#so i said it'd be so cool if the song has a sudden change-up and switches into a darker sound

[poly-lights]

PART 2 TO MY II PREDICTIONS/WISHES/QUESTIONS (technically) SINCE YALL ACTUALLY KINDA LIKED THOSE?? and i have more!

please note btw that most, if not all, of this is not gonna happen bc they can't pack EVERYTHING into a 30 minute or so episode and not gonna lie some of these are my fixation talking and me being delusional. it's good to theorize though!!

lots of bias. let's get into it

i told my gf this BUT it'd be cool if there was a scene of trees changing, to represent seasons passing because it has to have been a year at most right

more lightbulb using her electrokinesis scenes plspls?????? like. she can just casually DO THAT....maybe have her use it for evil/J IM KIDDING. don't have her kill anyone

............................yet

another knife and suitcase scene, elaborating on the "making your presence known", how suitcase took it a different way, just a conversation if that makes sense

yknow. what was that roboarm in the gemory cave. and is it Still working after lightbulb powered it on.

unrelated but still.more so a question have we or will we ever get the full roommate list drop?? unless they're gonna wait for when s2 is done to not spoil anything

baseball and lightbulb friendship scene :] team captain style!

i think it's gonna release on OR near the anniversary, if the iii finale is so soon early into 2024 it gives slight time

can we get parent lore drop??? like hello?????? they cant just said what they said in iii ep 14 and never expand on it, so i have a heavy feeling its gonna get mentioned in s2 if not ep 15 specifically

im just hoping for lb centric, even if her lore doesn't match up well with the slams. pls im so autism abt her at this point its anything BUT funny

now here's some iii 18 predictions!! for fun :] and also me just rambling abt it (spoilers for iii 17!!!!)

those who left to the hotel come back for jury voting!! more importantly fan and pb please💥

bot and springy and gonna be near each other again next episode. springy may still try to pull some shit with bot, and, assuming so, if TEST TUBE IS BY BOT'S SIDE......

springy made that suitcase bot, so clearly he knows about season 2

we may just get ii 14 tt again. which i am HOPING for. idk i love seeing test tube ENRAGED for the people she cares about she's so fun and unique bc MAN that girl is angry. she's holding grudges against Two People

also. fan meeting bot? he is going to have such a big and hopefully impactful reaction!! pls he has his patterns and the sudden changes make him uncomfortable they need to mention this

if he knows about season 2......could he make, or has he made, toys of the other final four? again im just gripping at straws for an iis2 final four appearance

think abt it though. it's the iii finale. you think they won't do something big? considering mephone knows he has to go back? springy could easily torment him w that considering the whole "facing your past" theming

also walkie talkie is Totally associated with meeple. ik we've all figured that out but i just had to say something. very heavily focused on using electronics to better the future? implying robots taking over others positions?

also??? past contestants coming back SEEING the toys?? maybe. Maybe.

the entire episode could also just be a discussion and play on the ethics of ai and how it's affecting the writing industry by putting people out of jobs due to its advancement and im reading way too much into it but hey im putting my hard hat on and channeling my inner matpat for this stupid show about objects with limbs (/pos btw)

also. are they gonna leave floor behind??? or will they scoop him into a terrarium, then plant him into inanimate island?

can he teleport that far?? how far is paradise?????????? ae drop the map pls/silly

ALSO ALSO. WHAT ARE THE INANI-MATES?? IS N/A THE LAST OF THEIR KIND??????? i doubt it but STILL everyone else in that group died

hey. why is the background of the recap song the background used when the gemories formed the silhouette of cobs. hey now.

[sorryimanon]

Character: Katsuki Bakugou

Warnings/tags: heart warming fluff, language, and suggestive themes

Word count: 2.5k

In which your boyfriend takes it upon himself to pamper you on his day off.

Author’s note: some self indulgent fluff. this is a continuation of dad!bakugou and torch daughter. there will be more. enjoy :)

D/N= daughters name

-

Katsuki heavily relied on you to babysit your rambunctious four year old daughter during the days when he'd be on patrol from dusk till dawn. Very rarely would he be home before the two of you tucked yourselves in for the night, leaving him to eat the leftovers from dinner alone at the table. As sad as it is, it didn't bother you in the slightest. In fact, knowing Katsuki was keeping the crime rate of Japan low, you were more than happy to become a stay at home mom. Most of your friends tried to talk you out of it, but you were already settled after giving your two weeks notice at your low paying job. Waking up and seeing your daughter first thing in the morning is better than staring blankly at a bright screen all day behind a musty wall, running on nothing but decaf coffee, and sluggishly going to and fro like a zombie.

Ever since your daughter manifested her quirk, you’ve been trying your best to maintain her sudden outbursts while at home. The doctor prescribed it as Torch: the ability to become a human torch and ignite flames throughout your body and fingertips. For now d/n is only capable of setting herself on fire, using the flames as a barrier to protect her from any harm instead of combating. However, sometimes she'll forget to extinguish herself, having you to manually use an actual fire extinguisher on her. Burn marks would litter the outskirts of your shirts, the aftermath ash smudged on your face, and the tiny hairs on your forearms long gone after handling d/n.

Your boyfriend appreciates the way how you compose yourself around d/n, not allowing the temptation to fling the little gremlin out the window prevail, because if the roles were reversed it'd be a whole different story. Sometimes he sits back in his desk chair, after a long night of meandering around the city, and tries to remember the last time you were properly treated. Of course, Katsuki never fails to remind you day and night he loves you through his actions, some including selfish indulgence late at nights, but all in all he didn't lack being the hopeless romantic counterpart for you. He wanted you to take a break from it all, have him handle the at home duties and the slimy daughter. Leaning back against the chair with his brows furrowed slightly, he began to mentally plan out your day already.

It was a Friday when Katsuki forced himself out of the comfortable security that is your arms and walked with light feet to his daughters bedroom. Today is his day off, so he has to make sure everything goes smoothly or else he's going to have more burn marks on his office desk.

He didn't bother knocking first and saunters in the familiar space, the faint snores from d/n somehow relaxing him. Her walls were freshly painted a light shade of blue, the contrast not too saturated to peel the attention away from her posters that covered every inch of her room, all of which were pictures of his prohero colleagues. D/N had to beg for her father to purchase a Deku poster, one of which she saw don display when the both of you brought her to the mall for a quick trip. He internally cringes every time he makes eye contact with the lifeless eyes of Deku when he enters her room.

Katsuki neared his daughter and kneeled down to where his head was leveled with hers, chuckling lightly when finding a small pool of drool collecting on her cheek.

"Wake up little shit," he whispers, nudging her uncovered shoulder with his knuckles, startling her eyes to flutter open. D/n nearly gasped at the sight of her father. The covers that were wrapped snuggly around her fell at the foot of her bed when she jolted up in surprise, eyes brimming with excitement.

"It's today right? Mommy's day!" Katsuki covered her mouth with his abnormally large hand, not wanting her obnoxious voice to blow their cover.

"Yes, but you're gonna have to be quiet for daddy. Don't want to spoil the surprise for mommy, you understand ya little brat?"

Hand still attached to her mouth, d/n nodded her head feverishly, hands clenched into tiny fits. Once he thinks she's shimmered down a little, he finally removes his hand and motions her to follow him.

Meanwhile in the other room, you were still fast asleep, limbs not once switching from their position over the cozy blanket. The chill breeze from the propped window regulated your body temperature nicely, along with the beautiful songs sung by the birds that reside in the trees close by. You stirred awake momentarily, feeling the loss of a presence that's usually laying beside you during these times of slumber. Katsuki's side was empty, the indent from his body molded onto the foam mattress, leaving you to believe he woke up not that long ago.

After convincing yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, you decided to search for the missing blonde. You crack open the door to a weird combination of radio music blaring throughout the house, and the delicious smell of something cooking in grease. It's no doubt your boyfriends doing. He always likes to impress you with how skillful he is in the kitchen. He hasn't made a dish you disliked yet nor will he allow himself to do so.

Standing side by side, minus the height difference, d/n and Katsuki both were too immersed in their cooking to notice you leaning against the island counter, trying very hard to not cry instantly at the sight in front of you. Watching them interact together was definitely something you'd be treasuring for the years to come.

A rush of savory and sweetness infiltrated your senses, the scent strong enough to knock you back to sleep. As if he read your mind overnight, Katsuki took it upon himself to prepare your favorite breakfast dishes. The dinner table made for three already set by none other than d/n, who currently looked proud at her work and craftsmanship. A large vase was propped in the center, a collection of vibrant flowers stuffed to the brim, the water inside almost overflowing. Attached to one of the stems of the flowers was a tag, the handwriting sloppy and hard to decipher.

To my dumbass, love ya - K.B

You felt the delicate touch of your daughter wrapping her hand around yours, giving it a slight tug before pulling you into the kitchen again. Katsuki flicked his gaze to you now, flashing the same mischievous grin you grew to love. his hands simultaneously worked on the food while taming the animal, that is indeed your daughter, from bumping into the pan handles.

"What's all this for?" You asked, the question directly appointed to both your boyfriend and daughter.

"Oh, so I can't treat my sexy girlfriend to a good meal?" he teased while setting the burners to low, letting the food cool off before plating it. Your daughter audibly gagged at the comment and swatted Katsuki's arm.

D/N's tiny legs were faster than yours and reached the cabinet where the plates and cutlery were stored at. To her dismay, the cabinet was higher than she anticipated. trying her best to waiver down the disappointment as she climbed on the sleek marble counter top, losing her footing here and there. Katsuki caught her in time before she misplaced her footing and almost toppled onto the floor.

"May I need to remind you not to climb on the damn counter tops anymore d/n?" he scolded as he put her down before grabbing enough plates for everyone.

Pursing her lips tightly, she crossed her arms and said, "But if I'm going to be a future hero then I have to battle my way through tough obstacles!"

U.A's immense training and work studies came in handy when dealing with d/n's hard headed ideologies. It's been a stressful reoccurrence, having to constantly teach her the importance of being a hero at such a young age. Her impulsive tendencies mirrored the blondes old habit of taking action before thinking. But there was always a saying when storing away your fear and facing danger head on.

"That's true, but sometimes a little teamwork wouldn't hurt. Your father should know a thing or two about that when he was a young U.A student," you said as you patted her head.

"What'd you say shitty woman? Talking crap so early in the morning already?" a strange popping sound alerted you to turn around, only to find Katsuki flaring his flashy quirk with a glare that could splice you open.

But his alarming gaze wasn't the thing that was scaring you at the moment.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT USING YOUR QUIRK IN THE HOUSE! YOU'RE GONNA SET OFF THE FIRE ALARM AGAIN, IDIOT!"

-

You thought the smorgasbord of a breakfast was the last of your boyfriends romantic gestures, but you should've known better once he demanded you to change out of your sleep attire and into something to  wear outside. Not thinking twice about where he was dragging you to, including daughter, you decided to play it safe. He approved on your choice of ripped jeans, synthetic tank top, and thrown on cardigan once heading off to the car.

The car ride to the mysterious destination was short lived as your boyfriend pulled up into the driveway of his old house. Mitsuki stood waiting by the threshold of the doorway, waving her fingers sweetly to whom you can only assume was you and not her only son. She stepped off the porch once Katsuki shifted the car in park, unlocking the doors as well. His mother reached the side where d/n stayed strapped in her seat and yanked the door open.

"Ah my little princess! How have you been? I missed you so much!" She unbuckled d/n's seat belt and flattened her in a tight hug, squeezing till her eyes popped out. "I can't wait to spend the weekend with you baby girl! Are you excited to have a little fun with grandma?!"

"Calm the fuck down, you're gonna kill her if you keep squeezing!" Katsuki's voice boomed out of the window.

"Oh pipe down you little shit I'm not harming her! Also don't talk to me like that! You're old enough to treat me with some respect by now!"

"SHUT UP YOU OLD HAG! JUST TAKE THE LITTLE GREMLIN AND GO!"

After the heated exchange, Katsuki eventually calmed down and drove the two of you back to the house in complete silence. It was quite a shift in a sense of environment wise. By now d/n would be begging you to make her some pudding or pour her a cup of lemonade, then place yourselves in front of the tv watching a random kids program till evening. Tonight you lend the torch to your boyfriend, allowing whatever devious plan he conjured up to unfold.

Before you could shuffle into your shared bedroom, Katsuki placed his calloused hands onto your cramped shoulders. Merely centimeters from your ear, he laid a chaste kiss on the area beneath it, smiling at your innocent reaction to his sudden actions and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You smelt the familiar scent of caramel and men’s soap, both of which you undoubtably loved when combined.

“Suki?” Upon hearing his nickname, Katsuki quirked an eyebrow at you. “What’s with all the romantic gestures lately? Cooking my favorite breakfast, the flowers, and our daughter. Don’t get me wrong, I love her! It’s just nice not to worry about if she’ll set the curtains on fire again.”

You felt the vibrations of him chuckling behind you.

“Isn’t it obvious? I just want to fuck the shit out of you,” you sat paralyzed by his bluntness. his tuft hair tickled the underside of your chin, earning him an acute giggle from you. “I’m just kidding, pretty face. I figured you needed a weekend where you just relax and did nothing. Let me do all the work. That’s including getting rid of the brat.”

Shifting in his arms to where you can face him, you can now see the adoration oozing from usual heated glare of his vermillion eyes, the scowl long gone and replaced with a soften feature not so many from the outside can witness. To think this was the man you devoted yourself and love for, to allow him to bare witness anything and everything you endure. He’s a man of showing his compassion through his actions, not lousy words of affirmations that anyone could sputter out and proclaim its love. No, he reflects back everything right with the world, even when you felt the weight of it searing through your system, dragging it down with you. The same explosive blonde awaits patiently by the opening for you to enter, no matter how long it’ll take for you to accept his love. Because he’ll be there. Waiting.

And here he is waiting. In your arms to repeat those three words you made out from watching the movement of his lips.

The words leave your mouth effortlessly, the proclamation hanging in the air between you two.

“I love you too, Katsuki. Thank you so much, for everything.” Like so, you kiss the plump flesh of his lips, the same inflammation of your heart burning as before. The strong muscle of his tongue prods your entrance, practically begging by licking your bottom lip. Katsuki grabbed your chin as gentle as he could muster, titling it for a better leverage to explore your mouth in return. Your hands trailed across the defining shape of his collarbones, rubbing any part of his body so that your fingers remained busy. Both of you hum in satisfaction, relishing in the feeling of the intimate moment. To your disliking, he removes his lips from yours and hovers instead, panting from the mini-make out session seconds ago.

“I’m going to marry you some day, mark my words. So don’t act fucking stupid when I pop the question,” he hotly proclaims, not once removing those piercing red eyes from yours. That’s when you knew he wasn’t bullshitting. If there’s one thing you learned about Katsuki over the years of dating, is that he doesn’t throw out promises in the air nonchalantly without keeping them. You can vaguely hear the ominous sound of wedding bells in your ears.

“Sounds intriguing. I always wanted to see you in a suit and tie.”

“Ya know, maybe someday might be tomorrow-.”

You cut him off with a scorching peck, making his eyes widen and dilate with every given second you laid your lips onto his. “Shut up babe and ravish me already.”

A mischievous grin forms on his mouth as he links his arms around the back of your knees and hoists you over his shoulder. He erupted into fits of laughter after hearing you squeak from the abruptness. The door to your shared bedroom came into view, your boyfriend kicking it with his free foot before entering through the threshold.

“You’re in for a long night sweetheart. Now that our daughter isn’t here, I’m not holding back on anything,” he threatens as he lays you down on the comforter.

Another thing you learned from your relationship. Katsuki is always true to his word.

-

[sashayaweh]

Sam and Bucky dance to this song after having to take refuge in a safe house during a particularly high stakes mission. Theres a record player and Sam makes this necessary senior citizen taunts when he catches Bucky's frequent glances towards where it sits on the wooden shelf. Eventually, Sam walls over to fiddle with it because Bucky insists on faking disinterest, but Sam really wants to see him being not-so-boring for once. It was rare to see the other man take interests in his surroundings, barring the hyperawareness that he had for every environment he found himself in.

Sam could almost imagine Bucky's robo-brain whirring to calculate all the exits, people, and vantage points for any possible threat. He never seemed to fully relax. Even sitting in a chair, he sat stiffly as if he was ready to leap out at at any moment. Sam could understand. He wasn't brainwashed and weaponized for 70 years, sure. But he has seen war and death. Things he'd rather forget. And he's felt fear. The initial fear of the thousand foot free falls, the fear of the police and the banks, and the fear of losing himself in it all. So, Sam gets the mental burden and understands how hard it is to leave once you're in.

So, he fiddles with the record player and pretends not to know how to work it. There's no other records visible, but luckily one is still in place. Bucky would eventually get irritated and put everything into place because he knows what Sam is doing. And he knows that Sam knows. Because Sam knows everything. Bucky assumes this from the amount of time the other man spends talking. So, he puts the record on like old times and ignores the lump trying to force its way up and the memories that resurface. Steve-

"You're lucky, man. Etta James, and a classic at that, talk about a two for one. Looks like our luck it starting to turn around, CP30," Sam smile toothily and Bucky wants to do do something to that gap in his teeth. He doesn't quite know what that is yet. Maybe punch it because Sam knows he doesn't understand that obvious reference. But Sam's smile soften to a close, and the corners curl at the edges as his head begins to sway with the notes. Like silk curtains, his eyes slip close in simple pleasure as if he was settling himself into the music.

Bucky watches and feels awkward. At some point, in the past, he would know what to do in the situation. He would know what to do with the violins and the soulful tones curling words of longing into the air. And tired fulfillment. Maybe, he would know what to do with Sam but he doubts it. Or at least how to...be himself. Maybe then they wouldn't argue for once. Sam opens his eyes and looks over to see Bucky who stood, stone faced and deep in thought. The focus of his hooded stare was intense and Sam scoffed. The other man was being broody again.

"Are you even listening to the music or did you zone out again?" He shifts, slightly elbowing his companion and Bucky blinks, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

"You started talking, I couldn't help myself," Bucky quips and Sam let's out a soft scoft that becomes a short laugh. Bucky feels his own lips twitch.

"You gotta relax, man. You could beat a piñata with the stick you have up your ass," Sam shakes his head. That wide tooth smile is back but this time its less cocky and a little more warm. Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot. At least he understood the reference this time.

Sam sighs and stops the music. He replaces the needle at the original point and let's it go. After a few seconds of crackling silence, the song fills the room again. Sam slaps the back of his hand gently against Bucky's chest and steps back with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wanna dance, old man?"

Bucky gently freezes in shock but Sam catches it because he expected it, really. Its why he asked in the first place. He wants to shake up that tightly wound exposure that Bucky has at all times. And he was bored. Bucky was not a talkative person and their current predicament left them without many sources for entertainment. It'd been hours since they arrived, yet Sam was feeling the time pass under his skin like an itch. He was exhausted and body weary, but it was better to stay awake so he could orient to the new time zone. As a result, he couldn't help but pester the other man.

"No."

Sam just kept looking at him. His gaze was sleepy, but a twinkle of the earlier mischief still shined through. Similarly, his skin reflected the warmth of the sun as it clung to the early evening and seeped through the windows. It was lucky that they got to be above ground this time.

The staring lasted a long moment. Like it always did. Then Sam shrugged.

"I know dancing may not be a particular talent of yours-" but before he could finish, Bucky was in his space and the rest of Sam's sentenced disappeared with some of his bravado. Bucky was fast and his sudden closeness wasn't expected given the man's reservations a second ago. The sudden adrenaline that had sparked through Sam's started to fade too. He wasn't scared of his companion, but the man's behavior was largely still a mystery to Sam which meant that sometimes he was caught off-guard.

Bucky raised his right hand out, brow arched expectantly, and Sam took it with caution. The man's other hand rose to hover a few inches above Sam's hip, and it took a few moments before he realized Bucky was waiting for permission. His cheeks warmed and he hoped his complexion made it less obvious. He gently guided the metal hand until Bucky settled it on the jut of his hip, the surface cool and smooth under his soft hold.

"Aren't you a gentleman? Thats that old-school chivalry," Sam teased. Bucky pulled their bodies closer and smirked wryly.

"I aim to please." A new song had started and Bucky briefly tore his attention from the heat he felt spreading along his front. He hadn't danced in a long time. Not like this.

The current song featured a masculine husk crooning affections for the listener. It was accompanied by the distinct, steady tempo of a piano. Bucky felt his body catch the music, the way he'd been taught, quickly adjusting to an appropriate rhythm. Sam followed without much of a pause, finally starting to settle into the feelings of sharing this foreign intimacy with the familiar stranger who was holding him so damn gently. Even so, Bucky gripped him firmly like he'd catch Sam if he even thought about falling.

It was...nice. Nicer than Sam (or either of them, really) had expected. He hadn't been held in who knows how long. He was too busy and had mostly outgrown flings, but it wouldn't be fair to a potential partner if he randomly left on long missions that required little to no contact with those who didn't have the clearance. But that was kind of an excuse. Since everything that had happened, Sam hasn't much felt like having others in his space. He was a social person and owned that, sure. But it was hard to open up authentically as much as he teased Bucky about his tendency to isolate himself. He tries to take the advice he regularly gives to the veterans he takes under his wing. Its enough to sustain his close relationships, including whatever he has going on with One Armed Wonder, but he has little energy to offer anyone else. He has to remind himself that thats okay.

Without thinking, Sam realized he had sunk his head into the crook of Bucky's shoulder. He had started to drift, still following the gentle sways of his partner's body like a boat welcoming the gentle rocking of small waves after a storm. Bucky hadn't said anything, luckily, so Sam remains in his position and enjoys the comforting sounds of soul that has wrapped around them.

He had finally put Bucky onto some real good conditioner after growing sick of the greasy tresses the man sported as the Winter Soldier. No judgement. Its hard to have a solid hair care routine as an international assassin for magic super Nazis. But now, it smelled like honeyed coconuts instead of the scentless, dollar brands he used to buy at random. Even though Bucky's hair was shorter, Sam still caught wiffs of it near his neck. It was more noticeable this close given the man's lack of cologne.

Bucky had noticed earlier when Sam's head dipped into his shoulder. Shortly after, he though he had heard soft snores, but the man's body had otherwise remained upright and solid like usual. He had continued to follow the pattern they'd set, so Bucky had just shifted his hand to his partner's lower back to provide support and kept their pace steady. Otherwise, he lost himself in the heat of Sam's hand and the confusing stillness that had settled in his chest. He felt...anchored. But that was Sam. He was strong and steady, and reliable, but just as capable of sinking as anyone else without the support he inarguable deserved. The support Bucky tried to provide.

Steve was gone now. He'd left the both of them to figure out the aftermath of everything that had happened. Bucky wondered if it hurt Sam like it hurt for him. He didn't blame his Steve; couldn't begrudge him that act of selfishness after all they'd been through. Without Rogers' strong presence between them, they had been left to scramble in the gap and reshape it for two. Sam had his family and Bucky had his therapist, but nobody could understand the them as much as the other, as different as they are. So here they are, slow dancing in a safehouse Rhodes had been generous enough to lend them on short notice. He was amicable towards Bucky, but the generosity was really for Sam. Bucky's neck itched, likely with dried sweat, and he sighed internally. He needed a shower.

The man worked his hand against Sam's lower back instinctually and the other man responds with a questioning hum tinged with sleepiness. Bucky doesnt have an answer so they continue in silence. The song had changed. It was a woman again. She was singing the Blues, if Bucky guessed correctly. He's been picking up more of the music Sam liked. It could be relaxing but full-bodied one moment or rich and thrilling the next.

So far, he has only worked his way up the mid-80s. Sam jokesthat his sensitive hearing isnt prepared for the young and hip tastes that dominate the charts, but he'll still sneak recent artists into his recommendations so Bucky isnt completely "out of the loop." Like always, Bucky would just roll his eyes, but now and again he closes them and try to imagine what Sam felt when listened to the music. Wonders at the connections the man shares with the melodies, and the histories curved into the lyrics. Some things, he couldn't ever understand, even if he tries. So, other times, he just listens.

Now, he's curled over his partner's slightly shorter stature, nose brushing the other man's temple. Sam was not a small man. He was built like a brick house. His upper body was strong, but his lower half was thick with muscle and padded by soft curves of flesh. Probably because he only does legs. Meanwhile, Bucky's own body is near the opposite: wide, sturdy chest that tapers to a firm waist and steady, straight legs. They contrast nicely, Bucky thinks. Filling up the spaces the other doesn't. For two people of their size, they still manag to fit snugly with little space between their bodies. Any closer, and Bucky isn't sure how he'd handle the proximity. He feels lulled into the calmness of the evening that had unexpectedly crept up on them in the quiet of everything around them, save for the music.

The two danced a bit longer, but eventually Sam's body grew too weary after the lack of sleep. With hesitancy, they quietly parted after the final notes of the song slipped from the record player. Bucky turns stopped the music while Sam flops into the nearby couch. His growing exhaustion does not stop him from throwing a smirk Bucky's way which the man met with his regular deadpan stare.

"Not bad. Not a single hip replacement necessary. I'd say thats a success for two old men." Sam quipped. Bucky stayed silent.

"You're not old," he finally said. He hadn't moved from his spot by the record player.

"Hmmm. Well, compared to you, 42 isn't that old." Sam lets his eyes close again but Bucky clears his throat, causing one of them to open in question.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," he explains carefully. They've been on the move for some time now with little time for real rest. If Sam was going to finally sleep then it should be in a real bed, at least.

Sam lets out out a quick laugh, "if you think you can butter me up with a dance-"

Bucky cuts off his teasing with a quick glare. If there was ever a moment being the Winter Soldier has served him, it was now. Otherwise, the heat he could feel trying to redden his ears would send Sam into a fit of hysterics.

"I did a perimeter check when we arrived. There's three bedrooms upstairs. All of them have en-suites bathrooms so take your choice," Bucky grumbles out, avoiding eye contact with his counterpart. The earlier stillness he had felt was slowly disappearing now that they were interacting again. His nerves were more taxed than before. He'll analyze that later. Maybe with his therapist, but she was kind of petty, so maybe not.

Sam's teasing smirk has settled into something a little more kind as he rises frim his seat and crosses the room to where Bucky stands. He roughly claps the other man's arm a couple of times before settling the familiar weight of his hand at the ball of Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm just messing with you, man. Thanks though. That couch would do my back in after being thrown by that explosion. Luckily, you were there to provide some cushioning," he says with that toothy smile. Before Bucky can respond, Sam bids him goodnight and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bucky watches him go, dry-mouthed and slightly confused. Once Sam has completely disappeared from view, Bucky takes in his surroundings and feels the emptiness of the room without Wilson's presence.

He'll do one more perimeter check then turn in for the night. Even he can feel the pullings of sleep. Maybe tonight, he'll dream about dancing.

[lire-casander]

reaching for the sun (we are warriors)

[3,330 words]

[teen and up audiences]

[beta’ed by @meloingly]

[title from this is me by keala settle from the great showman ost, which for me is also a pride anthem]

[tk strand, carlos reyes, owen strand, paul strickland marjan marwani, tommy vega, grace ryder, judd ryder, mateo chavez]

[angst, mentions of a car accident, mentions of a coma, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, mentions of pills, mentions of alcohol, mentions of overdosing, alternate universe — dream, alternate universe]

[written for @911inthebeginning, day 5: “i wonder who we’d be in another life” + au, day 6: “you know i have feelings for you, right?” + romance + relationships and day 7: free choice, and for @911prideweek, day 5: “i love you, that will never change” + comfort + favorite lgtbqia+ kiss, day 6: “can i kiss you?” + first kiss + lyrics from pride songs/pride anthem and day 7: free choice]

[written for Becca’s birthday. i wish you the best of days and a year ahead full of good things!]

[there's a loud crash and a sudden heat, screams filling his ears as a bright white light blinds him into darkness.

tk looks around his surroundings with a soft sigh. he flops down on the bed, head resting against the wall as he manages to crawl back on the mattress and press his lithe frame on the cool surface.

he doesn’t want to be here.

tk finds himself trapped in a universe where everything is wrong]

reaching for the sun (we are warriors) | on ao3

"I wonder who we'd be in another life," he whispers into the silence of the car, eyes wandering outside as the snow falls in soft flakes. They're coming back to the apartment after their date at the Rockefeller Center. He feels so content after ice skating and a cup of hot chocolate shared with the love of his life.

"What was that?" he hears the reply over the quiet roar of the car's engine.

"I said," he repeats, "I wonder who we’d be in another life."

"Oh, Ty," comes a chuckle. "Whoever we'd be, we'd be together."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because," the driver laughs. "We're meant to be together. No matter the universe."

"You've spent way too much time around Mateo."

The light turns green. The car smooths forward.

"What can I say? I love you."

"And I love you."

The next thing he knows, there's a loud crash and a sudden heat, screams filling his ears as a bright white light blinds him into darkness.

TK looks around his surroundings with a soft sigh. He flops down on the bed, head resting against the wall as he manages to crawl back on the mattress and press his lithe frame on the cool surface. Everything hurts.

He doesn’t want to be here.

He gets why he is, though. He gets why his father wants him to be here. He gets why his mother has agreed to this wild idea his father has concocted. He gets why he needs all the help he can get. That doesn’t mean he has to like it. He's seventeen, he shouldn’t be locked up in a white, aseptic room when he could be on his way to campus to begin a new chapter of his life, to meet cute boys, and to waltz his way through life the way he's supposed to. He has a bright future ahead.

TK closes his eyes.

He had a bright future. He trampled it with just a string of bad decisions and a wrong turn of events.

"Tyler Kennedy," he hears. He knows it's one of the nurses, checking up on him during his first moments here. His eyes remain closed. "How are you finding your room?"

He stubbornly keeps his eyes closed when he replies. "I've just landed," he says slowly. "I haven’t been able to decide whether or not I like it."

"I didn’t know liking something is a decision," the nurse keeps saying. TK’s mind supplies him with images of the person talking to him — a bald, fat man in his fifties — since he refuses to open his eyes. "I thought it'd be more of a hunch."

"Nah," he drawls out. "It’s definitely a decision."

"Then decide to open your eyes and look round," the nurse chirps. "You can't know whether or not you'd like something if you don’t see it."

With a huff, TK does as told, meeting brown eyes when he angles his head down. He arches an eyebrow at the nurse, who's nothing like he'd imagined — he's a young man, probably in his twenties, with short hair and an inquiring gaze.

"There you are," the nurse says. "I'm Paul Strickland. I'm in charge of this ward, so I will be the one checking up on you."

"We're going to be seeing each other a lot, then," TK flirts, slipping back into old habits as brown eyes gleam with understanding. "Call me TK."

"I've been told you're quite the charmer," Paul retaliates. "Good to know about your name; will make sure to call you TK."

"You can call me anything you want anytime," TK tries again, only to be met by Paul's stern gaze.

"Maybe this is the time to tell you I am straight," Paul reveals casually, reverting to the clipboard in his hands that TK has just noticed.

"I don’t mind."

"You should," Paul tells him softly. "You should mind who you talk to, who you flirt with, and who you give your heart to, TK."

"So this is that kind of institution," TK deadpans. "One where you try to erase the gayness out of me."

"Don't be mistaken, TK," Paul says more seriously. "We're not trying to reset you. You’re here because you put yourself, and the people who love you, at risk.”

TK huffs out a laugh. “The story of my life,” he mutters. “I’m here for my own good, yada yada. I’ve heard it all before.”

“I know this is not your first rodeo in a place like this one,” Paul states. “But don’t be mistaken,” he repeats. “This isn’t like anything you might have known, before.”

And with that, TK watches him turn around and leave the room — the cell where they’re keeping him hostage. He remains silent on the bed, staring blankly at the opposite wall, as Paul’s words echo in his mind.

Three weeks into his new therapy, TK is allowed to have visitors. The ache in his bones has yet to vanish — he's searched for bruises, not really surprised that he doesn’t remember how he might have got them. It’s the story of his life. But every single time, he's come up empty-handed. His skin is unmarred.

Yet another mystery to add to the ever-growing string of weird things happening in his life right now.

He fidgets in his seat, looking around the room as he takes in the different scenes playing out. For the past twenty-one days, TK has taken to watching the rest of the interns, and he thinks he has vast knowledge of the circumstances of some of them.

Mateo, who looks like twelve but who’s actually fifteen, is talking to an older woman who must be his mother. She’s tearing up a bit as they speak, and TK can’t fault her — rumor has it that Mateo had had several encounters with his stepfather that involved some sordid details TK doesn’t really want to remember. His mother had found them together in her bed.

Marjan, who at twenty has entered the program voluntarily, is hiding one rebel lock back into her hijab while she talks to a young man TK believes could be her fiancé — Salim, from what he's gathered during therapy. Marjan isn’t looking up, instead focused on the way her fingers tap on the table beneath her hand, as though counting while her visitor tries to make her smile. Another rumor that TK isn’t sure about — she'd been taking part in some drills during her training at the Fire Academy in Miami when a ceiling collapsed on her and her classmates. She'd been the only survivor.

They all have something in common — a trait that links them all, a pain they share. Mateo, Marjan, even Cowboy Judd three tables over with his hands covering his wife's fingers as they hold on for dear life while they mourn the loss of the baby they didn’t even know they were expecting.

They all have tried to end it all, and they all have failed.

"TK Strand," the warden calls his name almost robotically. He stands up from where he’s been waiting and moves forward. The warden points at a vacant table and TK sits down once again.

He waits for a few moments, playing with the strings of the hoodie he's allowed to wear, looking down, until a shadow is cast over him.

"Hello, Ty."

TK looks up at the sudden voice and the unusual nickname — nobody ever dares to call him anything but TK, because he loathes any variation of his name. There’s only one person whom he allows that kind of deference.

He's met with big brown eyes as his best friend Carlos Reyes sits down in front of him. TK notices that he’s wearing a pink hoodie that’s a bit tight on the chest, and he's momentarily confused. His friend never wears hoodies.

"Carlos," he breathes out. "You shouldn't be here."

"They said you were allowed visitors," Carlos explains matter-of-factly. "I asked your father if it was okay that I came. He said yes."

TK shakes his head. Somehow, this feels wrong. He can see wrinkles around Carlos' eyes, a sheen of worry TK knows doesn’t belong in those eyes.

"Don’t get me wrong," TK begins. "I'm happy that you're here. But I doubt my parents have let you come in their place without a fight. Not after what I've done."

"You've done nothing wrong," Carlos states hotly. His hands reach out over the table and grab TK’s, holding tight. "Do you hear me? Nothing."

"How can you say that?" TK almost screeches. "I—I tried—I almost—" He stutters, the words stuck in his throat. He can’t even say the words. He can’t even acknowledge what he almost achieved.

"It wasn’t you," Carlos sighs. "You have to believe me, Ty. It wasn’t you. Whatever you think you did, it was an accident."

TK’s eyes widen at the choice of words. He knows it wasn’t a mistake; he made sure that he downed enough pills with a generous amount of whiskey to blissfully stop the pain. It's all on him.

"Carlos, it wasn’t an accident." He needs his friend to understand. He’s been in love with his best friend for what feels like eons now, and Carlos is the only person TK can’t stand to disappoint.

And he feels like an utter failure right now, still alive when he shouldn’t, still inflicting pain to those he loves.

Carlos squeezes his fingers, and TK almost loses it right in that moment; there's a warmth spreading throughout his body at the motion, a fleeting feeling swimming in those eyes staring down at him. "Please, TK," he begs. "You need to wake up."

"You're not making any sense," TK cries out, trying to withdraw his hands, but Carlos' grip is too tight. "I'm wide awake."

"Here, maybe," Carlos says distressed. "But this isn’t real, Ty. You need to wake up."

TK’s debating with himself whether or not he should call the warden. Carlos sounds as though he's lost his own mind.

"Carlos—"

"Can I kiss you?" Carlos blurts out, the despair clear in his features now.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?" Carlos repeats, more slowly this time. "You know I have feelings for you, right?"

TK frowns. There's a nagging idea in the back of his mind, pinching at his conscience to pay attention. Carlos is staring down at him with a passion that rivals the feeling TK needs to tame down every time he's around Carlos.

"I don’t—" he starts again, only to be cut off by Carlos standing up and reaching across the table, hands cupping TK’s face as he tilts it up.

Before he knows it, Carlos' lips are on his, and the edges of the reality begin to blur while the warden's shouts follow him unto oblivion.

The first thing he notices is the incessant beeping surrounding him. The second, the bothersome scratching of a tube in his throat keeping him from breathing.

He panics.

He wants to tear the tube from his body, but when he moves his hands he finds out he's being restrained. The fear settles, turning into something more feral, as he realizes he's in a hospital and he cannot move.

"Hey, hey, easy, easy," he hears from above him, a voice trying to calm him. It isn’t working. "TK, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself."

The voice sounds so choked up on tears that he has to do as it tells him. Even if in his panicked state he doesn’t recognize who it belongs to, TK feels he has to comply.

"There, better now," the voice says when he halts. He wants so badly to turn his head to the source of the words, but with another start he realizes he can't move either. "You're alive, son. You're alive. Now, go back to sleep. Next time you wake up, everything will be better."

He wants to scream that closing his eyes means coming back to somewhere he doesn’t want to be — to a place where he's being kept because of his mistakes, to a place where he can only see Carlos across a table in the visiting area. But there's a comfortable weight on his hand, a squeeze to let him know he's not alone, a familiar feeling guiding him back to slumber.

He does as told — he doesn’t know when he's become such an obedient person, when he's always been a rebel — and allows darkness to claim him.

This time, he doesn’t come back to being locked up.

The next time he wakes up, there's no tube hurting his throat. He keeps his eyes closed, just in case there are again blinding lights. He feels exhausted, but at least he can breathe. He flexes his hands and attempts to move them, but he's still restrained. When he manages to move his head and open his eyes, he sees both his arms are in slings. He's sprawled in what looks like a hospital bed, with his father slumped on a chair in a corner, Mateo curled up on himself on the floor next to him, and Paul and Marjan supported on each other, mimicking Mateo's stance. Nancy and Tommy are quietly scrolling down their phones next to the window. Judd and Grace are closing the door on their way back in, hands full with coffee and bags from the bagel place they all love so much.

Carlos is leaning forward on the bed, head on his leg as he gives into a fitful sleep, if the way his hand keeps twitching where he's holding TK’s is any indicator.

"Looks who’s decided to finally wake up," Grace teases, loud enough to wake everyone who was asleep up.

He doesn't try to talk. It isn’t his first rodeo, he knows his throat will be scratchy from the tube he felt the other time he woke up, and the loaded feeling in his limbs is enough to let him know that he's been lying on a bed for too long. But that knowledge doesn't prevent him from watching as the news of him being awake spread like wildfire around the room.

TK watches as his father and Mateo shoot up in their seats; Paul and Marjan sit up, rubbing their hands over their eyes, while Nancy and Tommy set their phones aside to look up at him. But he’s suddenly too busy watching Carlos scrambling to a sitting position, wincing when his body complains after spending what TK can only imagine is too long in the same awkward slump.

"Oh, God, Ty, you're awake," he stammers, all warm brown eyes and tired smile. "So good to have you back." There's a trembling on his hand where Carlos is holding TK’s that betrays the apparent cheerfulness of the words.

Everyone pipes in then, overlapping in their joy at seeing him improving after what happened. To answer his questions, when they all realize he doesn’t really remember, his family explains that there was a car accident. The passenger’s side had been slammed into by a truck whose driver had lost control.

TK has been in a coma for three weeks. There was even a time when the hospital sent a team of therapists to talk to his family in the — back then, almost certain — event of them having to decide to unplug him.

He realizes that every single day he's been hooked up to machines keeping him alive, it's also been a day in the hell of the hospital in his mind. He can’t imagine what they all have been through.

When his eyes land once again on Carlos — on his thinner frame, on the bags under his eyes, on the way he seems to recoil whenever TK squeezes his fingers back — he realizes that, at least for his boyfriend, it's been hell.

There's a pang of underlying guilt in those eyes that yell at TK.

At some point, a doctor enters the room to check up on him, ushering everyone outside except for his father and Carlos. TK is relieved to find out that there won't be any permanent damage — that, once the broken bones in his legs and arms heal, he will be able to go back to his job, to his life. They are scared of possible brain damage, but the doctor is positive there will be none, because TK is awake and alert. But since he's taken yet another blow to his head, they'd rather keep him for a while longer to make sure there aren't any secondary effects.

When the doctor leaves, so does his father. He pats TK on the only spot on his shoulder where he isn’t bruised, and he walks out the door with the excuse of going to find the rest and update them.

"It wasn’t your fault," TK says after an uncomfortable moment of silence passes between them. His voice is rough from the lack of use, but he powers through the scratchy sensation of not having spoken in three weeks. Carlos refuses to look up at him, eyes trained to an invisible speck of dust on the sheets. "Carlos, it wasn’t your fault. You told me so, in my dream."

At that, Carlos' eyes shoot up, meeting his with the shadow of a doubt clouding them. "What do you mean?" he croaks out, voice deep with tears. "I was driving, I should have seen it coming. I could have lost you!" Carlos’ hands are shaking against TK’s skin.

"But you didn’t. I'm still here," TK reassures his boyfriend the best he can. "You couldn’t have done anything. It's all on the truck's driver, babe. And I'm here, I'm back with you."

Carlos chokes out a sob, head falling forward against TK’s leg. He trembles as more sobs rake his body. "I—I almost lost you."

TK shakes his head, despite knowing Carlos can’t see him now. Before he knows it, he's opened his mouth and has started spilling the story of his dream — his parents locking him up in a mental facility, the incongruence of everyone else being there for having attempted to end their lives, the fear gripping at his insides whenever he thought he wouldn’t make it out, and the relief when the Carlos in the dream came around and forced him to wake up.

Carlos listens to him ranting on, mesmerized.

"You helped me come back," TK whispers. "It was your voice I heard. It was your love I felt, Carlos. I came back because you asked me to. That's the only thing that's on you."

Carlos nods warily. "But that was a dream, TK. A different universe with different rules. I, uh, I'd understand if you—if you need time to—" His voice falters, his words slurred by the end with tears and fear.

"Hey, look at me," TK commands. "There you are. Carlos, I don’t need time to do anything but spend it with you. And we have all the time in the world now."

He watches as Carlos swallows, eyes heavy with guilt. "I'd also understand if you didn’t love me—"

TK interrupts him with a huff. He thinks it's so typical of Carlos, to revert back to old habits of doubting himself. He needs to get that idea that there's no way he will not love the man before him — they've made it so far, they've overcome so many obstacles together, for them to give up now.

"I love you, that will never change," he promises, squeezing Carlos' hand. "It wasn’t your fault, Carlos. We will get past this like we always do. Together."

"I love you too," Carlos whispers in between tears.

"Across universes," TK vows. He manages to lean forward enough to rest his forehead awkwardly on Carlos'.

"Across universes," Carlos says as well.

It sounds like a promise of forever — like the beginning and the end of who they are — and, not for the first time, TK feels safe in the knowledge that he isn’t alone anymore.

[septicstories]

Big Life in a Small Town (Part 1)

A/N: This is based on the song "Santa Fe (Prologue)" from the Newsies musical! It's not based on the plot of the musical. The song will be altered a tad, but not too much! In the next part though, I'll have to do some edits. But for now, you've got this... mess? I dunno, I'm writing this before it's done. This is post-X-men Apocalypse, so Peter is in his late 20's.

Genre: Bittersweet fluff

Warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of broken limbs, daddy issues, no beta reader, minimal editing

Word count: 1.3k (1,385 words)

The X-mansion was quiet, the cool midnight air only changing currents occasionally when a silver blur sprinted around.

Pietro had his younger brother in his arms, running around. Peter injured his leg a while ago, stuck on crutches. ANd it was killing the young speedster.

And Pietro noticed.

So he scooped his younger brother up out of his room, running him around the mansion's vast yard until he smiled. That's when he brought him up to one of the rooftop balconies of the mansion.

The two siblings weren't the only ones in their family who lived in the mansion. Pietro's twin, Wanda, was fast asleep, her room near the balcony.

Pietro, as immature as he may seem, was wise beyond his years. He'd seen more things than he ever would have wanted to for a 35-year-old man. Hell, anyone would be unsettled when you find your mother died of sickness, and your father was out of the picture when your younger brother was born a few years after.

Pietro and Peter sat on the balcony, a case of beer between the two, a sudden scoff came from the older speedster.

"What's up, you alright?" Peter asked, looking at his brother.

Pietro's eyes were glued to the ground below them, a sour expression on his face.

"Those streets down there," Pietro began, a dry laugh leaving his lips. "They sucked the life right out of our old man. Well, they aren't doing that to me."

Peter pursed his lips, watching as his older brother took a swig of his beer.

Pietro has always hated staying in one place for too long. The mansion hadn't really ever been his favorite place. Staying at their aunt's house in D.C. was something he looked forward to every summer. But, even then, he could only stay there for a few days before needing to go somewhere else. Not just from his need to move, but the U.S. government still wasn't absolutely fond of mutants.

"But everyone wants to come to New York," Peter let out a small chuckle. To an outsider, it'd sound like he was in disbelief, but he understood how Pietro felt.

Staying in one place was hard. But Peter also managed to make himself a family here at the mansion as he grew up. He met the ever-sweet Jean Grey when he was 20 years old. The poor girl had some trauma that no one but Chuck knew about. He got to meet Hank, and Raven, and all of the other younger kids. He thought of them all as his younger siblings.

He couldn't leave.

"You keep your small life in the big city. Give me a big life in a small town."

Pietro's words snapped Peter out of his thoughts, looking to his older brother. Pietro's eyes had lifted from the ground, looking up to the sky.

"They say folks are dying to get here."

"What about you, Piet?"

"Me? I'm dying to get away... to a little town out west that's spankin' new," Pietro said with a grin. "And while I've never been there, I can see it clear as day! If you want, I bet you, you could see it, too.

Peter has always had a particular question on his mind, that he always knew the answer to.

Then why haven't you gone? What's stopping you?

But, as always, Peter kept his mouth shut. He didn't want Wanda and Pietro to leave, as dumb as it may be. They were the only family he had left. Well, that he knew of and that knew of him.

Erik was another person he'd address when he had the courage.

But not...

Not now.

"Close your eyes."

Peter looked at his brother again, who was staring back at him. Honestly, he was waiting for his brother to snap in his face and use what became his favorite phrase after a few movie nights: "Hello, McFly?"

"Come with me, where it's clean and green and pretty, and they went and made a city out of clay."

Clay? A city out of clay? That sounds... odd. Peter hasn't stayed too long in other parts of the world, opting to stick to the Northeast area of the U.S. Occasionally, he'll go further South or a little bit further West. But never past Kansas.

"Why, the minute that you get there, folks will walk right up and say, 'Welcome home, son. Welcome home to Santa Fe!'"

Being called son was something the Maximoff boys wanted more than they would ever elude to. Their father? Out of the picture for the most part, up until they realized he was a terrorist. And he didn't even know about Peter.

Of course, the townsfolk of Santa Fe may not call you "son" as soon as you land on the premise. But, two bastard sons can dream, can't they?

"Planting crops. Splitting rails. Swapping tales around the fire," Pietro's grin grew as he spoke. He really thought about this a lot, didn't he? "Except for Sunday when you lie around all day."

Peter didn't know how much Pietro truly thought about leaving. Pietro's mind was full of places to go and see, places where he could take his family and live without having to deal with attacks from the U.S. government.

Santa Fe was where they'd go next in the U.S., but Sokovia was certainly the next best option. The U.S. government wouldn't come looking for them in Sokovia.

Right?

"Soon your friends are more like family, and they're begging you to stay! Isn't that neat?" Pietro asked as Peter took a large sip from his beer. "Living sweet in Santa Fe."

Pietro trailed off, almost in a dream-like state, making Peter flinch. He really fucking wanted out, huh?

"Hey, no one worries about a bad leg in Santa Fe. You just hop on a palomino, you'll ride in style!" Pietro joked, knocking his shoulder into his brother's.

"Feature me, ridin' in style," Peter giggled, taking a swig of his beer again.

"Hey, I bet a few months of clean air, you could toss that crutch for good!"

"Santa Fe," Peter and Pietro mumbled in unison, one happy and the other more tired. "You can bet, we won't let those bastards beat us. We won't beg anyone to treat us fair and square. There's a life that's worth the living, and I'm gonna do my share."

"Work the land, chase the sun." Pietro ran his hands through his hair, standing up.

"Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fun!" Pietro and Peter shouted together. The two had massive grins spreading across their faces, just happy to see the other smiling.

"Watch me stand!" Peter stood up quickly, only to feel a sharp pain jolt through his bad leg. His hands flew to the balcony railing, gripping it tightly as he let out a choked noise of pain.

"Watch me run..."

Pietro frowned when he saw his brother's grimace, watching Peter set himself down into a sitting position. The poor kid was gritting his teeth and sucking in harsh breaths as he set himself down.

"Hey, hey..." Pietro began softly, sitting down beside his brother before slapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't you know that we're a family?"

Peter's eyes met Pietro's, painting over his grimace with a weak grin. "Yeah, b--"

"Would I let you down?" Pietro asked.

Peter let out a weak laugh as his brother continued.

"No way. Just hold on, kid, until that train makes Santa Fe."

The younger speedster let out a yawn, leaning his head on his brother's shoulder.

"Let's get you to bed, okay?" Pietro said, only getting a nod from Peter.

Pietro scooped his younger brother up in his arms, speeding through the mansion into Peter's room before setting him down.

"Good night, Peter."

"Good night, Pietro."

Pietro sped out of Peter's room, only to be stopped when he passed Wanda's room. His sleepy twin gave him a look, one that he didn't see often, and it concerned him.

"Pietro, we're being called to Sokovia," Wanda whispered sleepily.

"What? Why? All three of us?"

"No. Peter needs to stay here. He's got a broken leg, Pietro. Just you and I."

Pietro took in a quick breath before nodding.

"When do we leave?"

"... you didn't see that coming..."

A/N: Haha, cliffhangers are fun, ain't they? Okay, but, here's what you have for now! The other one is already in my drafts, and I've got plans for that! So, I'll get all that shit out, and we'll be good! I've got so much shit in my drafts, holy shit. Okay, uh... I don't have much to say, so thank you for reading! I don't necessarily have a tag list for this sort of stuff, so if you want to be on a tag list, let me know! And please let me know if you find a typo or something that doesn't make sense. Like I said, there's minimal editing.