you as well making sure that you weren't hurt. The Sergeant found you and asked for a mission report which you gave in detail leaving out the part where you jumped you and Clint back to the base. Seeming satisfied with that he took you off active patrol and allowed you to stay at camp with Clint. He was out cold for two days before coming round, the doctor had said due to the blast some loss of hearing might have occurred but the word might filled you with too much hope. Clint couldn't hear anything around him or you. Luckily as part of you're training you'd both learned some ASL which you both were extremely grateful for.

---

"Y/L/N," Sergeant Phillips calls out as he enters the medic tent. You quickly turn around and stand to greet him. "You and Barton have report to my tent at once."

"Sir?" You question as he turns to leave.

He stops briefly before yelling, "Double time soldier."

"Yes, sir!" You respond turning back to Clint, signing to him that you both had to get up and go. He looks at you confused before asking why. You shrugged before helping him out of the bed and to the Sergeants tent. Inside there were two people you didn't recognise, one being a small man dressed in a suit and tie the other dressed in black with an eye patch.

"Ah good, you's are here." Sergeant Philips says before truing to the two gentlemen saying a quick goodbye and leaving. You and Clint exchange a look between each other silently question each other. Had the military finally clicked on to your fake documents?

"Please take a seat," the smartly dressed man says gesturing to the chairs opposite them. You help Clint over and take the seats.

"So it's Y/L/N and Barton correct?" The man with the eye patch starts looking over you both with an analytical eye.

"Yes, sir." You reply for both of you. He hums in response, the other man simply smiles at you both. "And who are you two?"

The man with the eye patch simply straightens his back looking down at yous, the other man quietly chuckles.

"I'm Nick Fury, director of shield." He says as if it was meant to mean something to you, your hands start to sweat with nerves, "And this is Agent Coulson. We are here to talk to you about certain issues that have caused our attention."

#black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romonova #marvel fic #marvel x reader #marvel x you #queer fic

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jawnloxk · 4 years

Text

“Heroic Origins” Pt. 1 Sherlock Miraculous AU

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been flatmates and best friends for over a year, when they are given a secret identity no one can find out about - not even them.

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Johnlock (John x Sherlock), Mystrade (Mycroft x Greg), Sherlolly (Sherlock x Molly)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Explicit language, mentions of home abuse

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻: Chapter 1, "Heroic Origins" Part 1

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2493 words

********************************************

In the year of 2011 Dr John H. Watson had been evacuated from the battlefield in Afghanistan due to a dangerous injury. The fallen soldier had been transported over to London's National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, where he had stayed for a month, under the watchful eye of the best physical therapists. He had learned to walk, talk and eat again but he still lacked sleep. Nightmares had been haunting him every night, keeping him up or waking him up in cold sweat if he had managed to close his eyes for a moment.

In May of 2011 the soldier was transported yet again into a small flat in the suburbs. It wasn't much, just a small bedroom with a window and a desk, even smaller bathroom and an even smaller kitchen place. He didn't need much more than that, but he knew he would have to find himself an actual place to live soon as this wasn't a long-term solution.

You can only imagine his joy when after a nice little meet-up with an old friend, he heard the words "I know somebody who's looking for a flatmate". John wasn't an impulsive person, he was actually very hesitant when it came to meeting new people. But for this man... He was ready to risk it all.

Sherlock Holmes was the sort of man people despised. There were many reasons why but John found three sentimental truths that seemed to be the most important ones. First of all, his intellectual skills were quite mind-blowing. The man was born with an extraordinary talent to read people's whole life story just by looking at them. Second of all, he was painfully honest - which often made him seem like an utter cock. He had no boundaries and couldn't tell polite from cruel. Of course, even if he could, he still wouldn't make much use of it, or so everyone thought. And third of all, Sherlock had an intimidating aura. He was horribly attractive and knew exactly how to take advantage of that. And so he did. John wasn't sure if he was more jealous of his looks or his amazing flirting skills...

Either way, it only took them one evening to get to know each other enough for John to decide he wanted to move in with this man. He provided him with enough adrenaline and dopamine to forget about Afghanistan, about his leg, about his shoulder. Nothing else mattered.

********************************************

"Do you need anything from the store? I'm going shopping!" John called out, rushing out of the kitchen. He had checked every cupboard earlier, making sure to note everything that he would have to provide them with.

"Some biscuits, maybe? And milk" Sherlock responded with a mutter, not looking up from his laptop. To be clear - not quite his laptop. John's. Dr Watson couldn't care less, though.

"Sure. I'll be back soon. Don't start a war?" he joked, grabbing his coat. Sherlock shot him a glare, which softened as soon as he spotted the faintest smile on John's lips. He nodded, looking back down at whatever the hell he was doing, as the shorter man rolled his eyes with a chuckle, jogging down the stairs.

As he walked down the street he still wore a smile on his face. Passing all those little stores on Baker Street, kids running around the square, heading for the park - it all made his heart happy. A few months earlier he didn't believe that he would ever feel that again. Yet there it was..

He frowned as he heard shouting of a different nature - aggressive, offensive. Metal clicking - gun. Off safety.

John's instincts screamed 'check it'. No sane person would go unarmed anywhere near an attacker with a gun, but Dr Watson was nowhere near sane.

The shouting seemed to come from a darkened backstreet. John moved closer to the wall, peeking from around the corner. The attacker was a tall man with black hair. He was standing over another man, curled up on the floor, his clothes torn and dirty. Probably a homeless person. The aggressor held a gun up, pointing it at the other. Only small begs and cries were audible from the mess of a man laying on the concrete. Watson pulled out his phone and texted Detective Inspector Lestrade the name of the street.

"Hey, you! Stop it, now!" he called out, feeling his heart beat faster with anger and confidence. He stepped closer and soon regretted it - the man was so much taller than him. It didn't make him back off, though.

"Who are you?" the man looked up, raising an eyebrow. Must have been a funny view to him, see such a small, innocent looking man standing in front of him.

"I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital and I suggest you drop this weapon and leave at once" he answered quickly, his face staying stone cold and emotionless.

The man raised his gun and pointed it at John. Dr Watson didn't flinch. He took another step forward, then another and one more - until he was standing just a few feet away from the other, the gun pressed to his forehead.

"Pull the trigger and there is no going back. The police will be here in less than a minute. And if they find me dead... Well, you know what happens, don't you?" he said calmly, tilting his head a bit. The other gulped quietly but didn't move.

One swift move of John's left elbow and the man's gun was on the ground. And with another one of those moves - so was the attacker himself.

"Watson! Watson? Are you okay?"

John turned around just to see Detective Lestrade running down the path, sirens in the distance slowly becoming louder and louder.

********************************************

"Are you okay, sir?"

Dr Watson approached a taller man, wrapped up in an orange blanket, sitting on the ground with his head in his lap. He was clearly in shock. John couldn't help but pity him.

The man raised his head. His bloodshot eyes glistened with thankfulness. "Oh, good man you are. Thank you, oh, thank you" he choked out, shaking his head, like if he couldn't express his feelings enough.

"You're welcome. You are no longer in danger, please, try to calm down" John said, kneeling and putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "You will be alright, I guarantee you".

"Why did you help me, good sir? I'm just a crappy junkie, nobody of any importance-" he cried out, before he was silenced by John's scoff.

"No, of course not. Everybody's important. Everybody matters. I believe all of us deserve help, we're all just... People" he smiled softly, his words clearly inspiring the other man. He stared at the soldier for a moment, before blinking a few times and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, black box with red symbols on the lid and looked up at the other again.

"Please, take this as a form of... Gratitude. For all you've done for me today and all you will do for other people in the future" he said, his voice raspy but deeper than before.

John furrowed his brows. "I didn't do it for any kind of-"

"I know. And that's exactly why I want you to have it" he said, a smile lighting up his pale face.

John reached for the box and examined it, before reaching to open it. However, the bloke stopped him. "Open it when you're at home, alone. Please" he instructed quietly. John frowned.

John frowned. Taking a present from ‘a junkie’, which he is obligated to open in private... Sounded suspicious. Sounded risky. Sounded dangerous. He nodded slowly.

"Of course. Thank you."

"No, young man. Thank you"

********************************************

How much time? Fourteen minutes? Getting closer to fifteen. It usually took John nineteen minutes to do his shopping and get back home. Sherlock counted. Every time.

He would always stay at the flat, taking in his moments of silence, using them fully and completely, making sure they weren't wasted. Nineteen minutes of brain-clearing, slowing down and catching up with his furious thought process.

Shouting from outside. Cars screeching. A woman in her early twenties crying. Noise. "Shut up!" he called out, his eyes rolling back as he let out a loud groan of pure discomfort and annoyance.

"Sherlock, sweetheart, I never said anything- Oh! Oh God, look!" Poor Mrs. Hudson's face went pale as she peeked her head through the doorway. Her eyes went wide. Something scary, traumatic, shocking - outside the window. The detective sighed deeply and turned his head.

The sight made him jump up to his feet and grab his coat. He pulled it on, reaching for John's gun from the drawer, before leaving the flat quickly, Mrs. Hudson's cries left behind in the sitting room.

Outside the building was standing a crowd of gapers. Some had their phones out, recording, some were screaming, some were just standing there and doing nothing - gapers.

Baker Street 220, second floor, an opened window. A woman hanging from it. Crying. Her hair a mess. Her shirt loose from... Pulling? Fighting? Looking up at something inside the flat. Aggressor? Home abuse victim then. The girl - not too athletic. Won't hold on too long.

"Did anyone call the police!?" somebody yelled.

"They won't arrive on time, the approximate time for the police's arrival is seven minutes and nineteen seconds" said Sherlock, rather loudly, as he made his way through the crowd "Call the ambulance instead, she might need one".

He began analysing his way up to the woman. Through the flat? Impossible. Aggressor must have still been inside. He couldn't risk taking too much time in the flat, neutralizing the suspect. The possibility of the woman not making it was too high. He looked away. The building was tall, many balconies and windows. He could easily climb up, get the woman down the same way, then go deal with the abuser. He settled on that option.

He pulled his coat off, deciding that it would only make the hike much harder. He threw it over at the closest gawker, before jumping up and gripping one of the barriers. He pulled himself up and jumped down onto the balcony. The woman's cries were now even louder, making Sherlock's heart beat faster with adrenaline. He had to really focus on not smiling. Smiling in a situation like that was definitely not a good idea after all.

Another swift jump with a pull-up and he was already on the second floor. He could see the woman clearly, feel her fear, hear every single cry coming out of her mouth. The visible and audible panic that needed to be calmed down - or else she would not make it.

"Hey, don't worry, I'm here now" he said, turning her attention to him. Her eyes widened - panic, but relief. Pupils dilated. Sherlock gave her a warm, soothing smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh God, please help me, please-" she cried out, kicking her legs in the air. She screeched as her hand slipped away, then grabbed onto the window yet again.

"I will, I need you to tell me your name first" he said slowly, reaching out his hand, like if he wanted to say 'stop'.

"Anthea- Please, help me!".

"Okay, Anthea. I need you to stop crying. Calm down, I want you to concentrate all of your strength in your arms. I'm gonna ask you to move closer to me so I can get you down" he instructed her, staring at her with a caring but concerned look in his eyes.

She looked down and squealed, "No, I can't-".

"Yes, you can, Anthea! I need you to believe me. You can!" he said quickly. "Move closer to me, just a bit. I will help you".

Anthea gulped, looking up again. She managed to move her fragile hand closer to the right edge of the window. She held onto it tightly, series of small squeals escaping her swollen lips. "Shit- Oh, oh God..."

"Good, come on... Just a little bit closer, you can do it. Look at you, look at how brave you are" Sherlock said softly, giving her another friendly smile. She glanced at him and nodded weakly, trying to move even closer. "Just another inch, come on, Anthea. Just another inch...".

And there it was. The girl managed to pull herself up and to the right again. It was Sherlock's turn to react. He quickly jumped over the barrier, one of his legs staying on the balcony, as he reached out both of his hands. If he grabbed her too slow, they would both fall, his leg wouldn't be able to block such weight. If he did it fast enough, they would both get back onto the balcony. He took a deep breath and counted to three. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and gripped her, before pulling back onto the balcony. With a groan from him and a shriek from her, they landed safely on the wooden tiles - Sherlock on his back, Anthea curled up on top of him. Both of them stayed like that, panting.

“It’s all right now... I’ve got you...”.

After less than a minute they both heard sirens - so somebody really called the police...

********************************************

"Anthea Brown. Twenty three. Lives here with her boyfriend. Now, obviously, I don't think that will be the case anymore" Sally Donovan handed the notepad over to Sherlock, eying him carefully. She wasn't too fond of working with him. Clearly.

"Right. Great" he nodded, looking over at the woman, wondering if he should tell Sergeant that he had already known all of that... "Arrest the man, let her stay here - would make sense, don't you think?"

"I know what to do, freak. This is not my first case like this" she scoffed, turning on her heel and walking back to the police car. To write down a report? Most likely.

Sherlock sighed and soon turned around. The crowd was still there, most of them were now focused on him instead of the girl herself. He quickly spotted the man holding his coat and headed over to get it back.

"Congratulations, that was so... Heroic" said the bloke, his eyes glistening with admiration.

"I did what had to be done" Sherlock answered absent-mindedly and grabbed his coat, hanging it over his shoulder as he made his way back to his flat.

As he walked inside, he furrowed his brows. The coffee table, where previously was only his own cup of tea and John's laptop, was now empty - except for a small black box with red, ancient symbols on the lid and a card glued to the side:

'Open when alone and ready. -Master Fu'

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plutoandpolaris · 5 years

Text

Absentia Chapter 2: The Mission

I remember when I discontinued this and said it was because it took too long to write part two and no one would want to read it. Well, past Pluto, if a few months was too long for you, how about nearly two years?

But lo and behold, it’s here and I fully intend to complete this story because goddammit I have so many incomplete WIPs and it bothers me. For those who don’t remember part one, which I assume is all of you, here's the link:

Absentia Chapter 1

This puppy is 9,000 words and two years in the making, so I hope you all enjoy it! And I apologize if the style is inconsistent, a lot has happened since I wrote the majority of this.

Summary: With the revelation that Henrik still lives, the others are forced to come up with some way to save him and bring their brother home. However, Marvin knows something the others do not, and he may not have the strength to stop his brothers before they get themselves killed or worse.

(Tw: stab wounds, night terrors, guns, violence, foul language, Anti being a freaky fuck, blood, hospitals, surgery mention, broken bones mention, comas)

*if there's any more triggers you think I should add, let me know. This fic is a monster and I might have missed some.

The air was frigid, sinking into his skin and chilling him to the bone. Everything was dark and quiet, save for pained, ragged breathing.

“Hello?”

Marvin called out into the darkness but received no answer except the desperate breaths and the oppressive silence. Then, he saw it. A figure slumped over on the ground, clutching a wound in his stomach, face unidentifiable. The magician attempted to reach out to him but he was glued in place, paralyzed no matter who fervently he struggled. A horribly familiar voice rang out into the darkness.

“No one will be coming to save you this time.”

A hand reached out from the void, pulling at the victim’s hair to wrench him into a kneeling position. Marvin let out a startled gasp as their face was revealed.

It was Jackie.

The hand tightened in the hero’s hair, dragging him away into the darkness.

“Jackie?! Jackie!”

The weeks that followed their visit to Dr. Iplier were hell for Chase. With Jackie on semi-permanent bedrest and Marvin in a magic-induced coma, he was now the oldest healthy member of the household, which came with many responsibilities that he was definitely not ready for. Taking care of Jameson, defending the house should Anti attack, remembering to pay the electric bill, and now caring for Jackie and Marvin, all of it fell to him. He’d never realized how much Jackie and Marv did for them in the background, but it was incredibly stressful.

Through it all, Chase had begun to appreciate JJ more than ever. He helped cook the meals, looked after Marvin, and was someone to confide in now that it was just them left. Chase would take care of Marvin in the morning, administer his medicine, and give Dr. Iplier a report over the phone, while JJ made sure Jackie was healing properly and taking the correct medication. At noon they would switch.

A month had gone by with no change in Marvin’s condition, much longer than the Host had estimated. Every day came with the horrible fear that one of these mornings they would find the magician dead. At the very least Jackie was now healthy enough to be up and about, but even his effectively endless positivity didn't cure the sinking pit in Chase’s stomach.

It wasn’t until a particularly blustery Friday night that something finally changed.

JJ was asleep in an armchair next to Marvin’s bed, a half-finished book on his lap and a cup of tea nearby that had since gone cold. Then, after a month of dormancy, the comatose man’s eyes flew open.

“ J-Jackie?!” He croaked out, his voice hoarse and scratchy from not being used in so long.

JJ jolted awake, taking one look at the now awake Marvin and practically leaping to the door. He nearly tripped over himself as he sprinted down the short hallway, banging on bedroom doors as he went. Jackie exited his room immediately, arm still held tenderly against his body to protect his injured shoulder but eyes wild.

“It’s 2 am Jameson, what’s going on?!”

“Marvin’s awake!” JJ signed to him furiously, taking him by his good arm and practically dragging him to the magician’s room.

Marvin had since attempted to sit up, the movement clearly difficult by the way he was half slouching against the headboard. His eyes widened when JJ and Jackie burst through the door, both out of breath from sprinting across the apartment.

“Jackie?! You’re- Where the hell am I?! How long has it been? Is Anti-”

“You’re home, Marv.”

Marvin wound a hand through his hair, looking around the room and realizing that it was, in fact, his own. He looked to Jackie again, noticing that the gash on his temple had healed down to nothing but a pale scar.

“It's been a month, we were worried you wouldn't ever wake up.”

Focus returned to Marvin’s eyes, confusion morphing into worry.

“Where's Chase? Is he alright?”

As if on cue Chase lumbered through the door, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Guys, what was all that banging about?! You’d think Anti broke in with all that racket.”

It wasn't until he looked up that he noticed who they were all gathered around.

“Marvin!”

Chase ran to his bedside, throwing his arms around the magician in a crushing hug.

“You're alive!”

“I won't be in a minute if you keep squeezing me like that!” Marvin struggled in Chase’s grip but he was far too weak to worm his way out of it.

They all laughed, more out of relief than anything else.

JJ stayed at a respectable distance- he never was one for physical contact- but the relief on his face was palpable.

However, once the jovial air wore off, more pressing questions were at hand.

“What happened while I was out?”

Chase and Jackie spent the next fifteen minutes filling him in on their visit to Dr. Iplier and the revelation that Schneep was alive. Marvin listened with little reaction, but the others could see how much the news troubled him.

“He’s been alive out there this entire time?”

Chase had since ducked out of the room to call Dr. Iplier and tell him Marvin had woken up, so it was only Jackie and JJ left in the room.

“Apparently,” Jackie answered, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “He seemed pretty proud of it too.”

“It was Anti who said this, correct? How do you know he’s not lying to us?”

“We don’t, do we?” JJ signed to them, although it was difficult to tell what he was trying to say in the dim light.

“What, would you rather he be dead? I don’t care if this is another of Anti’s lies, I’m going to look for him. We can’t just forget he ever existed.”

Marvin sat up straighter in bed, defiance etched into his exhausted face.

“That is not what I’m trying to say.”

“Then what are you trying to say?!”

Marvin’s coma visions flashed in his mind, Jackie’s bloody, bruised face sending a pang of fierce protectiveness through his chest.

Any mission to save Schneeplestien would end in tragedy, the magician knew it. His visions had never lied to him before, and he had no reason to believe they would now.

There was a long period of silence before Marvin spoke again, his voice quiet.

“I’m just trying to say we should be cautious, is all. This could be a setup. We don’t have any proof that Henrik really is still alive. Wouldn’t it be better to spend our resources on protecting those we know are still here?”

“But what if he is still alive?! We’d be leaving him to die!”

“After this much time with Anti? He’s probably already dead, mentally if not physically.”

Jackie’s hands were shaking with anger at this point, and Marvin knew he’d crossed a line.

“That doesn’t mean we should just fucking abandon him.”

“Gentlemen, please-”

“You stay out of this!” Jackie snapped, JJ recoiling back from the harsh words.

“Don’t yell at him!” Chase had ducked back into the room at the noise, gripping JJ’s shirt sleeve as he maneuvered the younger towards the doorway.

“I leave for 5 minutes and you two are already arguing! Don't you think that maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what Anti wants?!”

“Chase-”

“Save it. This ain't any kind of conversation to be having at two in the morning. Let Marvin rest, we can settle this tomorrow.”

When Chase pulls out his authoritarian parent voice, you don’t argue.

“Jackie, I didn't mean-”

Marvin reached out to him, but Jackie had already stood, face ashen but steeled in determination. He had made up his mind, the exact thing Marvin was trying to prevent.

JJ followed him out as he left, though at a slight distance

Chase, however, turned back to Marvin with a curt “goodnight” before shutting the door behind him.

Then it was Chase and JJ alone in the hall, Jackie having quickly ducked into his room to avoid the palpable disappointment radiating off of Chase. Jameson tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“What is it, JJ?”

“They are frightened, Chase. Don’t blame them for their anger.”

Chase sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t blame them, Jameson, I’m just-”

“Trying to keep everything together? You’ll never be able to do that alone. None of us can.”

Chase let out a nervous laugh. “Tell me about it.”

JJ sighed, taking Chase by the wrist. He led the other into the kitchen, sitting him at the table and moving to put the kettle on.

“Tea always puts me in high spirits.”

After a few minutes of silence, JJ joined Chase at the table with two cups of chamomile. The two sat, listening to the sounds of the wind and snow battering the outside of the apartment.

“How do you always seem to know just what to say? I wish I could do that, probably would've made me a better parent.”

JJ looked out the near window into the growing snowstorm, contemplative.

“When you cannot speak,” his hands hovered in the air for a moment, contemplative.“you learn to make every word count.”

They didn't say anything more, sitting in silence until their teacups were empty. Chase bid JJ a thank you and goodnight, heading back to bed himself. Jameson was left at the table, cleaning the cups in the soft amber glow of the kitchen.

The next morning, a house meeting was called. Marvin was helped from his bed to a similar position on the couch, with JJ in the armchair and Chase and Jackie on the futon.

Jackie called the meeting to order.

“I've called you all here because we need to figure out what we're going to do. Sitting here bickering is going to help no one.”

He surveyed the room, eyes landing on each member of the household before settling on Marvin.

“So, we're going to have a good old fashioned vote. All in favor of going after Henrik, raise your hand.”

Jackie’s was up first, then Chase’s, and finally JJ’s. Marvin was the only one who didn't move.

“Marv, please, we need you if we’re going to make this work,” Chase pleaded.

“Why are you so opposed to it anyway? If we try and fail, at least we tried. At least we did something.” Jackie said, his words punctuated with silent anger that made the air run cold.

He couldn't tell them, he just couldn't. Marvin knew his visions, and he knew they couldn't be changed. All they could do was delay it, but the moment in time had been written in stone. All telling them would do is delay the inevitable and cause them all more pain.

The room was silent for a long few seconds,

“I'm scared, Jackie.”

If it wasn't quiet before, it certainly was now. Like Jackie, Marvin has never admitted to weakness. Fear wasn’t an option. He'd work himself straight into the grave if the others didn't stop him, it was the whole reason he managed to get to the point of coma in the first place. Admitting to fear was huge to Marvin. He’d never do it unless there was just cause.

“I’ve lived and breathed this kind of magic for months now. It is extremely serious, powerful enough to get inside your brain and change you on a fundamental level. This goes beyond Night Sickness or even demon possession. Spending nine months in constant contact with demonic magic, if it doesn’t kill you, will turn you into something unrecognizable. Jameson is the only one of us here who even has the slightest inkling of what that’s like, and he was only exposed to it for upwards of an hour.”

JJ nodded, absentmindedly rubbing the pale scars on his fingers.

“Are you absolutely sure there’s no way to reverse it? If we’re able to get him back at all, that is.” Jackie asked, tone softer this time.

“Possibly. There are ways to cleanse the system of demonic power, but even the most powerful magic can’t reverse the mental and physical trauma associated with being Anti’s prisoner for half of a year. There isn’t a power on this earth that can completely cure that.”

Jackie held his head in his hands for a moment.

“We have to try.”

Marvin contemplated this for a long time, his eyes almost visibly clouded with doubt. Then, after nearly a full minute of silence, he spoke.

“Chase, you know the bookshelf in my room? On the bottom shelf against the right wall, there’s a dark blue book. Bring it to me. Call Host too, I'm going to need some help.”

Marvin threw off the blanket that was draped across his shoulders, struggling into a sitting position.

“We’re going to find ourselves a doctor.”

In a little less than fifteen minutes, Host and Marvin had set themselves up at the kitchen table with the book between them. Bing had also tagged along, mostly just to visit Chase.

While the others tried finding ways to help, it was obvious that Marvin and Host were operating with things none of them could understand. After a while, it became clear that what they really needed was to be left alone.

Host had Marvin take a break every half hour, to make sure he didn’t exhaust himself. He wasn’t even supposed to be using magic at all, especially this soon after coming out of a coma, but there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. The work helped to lift his mood though, as it usually did. He was starting to look less like a walking corpse and more like the Marvin he was before this whole mess began.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that they had pinpointed Schneep’s possible location.

It was an early Monday morning, about 6:00 am, everyone in the apartment still asleep except for Marvin, the Host, and Bing. Host and Marvin had been up all night as they usually were, while Bing didn’t even need to sleep, being an android. He instead busied himself with trying to find something in the board game cabinet he could entertain himself with.

While the others had been expecting a loud celebration once the location was found, there wasn’t one. Finding the doctor had been a long and grueling process of elimination, using a myriad of various tracking magics and knowledge of Anti and his habits, provided by a report Host had stolen from Dark’s desk drawer.

“Why the hell does Dark even have this?” Marvin had asked of him when the document was brought up.

“Anti is his biggest competition. It is beneficial to know your enemy. The Host just hopes he doesn‘t notice it’s gone.”

Once the others were awake, Marvin called them into the sitting room again to deliver the good news.

“Thanks to this,” Marvin held up the report, “We’ve found one alternate dimension that has the biggest chance of being the one Anti’s been hiding out in. Apparently Dark has hired some kind of spy to follow Anti around, for his own reasons I’m sure, but Anti has been seen frequenting a tear in the abandoned fishing village of Hallsands in Devon.”

“Question, what’s a tear?” Chase asked.

“It’s a place where the boundaries of this dimension are weaker than usual, allowing easier passage out of this dimension into another. There are hundreds of them, but it’s suspicious that Anti has been frequenting this one in particular.”

“And,” Marvin continued, “It would make sense for Anti to pick it considering that even visitors aren’t allowed in the village proper since the access road is blocked by the sea. I’m not sure if I'll be able to make a portal in my condition, but I don't think I have much of a choice. Still, someone’s going to have to go in to find Schneep, and even I don't know what you'll find in there.”

Marvin was out since he had to be the one to actually open the portal, and Chase backed out immediately after. He didn't want to be anywhere near Anti, not after last time.

That left Jackie and JJ. Jackie had already volunteered, but to make the plan work, they needed one person to distract Anti and the other to find and free Schneep while the demon was occupied.

“I’ll do it.”

The others gawked at Jameson, wide-eyed. JJ was probably the gentlest among them, and considering what had happened to him in October, the least likely to want to face Anti in person again. Yet still, his eyes burned with uncharacteristic determination.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? We wouldn't judge you if you backed out, you have a better reason than any of us do.”

“Somebody has to do it. Might as well be me.”

It was clear that he had made up his mind.

Though Jackie never would have expected to be going in with JJ of all people, he respected the courage required to agree to a dangerous, possibly even suicidal mission all to save someone Jameson hadn’t even met before.

Now that the details of the plan had been decided, then began the month-long preparation period. Jackie spent the majority of it training with Bing. A strange choice from the outside, but being an android, Bing was much stronger and faster than any human being could possibly hope to be. He didn't have any formal combat training and was as clumsy as you'd expect, but that didn't really matter. His only real job was to try and hit Jackie as fast as he possibly could-which was several times faster than most normal people can blink- and see if Jackie could dodge it.

It left him with a lot of nasty bruises, but he was improving. The name of the game was speed. Jackie knew he couldn't beat Anti in hand to hand combat and there was no way he'd ever be able to, but all this mission really entailed was distracting and slowing him down long enough for JJ to find Schneep and free him. That, Jackie could do.

At least he hoped so.

Alongside his own training, Jackie spent time trying to teach JJ the absolute basics of staying alive in a fight against Anti. He was an attentive listener, but his problem was one that couldn’t be solved in the short time they had until the mission.

He was far too gentle and empathetic. He vehemently refused to hit Jackie, even when reassured that it wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’ve been punched in the face by a robot six times today, you’re not going to hurt me,” he’d say, but Jameson still wouldn’t do it.

JJ certainly wasn’t weak physically, none of them were. He’d do anything else Jackie asked of him to the best of his ability, but he wouldn't fight on any condition. Hell, he wouldn’t even practice against Bing, who couldn’t feel any pain in the first place. As far as he was concerned, hurting another living being on purpose made him no better than Anti.

“Jameson, you have to remember, Anti isn’t human. I’m not even sure if he’s truly alive, not like we are. You can’t let yourself feel for him, because he’s sure as hell isn’t going to feel for you. God forbid if I’m out of commission, it’s just going to be you, Henrik, and Anti. If that happens, you fight or you die.”

JJ was clearly conflicted by this, Jackie could see it in the nervous twitching of his brow and the way he refused to look up from the floor.

Jackie laid a hand on his shoulder.

“The offer to back out is still there. Chase said he’ll take your place if he has to.”

JJ immediately shrugged the hand off of his shoulder.

“No.”

The sign was short and aggressive, about as close to yelling as Jameson could ever get.

It was that moment that made it clear that this was more than JJ wanting to help. This was personal. The others obviously had varying levels of hatred and fear towards Anti, but for JJ it was something much, much more than that.

He’d never talked about what being possessed was like and waved off any attempts by the others to console him after the fact, but it still affected him majorly. It was one of the reasons he wanted to help save Schneep regardless of never having met him. The doctor might be the only other person alive on earth that knew what it was like, that could understand.

This mission, having a handhold over Anti, proving that they weren’t completely helpless; that meant everything to him. It was less about proving it to the demon and more about proving it to himself.

That despite what everyone had assumed about him, he was his own person.

For the next few days after that, they took a break from combat and focused on teaching JJ other skills. Dr.Iplier taught him basic first aid and how to tell if someone had a concussion, where the pulse is, how to properly slow the effects of blood loss, among several other things he may need to employ depending on what condition they found the doctor in.

Jackie taught him how to pick locks, and how to breathe and walk to make the least amount of noise possible.

Jameson absorbed the information like a sponge, becoming near obsessed with perfecting every skill they laid in front of him. He’d stay up until the early hours of the morning, picking the lock on his own door until the inside mechanisms broke from the strain. He’d become so good at sneaking around that by the time they were ready to leave he could stand in the corner of a room completely undetected for 30 minutes and no one would even notice him until he moved.

The day had finally come for them to leave. Jackie had dressed JJ in black, flexible clothing, the kind he usually wore to night missions where he needed to be discreet. Seeing Jameson in semi-casual attire was strange, and he seemed uncomfortable in it, but this mission relied on maneuverability and stealth. It was necessary.

Jackie, JJ, Chase, Marvin and Dr. Iplier were all waiting on the back lawn of the apartment complex, preparing to leave. Bing had also come to see them off.

Dr. Iplier was dressed warmer than usual in a black turtleneck under a heavier black denim overcoat. Slung over his shoulder was a leather doctor’s bag. None of them knew how they had managed to convince him to come along, but they were going to need a doctor once they rescued Schneep. If they managed to, that is.

All of them were dressed for brisk weather, in dark clothing fit for winter. Spring definitely wasn’t upon them just yet, and the cold air off of the sea certainly wasn’t going to improve things.

Chase and Host had supplied Jackie with a pistol and three silver bullets, the last of what Host had made after the others were lost in their last fight. The weapon was strapped to his waist along with other provisions.

Jackie had never liked guns, mostly because of how impersonal they were. If he had to kill someone he would rather it be visceral and real, a reminder of the sacrifices one has to make in order to keep the peace.

However, this mission was a notable exception to his rule. There was too much at stake.

JJ was dressed similarly, a small bag strapped to his side containing his lock pick tools, a small roll of bandages and a container of antiseptic.

The irony of that certainly wasn't lost on them.

They were about ready to leave and had said their goodbyes when Host approached JJ.

He took a metal object out of his coat and placed it in Jameson's hands, curling the other man’s fingers around it.

“This is a dagger of pure silver. The Host only ever made three of these. One is in his library, one was destroyed by Darkiplier, and the last is in your hands now.

Use it only when necessary.”

Jameson looked down at the blade, a sharp bolt of fear running down his spine at the familiarity of the weapon. Host obviously noticed his discomfort.

“A weapon is defined by the hand that wields it. Anti’s way is not the only way. This time, the power is in your hands.”

JJ nodded, curling his hand around the blade and depositing it in the pocket of the light jacket he wore.

If nothing else, he hoped he'd never have to use it.

It was time.

With a twitch of Marvin’s wrist and a light blue glow, the portal ripped open. He made it seem easy, but the others could see the strain in his face. He’d studied the area for at least a week beforehand so opening the doorway itself was simple, yet it sapped a considerable amount of his still healing magic reserves.

Casting one last look back at the apartment, the group made their way into the unknown.

Jackie wasn't sure what he was expecting. He'd seen pictures- a dilapidated village swallowed by the sea- but seeing it in person was something different entirely.

The air held a heavy sense of foreboding and danger, like every rock and broken roof tile was telling them to turn around before it was too late.

It was a strange sensation, like the village knew that something evil had taken residence within its borders.

All was silent save for the occasional seagull and the hypnotic lap of the waves against the sharp rocks of the shore. The group exchanged quick glances before beginning the treacherous climb down to the village proper.

Marvin needed the most help as his muscles were still weak from his time in a coma, but the others managed.

“Heights and the ocean. It's like he’s mocking us,” Dr. Iplier said, casting a cautious glance to the shoreline. Jackie grunted in agreement.

“He's always mocking us, that's what he does.”

They didn't speak again until they had reached the first building.

Half of the roof was caved in, the inside filled with rocks and damp sand. The edge of a table stuck out from the rubble, the memory of someone who had lived there once upon a time.

“We’re close enough to open the portal,” Marvin announced once they reached the doorway of the house.

Dr. Iplier set down his bag, looking Jackie and JJ over one last time.

“Try not to get yourselves killed in there.”

A familiar lopsided grin appeared on Jackie’s face, easing the near painful tension in the air. “No promises.”

Marvin shot them a glance, a clear signal that he needed silence.

The others compiled as the magician sat cross-legged on the sand, muttering under his breath.

For a while, nothing happened. The others were starting to wonder if Marvin even had enough power left to open the portal, considering how weak the coma had made him.

However, all doubts were dispelled when the tear actually opened up.

It almost looked fake, like a bad photoshop job in real life. The portal was a perfectly square doorway, leading into pure darkness on the other side. The air around it was tight and humid, compressed with static and smelling of ash and seawater.

“Ash. There's definitely a demon in there.”

Dr. Iplier’s hand tightened on his bag as he took a few stumbling steps away from the portal.

Jackie turned to the others: Marvin, cross-legged on the ground, the doctor, leaning against the wall of the dilapidated building, and Chase, who was hugging his arms to himself against the cold wind. He held his eyes on each one for a moment, a cold sense of loss seeping into his bones. There was always a chance Jackie would leave for a mission and not come back, but this one felt different.

He chalked it up to being so close to Anti, it tended to make one feel all sorts of negative emotions.

Jackie turned to JJ.

“You ready?”

Jameson gave a curt nod and nothing more. His hands were pressed into his pockets, gripping around the dagger he had stored there.

They turned to head into the portal, not daring to look back in fear that they would lose the courage to keep going.

Once they were completely inside the portal, all went silent. Unnaturally silent, so much so they could quite literally hear the blood in their own veins. The environment itself wasn't very visually stimulating either. It was a dark void of absolutely nothing, save for a set of stairs floating in the middle of the empty space. They seemed to disappear halfway up, into a second-floor neither of them could see.

Then they heard the singing.

Singing was a strong word for it, (it was more aptly described as talking in rhythm with occasional humming) but it was definitely some kind of song. The voice itself was hauntingly familiar.

“Wait, I know that melody. I've heard it somewhere before.”

Jameson signed, his hands difficult to see in the dim light.

“It's called The Bloody Miller, it's an old English folk ballad from the sixteen hundreds about a man who murders his girlfriend and throws her body in the river.”

“Why would Anti be singing anything, let alone four-hundred-year-old folk songs?”

The two were crouched near the base of the stairs, straining to hear the words.

“I’m unsure, but from what I've heard of Marvin and Hosts’ conversations, Anti is probably old enough to have been around when it was written.”

The two made their way silently up the stairs, wincing every time the wood groaned under their feet. The singing stayed constant, and the closer

they got, the more they could make out the words.

“Thus she fell on bended knee,

For mercy she did cry,

‘For heaven's sake don't murder me,

I am not fit to die.”

The words were accentuated by the scratch of metal on whetstone. Anti was sharpening his knives.

Jackie and JJ were perched at the top of the stairs, leaning against a concrete wall. The wall itself appeared to be floating in the void, going on in one direction until it disappeared into the darkness.

“You must surprise him while he isn’t paying attention.”

Jackie nodded, watching as Anti dipped his whetstone into the bucket of water at his side.

He was seated at a wooden table, the surface dappled with dark stains. He had stopped singing, instead quietly humming the tune of the ballad under his breath.

A scar could be seen on the back of Anti’s neck from their last encounter, satisfaction humming in Jackie’s veins at the sight.

The hero’s hand tightened on the grip of the gun Chase had given him, although it was still in its holster.

Now or never.

He stepped out of his hiding place, aiming the gun straight at the back of Anti’s head, wasting no time before pulling the trigger.

The bullet never made its mark.

By the time Jackie had gotten his bearings and looked up, Anti had caught the bullet between his thumb and pointer finger, examining it for a moment before looking over his shoulder at the bewildered hero.

“Sorry Jackie, I don't make the same mistake twice.”

Anti let the bullet drop to the floor, setting down his whetstone and lifting his knife to examine it.

“Nice weather out here in Devon, isn't it? So happy you could join the party, I'm sure the doctor was getting a tad lonely.”

Jackie's grip tightened on the gun once more, his judgment clouded by just how much he wanted to shoot the smug smile off of Anti’s face.

His efforts only made him smile wider.

“Getting a little trigger happy? You only have two bullets left in that gun, I'd use them wisely if you want to come out of this alive.”

How the hell did he know that?

“But why delay this any longer since you're obviously so excited? You want your precious doctor back so badly?” Anti stood, running a hand over the freshly sharpened edge of his blade. “Then come get him.”

Jackie was going back out of that door with Schneeplestien or not at all.

But, he stopped himself. One of the fatal errors of his last battle was his zeal and impatience. Anger and fear only made Anti stronger and stacked the odds against them even more so than they already were.

So, he waited for Anti to strike first.

The demon stood rigid, contemplating. Then he was gone.

Jackie sensed the static behind him and turned at the last moment, gripping Anti’s wrist right as the knife wavered above his face.

Then he was gone again.

This battle really was one of speed, and Jackie had underestimated just how tiring dodging Anti’s cavalcade of blows would become.

After the first five minutes, Anti stopped playing games.

He reappeared above Jackie, falling on top of him and knocking him on his back. Both of Anti’s boots were pressed into Jackie’s arms, pinning him to the ground.

The hero managed to kick up with his knees to free himself, but the blow had rendered him breathless. Anti circled him slowly, his form twitching spastically in horrifying fashion.

He thought about using the gun, but considering how easily Anti’d caught the bullet earlier the effort seemed fruitless. He was out of ideas and out of options, so he went for the simplest solution.

Turning sharply, Jackie charged Anti and shoved him against the table, managing to land a few blows to his face and chest. Anti grabbed the hero by the arms as they went down, flipping him over the wooden surface and cracking his head off of the edge as they both went crashing to the ground.

Jackie felt a deep ache in his stomach just as they hit the ground, as if he’d been punched hard in the gut, and only upon looking down did he realize what had happened. Anti had stabbed him, the knife buried to the hilt.

The demon was on top of him, eyes blown wide in satisfaction as he twisted the blade in further.

The pain hit Jackie all at once, a tidal wave of agony that immediately turned his vision dark at the edges. He could feel everything, Anti’s aura on him, the knife tearing the flesh, the burn of the bruises on his arms from the last assault.

He had nowhere else to look but Anti’s face. No matter how much he tried to avert his eyes he couldn't, the poisonous green of Anti’s gaze filled Jackie’s entire field of vision. The mingling of the static aura and the unbearable pain of the wound clouded his brain. He couldn't think, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even blink.

Anti whispered the next section of the ballad into Jackie’s ear, his voice calm but tinged with insanity that tainted every word.

“From ear to ear I slit her mouth

And stabbed her in the head,

Till she poor soul did breathless lie

Before her butchers bled.”

Jackie wanted nothing more than to call out for JJ, tell him to run, warn him that Anti had beaten him and that he needs to escape, but his voice remained lodged in his throat. Anti’s smile only widened at Jackie’s vain attempts to call out for help.

“You trained so hard but only lasted seven minutes. What a shame.”

Anti stood, pulling out the knife in one fluid, agonizing movement. Even though he was now free from the demon’s gaze, all Jackie could manage was a pained whimper.

“Time to go find your little companion. Fancy a game of hide and seek?”

Jackie had curled into a ball, clutching his wound as the blood darkened his shirt and flowed between his fingers. Dignity in this situation was the farthest thing from his mind.

“If you want to kill me, just fucking do it, but leave him alone.”

Anti laughed as he turned on his heel and stalked back into the darkness, quietly at first, the sound then growing into a cacophony of crazed giggling.

“Kill you? That’s the game of the merciful.

If you died, your pain would be over. Where's the fun in that? I’ll be back for you as soon as I deal with this little thorn in my side.”

Then he was gone, out of sight in the velvet darkness of the void.

JJ had followed the plan exactly, slinking through the darkness as Jackie kept Anti occupied. He'd left before Anti had overpowered the hero, and thus was oblivious to the pair of malicious eyes watching him from the darkness as he discovered the holding cell.

Slumped against the concrete wall was a figure, a tattered doctor's coat hanging limply off of his shoulders. He was leaned against the wall, hand clutching his chest, seemingly unconscious.

The closer Jameson got, the worse the scene became. The doctor’s pallid face was horrifying, his grey ashen skin tone and concave cheeks giving him the look of a corpse. Blood stained his clothes, and what skin that was visible was decorated with so many scars it looked as if he’d been through a trash compactor, several still healing and clearly grotesquely infected.

Fortunately he did appear to be breathing, though every breath came with a lung rattling wheeze that definitely didn't sound healthy.

JJ knelt next to the door, taking out his simple lock pick tools and going to work. The door sprung open fairly easily, almost too easily, but he cast aside his doubts. There wasn't any time to dawdle on the ‘what ifs’. Once inside, he went about picking the locks on the manacles around the doctor’s wrists.

Being this close to Henrik, seeing the damage, recognizing all of Anti’s little trademarks in the wounds and abrasions across the doctor's skin, it sent a pang of painful remembrance through him. It was all so familiar, and the fact remained that it could’ve just as easily been him if Anti hadn’t left when he did.

The second chain had fallen when Jameson felt it, the familiar hum of static in his ears. His brain had only just registered that he should get the hell out of there when cold metal settled against his collarbone.

“Reminiscing, are we?” Anti’s voice reverberated in his ears, sending a jolt of panic through him so strong that it nearly knocked him over.

If Anti’s here, he thought to himself, then what happened to Jackie?!

“Didn't think you’d have the courage to face me.” The knife skirted from his collarbone up towards his jaw, Jameson himself still as a statue. “You’re either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish.”

He wanted to panic, every instinct he had was telling him to panic, but he held it down. He’d survived Anti’s assaults before. He knew what it was like, and he knew that the absolute worst thing you could do when trapped by Anti was panic.

Yet, he felt Anti’s presence like a shadow, creeping into his skin, taking hold of him from the inside. Every vein in his skin was being wrapped around the demon’s fingers like the silver strings of a marionette, his body straining against it but unable to escape.

“I was planning to kill you, get you out of the way, but maybe I should keep you. Watch the light drain from your pretty little eyes.”

Anti leaned in close, his breath unnaturally cold against Jameson’s ear. “Wouldn't that be-”

Anti’s speech was cut off by a gunshot, the sound of the bullet striking the back of Anti’s head and sizzling there leaving a thick feeling of nausea in the pit of Jameson’s stomach. Anti let out a short, rasping screech before falling silent, slumping hard against Jameson’s back, the knife clattering to the ground.

JJ shoved the limp body off of him, watching as it slumped motionless against the cracked concrete floor, smearing the blood from his neck wound down the back of Jameson’s neck in the process.

The blood was ice cold.

He whirled around to see Jackie, one hand holding the pistol Chase had given him and the other clutching a wound in his stomach.

Jackie’s eyes locked onto Jameson’s for a moment before he collapsed, the pistol clattering to the ground.

“Run, please- get Schneep and go!”

He growled through clenched teeth, clutching his wound and struggling to stay conscious.

Anti was sprawled on the ground, a bullet wound square in the back of the head. He really did look dead, still and lifeless, but Jameson knew better. He was still breathing, albeit shallowly. They knew he wouldn't be killed that easily.

Jameson lifted Schneep up into his arms, careful not to irritate any of his still-healing wounds. He was so light, it was heartbreaking.

JJ knelt next to Jackie next, attempting to lift him up too, but the hero shooed him away.

“No, leave me. Anti’ll get up soon, he's already moving. Get the doctor out of here!”

Jameson shook his head rapidly but Jackie wouldn't budge.

“Go!”

JJ stared into Jackie’s eyes for a moment, tears gathering in his own before he tore his gaze away and ran as fast as he could back the direction he had come, clutching onto the doctor for dear life.

After a brief sprint, Jameson came tumbling back out of the portal, tripping onto the rocks and sending both him and the doctor tumbling onto the sand.

Meanwhile, Jackie was still clutching his wound, waiting as Anti slowly got back up. If he ran, he'd lure Anti out towards the others and compromise everything they'd worked for.

He only hoped he'd bleed out before Anti could fully release his anger.

The demon struggled to his feet, breathing heavily through the blood that had gathered in his mouth. His eyes were black as ink, his form struggling to stay anchored as blood dripped from the bullet wound, collecting in his hair and running languidly down the back of his neck.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Anti reached up to the back of his head, digging his nails into the wound until they gripped the bullet and ripped it out. It was damaged from impact, most likely leaving pieces inside of Anti’s skull. Still, he didn’t seem to care, though the pain that clouded his eyes said otherwise.

Anti stalked towards Jackie, his movements jarring and stilted, his face a horrifying kaleidoscope of blood, scars and seething anger that darkened the very air around them.

He took hold of Jackie’s hair, jerking his head upwards in a swift motion. Jackie himself didn't even have the strength to fight against it, the action eliciting nothing but a pained groan. He could feel his skin getting clammy and cold, a sign of severe blood loss.

“This is an old, old dimension, Jackie. Something this old is easy to dismantle, especially if you have the right tools.” He gave the hero’s hair another tug. “No one will be coming to save you this time. Not unless they want every molecule in their useless fucking body ripped apart one by one!”

Jackie could feel the air around him constricting, physically breaking apart, stealing the little air left in his lungs. The fabric of the dimension was ripping itself apart.

Anti turned, dragging Jackie farther back into the darkness.

“And then I took her by the hair

To cover the foul sin

And dragged her to the riverside

And threw her body in.”

Jackie had stopped struggling. He vaguely registered that he was about to die, but it didn't terrify him as much as he thought it would. If anything it was a relief. A selfish one, but he no longer cared.

Back on the other side of the portal, Marvin was struggling. The door was trying to close, and not only that, he could feel the dimension itself splintering apart.

With Jackie still inside.

JJ was so shaken up that he couldn’t even sign, Chase kneeling in the sand nearby, desperately trying to console him. Dr. Iplier hovered over Schneeplestien, checking his vitals and bandaging what wounds he could with his limited supplies.

Eventually the force of the collapsing dimension was too much, the doorway snapping shut and creating a shockwave so strong that it flung Marvin fifteen feet away, where he fortunately landed in a small sand drift.

“We have to go back in there! Jackie’s trapped!” Chase had stepped away from JJ, helping Marvin up from his sprawled position in the sand dune. The magician pushed his hand away.

“N-no. We can’t. Jackie is gone, Chase.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Because,” Marvin removed his mask, running his hands from his face up into his hair to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. ‘I saw it myself. I had many visions while in my coma, one of them being of this mission. I knew it was doomed from the start, that’s why I warned against pursuing it. Anti has Jackie now, Chase. It’s a set part of the timeline.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘set part of the timeline’?! Why didn’t you tell us anything about this?!” Chase was furious now, his hands clenched into fists as he paced the strait between Dr. Iplier and Marvin.

“There's no way to change these visions. The only thing telling you would have accomplished is drawing things out even further. No matter what we would have done, Schneep would have been saved and Jackie would have been captured. I tried to fight the plan but in the end it was pointless, Jackie would have done it anyway. There is no stopping him once he has his mind set on something.”

Marvin had managed to stand, reaching a hand out in an attempt to calm Chase down. It didn't work.

“So you're saying that Jackie was destined to die and there's absolutely nothing we can do about it?!”

“I never said ‘die’, I said captured. The vision didn't show what happens after the portal collapses. There's still a chance to save him, but the one thing I know for sure is that the dimension they were in is gone. Anti took him somewhere else.”

Chase slumped down against the rocks, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair.

“But how are we going to find him?”

“I don’t know.”

He had broken down now, trembling as he clutched the hat in his hands.

“Why? Why did it have to be us? What did we do to deserve this?!”

“Chase-”

“Do you hear me you bastards?!”

Marvin limped over to him, kneeling to his level and grasping his shoulders.

“They can't hear you, Chase.”

“Oh, they can fucking hear me, I know they can. They're always listening, watching this all happen. They gave the motherfucker his power in the first place and yet they can't even be bothered to take responsibility for what they've done.”

Chase stood, pushing Marvin away, placing the hat back on his head and looking up towards the overcast sky.

“You did this, do you hear me?! You did this!”

Marvin had given up trying to calm him down, at this point Chase was too far gone. Luckily Dr. Iplier interrupted them.

“I need to take Henrik back to the clinic. His injuries are very severe, I need my equipment.” The doctor had stood, packing up his tools and gathering Schneeplestien into his arms.

Chase cast a long, cold look back at Marvin, tears gathering in his eyes, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, before pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes and stalking away towards the cliffside.

The journey back to the manor was completely silent, uncomfortable, tension seizing the air between them. Even as the doctor began examining Schneep to discern just what was wrong with him, they said nothing. Bing stopped by a few times to see how it went and to say hello, but he was promptly shooed away each time. There wasn't a word to be said that could cast away the cloud of grief over the clinic, even when Dr. Iplier would pop his head out to tell them that most, if not all of Schneep’s injuries could be fixed and that he would be completely fine, physically at least.

Marvin tried to be happy, tried to tell himself that they had made a victory today, but seeing Chase’s empty eyes and knowing that he had opened the portal that sent Jackie to his doom made it impossible to look at the positives.

He’d known. He’d known that Jackie would be captured if they let the mission go on, but he’d let him go anyway.

I couldn’t have stopped it, he told himself, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

Even Jameson, the gentlest of all of them, had grown cold. He'd take out the dagger Host had given him and turn it over in his hands, as if imagining all of the times he could have used it but didn't.

Marvin knew Chase blamed him, even if the other wouldn't admit it. It was obvious every time they locked eyes. The magician could tell him over and over that there was nothing that could have been done to change it, but logical thinking was the farthest thing from either of their minds.

It was best to let Chase be.

It took the rest of that day and half of the next before Dr. Iplier stuck his head out of Schneep’s room again. He was horribly disheveled and looked like he hadn't slept since they’d gotten back- which, in all fairness he probably hadn't- but there was a triumphant air about him. After managing to weasel more time out of Dark and spending hours locked away in his operating room, the work was done.

“I've done what surgery I could, and he’ll be alright. He had a couple dozen broken bones, ruptured vocal chords and several infections, as well as slight atrophy of the legs from not being able to walk for so long. It'll take extensive physical therapy but from what I can tell presently, he will live.”

And for the first time since they'd gotten back to the manor, Chase smiled. It was a pained one, but one nevertheless. The tense atmosphere of the waiting room dissipated almost immediately as Marvin asked the million-dollar question.

“Can we see him?”

The doctor’s face fell a bit.

“I wouldn't recommend it, at least not so soon. He's very mentally fragile, and seeing you all might...overexcite him.”

And there it was. They knew they probably wouldn't be able to see him so soon, but after nine months it just seemed cruel to have them wait even longer.

“But-” He stepped out from behind the door slightly. “I think he should at least be able to meet Jameson. One visitor shouldn't hurt him too much, and I think he'd like to see one of the people who saved his life.”

Jameson perked up, shoving the knife back into his coat pocket.

“Be careful though, he can’t speak very well yet. The last thing we want to do is strain him. Also, make sure to stay in his line of sight, he gets jittery when he can't clearly see who's in the room with him.”

Jameson nodded, casting a look back at the others before following Dr. Iplier into Schneep's room. Chase looked clearly jealous of Jameson being able to see Henrik first, but he gave him an encouraging glance anyway.

It looked like any other hospital room. White and pristine, with a soft floral pattern on the walls, a side table with a small cup of water and a vase of fake flowers, and the doctor, swallowed up in bed, face turned away and hands twitching where they laid in his lap. His doctor’s coat had been cleaned, patched, and draped over the side railing of the bed, and a new pair of glasses stood waiting on the side table near the water. It didn’t seem like he’d tried them on yet.

“It’s Dr. Iplier again, Henrik. I’ve brought you a visitor.” the doctor announced, opening the door further to allow Jameson through.

Schneep looked up, eyeing the newcomer warily. His left arm was wrapped in a cast, as was one of his feet, the rest of the damage hidden under the pale blue hospital blanket. Jameson walked slowly, carefully, around the bed, taking a seat in the chair by his bedside.

“Hello, my name is Jameson, it’s very nice to meet you,” he signed, slowly as to give him time to read it. The doctor stared up at him quizzically, then it clicked in JJ’s mind.

He doesn’t know sign, does he?

Jameson wasn’t sure why he’d expected him to, he must’ve just gotten used to all of his brothers understanding him and hadn’t thought about the fact that even if Schneep did know sign before he was taken, such an ordeal would obviously leave him rusty.

“Oh, uh,” Dr. Iplier reached into the pocket of his lab coat, procuring a small notepad and a pen before handing it over to him. “You can use this.”

Jameson accepted the notebook, opening it to the first blank page and writing down his message there.

Schneep read it over a few times, before letting it drop onto his lap, looking Jameson over. He opened his mouth to answer but a seizing cough came out instead, his frail body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Dr.Iplier lunged forward, offering him water, which Schneep graciously accepted, clutching the glass and trying his hardest not to let the intense trembling of his hands spill the contents.

He took one sip, then another, before placing the cup back on the nightstand and holding out his other hand for the notepad.

“Are you one of us? Did they make another?” He scrawled out, barely legible.

“Yes.”

“You cannot speak?”

“No”

“Me neither.”

Jameson laughed a little at that, but his face fell again when Schneep picked the pen back up, hand shaking twice as much as it had before, each word scratched so deeply into the page he feared the paper might rip.

He held the notebook to his chest for a few seconds before reluctantly handing it over, as if afraid to know the answer.

“Are the others okay?”

A void opened up in Jameson’s chest. How do you tell an already traumatized man that his brother had taken his place?

Schneep waited a few seconds, anxious at how long Jamie was taking to answer him. Dr. Iplier seemed to notice their dilemma, but was staying out of it, eyeing him uncomfortably from beside the door.

Jameson began to write.

Oh FUCKING boy was that hell to edit. My mouse kept glitching and wouldn’t let me set my place correctly and it just sucked ass but it’s HERE. I really hope this does well because holy shit.

(Taglist)

@egopocalypse @shadowsinyoursoul @lower-your-expectationss @sammyg-98 @weirdmixofweirdness @viostormcaller @save-jacksepticeye @ekhoecho @epicfangirl01 @hollenka99 @spicydanhowell

I still don’t have my old general taglist, so just let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the future. I included people here who were looking out for this when I posted the original Absentia. I once again apologize for the long hiatus.

#Jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #writers of jack #septic egos #pluto's writings

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toria-lilith · 5 years

Text

Smoke and Roses - A Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx fan fiction (Chapter nine)

A/N: Took me a little while to get this chapter up, but I really enjoyed writing it! I platonically ship Vince and Holly so hard, and writing their dynamic is lots of fun. This one’s a little bit longer, so I hope it was worth the wait!

Wordcount: 1965 Trigger warnings: Alcohol and drug use, some smut, some angst, but has a really nice fluffy ending! Masterlist: Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five | Chapter six | Chapter seven | Chapter eight Taglist: @crazysaladchopshop (if anyone wants to be added to the taglist please DM me and let me know!)

That night, there was nothing Holland wanted to do less than go to the show's after party, but they'd played so well and she was so proud, and Tommy and Vince had pleaded with her to come, saying it would 'cheer her up'. She wasn't convinced, but she didn't like to let them down, so had begrudgingly agreed.

Before the show, Nikki had begged Holland to speak to him, but she had refused. His groupie had significantly overstayed her welcome, leaving only half an hour before they went to the Whiskey. Holland had looked like she wanted to put her head through the very same window she was leaving through, and maybe she would have done if Vince hadn't distracted her with a second glass of scotch. Now, Nikki was the stubborn one, and as soon as the party started he had a girl on each arm. Holland pretended not to notice. He had no right to try and make her jealous.

She collapsed onto the sofa inbetween Tommy and Vince with a scowl on her face. Tommy had a beautiful blonde on his lap, but that didn't offend her nearly as much as seeing Nikki leaving open mouthed kisses on a girl's neck. "You alright, Holly?" Vince asked on her left. He sounded cautious, he'd never seen her lose her temper quite like this.

At his voice an idea came into Holland's head and she swung her legs onto Vince's lap. "What's gotten into you?" He said with a smirk. The first night they'd partied together, she had turned him down, but she now seemed to be experiencing a sudden change of heart. Vince grabbed her thigh and gave it a quick squeeze, but noticed her attention wasn't all on him and he realised what she was doing. "You're trying to make Nikki jealous, aren't you?"

She grinned. "Bingo."

Vince glanced at Nikki, then back at Holland. "Alright, fuck it."

Holland smirked, placing a hand on his cheek and turning his face towards her so she could trail kisses up his jaw towards his lips. As their lips met, she glanced to the side to check if Nikki was watching. He was. He looked infuriated. Holland moved to straddle Vince and she started to kiss his neck, leaving dark purple bruises in her wake.

"Shit, Holly," he muttered. "Follow me."

He lifted her under her ass and carried her down the corridor towards the bedroom he shared with Tommy, closing the door behind him with his foot. As soon as the door was closed, the pair of them burst into laughter. "Shit, did you see his face?" She spluttered. "Fuck, he deserves it though."

"Totally," Vince agreed through his laughter. He sat on the edge of his bed and beckoned her over. "If I know anything about Nikki he's about to burst through that door, so let's give him a real show, huh?"

Holland nodded. She threw off her shirt and climbed back onto Vince's lap, reconnecting their lips feverishly as though neither of them had ever been kissed before. Just as his hands slid up her back to unclasp her bra, the door was thrown open and Nikki appeared in the doorway. Holland parted from Vince, glancing back at him, feigning little interest. "Oh, hi Nikki," she said in a monotone as Vince suppressed a laugh, "can we help?"

"Holly, could I borrow you a minute?" He said darkly. Holland exchanged a glance with Vince and then got up.

"Yeah. Whatever." She fished her shirt from the ground and pulled it back on before following him across the corridor to his room. "What is it?"

As soon as the door was closed Nikki pushed her up against it, suddenly so close to her their noses brushed together. "I don't like seeing his fucking hands on you. You have any idea what you're doing to me?"

"I didn't think you cared," she snapped. "Much too busy with all your little groupies."

"Jesus, Holly." He stepped back from her, frustrated. "You think they mean shit to me?"

She scoffed, "could have had me fooled."

"Those girls are nothing to me, alright?" He said angrily.

"Oh really? Then why the fuck did I walk in on you fucking one this morning? Huh? Tell me that, Nikki. You know, I was really stupid enough to believe that you were different, that maybe, just maybe, I actually meant something to you. But I was wrong. I was just another worthless whore to you!"

"That isn't true!" He yelled, beginning to raise his voice. "Of course I fucking care about you, Holland!" He slumped back against the bed, all his anger draining away. "I... I care about you so fucking much that it scares me, alright? I've never... I've never felt this way about anyone. So I panicked! I fucked up, a-and I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

Holland hesitated, but then sat on the bed beside him, resting her hand on his thigh. "I'm sorry too, Nikki. I just... I've fallen for you so fucking hard, and it kills me to see you with those other girls!"

Nikki finally looked at her. "You've... fallen for me?"

She sighed, getting back up from the bed and crossing her arms over her chest. "I guess? I mean, this is scary for me too. Shit, we've only known each other like... what, three days? But I care so deeply for you, Nikki. I really do. I... I think I could fall in love with you," she paused, looking at him with tears in her eyes, "if you'd let me."

Nikki stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide, and then he shot up from the bed and pulled her into his arms, pressing her to his chest. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Holly."

He sounded so sincere, so genuinely heartbroken that he'd caused her pain, that she couldn't help but hug him back, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. "I understand, Nikki. And it's okay. I'm sorry I tried to make you jealous."

He looked down at her with a smirk, his eyebrows raised. "So that's what that was, huh?"

Holland laughed. "Of course. Vince is great, but you know, I much prefer bass players."

"That's my girl."

"Your girl?" She looked at him hopefully.

"Yeah," he smiled, "I like the sound of that, you know? You're my girl."

Holland giggled. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in deeper. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. "You wanna go tell the boys we don't want to kill each other anymore?" She said with a grin and Nikki laughed.

"Perfect." He carried her from their bedroom to the living room. Vince had returned, skilfully covering the bruises on his neck with his hair, and Tommy had moved onto one of the girls Nikki had been flirting with. Mick, as always, was nursing a bottle of whisky, trying to avoid the other boys' general debauchery. But when the three of them saw Holland and Nikki together, they cheered, clearly thrilled the tension had been resolved and finally, Nikki had made a move.

He flopped onto the sofa, keeping Holland on his lap. One hand snuck up her shirt and traced light circles on her hip. The Nikki that Holland saw was so different to the Nikki that got up on stage every night. He was soft, and gentle, and sometimes he fucked up but that made him human, and she cared for him regardless.

He reached over Tommy and his new girl and swiftly snatched up the glass of vodka the drummer had so carelessly left unattended on the coffee table. Tommy, however, didn't notice, he was preoccupied snorting a line off the girls' exposed breasts. Holland had become so accustomed to Motley parties she hadn't even noticed. "Hey," Nikki whispered in her ear, "you wanna ditch this joint?"

She did, but it felt strange to hear him suggest it. Nikki never, ever left a party early. "Alright," she nodded, curious to see what he'd rather do instead. Nikki grinned and helped her up from the sofa, puling her to the window without saying goodbye to the other boys. "Where are we going, Nikki?" She laughed.

"You'll see!" He assured her. He armed himself with a bottle of Jack, (unsurprising to Holland, of course), and then the two of them climbed out of the window. He led her down the Strip, back towards the Whisky. She glanced at him with an eyebrow raised as they made their way through the still crowded bar.

"You wanted to ditch the party to come back to the Whiskey?"

"Trust me," he said. They went past the bar towards the dressing room, but passed that too and instead started to climb a staircase at the end of the corridor, a staircase Holland had never noticed before.

When they reached the top, a blast of cool air hit her face and she realised they were on the roof of the bar, just out of the public's eye but they still had an excellent view of the city. Nikki led her to the edge of the roof and sat cross legged, pulling her down to sit beside him. "It's beautiful up here, Nikki," she said softly, looking out at LA.

"I knew you'd like it," he beamed. He noticed her shiver, and so slipped off his leather jacket, draping it around her shoulders, before offering her a drink of whisky which she accepted. "I used to come here when I first moved to LA. I didn't have a place in the fuckin' world to go, but I was tight with one of the bartenders, and she used to give me the key to the staircase when I needed a place to escape."

Holland smiled, resting her head on Nikki's shoulder, and he laid his head atop hers. He had such a distinct Nikki-smell. Cigarette smoke and whisky and mint, and something else that she couldn't quite place but made the smell so distinctly his. It made her feel safe. He had such a profound effect on her, and Holland couldn't quite believe she'd been so lucky as to meet him. She made a mental note to thank Doc for hooking her up with the band in the first place, though she couldn't imagine he'd be impressed she'd started dating the bad boy of rock'n'roll. "Why did you come to LA?" She asked.

Nikki didn't answer for a moment and Holland was worried she'd crossed a line. But then he took a long sip of whisky, and eventually, he answered. "I uh, I left home when I was fourteen," he told her in a faraway voice. "My Mom, she... she didn't give a shit about me. Only cared about her booze and her next boyfriend. So... I left. And I was homeless, for a while. I felt so fucking alone. I was desperate. I even tried to get in contact with my Dad, but he didn't care either. And that was kind of it for me, you know? I had to leave all that shit behind. So I joined bands and I worked fucking hard, and now I have a kick-ass band and a hot girl, and it finally feels as though all that pain was worth it."

Holland didn't say anything. She just shifted a little closer to him and let him hold her a little tighter. "You're not alone anymore, Nikki," she said softly, "I've got you. I've always got you."

"And I've got you, Holly," he looked down at her with a grin, "it's just you and me against the fuckin' world."

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gwaciechang · 4 years

Text

Love Run (7/15?)

“Oh let the world come at you, love Like distant toms a-drumming Love, run! A song you know’s begun”

@wackiekebab @sunflowergrlpwr @danilanidingdong @scratching-wingless-thing @farewellfelidae @whatevermonkey @the-winter-witcher

Trigger warning for vomiting, flashbacks and discussion of someone’s violent death (nobody we like, in fact, I don’t even know his name), and everything in Bobby Hayes’ general life.

Also, I hope you like tropes, because I’ve got so much fucking trope.

“Okay, please don’t get mad and yell at me,” you plead as soon as you both get back in Chloe’s car. He’s in the backseat, his own idea to avoid the temptation of stealing his heroin.

“I won’t,” he says quickly. “And I’m sorry, again, for yelling about the cherries.”

“Right, I actually forgot about the cherries, so don’t even worry,” you laugh nervously. There was nothing else to do but rip the bandaid off as fast as you could. “Um, Chloe faked some paperwork with my insurance company that says we're married so my insurance will cover your treatment.”

“Ah, and she needs it certified with-”

“It’s already been filed and officiated. Apparently we were married on June 4th at the London city center.”

Bobby stares at you. “How the hell did she do that so fast? We only got to the clinic a few hours ago.”

“I think she bugged my phone, and that’s how she found out I overdosed all those years ago,” you chew on your lip. “She might have heard me talking about your addiction.”

“And she thought she’d marry her sister off to a total stranger?” wow, is that actual anger on Bobby’s face?

“You’re not a stranger,” you insist. “I’ve heard you fart and snore.”

He snorts.

“And now I've heard you snort like a pig,” you add, starting the car.

He leans back and gives you an exaggerated pout through the rearview mirror, making you both laugh. He stares out the window silently throughout most of the drive, but as you pull into the parking lot, he says, “I don’t mind being married.” You must make some horrible face, because he sees you and backtracks. “I mean, you know, seeing as I don’t have insurance.”

You do your best not to look like your heart’s about to crack open. “Right, and it’s not like she can’t help us file the paperwork to annul it just as fast,” you keep your face out of sight so he doesn’t see how bitter those words taste.

“Right,” his voice is so quiet that you’re not sure he’s spoken, and when you look back at him, his face is crestfallen.

Well, that just won’t do. “What’s your favorite food?”

“What?” his face is adorable when it’s confused. Then again, you think his face is adorable all the time.

“I taught you how to make my favorite food. Now you teach me how to make yours.”

He smiles so brightly that it's a little blinding, and even chuckles a little. “I’m pretty sure you know how to make toast and beans.”

“What sort of bread for the toast and how do you like your beans?” you challenge.

You only notice what Bobby’s done to your ex’s gaming room after what sounds like 10,000 hammers fall on the floor. You run in and see the most complicated computer display of all time, as well as what looks like an entire rocket piled in a corner of the floor.

“What the fuck?” you ask.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he says quickly. “I knocked the-”

“Are you hurt?”

His jaw clicks shut. "Uh, no."

“Okay, then I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed.” Only now do you remember that Bobby sweated through the sheets last night, and you’d been too busy to was them all day. “Ah, shit, never mind,” you groan, walking to your room to strip the sheets and the blankets off.

Bobby takes the blankets off the top of your pile, and you walk to the laundry room down the hall. All the washers are full, but there’s one that's already completed its cycle, with the wet clothes just sitting there. Seeing several empty dryers, you clean the lint trap out of one before dumping the wet clothes into it and putting in a quarter to start the cycle.

“What?” you ask when you see Bobby looking at you pouring the detergent.

“Nothing,” he says with a soft smile. “I just think you’re sweet.”

You snort. “Have you seen yourself recently? Making my favorite food with me, washing my sheets while I was out. And how did you do that, by the way? You don’t have my apartment keycard.” The moment the question leaves your mouth, you know the answer. “Right, you’re a computer genius, aren’t you?”

“I’m talented in many areas,” was it just your imagination or did he just look you up and down?

“Thank goodness one of us is technically literate, then,” your smile becomes a shriek when your detergent overflows.

Bobby throws his head back and laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach and winces. Even though you know he’s injured, and you'd heard him laugh before, it's still nice to see him so light and carefree.

“What?” he asks when he notices you watching him.

“Nothing, I just think you’re a complete asshole,” you echo his earlier words before sticking your tongue out at him.

After the laundry’s done, Bobby helps you put the sheets back on your bed and retreats to the gaming room.

You follow him, curious. “What are you doing with all that, anyway?” you ask from the doorway.

“I want to start earning my keep,” he says. You open your mouth to say he doesn’t have to, but he continues as if he didn’t see you, “I had everything set up as an office in my apartment, but, well, I can’t use that anymore, so I’m setting it all up here.”

“That's cool,” you say between yawns. “Just try not to wake me up while you’re building your office, or I’ll eat the rest of the beans.”

“Temporary office,” he says, and wow, an ice shower would be warmer than what those words do to you.

You'd forgotten, somehow, that Bobby’s presence wasn’t permanent. Despite only having lived with you for a few days, it seems like he’s been here forever. Even without the way he had made the place organized and actually livable, there’s something different about the apartment with him in it, like it’s a place where you actually live instead of a kitchen and a bedroom that you eat and mope in.

“Temporary office, right, good night Bobby,” you say in as one word, hurrying to crawl under your blankets and have a good cry.

You end up lying in bed for two hours just staring at the wall and listening to him try to stealthily put together whatever it is he’s building. Just as you’re about to give up hope and say you shouldn’t have bothered telling him not to wake you up, you close your eyes and don’t open them until Bobby shakes you awake a few hours later.

Your throat is sore, and there's a scream echoing off the walls. Bobby’s tapping up a symphony on the headboard and almost hyperventilating, so it’s not him, which means it can only be you. So probably a nightmare, and since there’s the smell of cerebral fluid in the air and both of your brains are fully intact inside your heads, you can guess what it’s about.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bobby repeats over and over and over. Tears shine in his eyes.

You want to reassure him, but you end up gagging on the smell that exists only in your imagination. You yank the sheets off and run to the bathroom. A broad hand gently lifts your hair as you throw up. A soft voice sings Queen to you, and your hand comes up. But instead of going to your face, you use it to seek out Bobby’s hand and hold it tight.

He lets you, and he doesn’t squeeze.

“I think that’s it,” you say hoarsely, letting go of Bobby to flush the toilet. “I’m going to brush my teeth again.”

“Alright,” Bobby’s hands hover around you like he’s not sure where to put them, or if he’s even allowed. “I’m going to clean up.”

“You don’t have to stop working on your project on my account. You didn’t bother me.”

He gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret. “I’m not good with people,” he begins, “but I’m very good at noticing patterns, and so far, the times your nightmares don’t make you sick have been the times when I’ve slept next to you. I’m not saying I’m the reason, and if you want to sleep alone, you can tell me,” he backs away and holds his hands up, “and I’ll never bring it up again.” His eyes are dark, and he’s retreating. “I’m just telling you what I’ve noticed.”

“Let’s do that,” you say quickly, and those tight, pained lines on his face smooth out. You spend longer than usual brushing your teeth, waiting for the butterflies in your stomach to settle and wishing you knew where your sexy sleepwear were in your mess of a room. By the time you get to your room, Bobby is already lying on top of the blankets. After you slip in, you yank them out from under him and cover him with them. He stiffens, but he’s not looking away, so you think it’s surprise, not discomfort. Your hands seek out his, and then he does look away.

“I should go,” he says.

“You don’t want to help me with my nightmares all of a sudden?” you try to keep your tone light.

It doesn’t work. He grips his elbows, and you can still see him squeezing in patterns of six. “It’s my fault you-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you try to moderate your tone when he flinches. God, why is your first response to everything to get angry? “Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve been over this. It’s that hitman’s fault I have nightmares, not yours, because he’s the one who tried to kill me.”

“He wouldn’t have tried to killed you if you hadn’t there, and you weren’t supposed to be. I was supposed to be alone.” Bobby’s voice is calm, almost soothing, and for some reason it just makes you angrier.

“Yeah, and then would've killed you! You think I’d rather not have nightmares than have you not being dead? Wait, does that sentence make sense? Because it’s 6am and I am very tired.”

Bobby is getting agitated, too. “Why would you prefer nightmares over the death of a junkie you never met?”

You don’t know how to describe the depth of terror that strikes you at just the thought of him dying, how to describe how happy you are just making food and doing laundry with him, how to describe how easy it is to make accommodations for him even when you’re angry at him. But your instincts have served you well so far, so you just blurt the first thing you can think of.

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like a physical thing. For a second, nobody moves a muscle.

The next thing you know, you’re both kissing, and you're very glad you brushed your teeth so thoroughly.

#bobby hayes #lucky man fanfiction #violence tw #vomit tw #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

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readbeneaththelines · 5 years

Text

Giving Him Control Pt. 11

A/N: The contract between a Dom and a Sub can be vital to prevent any misunderstandings or complications in the relationship. It can be negotiable, and can include whatever is agreed upon between both parties.

Characters: Ravi x Reader

Warnings: as always there is angst (you should expect that by now!)

Word Count: 4893

Please remember, this is NSFW. There is the Dom/Sub aspect of the characters, so if that is a trigger, please proceed at your own discretion.

cr to gif owner

Reaching you after what seemed like an eternity, he turned you over. There was large gash above your right eye, blood rapidly oozing from it. Your face was covered in bright red blood, the metallic odor invading his nostrils. He was scared, for the first time in a long time, he was utterly scared. You were not responding to his shaking you and you were still bleeding.

Scooping you up, he fumbled with the keys and opened the door. Carrying you up the stairs, he laid you in the middle of the bed. He rummaged in the bathroom for the first aid kit, cursing as each second ticked by. Gathering everything up, he heard a faint moan. He rushed back in, seeing you toss your head to the side. Grabbing the washcloth, he wiped your forehead down, cleaning it off. Taking a good look at the gash, he decided you weren’t going to need stitches.

Once you were cleaned up and bandaged, he slumped down beside you. Your eyes began to flutter open, your hand instinctively flying to your wound.

“Wha-what happened?” you croaked out, mouth still very dry.

Thank god. Y/N. You fell going up the stairs and hit your head. You had me worried!”

“Better than having you mad at me though, right?” a faint smile etching your lips.

“Yeah, I guess it’s better than being mad.” he couldn’t help but smile back at you.

“You really had me scared there for a minute. Why did you run from me?”

“I-I- was ju-just scared that you were so mad at me after I called you sir. I didn’t want to see you mad again.” tears were welling up in your eyes.

“Y/N. Yes I was mad, but how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not going to hurt you? When will you trust me on that?” worry etching his eyes.

“I don’t know. I mean I trust you, but, I have seen how easily you get mad.” you were being honest with him.

“I see. Well then, I am just going to have to prove it to you somehow.”

Seeing that you were still a bit off, he covered you up. Stripping from his suit, he slipped into pyjama pants and settled in the chair.

“Aren’t you sleeping in the bed?”

I don’t want to disturb you. Besides I am going to keep an eye on you just in case. Now try to rest, I am going to be checking on you every hour or two tonight.”

It was a fitful sleep, having you tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. You woke up several times, opening your eyes to see him slumped in the chair, a thin blanket covering him.

You hated that he was uncomfortable and putting himself out on your behalf. After repeating the sleep/wake cycle several times, you decided against better judgment and rose from the bed, careful not to wake him. Slipping his robe over your shoulders, you curled yourself up on the floor at his feet. Having him next to you was soothing in some strange way. Resting the good side of your head on the armrest, you closed your eyes and eventually went to sleep.

You were awakened by two muscular arms lifting you up, cradling you to a strong chest. Eyes opening, then squinting to block the intruding morning light, you hummed in contentment. Ravi placed you on his lap, cuddling you snuggly in his arms as he situated himself. Your head rested on his shoulder, the faint scent of alcohol hitting your nose. Lifting up a few inches, you placed a kiss along his jaw.

“Why didn’t you wake me, Y/N?” his voice still thick and scratchy with sleep.

“You were sleeping and I wanted to be next to you. I figured if you weren’t coming to bed, I’d come to you.”

“You really are trying my patience, you know that?” he was upset and you could tell by his tone.

“I don’t mean to.” you mumbled.

“I’m beginning to think you do, Y/N. For someone that said they are willing to give me what I want, You are fighting me at every turn.”

You leaned back off his shoulder, looking up at him. He was looking straight ahead, and you could see the twitching muscle in his jaw.

Not wanting to anger him more than he already was, you just shifted yourself out of his hold, slowly getting up. Your head was pounding, and you were a bit dizzy still. Making your way to the medicine cabinet, you grabbed some painkillers and a glass of water from the sink. You half expected him to follow you, but he surprised you by staying in the chair.

Making your way back to the bedroom, you peered down at him as you passed by. He never spoke or returned your gaze, instead he kept looking past you into nothingness. You would have him yelling at you, rather than this silent treatment he was giving you. If anything about him made you nervous, this was it.

You laid back down under the covers, facing away from him, and closed your eyes. Sleep came quickly, the medicine taking effect on your headache. When you woke again, the room was bright from the light shining through the windows. Your head feeling much better and feeling more steady than earlier this morning, you rolled over to see where Ravi had been sitting. He was gone, the blanket folded, and clothes cleaned off the floor. Sitting stone still, you strained your ears, trying to listen for any sign of him.

Nothing. Completely dead silence.

You quickly rose from bed, walking softly across the floor to the doorway. Pushing it open, you popped your head out, turning to look down the hallway. Still no sign of him, you began to worry. He had yet to leave without telling you when he would be back. You headed down the hall, stopping at the top step. Tilting your ear to the bottom of the stairway, you waited for a sound, anything to alert you to his presence. Taking cautious steps, you walked to the kitchen, where there was coffee already made and an empty mug to the side. You poured yourself a cup, taking it with you as you continued the search for signs of Ravi. Making the way to his study, you hesitated at the door, holding your breath, before opening it. His desk was bare except for the phone and computer, the chair, empty, was pushed in.

You were utterly alone in this huge place, no idea of where he was or when he would be back. Looking at the clock on the wall, you saw the day was already half over.

2:00 P.M.

Sipping your coffee as you made your way back upstairs, you figured you would take a shower and clean yourself up. Looking in the mirror, you saw the bruise forming around your wound. It was tender, but felt better already. Taking your clothes off, you stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as you could stand. Being careful, you washed your hair and face, removing any remaining make-up. Using you favorite bodywash, you lathered your skin. Rinsing everything away, you stepped out and wrapped your body in a towel, using another to wrap your hair up in a turban.

You opted for something nice yet cozy for staying around the house. After dressing and making the bed, you realized you had nothing to do. No plans to get ready for, no job for the next week having taken time off for a ‘family emergency’. You went outside, sitting in the lounge chair on the patio. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you double checked for any messages or missed call, which there was none.

You put your phone away, laying back to soak up the warm sun that bathed you. Once you had begun to feel hot, you headed back inside, checking your phone for the time.

6:00 P.M.

Still no sign of Ravi. By this time you had really started to worry. You considered calling him, asking him if everything was okay, but thought better of it. Fixing yourself a small meal in the kitchen, you ate quickly then cleaned up your mess. Fatigue took hold of you, so you headed upstairs, stopping before you reached the landing. Looking down the right towards his room, your heart sank. Turning to the left, you remember that he had given you a room. Making a decision, you headed to your room, shutting the door behind you. You had not slept in this room, but now was as good a time as any. Pulling the thick comforter back, you crawled in. Your heart felt heavy and sad.

Nestling into the plump pillows, you let your mind wander and drifted off to sleep. It was empty and cold being there alone, but you couldn’t resist the way the mattress let you sink down into it.

Evening passed into night as you slept, Ravi still missing and unaccounted for, but you were unaware.

You woke with a start, confusion settling in as you surveyed the surroundings. You had forgotten you were in your room, alone. Rubbing your weary eyes, you swung your legs over and slid off. Grabbing some soft pyjamas from the dresser, you changed into something more comfortable. You went to the bathroom, splashing cool water on your face and brushed your teeth. It felt odd, being all alone is such a large house. You wondered if this was how Ravi felt everyday. It made you upset to think that he was always so alone here. No one to provide company, laughter, or companionship. He truly was most likely a lonely person.

You were thirsty so you headed for the kitchen, pulling your door open to a dark house. Just as you turned into the hall, you saw him. He had just stepped into view, looking to the side when he heard your door open. You began to speak, but no words came out. He just stared at you for a moment then turned away and went to his room. The look he gave you brought tears to your eyes. Even though he saw you, he didn’t acknowledge your presence. It stabbed at your heart, your tears falling freely of their own accord. You drug yourself down to the kitchen, pouring a glass of tea with ice. You could hear him moving around above you, doing whatever it was in his room. You sat at the counter, listening to his footfalls crossing the room before going silent.

Did you dare go and try to talk to him, or wait for him to make the first move? What if he kept his distance, or worse decided that you needed to leave? Settling on letting him decide what to do, you finished your tea and placed the glass in the sink, being careful to not make any noise. Reluctantly you headed for your room, walking on tiptoe so he wouldn’t hear you. Just before you reached for the door knob, you felt firm hands grabbing your arms and pulling you backwards. You screamed, a hand coming to cover your mouth.

He pushed you up against the wall, hand still over your mouth, his glare daring you to make another sound. You blinked hard, somehow hoping he would understand you would stay silent. He tilted his head to the right, slowly removing his hand. The look in his eyes was wild and vacant. There was no odor of alcohol, no visible signs of drug use, so you had no idea why he looked so crazed.

“If you plan on staying here, you need to learn what your role is. You will no longer test my patience, you will abide by my rules, am I clear?” His tone was scaring you.

You nodded in agreement, eyes wide with fear. He had yet to give you a reason to fear him, had yet to come this close to hurting you. Removing his hands from the wall on either side of your head, he left you standing where you were, plastered along the wall. You watched him from the corner of your eyes as he walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, you dropped to the floor, body shaking and sobs racking your body.

Once you gained your composure, you ran to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you. Leaping on your bed, you huddled yourself into a ball, arms wrapped securely, protectively around your legs. You waited with bated breath, wondering if he would try to come in your room, or just leave you be. Overwhelmed with fear and worry, you began to cry, this time swallowing the sobs. A coiuple of hours passed, and you had become somewhat relaxed. Just as you were about to fall asleep, you were startled by a fist banging on your door.

“Y/N! Open the damn door! Now!”

“No! Leave me alone!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, voice screeching.

“Y/N, open this door right now! I do not want to have to break it down!” his high pitched yells growing in intensity.

You went silent, thinking it better to keep quiet and not respond to him. A minute later, all went quiet. Your fear gained the upper hand, leading you to hide.

What happened to you, Ravi? Why? God, please what happened?

You spent the remainder of your night hidden in your closet, too afraid to sleep or move. When your bladder could hold no more, you ran to the bathroom. Everything was back to the same as yesterday, deadly quiet and starkly still. Leaning your ear to the door, you listened for any noise. Taking care, you cracked it open enough to peek out.

Nothing. Again.

Taking a cautious step out, you froze at the scene before you. Pictures and vases scattered across the floor, shards of glass stretching down the hall. Walking through the maze of wood and glass, you peered over the balcony, only to see more damage. Lying in the middle of the foyer curled into a ball was Ravi, hands bloodied but still as a statue. You ran down the stairs, all warnings and fear fleeing you. Coming to halt before you reached him, you glanced over his body checking for any injuries. That’s when you heard it, the faint but distinct sound of crying.

“Ravi?” you whispered above him.

No answer.

“Ravi, please.” you tried again.

He lifted his head, eyes red and puffy, a bewildered look on his face. When he saw it was you, he scrambled up and backed away from you. The sudden movement startled you, making you fall on your bottom. You held your hands out, trying to show him you were safe. He huddled back to the floor, covering his face in his hands. You waited until he had calmed down before moving towards him again.

“Ravi, it’s me, Y/N. Please look at me.”

You had no idea why you were trying to soothe him after what happened last night, but you knew in your gut that whatever it was last night, was not him. Your safety may hinge on what you found out.

“Ravi, please. I’m not mad at you. Not scared of you.”

You hoped your lie sounded convincing as you spoke softly to him.

When he picked his head up, you had to hold yourself back. He looked wrecked and broken. His eyes were filled with his own fear, like he was lost in his own mind. Blood covered his hands and clothes and was smeared across his face. Keeping your focus on him, you inched closer, always ready for something to happen.

He watched you like a beaten animal, tensing with every move you made. When you were within arms length, you laid a hand over his, the one safe place you knew he had. Allowing enough time for him to pull away, when he remained still, you scooted across the floor wrapping him in your arms. All apprehension was out the window, your concern for him weighing heavier on your conscience.

He gave little effort to struggle from your embrace, instead you held him firmly, waiting for him to stop fighting you. At last, he gave up, and let you hold him, rocking him like you would a child. You both sat there, neither of you saying anything, until his breathing had calmed and all you heard was an occasional sniffle.

You jumped a little at his voice, which sounded so weak compared to how he normally sounded.

“I-I… Y/N. I don’t…” his words were broken, making it difficult for you to understand what he was trying to say.

“Shhh. Let’s not talk about it right now. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Your voice was soft and reassuring, not wanting to upset him further. You stood to your feet, holding your hands out to assist him up. He leaned heavily on your shoulder, barely able to stand on his own feet. You half crawled, half carried him up the steps, leading him to his bathroom. You filled the tub with hot water, gathering towels and wash clothes to clean him off. Helping him out of his clothes and into the tub, you sat on the edge, letting your feet sit in the water.

He rested his back on the side, letting you wash his hands and face. Having to push him up into a sitting position, you washed his back, taking note of the bruises splayed across. You handed him the soapy cloth, letting him wash his chest and stomach. When it came time to wash his hair, you repositioned your legs so he could lay his head back on your lap. Using a cup from the sink, you filled it with water from the faucet and wet his hair down. Taking his shampoo, you lathered him up, repeating the same process to rinse it out. Once he was scrubbed clean, you helped him back against the tub.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked hesitantly.

“Do you?” he sounded so tired, you thought.

“Only if you do, but we can’t hide it away, not after last night.”

“I have no idea what happened last night. I’m sorry, I know I scared you and i can’t take that back.”

“Ravi, you need to tell me what happened yesterday. You can tell me now or later, but we need to talk about it.”

“Can you help me get out?” he stated, trying to change the subject for now.

After he was out, dried off, and helped into some sweats and a t-shirt, you sat him on the edge of the bed.

“Now talk.” you told him, without sounding commanding.

“When you went back to sleep yesterday, I left. I had to think, clear my head and make some decisions. I went to some of my businesses, had a few meetings, and then to Octagon for a few drinks. On the way back to my car, I ran into that man from the dinner. He asked about you, wanted to know if he could ‘borrow’ you for a night.”

A look of disgust crossed your face. He looked down at you in his chair and frowned. You knew what was coming next could not be good.

“I tried, really I did, to calmly tell him you were off limits. But, then I thought that if I were to let you out of our deal, you would be free game. The thoughts of him touching you, doing things to you that only I want to do, struck a nerve with me. Next thing I know, I am being pulled off of him, his face bloody and unconscious. I ran, and came here. I was so angry at the thought of you leaving, you being with someone else, that I just snapped. I barely remember coming to your room and pinning you to the wall. After that I just took my anger out on the house. I would rather suffer the pain than you. But I had already done the damage, by being rough with you and making you fear me.”

You looked at him with sad eyes. He was right, you did fear him last night, but you didn’t now.

“I don’t fear you, Ravi. Am I scared? A little, but I don’t fear you.”

“I don’t want you to be scared of me. I never wanted that. Why do I keep breaking all my rules with you?” you could see the frustration etching his face.

“Because. Because I push the limits with you. I test your patience with me. If I am going to go through this with you, then I need to be fully committed.”

“You still want to do this? After what happened last night? Why?”

“I don’t know. I think there is something about you that intrigues me. Something more I want to explore. I think I need you, as much as you need me.”

He was looking at you, confusion and concern washing over him. What if he snapped again, went further the next time?

“You think we need each other? What makes you think that?”

“We will figure that out together. Please, give me one more chance to prove that I am able to fulfill your needs . I promise I will not push limits or try you any more.” You took his hand in yours, and fell to your knees.

“Get off the floor, Y/N. If anyone should be begging for another chance, It should be me.”

“Well then, we have both begged. Now, get to bed, you need sleep more than I do. I am going to go clean this place up.”

As you rose off the floor, he reached for your hand. You turned around to look at his fallen, yet expressionless, face.

“Please don’t leave me. Stay here with me. My staff will clean it up, no questions asked. Just don’t go.”

Resigning to fulfill his request, you crawled next to him, laying down to face him. He held your hand tightly, fingers interlaced, and covered them both with his other hand.

“Don’t leave me, please.” he whispered as he fell asleep.

“I won’t Ravi, I don’t want to.” you said into your pillow as you turned over.

The next morning you were found curled up in his arms, his chest flush along your back. You wiggled your body around, trying not to wake him, but smiled sheepishly when you saw he was already awake.

“Good morning, did you sleep okay?” he was being cautious, testing the waters.

“I did, and how about you? You feeling better today?”

“I’m a little sore, I think we both are after the past few nights.” he still sounded defeated, something you were going to have to nip in the bud.

“I am going to the bathroom before I wet this bed, then I will be right back, okay?”

He laughed at you as you scrambled to use the bathroom, coming back with a much smaller bladder, and crawling back into bed.

“Now, first things first, if I may.” you asked seeing if he would say anything.

When he said nothing you continued.

“We are going to do our best to forget the past two nights, forgive each other and move forward. If this is going to work, we can’t have any hang-ups between us, got it?” your smile hopefully letting him know that were not being confrontational.

“Can we do that, just forget like nothing happened? Are you honestly willing to forgive my insane actions? Dammit Y/N, either you’re crazy or you’re…”

He stopped mid sentence to look at you.

“I’m crazy or what?” you gave a quizzical look at him.

“Y/N, why are you with me? I mean, what’s the real reason?”

“I don’t understand your question, Ravi. I thought we had a deal, I am here to fulfill my part of that deal. That’s the real reason.” you had your hands on your lap, pushing yourself to sit up straighter.

“Well.. then you are crazy. Any other sane woman would have run by now.”

“Well, as you pointed out, I’m not sane, so here I am. Seriously, Ravi. Okay, here’s the truth. You have a need, and to take care of that need, you have me. You hired me, basically, to take care of said need and your desires, fantasies, or whatever you call them. You are my employer and I do as you say. Is that honest enough for you?” rising off the bed, you spun around to get one last word in.

“May I be excused from the room? And will there be anything required of me today?” hand on your hip as you waited.

You were pissed, beyond pissed actually, and hurt by his words. You steeled your nerves, and swore a vow to yourself, there would be no falling for this jerk. Do your ‘job’, have a place to stay and enjoy some great sex all while being controlled by him.

“You can leave, but I do expect you to be ready tonight. I am going out and I expect you to be with me. Be ready to go by eight.” his cool response oddly satisfying you.

With a nod, you were off and out of his room. Walking to your own room, you got dressed and headed for the kitchen, you heated the leftover coffee for yourself, not caring if he wanted any or not. He didn’t tell you to fix it, so-

You were cut of mid rant when you heard him yelling.

“Fix me some coffee and breakfast while you’re at it.”

Son of a bitch, did he have cameras on you? You gazed around the room, looking, just in case.

You made more of a racket than you really needed to, slamming pots and pans down, closing cabinets harder than necessary. After everything was ready, you sent him a text telling him his food was on the counter, and you headed out. Getting in your car, you headed for the salon, needing a manicure and some gossip.

Thirty minutes later you are getting a text from him.

Where are you

I’m at the salon, getting nails done for tonight

Are you at my salon

Then where

In hell! Srsly!? I am at the one i go to.

Y/N i’m not playing, tell me

Fine. sunkuku studio

I’ll pick you up in 15

I won’t be ready then

I don’t care be ready

Oh, you were so livid you could scream and spit fire! After you sent the last message, you told Sunny you had to cut the manicure short and just get a buff and shine. She frowned at you, being one of your best friends, she was worried about you. Especially now that you had a gash on your forehead, and a huge bruise surrounding it. You made up some elaborate story that you had fallen at the club and hit your head on the bar.

Just as she finished your nail shine, Ravi’s black Bentley was pulling up to the front. When he got out of the car, Sunny couldn’t help but cat call whistle.

“Damn girl! That is one fine specimen.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you sick, Y/N. If I had that man I would never leave the house.”

Just as she ended her comment, Ravi walked in, heading straight for you. Sunny’s eye went huge when she noticed he was picking you up.

“Y/N, we need to go, now.”

“Fine, but you owe me a manicure, here” you replied coolly. You weren’t going to upset the cart in front of your friend.

Taking you by the wrist, he walked you outside, opened the passenger door, then slid into the driver’s side. Pulling your door closed, you crossed your arms and waited on him to speak.

Once his door was closed and the car started, he began, eerily calm.

“Why did you leave? You didn’t ask if you could leave today.”

“Actually I did, first thing this morning, you said I could leave, but to be ready by eight tonight. Just because neither of us specified what I meant by leave, doesn’t mean I didn’t ask for permission.” your statement was matter of fact and left him no place to argue.

“Fine, from now own… screw this, when we get home, we are detailing everything in our contract, if I don’t burn it up instead!”

You turned your head, looking out the side window, refusing to look at him.

“Let me out, here.” you said suddenly.

He pulled over and stopped the car.

“Let you out? Why? We are going home.”

“No, you are going home. I can’t do this. I can’t give you all the control. Control in the bed, yes, control when we are out, sometimes. But not every single little detail of my life. I have a life of my own. Friends, hobbies. I need to have some semblance of control to keep me sane!” you threw the door open, getting out in a hurry.

@aspaceformyself @trapped-inside-my-head @beautifulseoulliar @maxinaptak @seoulsunshineandstories @xjamlessparkx @kpop-addictedloser @astronomyturtle @trashkazuya @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570 @kwonnansi @kpop-addictedloser

#vixx ravi #ravi x reader #ravi smut #ravi angst

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