#stop hey what's that sound all the mammoths are in the ground

[plaguedapple]

stop, hey! what's the sound all the mammoths are in groundddd

[jurakan]

TGIF! I could really use a fun fact today. Do you have one for me?

[snaps fingers] You got it, friendo. Today You Learned about mammoths.

Okay, you probably know what a mammoth is, but, hey, have you played Skyrim? If you have, you may have come across this in the northern part of the map:

A mammoth! Frozen in ice!

Yeah, turns out that was a thing that actually happened. Quite a lot! the indigenous people of Sibera often found mammoths frozen deep in the ice underground (they didn't look quite as pretty as this, though), and weren't quite sure what to think of it. One popular myth was that they were some kind of underground creatures, that burrowed down there and used its trunk to poke above the ground for air or something. They must get killed when they freeze by burrowing into ice. Which sounds silly to us, but when you find a bunch of these underground, it makes a certain amount of sense.

Wiki reports some other myths by several groups, like that they guarded the underworld, were water spirits, or created the great bodies of water with their tusks.

Hundreds of years later, people still knew about them; after all, here's a great source of ivory, a thing people loved making art with. And you don't even have to kill an elephant! In both North America and Siberia, indigenous people made art by gathering and carving it, and Europeans thought it was cool too. It was a special, valuable trade item!

Here's art of Peter III carved in mammoth ivory:

I just find it fascinating, because we think of this as modern knowledge that the ancients knew nothing about, but no, people knew about mammoths for ages! They didn't quite know what they were, but they knew they were out there. It wasn't until the late 18th century that someone said, "Hey, wait, I think this is an extinct species, not elephants that we know of them."

[That someone was Georges Cuvier, by the way.]

People have talked about cloning mammoths using the frozen specimens, which you've probably heard of. What you may not have heard of is that people have tried eating the frozen specimens, after cooking. Bad news folks: it apparently tastes pretty bad. That hasn't stopped people from trying to see if they can scientifically create fresh samples of mammoth meat.

And some people think we should still keep digging for mammoths! There might be tons of them up there frozen. Some have suggested using them for ivory instead of modern elephants, but that seems kind of silly to me, 'cause, like... just get over ivory, guys. I'd rather those go towards science than towards crafting things, honestly.

I've had this on my mind because it comes up in John James's Votan, in which the main character is rather shocked to learn that the people up north are familiar with the idea of elephants, and it's something that fascinates me. I hope you found it interesting, too! Because it's a creature that we know about only because of modern paleontology.... except people have known about them for hundreds of years.

[thiswasinevitableid]

What Lies Beneath (Indruck)

The runner up of the "things that happen when you're alone" poll was: "I’m caving and I just heard a noise I didn’t expect to"

Just when Duck thought the Monogahela couldn’t get any cooler, it finds a way to prove him wrong. 

He’d have liked it better if the reveal of a closed off, unknown cave system by a mudslide hadn’t involved shutting down two campgrounds during peak tourist season, but if the caves are in any way navigable, they’ll make up for that in a big way next year. 

Since he picked up caving experience while working in Brazil, Duck’s taking point on mapping this one out. It’s not Mammoth or Carlsbad sized, but it’s still deep and winding enough that they usually work in teams of two or more. But today he’s going solo, focusing on making sure the rooms they’ve already found are adequately described and that no one missed any bottomless pits or sudden drops. 

As peers into a gap, a trilling, chittering sound echoes in the darkness to his left. Doesn’t sound right for bats, or any other mammal. A bird maybe? Or a big-ass cricket?

He carefully crosses the damp ground, ears on alert as he scans his light across the wall. Aubrey asked him if he ever got freaked out down here. The basic answer is no: he doesn’t believe in cave monsters or other creepy shit like that. His bigger concern is that there’s a human down here doing something they’re not supposed to and that they don’t want him to find. 

There’s no movement, and only a faint rustle of feathers makes him turn his light to the far corner, where a tall, narrow gap leads to another room of the cave. 

The beam hits two, red orbs, about seven feet off the ground. The orbs blink and the chittering noise returns. 

“Nope.” He backs out of the room as safely and quickly as he can, and as soon as he’s close enough to the surface he radios Juno to let her know he’s calling it a day.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next two times he works in the cave, it’s completely normal. But the fourth time, another day when Dan isn’t able to come with him, he’s crouching in a tunnel between rooms when he hears someone muttering. 

“...hello, nice to meet you, I have been…no, nono that will not do either…hello, I know I am alarming but please do not run away Duck Newton…no, no that will upset him more…”

He doesn’t want to know how the voice in the cave knows his name or why it wants to talk to him. That level of weird is beyond his pay grade.

Duck turns to sneak back the way he came. The grey rock beneath his boots has either ideas, and he falls with a surprised curse.

“Oh! Oh dear me, here, let me help-”

“Nope!” Duck holds out a hand and the red eyes stop coming closer, “nope, I’m good, you stay right there.” 

His other hand finds his dropped light, and between that and his head-lamp, he brings the voice in the darkness into view. It’s covered in dark feathers everywhere but it’s chitinous arms–four, by his count–with fluffy antennae that droop in the cold air. 

It also looks more terrified than he feels. 

“Hello” one hand waves weakly and many teeth show in a smile.

“Hey there, uh, mothman?” He slowly gets to his feet. 

The smile fades, “I am still known, then? I was so hoping people had forgotten.”

“Uh” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you got real popular last few years. And you been the main tourist draw for Point Pleasant for longer than that.”

At the mention of the town the mothman shrinks in on himself. He looks so upset, so lost, that Duck’s feet stop trying to turn him towards the exit.

“Have you just been living down here?”

“In a manner of speaking. I…I came down to clear my head and to hide my shame after my most publicized failure and I, I didn’t see that the cold and the dark would send my body into a form of torpor. Can you tell me how long I have been asleep?”

Duck does the math, “Uhh…not that, uh, not all that, uh, fuck.”

The mothman cocks his head. 

“56 years.”

“WHAT?” His trill bounces off the rocks, “all that time and no one found me?”

“Guessin’ the cave got covered by something soon after. Or it was so damn hidden no one but you ever found it.” Cautiously, he adds, “you got anyone who needs to know you’re awake.”

“No.” The mothman says softly.

A growl makes Duck flinch, but the cryptid simply says, “It seems I am hungry. And no, I do not eat people. As you were about to ask.” He sighs, “I don’t suppose you could show me the way out. I…I suppose there’s no point in hiding from the world any longer, even if it has undoubtedly changed a great deal since I last stretched my wings in the sun.”

“Yeah. Here, follow me. Keep a hold of this rope, it’ll help you stay where it’s safe.”

The cryptid follows him into the entrance chamber, movements stiff and unsure, and Duck expects any small breeze to knock him backwards. In the late afternoon light filtering down, he can see the black in his wings is dull and dusty.

Duck should let the mothman fly off, should treat this as one of those strange things that can happen when you’re alone in the woods, and never speak of it again. 

The mothman’s arms are wrapped tight around his feathery chest as he stares at the blue sky like it’s going to fall on him. 

“Look, mister, uh, mothman-”

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Right, Indrid. If you wanna sit tight here, I’m almost done with my shift. I can bring my car up when I’m done and you can come crash at my place.”

A dark head swivels to gawk at him, “There was only one future where you offered that.”

“Well, now it’s a present where I’m offering. You don’t got to if you don’t want. Just figured you might want a roof over your head while you figure things out.”

“I would. Thank you, Duck Newton.” He sits down on a boulder in the sun, “I will wait for you here.”

—-------------------------------------------

The world is so much louder these days. Even a place like Kepler, where the NRQZ keeps some sources of noise at bay. And that’s before Indrid gets to the fact that there are so many people on Earth, so many futures all spinning and colliding in his mind. 

He’s still shocked that one of them is letting him sleep in their guest room. 

Duck Newton’s apartment is warm and welcoming, decorated in earthy tones with photos of loved ones and loved places on the walls. There is also a large, fluffy, orange cat named Henny, who has decided Indrid is her new bed. Which is why he hasn’t gotten up from the couch since Duck left to run an errand. 

The doornob clicks and the ranger returns, Henny hopping from Indrid’s lap to yowl hungrily at him. Indrid is close to doing the same as the human sets the bags on the table.

“Did my best to get the stuff you said you liked. Got a couple extra things just in case.” Duck smiles a little awkwardly, then yelps, “ow, yeah fuzzball I got more food for you too, quit using me as a scratchin’ post.”

After eating an entire brick of cheese, four cartons of strawberries, two boxes of Lucky Charms, and downing a two-liter bottle of Pineapple Fanta (and the large glass of water Duck keeps refilling for him), Indrid feels more like himself. 

“You good?” Duck asks from over his bowl of reheated chili.

“Yes, thank you. And since you are about to inquire, the reason I am not eating more is I think I will make myself sick if I stuff myself too full too soon.”

“Don’t want that. You mind if I eat some of those frozen waffles?”

“They sell waffles in packages now?!”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Duck spins the sunglasses rack at the thrift store a final time. Indrid had asked him to pick up pairs in a few, “hip” styles as part of a project he’s undertaking tonight. 

He’d been at Duck’s place a week before Duck had asked if he needed to go flying or otherwise get out and about. Luckily Indrid had taken it as the worry about boredom that it was, not as an indicator that Duck wanted him to get out. 

“I would, eventually. Go out I mean. Goodness knows if I’ll ever fly again; I can tell my wings have atrophied.” He opens them and Duck’s breath leaves in a hurry; there’s a stripe of blood red on the black, dramatic and beautiful beyond belief, even in its dulled state. 

“I’m sorry, that sucks. Maybe you can do some kind of physical therapy on ‘em?”

“It is worth a try.” Indrid closes his wings, rousting his feathers up once and then ruffling them down. It makes Duck laugh every time, and he swears Indrid does it more ever since he confessed that. 

“What’d you like to do? Before you went underground.”

“Hmmm” Indrid drums his claws on the kitchen counter, “I loved going to the drive-in. Taking my supplies and sketching or painting in the park. Nestling somewhere warm and reading a good book. I rather enjoyed roller-skating, sunning myself on the beach, mmm, there was one in Florida where you could have a pineapple malt while you lay in the sand, do they still have soda fountains? My research has not yet gotten to that question” he gestures to Duck’s laptop, on which he’s been reading up on everything possible.

Duck nods, “Yeah, they do. Don’t really call ‘em that anymore but it’s basically the same thing. There’s a place one town over that makes killer milkshakes.”

“Ooh, we should go there! Your home has been about all the stimuli I can handle but I may be ready to venture forth.” He taps his claws together, looking down, “of course, I can go alone. I, I do not want to presume you would come with me.”

“Be happy too. Seems to me the bigger question is how you’re gonna go without causing a scene.” Duck tilts his head at Indrid’s wings. 

A pleased grin, “I have many tricks up my sleeve, Duck Newton. But I will require your assistance…”

“What an excellent selection, thank you.” Indrid studies the glasses on the table, then pulls a pair or round, red-tinted ones towards himself, “this should only take a moment.”

Orange light flickers in his hands. Duck watches out of curiosity (and to keep Henny from chasing the light as Indrid moves his fingers around and across the frames). 

“Let’s hope this still works.” Indrid takes a deep breath and sets the glasses on his face. Suddenly there’s no cryptid in sight, just a tall, willowy man with silvery hair and a wide smile. 

“Ha! It seems my magic is still on point, as the kids say.”

Duck chuckles, but his heart’s not in it, too busy skipping beats at the way the angles of Indrids face look in the light and the fact he’s given himself multiple ear piercings and arms full of tattoos. Or, god help him, the fact he’s shirtless. 

Indrid notices him staring and glances at the ink swirling over his skin, “Do you like them? My old version did not have any that were visible, but I understand times have changed.”

Duck’s eyes drop down and he blushes, “Uh, they ain’t, uh, ain’t changed enough for you to go out without pants.”

“Oh goodness!” Indrid tosses a napkin into his lap, “apologies, clothing always did give me trouble. May I borrow some sweatpants? And the Zion National Park t-shirt? It looks very soft.”

“Go for it.” Duck covers his eyes as Indrid stands. When his willpower breaks the gaps between his fingers he discovers that yep, he loves watching Indrid go.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You sure you’re ready for this? That surround sound is no joke.” 

“Positive” Indrid holds up his earplugs as they move up a spot in line outside the movie theater, “I have come prepared. But, ah, if I do start feeling overwhelmed would it be alright to touch your hand? Having something to run my fingers over helps with that feeling.”

“Sure.” Duck wonders if this is a convoluted way to ask to hold his hand, and if Indrid would like it if he just went for it once they sat down. 

“Oooh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “they finally made a Spiderman movie! Let’s see that one. I can pay since you…oh dear, right, I don’t have money.” Indrid’s hand slips sheepishly out of his pocket. 

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I got this.”

Indrid bumps their shoulders together, “I promise I will pay you back.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

In the month and a half they’ve known each other, Indrid has never been out this late. Duck is starting to worry when the front door swings open and his roommate strides in with an even wider grin than normal. He’s sporting tight black jeans and the worn, black leather jacket he found at a thrift store, and all that combines to make Duck forget what he was worrying about. 

“Voila!” Indrid sets a stack of bills on the table, and a quick eyeball suggests it’s at least $500.

“Holy fuck ‘Drid, where did this come from?”

“Foresight makes one formidable at the Wolf Lodge Casino and Grille. Also I hustled some people at pool in the bars on the way home, just for old times sake.”

“For what?”

The smile turns sly, “I hide quite a life before my hibernation, Duck. Plus, pool halls are excellent places to meet attractive men .” He winks, slipping off his jacket, “anyway, that should cover what I owe you for now. And yes, I promise I will find honest work eventually. Now, how about we go out for dinner. My treat?”

Duck is already reaching for his coat as he says, “Hell yeah.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

“I changed my mind, I am not buying Halloween decorations, I am spending all my money on these.”

Duck laughs as Indrid stands in the Walgreens seasonal aisle with an armful of Squishmallows.

“Y’know, they make ones shaped like you. Think they’re online though, not here.”

“Very well. I shall put these back until I see all my options. Except this one.” He sets the plush bat in the basket with pumpkin lights Duck picked out, “let me just fetch more soap and then that’s everything on the shopping list…”

—-----------------------------

“How’s that?” 

“Good.” The chirp in Indrid’s voice suggests the way Duck is holding his left wing is not, in fact, good.

“If it hurts too bad we should stop, doing these exercises ain’t any good if they just injure you instead of helping your muscles build up.” Duck looks down at the reference sheet he printed from work a few weeks back; it’s on how to rehab injured bird wings, but he figured it was as close as they were going to get to matching what Indrid might need.

“I am fine.” Indrid snaps, “And even if I am not, it is what I deserve for failing to care for them and failing to ever use them properly.”

“What?” Duck releases the wing and the mothman tucks it back into place.

“Even at the peak of my health these useless things could seldom get me where I needed to be in time. They were never enough. None of it was ever enough.”

Duck picks up the comb the cryptid uses on his feathers, stands behind the chair and slowing begins moving it over his wings, “That don’t seem fair. Callin’ these stunning things worthless and whatnot. Not any fairer than callin’ yourself a failure.”

“You were not there. You did not see the, the evidence” his voice cracks on that word, “firsthand.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. But you’ve told me plenty about what you did, what you tried to do too. I see the moments when think about trying to help again–your face goes blank and then you get tense for a long-ass time while you try to decide–and I know for damn sure there are people still alive now because you helped them way back when. You can think whatever you want about yourself, ‘Drid. But I won’t sit here and let someone insult my friend.”

Indrid chirrs, surprised, “We are friends?”

Duck runs the comb through the patch between his antenna, which haven’t drooped in weeks, “Yeah, fluffball, we are.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

Things can go to hell in a half-second when you’re out in the wild. 

One second, Duck and Dan are talking about their plans for Halloween as they rappel deeper into the cave. Then all there’s a rumble and the ground beneath the rock they’d anchored too is gone, dropping into the darkness and taking them with it.

Duck claws at air as he falls, knowing the hard stone is waiting for him no matter how he flails or yells. 

There’s a rush of air and then he’s falling up, his headlamp reflecting off magpie black feathers.

“I have you, I have you.” Indrid sets him on safe ground, “wait here, I have to get your friend.”

A whoosh in the darkness and he’s gone. Duck listens to his wingbeats soften and then return. Dan is in bad shape when Indrid sets him on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from his forehead, arms, and right knee. 

“I radioed into the station to tell them there was an accident.” Indrid kneels beside them as Duck does his best to stem the bleeding, “I, he, he will live because of that but if I’d been faster you’d never have fallen in the first place and-”

Duck throws his arms around him, “Don’t you dare fuckin apologize.”

“But-”

“Indrid I swear if I catch you apologizing for saving my life and my buddies life, I will hide that case of cream soda where you’ll never find it, so help me god.”

A high, chittering laugh, “Alright, you win.”

Duck presses his face into the feathers of Indrid’s chest, “You flew.”

“Yes and I am already feeling the consequences. But I…if I hadn't you both would have died down there. I have failed at many things, but to fail at saving you…I could not stand the thought. I would get to you or fall from the sky trying.”

Duck lunges up, kissing him so hard the cryptids head bonks into the wall behind him. Four slide up his back, two tangling in his hair, as black wings wrap around him. 

“I, I do not want this to stop, but we need to get you both above ground.”

“Fine, but we ain’t finished. When we’re home I’m gonna rub your wings and then kiss you silly.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek and stands, letting his cryptid carry Dan up to the surface and following behind. 

As they wait, the sound of a speeding ranger vehicle in the distance, Indrid drapes his wing over Duck’s shoulder and lets the human rest against him, promising to be out of sight when the others arrive. Duck runs his fingers over the feathers and smiles when he sees just how brightly his colors are shining in the sun.

[hunterofthemist]

Strength of the Meek

Carrying a paper bag Dave walks into the cafeteria. He looks around the room and sees Kotzal waving him over. He walks over to him and sits down with Kotzal at a noticeably empty table.

"Hey Dave, how are you?" Kotzal asks with a grin. "You dont have to rub it in, I had no idea you were a natural," Dave grumbles.

"It's just that when you showed me the rules I realized how similar they were to a game I used to play on Geon. Thrum If I remember correctly." Kotzal and dave talk for some time, the topic changes quickly from poker to physical ability.

"How strong are humans anyway? I've seen your movies but you said they aren't a good representation of human strength." Kotzal asks intrigued.

"Were strong enough. Enough to take down something bigger than us, at least with some planning that is." Dave answers. "I mean back when humans still dwelled in caves we took down wooly mammoths, which were beasts around three times the size of a human."

"Oh, I didn't know that. It's pretty impressive to hear." Kotzal says more than intrigued at this point.

"What about when a human has to do something impossible, just to keep the ones they care about alive. What do you do then?" He asks, his face getting a bit more solemn.

"We push on, do whatever it takes, even if it means we tear ourselves apart doing so," Dave says with a look of sincerity. He then breaks the look and smiles warmly. "What's got you asking a question like that?"

Kotzal laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head. "I dont know, I just heard stories over the Ether."

The conversation ends as the buzzer goes off on everyone's watch. "Shit thought we had more time for lunch break. That blows." Dave sighs.

Dave and Kotzal start walking down a hallway towards their respective stations. Halfway towards Dave's station, the alarm sounds, as well as an explosion in a nearby hallway.

"What was that!" Kotzal panics, immediately hiding behind dave and shaking. Dave reacts accordingly, not to the explosion but to Kotzal hiding behind him. "Woah dude, you good?"

"Oh sorry, my species is a prey species on my home planet. We get jumpy when stuff like this happens."

Dave chuckles at the thought, "you know if you did this around the others im pretty sure they wouldn't be able to see you." His attention focuses back on the sound. " We should go check out what happened, we're engineers after all."

Kotzal steps out from behind dave nervously and agrees. They walk down the hallway towards the commotion. Smoke billows out of the walls, embers pour out of the holes as well.

A hulking beast pulls its way out of the hole, it had to be around 8 and a half feet tall. Just as dave gets a look at it, several more come out of the walls. Kotzal grabs dave and pulls him around the corner, away from the beasts.

"Get down! Those are Tarvok pirates. We need to go, we do Not want to pick a fight with those." Kotzal is freaking out, likely having a panic attack. He tries to pull Dave with him. Dave doesn't budge, instead, he stares at the wall and puts his hand on it. "I cant."

Kotzal gets more anxious and frenzied, pulling harder on Dave. "No We have to go, David dont do this." In response, Dave grins and puts his head on the cold metal wall. "I said I cant, This station is my baby. I've fixed her more than anyone else. I can't leave her."

Dave turns to Kotzal and continues. "Not to mention the number of people these guys could hurt. You know how far the nearest guard post is, and how understaffed it is. If I turn tail and run countless people will die. But If I distract them, buy us some time. Maybe I can save a few lives."

"But you'll die! You'll get killed, I can't have you do that. I can't lose you, You're the only one who even respects me, let alone is nice to me." He says as tears start to form in his four eyes.

Daves grin breaks and he pulls Kotzal into a hug, Kotzal's small stature causing him to look like a small child not wanting their parent to leave. "That's not happening. I ain't gonna die." Dave thinks for a moment and goes on. "How about you help me, I dont buy this scared child Schtick. There's something there, something strong. I can see that."

Dave breaks the hug and pulls a knife from his belt, and hands it over to him. Kotzal stares at the blade for a second and takes the knife and nods in agreement. "Use your speed and stature to your advantage. there's a lot of smoke, try to use that."

Dave and total talk for a minute discussing plans and strategies after they're done he grabs a pipe on the wall and rips it off, but not before speaking to the station itself. "Sorry about this."

Walking around the corner Dave bangs the pipe on the wall, getting the army of Tarvok's attention. "Hey you brutes, eyes on me." He says, resting the pipe on his shoulder.

One of the Tarvok's starts walking over to Dave with a look of hunger and anger. Dave grins, this being a part of his plan, and stomps on a jagged and sharp piece of metal, launching it into the air. To which Kotzal leaves cover from behind Dave and grabs the piece of metal and throws it into the eye of the Tarvok.

"See, I told you no one would be able to see you back there." Dave jokes. He takes a step forward and inspects the now corpse of the Tarvok. "Oh damn, straight into the eye." Kotzal meekly responds to the compliment. "Thanks, it was heavier than Im used to so I didn't think it hit where I wanted to."

"You're a good shot, keep it up." Dave compliments. For a split second, Dave swore he could see Kotzal's cheeks turn blue.

Dave starts walking forward towards the rest of the army, beckoning them to come to fight him. One soldier takes a step forward to fight. The hulking beast throws a punch towards Dave but he sides steps it and slams his weapon into a pipe next to the Tarvok.

The soldier notices this and started to laugh but a second later the pipe bursts and hot steam starts to burn the soldier and causing it to fall to the floor.

The next one rushes Dave and throws a punch at him, he absorbs the blow into his shoulder and uses the force to spin himself around and slam the pipe into the soldier's skull.

At the display of force, the rest of the Tarvok's take a step back from the carnage. "Hey Kotzal, I think I fucked my shoulder up. It's your turn. " Dave says quietly so the brutes in front of them won't hear. "Yeah, let's do it." He responds, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

Dave starts to run towards the group of Tarvok's with Kotzal following. Before he gets too close he ducks down and arches his back and Kotzal jumps off his back and launches himself toward the enemy.

With one hand he throws a sharp piece of metal in the neck of one of the soldiers and with the other he stabs another with the knife Dave gave him.

The last one is in front of them, he's bigger than the rest. Probably the leader. "Let me handle this one," Dave says as he blocks Kotzal from moving forward with the pipe.

Looking at the pipe in his hand, Dave realizes that the pipe is way too damaged to continue to be useful. He takes a step forward and throws the thing as hard as he can. The pipe flies through the air and when it's about to hit, the leader catches it.

As soon as he threw the pipe Dave started running towards the beast but only noticed that he caught the pipe when he was too close to do anything. The Leader propels his knee into Daves's gut, the spike on it spearing into dave.

"Oh fuck!" He screams as the spike goes through him. He falls back and tries to stop the bleeding. Another scream is heard, not of pain but rage. "You Fucker!" It's Kotzal, with the look of pure rage in his eyes.

"I'll kill you!" He screams as he starts running towards him. As he reaches him he jumps at the leader to get a clear shot at him. In retaliation, the Tarvok grabs him by the neck and holds him in the air. Kotzal doesn't seem to notice, the anger blinding him. He starts slashing wildly at the beast in front of him, a good majority hitting their targets.

Kotzal gets a good stab into the arm of the beast holding him, causing him to be dropped.

While on the ground he stabs the blade into the back of the knee of the Tarvok leader making him fall to his knees, lining him up for a stab to the side of his head, killing him.

He keeps stabbing the now dead Tarvok, more out of rage than him being unsure he's dead. After a few dozen stabs he stops and takes a second to breathe and remembers Dave. He turns around and sprints towards Dave.

He starts trying to help him staunch the bleeding and stabilize him. "No, no-no-no. Dont do this, you cant." He starts tearing up trying to help him.

"It's okay, you did well. Didn't expect the fucker to catch the pipe. I think this is it" Dave says as he rests on the wall, trying to do whatever he can to stop the bleeding.

"Dont say that! You'll be fine, I know what im doing. I can help you." Kotzal says frantically.

Dave looks at him and puts his bloodied hand on his shoulder. "You can't save me, an injury like this is impossible to fix up."

"Shut up!" Kotzals shouts as he slaps dave. "We aren't in the medical dark ages, You know how strong modern medicine is." a grin forms on Daves face as he shrugs. "Whatever you say," he says as his vision fades to black and passes out.

Daves eyes open and the bright light blinds him, "hey your awake." a familiar voice says. His eyes adjust to the light and he sees that Kotzal is sitting on the chair next to his bed.

Dave groans in pain as he tries to sit up. Kotzal puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him. "Dumbass, you can adjust the bed." He laughs, handing him the switch.

"How long was I out?" He asks as he raises the head of his bed. "About two days. You had us worried for a little while." Kotzal responds with a smile.

"You can't kill me that easily, its gonna take a lot more than that, I still have work to do here." He smiles back.

"Oh yeah, like what?" Kotzal asks. "The engines been making a thunking noise for the past week, I still figure out what the hell the problem is." They both start laughing for a minute and after they stop a silence is formed between them, which is promptly broken ten seconds later by dave. "Hey after they discharge me, do you wanna go to the bar and get a few drinks? I'll buy."

"Sure thing, I'd love to."

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 21: “Crystal Bond”

Everyone has a special bond with their deck, but arguably no one more so than the Crystal Beast wielder himself, Johan/Jesse Anderson! Show off that colorful bond today.

This was gonna be longer, and require another apology up front, but then my brain took a vaca before getting the actual angsty part so here ya go - pain free! (mostly)

I won...?

The adrenaline of that final combo wears off and he stands in stunned silence as his opponent climbs back to their feet. His ears are ringing. He honestly hadn’t expected to get this far.

“Little King.” Athena’s voice snaps him out of it; he turns to the warrior spirit smiling proudly at him and realizes his ears aren’t ringing- the crow is cheering, screaming someone’s name-

His name, the one he chose before entering this tournament.

Smiling, Jesse throws his hands in the air.

*

Athena walks next to him as Jesse exits the duel arena. He feels wired and giddy, like he could step right off the ground and float through the air. His fairies chatter animatedly, praises and congratulations and reminiscing moments from the duel.

Jesse jerks to stop in the hall. There it is again; that weird...pull, like something is calling out to him. He barely takes a step toward the source when-

“Ah, Jesse-boy! Just the person I was looking for!”

His shoulders hike to his ears with an embarrassing yelp as he spins to face the speaker. ‘Jesse-boy’? Who the heck- Oh. Oh god. Maximillion Pegasus?! “Me?” he squeaks, gawking at the living legend before him.

“Yes, you.” Is it wrong to think the man’s expression looks something like a kid in a candy store? Because it does and it’s kinda weirding Jesse out. “I have something rather special for you, I believe. If you’d come with me.”

Jesse glances at Athena who nods her head. Well, if Athena doesn’t think this is a terrible idea, how bad could it be?

Pegasus leads him down the hallways at a brisk pace, talking animatedly all the while. “A few years ago, I created a new set of cards based on some artifacts from one of my expeditions. But as soon as the cards were complete, they sealed themselves in stone!”

To anyone else, Pegasus would probably sound like a madman; but to Jesse - glancing back at the duel spirit following them - this sounds entirely in the realm of possibility. “Couldn’t you just break it?”

“I tried. I broke one of my best chizzles,” Pegasus says. “And that’s when I heard a voice - ‘You are not the one we seek’. I’m afraid I don’t have you gift,” - Jesse’s shoulders tense as the man turns to smile at him once more - “but I do have some affinity for magic and the spirits.”

“That would make sense,” Jesse says, slowly relaxing. It would be weird if the creator of this game had no idea about its secrets, but Jesse’s never met anyone else who could see duel spirits. “Why are you telling me all this? Why are you here?” Any event where Pegasus makes an appearance will usually announce the man as a guest to the entire crowd.

“A fortunate coincidence! I was in the area from some other business and decided to check out the skill of the locals. I was not disappointed.” Pegasus almost sounds smug. “As for you, Jesse-boy, I tend to keep these cards with me in case I run into the person they seek. Today, a light shone from the cards when you took the field.”

Hold up. Is he saying these ‘special cards’ chose Jesse or something?

“So I want to see if they’ll break their seal for you.” Stopping before an unmarked door, Pegasus unlocks it with a key and pushes it open.

Seven card shaped gemstones sit on display on the single table, forming a rainbow. Jesse’s heart leaps as he realizes this is the source of the feeling he’s been getting all day. Something about their uniform edges strikes him as wrong, but the colors are undeniably familiar.

“Go on,” Athena whispers. “They’ve been waiting for you.”

But why me? Jesse wants to ask except his heart is in his throat and his body reacts before his brain can, reaching out to touch the nearest crystal card. The crystal shell cracks and crumbles under his fingertip, setting off a chain reaction from the other cards as all seven shed their shells in a colorful burst of light.

“Rubii!”

Jesse jerks as the purple cat-like creature leaps toward his face - carbuncle, she’s a carbuncle, his brain supplies - landing on his shoulder to nuzzle his cheek with an odd sounding purr. A pegasus shakes himself like a dog while a large cat stretches her legs before rubbing affectionately against Jesse’s.

“Finally. It’s been too long.”

A tortoise peers curiously out of his shell. A white tiger prowls the room. An eagle flaps his wings before perching on the table. A mammoth trumpets his awakening and Jesse’s hands fly over his ear. He knows all of them, their presence washing over him and settling somewhere deep inside him like it was always supposed to be there but something’s missing.

“This set isn’t complete, I’m afraid.” Jesse spins back toward Pegasus, only just now remembering his presence in the room. “From what information I can gather, there’s an eighth card, a dragon, that can only be summoned by possessing all seven gems. But its soul was sealed in stone and hidden somewhere centuries ago.”

Something inside Jesse aches. Ruby presses herself more firmly against the side of his face. Amethyst growls.

“But I’ve got my best team looking for it, and I won’t rest until that dragon is found!” Pegasus announces with enough enthusiasm to power a whole city block.

“Please remember to sleep,” Sapphire murmurs.

“Ey, if man wants to run himself ragged lookin’ for Rainbow, who are we to stop him?” Cobalt shrugs.

Jesse smiles despite himself. “Thanks, but...remember to sleep.”

Pegasus laughs. “Of course. Now then, I think I’ve taken enough of your time.”

Oh shit! Dad will be wondering where he is! Jesse gathers the Crystal Beast cards and Pegasus hands him the rest of the support for his new deck - weird to think of it that way, he’s been playing pretty much the same deck since he started dueling - and Jesse makes a break down the hall only for watapon to screech at him and headbutt him in the right direction.

“I see that hasn’t changed.” Topaz chuckles.

“Johan.”

Jesse jerks to a halt. Athena doesn’t use his name often, which means this must be important.

“It’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on?”

“My task is done, little King,” Athena says, voice as gentle and firm as it's ever been as Jesse stares up at the spirit that’s been his guidepost for years. What doesn’t she mean ‘move on’? “You have the ones who were always meant to be at your side now.” She nods her head at the new deck box clutched in Jesse’s hands.

His grip tightens automatically. “But-” Athena was his first duel spirit, someone he looked up to from the moment he opened that first pack of cards. He built his whole deck around her! How is he supposed to-

“Now I must find my true place.” She turns to look over he shoulder and Jesse forces himself to follow her line of sight. At the end of the hall next to a cross section, a little girl in pigtails stares at the two of them, eyes wide and mouth partially open, a monster plushie clutched tightly in one arm.

Jesse jerks, looking quickling back at Athena. “Can she see you?”

“Yes.”

Jesse looks back at the girl as his heart swells and clenches in the same instant. The first person he’s ever encountered who can see duel spirits too and Athena is asking him to-

Fingers tight around the deck box that houses the Crystal Beasts, Jesse swiftly swaps it with the one on his belt, hold it close while he steels himself, and approaches the little girl. Crouching in front of her, he holds out the box full of fairies. “Hey, can you hold onto this for me?”

The girl’s eyes widen. She reaches for the deck with tiny hands as if expecting Jesse to yank it back. When he doesn’t, her eyes light up with glee and she spins on her heel to run down the adjacent hall. “Mama, mama!”

A shaky breath. Jesse stands as she disappears with the only deck he’s ever played. So this is it. With a regal bow, Athena turns to follow the girl, and Jesse swipes a stray tear from his cheek. Ruby nuzzles his face.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbles, automatically reaching to pet the ghostly creature.

[dameronology]

the one where he takes a break {finn x reader}

summary: finn is dedicated - sometimes a little too dedicated. it takes the combined forces of you, rey and poe to convince him to take a day off. (for @softdin​ -- i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: just language! 

- jazz xx

Finn was an almost perfect human being.

Almost. 

He had pretty much everything good going for him; everything you could possibly have asked for in a partner -- funny, kind, sweet, caring, bad-ass. He embodied everything that was good in the galaxy and you thanked your lucky stars everyday that your paths had crossed, and that you were lucky enough to have found him. In a world that was so full of darkness, he brought a light to your life that you never knew you needed. He could make you laugh without even trying, and pretty much everything he did, he did with you in mind. He was your partner in crime and you couldn’t even fathom the idea of life without him. 

Finn’s only downfall wasn’t even a downfall, but rather a testament to how dedicated he was. Try as you might to stop him, but he spent hours upon hours fighting the good fight. His life had become a tangle of late nights and early mornings, managing to strike a balance between providing relief for former Stormtroopers like himself and training to be a Jedi with Rey. You genuinely didn’t understand how he managed to find enough time in the day to juggle everything and still find time for you -- then again, Finn had proved himself capable of doing the unexpected a million times over. He made it look completely natural and easy too. 

He would normally listen to you when you told him to take a break, but it was never for more than five minutes. To you, a break was stepping back from his work for a few days and enjoying the new galaxy he’d fought so hard to create. To him, it was pausing for a few minutes to get a glass of water and maybe watch an episode of his favourite sitcom. Every time you insisted on pulling him away from his tight schedule, he’d whine about how he thrived on stress! and needed to get shit done! 

You weren’t the only one that noticed it either. Rey and Poe had both voiced their concerns for Finn - but, if he wasn’t going to listen to you, he wasn’t going to listen to anyone. Convincing one of the most stubborn people you’d ever met to do something they didn’t want to do was going to be a mammoth task. But, you figured that if three of you had managed to defeat the First Order, your combined expertise on Finn and the workings of his mind could have had some sort of success rate. 

“I’m just worried.”

You were sat in a cantina with the two of them, eyes solemnly eyeing your now-flat beer. Finn was supposed to be there too, but he’d pulled another late night. You knew his work was important, but you missed him; not just his presence, but the actual physical feeling of having him crammed into the little booth beside you. You didn’t realise how much you missed the gentle smell of his aftershave and the tingly warmth of his body until it was absent. 

“I’m his best friend and he couldn’t even hang out with me this weekend.” Poe muttered. His lips were upturned, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

“That’s not the main issue here, Poe.” Rey reminded him. “Finn is overworking himself. He needs to take a break.”

“But he won’t.” You sighed. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Not everything.” Poe said. “What’s the one thing we’re all really good at?”

You frowned. “Holochess?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “Scheming.”

“Do go on.”

“What if we told Finn there was an important mission somewhere?” Poe began. “Maybe somewhere he’s always wanted to visit. Then, when he gets there, you can be all sike! You have been punked!”

“Punked?” You quirked an eyebrow. “How old are you, Dameron? Fifteen?”

“You two really can’t stay on the same subject for more than five minutes, can you?” Rey muttered. “Language aside, I think that could work.”

“He’s always wanted to go to Coruscant.” You said. “Just never got the chance.”

“I can tell him we have a mission there.” Poe nodded. “Then you two can meet us there, and we can all hang out.”

“Or,” Rey held her hand out, shushing the pilot. “You take him there, give the two of them some much needed alone time for a few hours, then we all hang out in the evening?”

He furrowed his brow again. “Fine.”

You grinned. “Thank you! It has been a while since we’ve actually, properly spent time together.”

“So,” Poe glanced up from his drink. “How about tomorrow?”

--

Okay, so you did feel a little bit guilty. 

It was hardly like you were putting Finn out his way, but you and Rey had left it down to Poe to convince him of an emergency mission - and knowing Dameron, he probably would have recounted some horribly frightening story to make his best friend agree to come. The details of which you, quite frankly, did not want to know. 

You arrived on Coruscant a few hours before they were meant to arrive -- they’d taken the Falcon, so you’d snuck out in an X-Wing and docked up a little way out of the main city. 

It had been a few years since you’d visited Coruscant, but it was still just as beautiful as it had always been. The cityscape stretched out for miles, skyscrapers and buildings tangling into an urban jungle; the air was filled with a sense of hurry and adventure, crowds bustling wildly and people rushing around as though time here went twice as quick as it did everywhere else. You couldn’t help but smile; after years of fighting in the Resistance, it felt like someone had finally pressed the play button on your life again (and you couldn’t wait to spend it with Finn). 

Speaking of the devil, you were supposed to be meeting him on the corner of one of the busiest parks. After buying a horribly overpriced hotdog, you found a bench just by a fountain and took a seat, people watching for a moment. Hundreds and hundreds passed you by, some stopping to admire the green grass around you and others barely taking a breath as they flew off to their next destination. It made you wonder who they were, and where they were going. 

Your thoughts stopped completely when your eyes landed on Finn; he was a few meters away, a holopad in his hand and BB-8 behind him. He was clearly in work mode, with hand ready on his blaster, dark eyes scanning the crowd around him for any signs of danger.  Among the butterflies, it made your chest hurt a little bit. Even though the war was over, he still found it hard to completely relax. It was almost as though he didn’t trust the universe to be nice enough to let him. The only time he ever really let his guard down and truly untense was when you were both in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms and presences under the covers of the dark. 

“What did you say the suspect looked like?” He spoke into his earpiece - presumably to Poe Dameron, who had had far too much fun orchestrating the entire thing. “Black jacket, dark jeans, red boots…”

Finn spun around, freezing when his eyes landed on you. For a moment, he almost thought he was imagining it, or that you maybe had a twin you either didn’t know about or hadn’t mentioned to him. Then, he realised you were wearing a black jacket and red boots, and his look of confusion morphed into one of realisation. 

“Dameron, you glorious bastard.” He muttered. Shoving the holopad in his bag, he gave you a grin and opened out his arms to you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You met him halfway, flinging your arms around him. Finn lifted you up off the ground for a moment, arms gripping you tightly. He’d hugged you literally that morning before he’d headed out for the day, but this one felt a little different. It was tighter and warmer, as though the realisation of what you and your friends had done for him didn’t quite feel real. His brain was going at a thousand miles an hour, trying to calculate the fact that you’d all gone out of your way to surprise him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him. He placed you back on the ground and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. 

“So, there’s no mission?”  He grinned at you. 

“Nope.” You shook your head. “We just wanted you to take the day off.”

“We?”

“Me, Rey and Poe.” You replied. “But they’re coming later. I wanted you to myself for a few hours.”

Finn smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You returned the grin. “Now, c’mon! What do you wanna do?”

He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you began to head out of the park. He hooked his hand around your side, resting it on your hip. Even though you’d been a couple for a while, you still got butterflies whenever Finn showed you signs of affection. They were always tiny, subtle things; a hand on your thigh under the table, fingers tangled together when you slept. He always liked to feel you in some way, to know you were really and truly there. You kept one another grounded - and when you lived in a galaxy that was completely fucking whack, that was important. 

The two of you walked together for a few moments, quietly chatting amongst yourselves. You were lucky that the weather was almost perfect; the sun was high in the sky, but there was still a subtle chill in the air that occasionally breezed past. There were barely any clouds in the sky either, which meant it was probably going to stay sunny for the rest of the day. That only helped further your good mood. 

“I thought I saw some kind of food festival going on earlier.” Finn said. “I didn’t have time to stop, on account for the fact I thought I was on a mission.”

“It was the only way we could get you to take a damn break!” You playfully reminded him, tugging his arm. “But I do like the sound of food.”

“Then food, we shall get.” He pulled you closer into his side. 

It was only a short walk away -- and once you’d left the park and headed back onto the streets, you got to see more of Coruscant’s sites. You passed the tallest building in the city; it was so big that you couldn’t even see the top, instead squinting up at a seemingly endlessly skyscraper that became one with the sun at some point. There was also many statues of important people - Jedis and rebels and pilots  - and it hurt your heart a little when you spotted Leia’s. Finn sensed your bittersweet glances at the memorial, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. His connection to the Force and the empathy that came with it was never too much, and never in your face. It was shown simply through small actions,  as though he had a very strong intuition.

The food festival was a few blocks over from where you’d meet. You didn’t even think it was possible for the city to get even busier and yet, the crowds here were even stronger and more wild than the ones you’d seen else-where. Finn’s grip on you tightened as you entered, tossing the door-man a few credits with a charming. You did open your mouth to protest, and insist on paying on yourself, but he gave you a look that said don’t even try it. 

“What’s this stuff?”

Finn grabbed something from a random plate, shoving it in his mouth. You couldn’t blame him for being curious but you did lose a few seconds off your lifespan every time he grabbed a random sample without reading the ingredients. And, it became quickly apparent that it was something he did a lot. After forty minutes of fuck, that’s spicy and I’m not entirely sure that’s even food, you eventually took charge of which flavour palettes he went for. 

“Okay, this one doesn’t look too spicy.” You examined a bit of...it might have been cheese? 

“Thank you kindly.” He took a bite and paused for a second. “That’s really good.”

“Oh my days.” You murmured. “It’s made your tongue go bright blue.”

Finn stuck his tongue out, going cross eyed for a moment to examine the damage. He looked horrified for a moment, before breaking into a grin. You barely had a chance to work out what he was doing before he lurched forward, trying to grab you.

“Can you kiss it better?” He asked. “I think I might be dying.”

“Finn!” You loudly squealed, narrowly avoiding ploughing someone over as you leapt out the way. “Get off-”

“- please!” He continued to implore.

He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and out the way of the crowd. There was a little alleyway in between two buildings that offered cover; he dragged you into it, bodies shaking with laughter as you fell back against the wall. Both his large hands rested above your head, one working its way down from the wall and to the small of your back. He used its positioning to press you flush against his chest, capturing your lips in a breathtaking kiss. 

“I love you.” Finn breathlessly murmured. “And now your tongue is blue too. We’re matching.”

“Finn!” You exclaimed. “It’s fine, because I love you too.”

“I love you more.”

“Don’t start an argument you can’t finish.” You reminded him. 

He didn’t say anything - instead, he just held your gaze for a moment, brown eyes completely capturing your attention and making you forget everything else around you for a moment. The crowds, the noise, the excitement. None of it mattered when you were together, because everything he made you feel was a thousand times more overwhelming that even the busiest cities and emptiest deserts. 

“C’mon.” Finn took your hand again, pulling you away from the wall. 

“Where are we going?” You asked. 

“Let’s just walk.” He said. “And talk.” 

“Mmkay.” You replied. “I like that.”

--

You ended up exploring lots of the city that afternoon; the financial district, the arts quarter, the Jedi museum. It would have taken days to see everything that Coruscant had to offer, but you were both content with what you had the chance to see. It was a stunning reminder that the history of the galaxy stretched back far, far longer than either you or Finn could fathom. Moreover, it made you realise how important it was, and that everything you’d spent the last few years fighting for had been beyond worth it. 

By the evening, you were both pretty tuckered out. Finn, who usually had a spring in his step, was dawdling now, an ice cream in one hand and his free arm tossed over your shoulders. The bright blue of the Spring sky had begun to fade into pink, with navy tinging at the edges and reminding everyone that the day was drawing to a close. It was perfect timing too, because you weren’t too far from where Poe and Rey were waiting with the Falcon. 

“Where are we even going?” Finn asked. 

“You’ll see.” You flashed him a grin, trying to pull his arm and force him to walk a little faster.

In his defence, it was up a steep hill, and he’d already done what felt like a million steps that day. He hadn’t even realised til now how tired he was, because you’d both been so caught up in each other’s presences for the entire day. And, whilst this whole thing hadn’t been to try and get him to take more days off, it was certainly an idea that he’d begun to think about. He’d forgotten how good it was to just take the day off and exist just as Finn, not Finn the ex-Stormtrooper or Finn the Jedi. 

The path eventually flattened, opening out onto a green hill. It was where the city ended and the forest began -- between a tangle of trees, the large grass space looked out onto the skyline. You could see for miles and miles, yellow lights illuminating the black sky and creating an outline of an urban utopia. It didn’t look all that different from the blurs of hyperspace, except if you looked close enough, you could work out single buildings and windows. Each one represented a different place and person; thousands of individual people who all lived their own lives and had their own stories to tell. 

Before Finn could say anything, there was a blur of brown leather and dark curls -- Poe Dameron had made an appearance, pulling you both into a tight hug and almost forcing you onto the ground from his might. He’d only seen you both that morning, but he truly was like a Golden Retriever who had been left alone that day. 

“C’mon, we’re over here!”

The pilot grabbed you by the hands, pulling you further towards the centre of the field. The Falcon was parked in the middle; the window on the top of the cockpit was open and covered with blankets and pillows. Rey was already up there, just as enchanted by everyone else at the view. Like Finn, there was still so much of the galaxy that she was too yet to explore. 

Finn went up first, sticking out his hand to help you up. He pulled you into his lap as he took a seat, arms winding around your front and holding you to his chest. With his head resting on your shoulder and a blanket thrown over both of you, it was easy to get comfortable. 

“A beer for you,” Rey handed you both a drink, “and one for you.”

“This view is insane.” Finn commented. “How did you find it?”

“My parents used to come here, way back when.” You explained. “It was kind of their spot.” 

“That’s amazing.” He replied. “Thank you guys. I really can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“We wanted to.” Poe chimed in. “We’ve all missed you, buddy. You work way too hard.”

“It makes us all look bad.” You joked. “No, but seriously. We’re all very proud of you, but you do need to start taking proper breaks. They probably won’t all be like this but the time off is good.”

His grip on you tightened, and he gave you a light squeeze. “You’re right. I just...I know that the war is over, but keeping myself busy is all I’ve ever really known.”

“We can keep you busy.” You peered up at a him with a grin. “I can’t promise we won’t get on your nerves, though.”

Finn shook his head with a chuckle. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times today, but I love you.”

“And me!” Poe reached out to give his shoulder a whack. “And Rey, too!”

“I love you all.” He corrected himself. “You’re my family.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, noahreidhours!

For @noahreidhours. You wanted angst, have some angst (and some fluff, I guess)

*****

It starts like an avalanche, a small, defined moment that coalesces into something much bigger. Derek can’t pinpoint the exact moment everything clicked into place and the snow started, metaphorically, tumbling down the mountain, but once it started, it didn’t slow, didn’t stop, and couldn’t be avoided.

Derek has been convinced for so long that good things didn’t happen to him, that when things start looking up, he tries to quash it away as best as he can, in the only way he knows how; he bares his claws and snaps his fangs.

He doesn’t know when it stopped working on Stiles.

— — — — — —

It must be a day that ends in Y, because Stiles goes missing a few days after the pack discovers something hinky going on out in the preserve. Boyd and Erica have both found evidence of some sort of magical presence - fire pits that stink of non-native herbs, a spool of twine, a silver coin, several rocks and tree trunks painted with strange runes that even have Deaton scratching his head - and not even Derek is able to catch a scent.

Things really go ass over tea kettle when, one day later, Alison goes missing, too.

Chris Argent calls in every favor owed to him to aid in the search. Chris vouches for every hunter that comes to town, swears that they keep to the code, but Derek trusts them about as far as he can spit.

Derek delegates that Chris and his hunters can search one half of the preserve, while he and his wolves check the other half. Boyd and Erica make up one group, Scott and Isaac the other. Jackson and Lydia are holding down the fort, so to speak; Danny’s hacked into the database that stores the video for traffic cams across town, and the three of them are going through it in hopes they can find something. Thus, Derek searches alone. After all, he’s the strongest, he’s the alpha.

It’s more coincidence and dumb luck than expert tracking that Derek finds them at all.

The moon is high, and he pauses by the stream that runs through the preserve, scenting the air. He smells nothing but the forest around him, crisp and clear and just a little damp from the afternoon rain.

That’s when he hears it, a strange sound that has him freezing in place. It sounds muffled, like hearing a TV or radio in another part of a house, softly faded but just loud enough that, if you listen closely, you can make out a word or two every now and then.

Derek hears the sound again, but this time he’s ready for it, and he leaps off his vantage point and tears through the underbrush, teeth gnashing, eyes red.

He skids to a halt when he enters a small clearing. A length of red twine connects seven trees until it comes back on itself, making a lumpy circle of sorts. Off each length of twine, between one tree and the next, hang small wooden tokens, square in shape, twine threaded through a hole near one of the corners. Derek thinks there might be writing or runes on them, but he’s too focused on what’s inside the circle to investigate further. On two slabs, floating several feet off the ground, are both Stiles and Alison, tied up with what looks like the same twine that surrounds them. He can’t make out Stiles’ upper body due to a tree blocking his line of sight, but he’d recognize those lanky legs and scuffed-up high-tops anywhere. He sees Alison’s profile, and, unfortunately, she doesn’t look too great. There’s a length of cloth tied around her head acting as a gag, and her face is sporting more than a few bruises and cuts.

That’s not all, though, because of course it isn’t. Good things don’t happen to Derek Hale, remember?

Not one, not two, but three hulking, vaguely human-shaped figures stand within the circle, along with a single hooded figure.

What’s more is that Derek can’t smell any of them.

When he sees one of the mammoth figures move a bit, he realizes that he can’t hear them, either.

The figure that had started moving comes to a stop next to the slap Stiles is tied up on. It raises a gigantic, meaty fist and-

Derek is moving before his brain can catch up with his feet. He tears out of the foliage, and as he passes into the circle, a strange feeling ripples through him, sends a shiver down his spine.

Witchcraft.

The hooded figure takes one look at Derek and then flees like his ass is on fire. Derek moves to give chase, but narrowly misses the haymaker one of the lumbering figures throws at him. He flips backward to dodge it, and with it his shoulder catches a length of twine, his body weight snapping it easily.

A little more hell breaks loose after that, because why not, right? In for a penny, in for a pound. As soon as the twine snaps, the two slabs holding Stiles and Alison fall to the ground with a tremendous sound that makes Derek wince.

The three figures don’t pause in their assault, however. They move fast for their size, and when Derek executes a move that would take off the arm of a normal being, he almost twists his spine in two trying to dodge the creature’s countermove.

“Derek!” he hears Alison yell.

“Little busy!” Derek shouts back, snaking behind a tree.

“No, Derek, they’re golems! There’s a word carved into their foreheads! If you erase the first letter, they’ll stop moving!”

It takes some fancy footwork on Derek’s part to manage to get high enough to reach the creature’s forehead, but one well-placed claw swipe has the golem crumbling into dirt. The next golem goes down as easy as the first, but the third gets in a good punch. It sends Derek flying back, but he easily rights himself. As he moves back to his full height, he bites his teeth and pops his shoulder back into the socket. For one moment, he feels a searing pin-point of white-hot pain, but it’s over in the blink of an eye, and Derek’s back to being fight-ready.

He snarls, then charges the creature, his dense muscles knocking the thing off balance. Another swipe to a forehead and the golem crumbles under him.

Derek jumps back to his feet quick as he can, rushing back to where Stiles and Alison still are. Alison’s managed to free herself, and Derek dashes to her side, using the claw of his index finger to cut loose the twine that binds Stiles’ hands together. After that, he cuts the gag free from the boy’s face.

Stiles doesn’t thank him, because Stiles is out cold, and a little more than a little worse for the weather. He’s got a black eye and a fat lip, and there’s a dark, ugly bruise peeking out from the dip of his t-shirt.

“Can you-” Alison starts to ask, but Derek’s already scooping Stiles’ unconscious body into his arms.

“Are you alright to walk?” he asks Alison.

“I’ll be fine if we go slow.”

It takes almost an hour to get back to where Derek had parked the Camaro. Derek has Alison reach into his pocket to grab his phone and call the others, then, when that’s done, she tells him the story of what had happened since she’d been taken.

Stiles wakes up right as Derek is able to see the road.

“Am I being carried like a damsel in distress?” Stiles slurs.

“I could have thrown you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Derek answers. He’s at least a little pleased Stiles feels good enough to be sarcastic. Though, to be fair, there’s never really a time Stiles isn’t sarcastic. Even in life-or-death situations, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Oh, man, don’t talk about food. I haven’t eaten in three days.”

Derek growls at that, displeased. He thought it had been a trick of the moonlight, but Stiles’ cheeks and eyes looked sallow and thin when Derek had picked him up.

Alison reaches into his other pocket and frees his keys and helps Derek gently heft Stiles into the passenger’s seat, the back of the chair laid as far back as it can go. Once safely seat-belted in, Derek lets Alison climb into the back.

The trip back to town is quiet. It’s a little disconcerting, considering what a motormouth Stiles usually is. Derek can tell he’s not sleeping from the patterns of his breathing and heartbeat, but he keeps his eyes closed and his body still all the same.

Everyone is already gathered back at Stiles’ house, and Derek is more than relieved for the lack of police cruiser in the driveway.

Scott crowds around Alison, helping her out of the back seat of the Camaro, and Chris’ face scrunches up like he’s just caught a bad smell.

Derek doesn’t really bother with anyone else, though Erica is the one who opens the front door for him. He carefully navigates up the stairs and brings Stiles into the bathroom that’s across the hall from his room, carefully seating him atop the closed lid of the toilet. He rids the boy of his shoes first, then his shirt, while allowing the sink faucet to run until the water turns warm. He wets a washcloth and rings it dry, handing it to Stiles as he fishes for the first aid-kit under the sink.

“Wait, you get the golems?” Stiles asks, scrubbing at his face.

“All three that were there. It was eerie, the way they didn’t give off a scent.”

“Golems are made out of clay or dirt. If they were made out of stuff from the preserve, of course you wouldn’t be able to sniff ‘em out. They’d just - ah, hey, careful!”

“Quit whining, it’s just peroxide. There’s a few cuts next to your black eye. And they’d just what?”

“They’d just smell like the rest of the forest.”

Derek nods, feeling a little relieved over the idea that his inability to scent the monsters hadn’t been due to some inadequacy on his part. Still, if the witch decided to make more, he’d have the same problem…

Once Stiles is patched up, Derek helps him into his bedroom and gets him to sit on the bed, grabbing him a change of clothing.

“How did you find us, anyway?” he asks.

Derek furrows his brows. He can no longer hear anyone outside of the Stilinski home, and finds himself inexplicably annoyed over the fact that no one else had come to check on Stiles after Derek had brought him into the house.

“I heard something. I don’t know what it was, but it was loud enough to get my attention.”

Stiles’ grin is blinding. “Knew it!”

Derek raises an eyebrow, trying to appear unimpressed.

“The twine wrapped around the trees and the runes on the square pieces of wood made up a silencing spell. I managed to snag a handful of gravel, and had spent the next, like, hour throwing it outside of the barrier, piece by piece.”

Derek blinks, taken off guard. Stiles’ thrown-together-on-a-hunch plan had literally been what helped Derek find them. “Smart,” he says, as close to a compliment as he’s willing to give.

Stiles grins wider in response, and something inside Derek twists a little.

“Well, I mean, it’s what got me clocked upside the head,” Stiles says as he gestures to his rather beat-up face. “And, hey, thanks for patching me up, man.”

Derek nods. “Get dressed, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Down in the kitchen, Derek makes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then fills a glass with water, since he figures if Stiles is hungry, he’s likely a little dehydrated, too. When he’s back inside Stiles’ room, Stiles has changed his clothes, though the boy is now laying half on the bed, his knees bent and feet flat on the floor.

Derek puts the food on the bedside table.

“Get some rest,” he tells Stiles and he heads for the window.

“Derek,” Stiles calls.

Derek stops, and then turns his head over his shoulder.

“I mean it.” Stiles’ voice is softer, and Derek can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks for the rescue and the Florence Nightingale treatment. And thanks for, you know, the whole golem-slaying thing. Though I am a little disappointed I didn’t get to see them go down. You’ll have to give me a play-by-play so I can add it to the bestiary.”

“Get some rest, Stiles,” Derek reiterates, avoiding saying anything else by means of jumping out the window.

He knows what that pang had been, there, in his chest, behind his heart.

After all, he’d felt it twice before.

And each time had ended in utter ruination for him.

So Derek does what he’s taught himself to do in order to keep himself safe.

He ignores it.

— — — — — —

Three weeks later and the door to the loft swings open, and Stiles, in a flurry of over-gesticulation and an almost-incomprehensible string of words, storms inside. He smells like anger and hurt, and makes a b-line for the musty, second-hand couch.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest and doing his best to glower.

But Stiles is already unloading his laptop from his backpack, his face screwed up in frustration. “I just need, like, an hour, okay?”

“For what?” Derek snaps back.

Stiles doesn’t even seem to notice how angry Derek had made himself sound.

“Dad’s up my ass about why I looked like I went ten rounds with Muhammad Ali the other week. I hate lying to him, but I’m not about to spill the proverbial beans about Beacon Hill’s propensity for the supernatural, so I didn’t have a choice. He’s not listening to it, which, hey, I get, but I can still get mad about it when he accuses me of being in a gang.”

Derek sits in his favorite armchair. It’s the one with the least amount of foreign scents.

Stiles turns to look at him. “Me. In a gang. I’m hardly a buck forty soaking wet.”

He can’t help it, Derek lets out a soft wuff of a laugh.

Stiles blinks at him a little in surprise and a little in awe, and Derek doesn’t miss the sudden uptick in the boy’s heartbeat. He quickly schools his features back into a scowl. “So you need an hour because your dad thinks your extracurricular activities are of a more nefarious nature?”

The spell is broken and Stiles rolls his eyes. “I need an hour because I’m really good at being an asshole when I’m mad and blurting stupid things out.”

“No, you do that on a pretty continual basis, angry or not.”

Stiles glares. “Yeah, ha ha, sassy-wolf. Laugh it up. I need an hour to do my homework in peace before he leaves for his shift, and this was the only place I could think of with a couch and outlet where I didn’t have to buy a menu item every half hour to occupy.”

Derek leans back, reaching for his unfinished book on the coffee table. “If you take anything from the kitchen, I’m charging you.”

“Love you too, big bad,” Stiles says, eyes focused on the start-up screen of his computer.

And while the boy does well to hide his tone with layers of sarcasm, Derek almost drops his book when he doesn’t hear the tell-tale skip of a lie in Stiles’ heartbeat.

He swallows, breaths out through his nose, then pushes it out of his mind. It doesn’t matter, it will never matter. Derek Hale doesn’t get nice things. No, that’s not entirely true - when Derek Hale gets nice things, the world around him crashes and burns. Sometimes literally.

— — — — — —

Isaac gets launched backward, and Derek hears him hit the wall. The concrete indents slightly where Isaac had landed, but he’s back on his feet in a heartbeat, looking more than a little pissed.

“Once I’m in charge of the territory,” the beastly intruder growls, “I’ll kill everyone that ever associated with you.” The creature laughs. “And then, I’ll turn everyone else!”

Derek’s ready for the creature to charge at him. He’s the alpha, and the beast - Derek’s weary to call it a werewolf, given how different it looks in comparison, but Stiles had been adamant - wants that alpha spark.

But even as Derek braces for impact, the blow never comes because in the next second, moving with a speed Derek didn’t know he was capable of, Stiles runs and leaps at the beast. Above his head, ready to be swung downward and clutched tightly in both hands, is, of all things. A baseball bat.

But Stiles never does things in halves, oh no. It’s not in his nature.

The baseball bat connects with the back of the beast, an awful, meaty sound echoes throughout the room. The creature stills, then falls to his knees.

“Wh-wh-wh-”

Derek notices that Stiles’ hands are empty and the bat is somehow stuck to the back of the creature.

“I carved that from a branch of mountain ash, and drove nails coated with a liquid wolfsbane mixture.”

In complete and utter awe, Derek blinks at Stiles.

The boy doesn’t notice. He’s still staring at the incapacitated creature as it sways on its knees, then falls on its side.

“The nails make sure it stays niiice and stuck in you, and the mountain ash is a great paralytic when used like this.”

“Holy shit,” Derek hears Scott whisper.

“Now, because the wolfsbane is a mixture, there’s no way for you to naturally find what’s in it before it kills you. I have the antidote.”

True to his word, Stiles pulls out a small vial from his pocket.

“I’m giving you two options. You can lay here and die, and hey, that solves all of my problems. Or I can take the bat out, give you the antidote, and you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

The beast growls from his position on the floor. “Wh- what’s to st-st-stop me from going b-b-back on my w-word?”

Stiles smiles. “Because Alison Argent’s archery skills rival Hawkeye, and I made her entire cache of arrows the same way I made the bat stuck in your back.”

“Okay, I s-s-swear.”

It’s hard to miss the fear in the beast’s eyes.

Stiles, without any soft of gentleness, puts his foot on the side of the beast, then uses it as leverage to pull what Derek now knows to be a nail bat from his flesh. It’s a sickening sound, and a few of the nails drip with fur and blood, but as soon as it’s free, the beast takes in a shuddering gasp of air. Stiles tosses the vial on the floor next to the creature, then digs out a lighter from his pocket.

“You have until sunrise to get out of the county.”

Stiles doesn’t look back as he walks toward the door, and everyone follows suit, including Derek.

Outside, as they near their cars, Derek watches as Stiles gestures for Isaac to come near. Careful to stay a fair distance away, Derek watches as Stiles looks over Isaac like a doting mother hen might.

“I’m fine. The broken ribs already healed,” he hears Isaac say.

Stiles nods, then pats Isaac on the shoulder. As Isaac walks away, Stiles looks around and makes eye-contact with Derek. The boy gestures him over, then turns around and starts digging in the back seat of his Jeep, where he’d stashed his ridiculous weapon.

“What?” Derek asks as he nears.

Stiles doesn’t even turn around, just hands him a bundle of stuff. When Derek takes it, he sees it’s a pack of baby-wipes and a new shirt.

Derek’s lack of movement is likely what tipped Stiles off, because it’s not a moment later when he speaks. “I know how much you hate getting crap in your car. Figured this would come in handy eventually.”

Staring at the shirt and package of wipes in his hands, Derek’s mind races. Stiles had kept an extra shirt in his car. But not an extra shirt for him, no. Because as Derek holds up the shirt, he can see that it’s not in Stiles’ size; it’s in his.

His mouth goes dry as he turns away and heads toward his Camaro.

— — — — — —

It never gets any easier, the anniversary of when his family had…

But he hasn’t visited his mother’s grave since he and Laura left, and as much as it hurts, he knows he should. Maybe it’ll finally give him a little closure, or maybe Derek just likes inflicting all manner of pain upon himself; it could go either way.

What surprises him, however, is the fresh bouquet of flowers already decorating his mother’s headstone. He blinks in surprise, then furrows his brow. It’s been years since his family had died. Who would bring them flowers after all this time?

The cemetery is mostly dark. It’s just before sundown, and the tall trees that pepper the pristine-grass and well-kept headstones make long shadows. But who is Derek kidding, he’d recognize that stupid red hoodie anywhere.

Part of him is mad, and he doesn’t quite understand why. Misplaced anger, maybe, or something more deeply rooted. As he nears Stiles’ sitting form, ready to verbally tear into the kid, he stops short.

“And, like, you should have seen it! The whole kitchen was a mess!” Stiles laughs, then the sound tapers out into a sigh. “He misses you. I mean, I miss you, too. But I know it’s different for dad. When you lose someone you love the way dad loves you, it’s like you’ve lost a piece of yourself.”

Derek swallows.

Stiles sighs again, then rubs a palm over his face. “And I know I’m not making it any easier on him. But you understand why I can’t say anything, right? He’d blow his top, never let me leave the house. Sometimes I wish I could tell him. And maybe someday I might, or I might be forced to. But I have to protect my friends before I can protect his feelings.”

There’s a long, sad silence that follows. Eventually, Stiles moves to stand and Derek maneuvers to hide himself behind a tree. “Thanks for listening, mom. And thanks for sharing your flowers.”

When Derek gets home, he showers, then eats a bowl of cereal just to get something into his system. He lays in bed, staring at the exposed pipes and beams of the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t steal him away for some time.

— — — — — —

Things stay quiet for a time, which suits Derek just fine. It means he doesn’t have to deal with people; he holes up in his loft and marathons shitty TV shows on the streaming service Stiles had insisted be set up. When he can’t stand to look at the TV any longer, he reads. And, when he runs out of books, he finally leaves the warmth and solitude of his flat to venture out to the grocery store. He stocks up on what he knows he’s out of, without any sort of meal-plan in mind, then scours the pathetic section of books he finds in the same aisle as the greeting cards. Most of them have ridiculous covers and names - bodice-rippers, uncle Peter used to call them - but he finds a few that at least look somewhat promising before he heads to the checkout.

He’s almost completely done putting away the groceries when he hears Stiles let himself in. How the little shit had managed to get a key made or copied in the first place is outside the realms of Derek’s imagination.

When he turns around, it’s to see Stiles, holding out two small, wrapped gifts.

Derek furrows his brow.

One present is wrapped in Star Wars Christmas paper - R2D2 is sporting a rather stylish Santa hat - and the other, much to Derek’s surprise, is wrapped in what appears to be birthday-themed paper.

He looks up and is met with Stiles’ soft smile. “One’s for Christmas, one’s for your birthday,” Stiles tells him, like this kind of interaction is completely normal for the two of them.

When Derek doesn’t move to take them, Stile rolls his eyes and just puts them on the table. “Open ‘em or don’t, Scrooge-wolf. I’m not trying to put pressure on you or anything.”

Even though Stiles has told him there’s no pressure, Derek’s pretty sure the amount of pressure he currently feels rivals that of the deepest part of the ocean. After a moment, he musters up his, what? Courage? Fortitude? Doesn’t matter. He takes a deep breath, and reaches first for the Christmas present first. Red and green light-sabers and Princess Leia with reindeer antlers peel away to reveal a box. Inside the box is a little tissue, and when Derek finally gets what he supposes is the actual gift free of the packaging, he stills. The mug is plain white, but on the side are printed letters.

What do you call a wolf that

has his shit figured out?…

Aware-wolf!

Derek shoots Stiles a look of disdain, but it doesn’t seem to deter the boy. He’s grinning like an idiot. “I got one for Isaac that says ‘What do you call a beta wolf? A sub-woofer.’”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he lets his lips curl up into a slight smile. Terrible as the Stiles’ jokes may be, it’s not hard to see that they are never meant to be harmful.

The birthday present is next, and Stiles seems excited about this one. He leans forward a little as Derek tears open the paper. It’s another box, but it’s much smaller, and when Derek opens this one, he’s confused for a moment.

It’s a ring. But it looks like some kind of wood and epoxy mixture, with the wood making the ring portion of it and the epoxy forming an almost rectangular shape on one side. He takes it out of the box carefully and looks it over. The wood inlay looks splintered, and the transparent epoxy holds… a little moon?

“I don’t expect you to wear it or anything,” Stiles says. “It’s, uh, it’s a piece of wood from your old house. And I made the moon out of clay, because I thought, well, with the whole werewolf thing and-”

“Get out.” Derek’s voice is low and cold.

Stiles freezes. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d-”

“Get. Out.” When Stiles doesn’t move, Derek growls and lunges forward, taking a handful of Stiles’ shirt and pulling him toward the door. He shoves Stiles through and into the hallway, then slams the door before he can catch a glimpse of Stiles’ expression. He locks the door, then leans on it, the ring still clutched in one hand.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t move, hardly breathes. He stays pressed against the door as he hears Stiles walk away. He remains there longer still, far past when he can hear the Jeep start and Stiles drive away.

He peels off his clothes and climbs into bed, despite it being four in the afternoon. He pulls the covers over his head like he used to when he was little, when his mom would turn out the light after tucking him in.

For a long time now, Derek’s mastered the art of trying to not care. The walls around his heart are made of solid steel, layers upon layers.

But now there’s a hole somewhere in that barrier.

He doesn’t cry. To be honest, he doesn’t think he can. He’d cried himself stupid after the fire, had sobbed almost every night for the six months following, and then he just… closed up. He’d shut the door and locked the deadbolt, because kindness and sincerity and just a dash of naivety had been the perfect mix to allow for someone to manipulate him. What had he left now? Every one he’d ever allowed himself to love were dead and gone.

And Derek couldn’t do that to Stiles, couldn’t put the burden of the curse of his heart, of him vulnerable, on Stiles’ shoulders.

— — — — — —

“Stiles, hey - hey, keep your eyes open!”

Derek’s voice is frantic. He cups Stiles’ head in his broad palms, a protective barrier between the back of the boy’s head and the cement below.

Stiles blinks one eye open - the other is already swollen shut.

They’d found the witch with a penchant for creating golems, the one that had kidnapped Stiles and Alison months ago. But this time, instead of three, the damn bastard had made an army of the fuckers, giant, lumbering automatons that swung their ham-sized fists without restraint.

The fight was dirty and tiresome, and even Derek, who’s been a wolf since birth, is tired and nearly out of breath.

Stiles’ good hand, the one not resting in an unnatural manner, rises up and tugs on something that’s dangling from around Derek’s neck. His blood-splattered lips curl up into a smile, or as much as he can make of one, considering the awful state he’s in.

“Scott’s already called Malissa; there’s an ambulance on the way. Just stay awake for me, just-”

“Sourwolf, you kept it.”

Derek pauses, then looks to see what Stiles holds.

It’s the ring made with the wood of his house and the little moon sculpted by Stiles’ own fingers.

“Thought you hated me after I gave this to you.”

Unsure of what to say, Derek just shakes his head.

Stiles coughs, and Derek can hear the strain. It’s a wet sound, and Stiles is slow to take air back in. One of his lungs has likely either been punctured, or has already collapsed.

Derek’s hands are shaking.

“I need a favor, big bad.”

Stiles cuts Derek off before he has time to protest.

“If I don’t make it, keep my dad safe, alright? Make sure he’s… make sure he’s okay.”

“You’re going to be fine, Stiles.”

Stiles just smiles, blinking slowly.

“And you.”

“Me? Derek breathes.

“Allow yourself to have something nice, damnit. You deserve nice things. I know that shit’s been really bad for you for a long time, but you shouldn’t let the hurt that might come outweigh any good that comes before.”

It feels like someone has Derek’s heart in a vice-grip. He swallows, licks his lips, then does just that.

Derek Hale allows himself to have something nice.

He kisses Stiles square on the mouth.

— — — — — —

There’s no other choice to make.

They tell the sheriff what happened. Exactly what happened. Scott fumbles through a lot in his attempt at an explanation, but Derek backs him up, and is the one to shift when the sheriff threatens to have them all arrested unless they tell him the actual truth.

How could they not? His son, his only living blood, looks like he’d been in a one-on-one match with a woodchipper. The hospital did well to keep Stiles alive, but he’d flat-lined on the operation table twice, and Derek had nearly cracked his teeth from clenching so hard. Once stable, Stiles had been set up in a private room, though he hadn’t woken up yet.

Derek’s been at his side for three straight days.

Isaac brings him a change of clothes and something to sleep in, saying that even the nurses were starting to complain.

Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t seem to know what to make of the twenty-something-year-old young man that never leaves his son’s side longer than it takes for him to use the shower or restroom. But, well, he can guess. He’s not really happy with it, of course not. All things considered, however, his son is still alive, isn’t some kind of creature of the night of myth or legend, and has what likely constitutes to be as close to a superhero as you can get at his son’s back; things could have gone a lot worse.

He’ll give Stiles a week before he’s grounded until he’s eighty.

— — — — — —

Derek slides the window open. He sees Stiles partially sprawled out on his bed, laptop balanced precariously on top of a pillow.

“Hey, sourwolf,” he greets. His eyes look less sunken in, though he still hasn’t gained back all of the weight he’d lost.

Clothing the window, Derek toes his shoes off and comes to rest on the other side of Stiles’ bed. It’s small, more than a little cramped, but they make it work.

He gets comfortable, and, as soon as he’s settled, Stiles hooks a leg over his, then reaches out and laces their fingers together, all the while never moving his eyes from the screen.

It’s slow-going, this thing between them, partially because Stiles is still very much on the mend, and partially because Derek still has a hard time with intimacy, especially showing affection.

If it bothers Stiles at all, Derek would never know because it’s never been brought up. Stiles is perceptive, can obviously guess why Derek sometimes still stiffens when they touch, but he doesn’t push. It’s sweet, he thinks, the way they are slow-dancing around one another. They hold hands and watch movies, with legs or heads in laps. They press their shoulders against one another when they go out to eat and take up a single side of the booth.

They kiss.

That’s something new to Derek, the slow press of lips without the promise of something in the distance, kissing just to kiss, tasting one another for the sheer thrill of it, and then backing off slowly, with no one’s feelings hurt.

Stiles falls asleep, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

The avalanche has passed.

[littlespoonevan]

okay this was really hard to write sdkjafh because i don’t really know how to write trevor’s pov but i tried to keep this as neutral a depiction of him as possible lmao. also i added to the proposal a little bit. it’s just a couple of seconds to let the moment breathe and the addition of one or two more lines but i couldn’t help it ok!!! i’m still not over how we were robbed with the piss poor editing of that scene akjhfds anyway, i hope you like it!!! i also threw in some mickey pov at the end bc i couldn’t help myself��

*

Trevor has been looking forward to this night for weeks.

He’s been listening to Imperial Mammoth ever since he caught one of their very first shows last year when they were gigging around the city. After his buddy had gotten them on the list for the show tonight Trevor had made sure someone else was able to manage the shelter in the morning so he could get good and fucking wasted and enjoy his favourite band.

It’s going well until he catches a flash of familiar red hair.

He shakes the thought away at first. Ian’s supposed to be in prison for two years at least and it’s only been about eleven months since his sentencing – not that Trevor had even spoken to him before that. Getting a clean break from Ian might’ve been shitty but it was the best thing he ever did.

So he ignores it, convinced it’s just a trick of the light, and goes back to enjoying his night.

At least he does until a brawl breaks out.

He’s standing a few feet away by the bar when he hears the first punch being thrown and suddenly a crowd is rushing forward, converging on the two guys fighting. And he can’t help but find his own curiosity piqued – the band’s taking a break anyway – so he moves with everyone else, wondering idly what the source of the fight is.

He shouldn’t be surprised when it’s Ian he finds punching the shit out of some skinny guy beneath him.

He considers stepping in – if for nothing else then for the sake of the guy on the ground – but someone else beats him to it.

“Hey.”

Trevor looks up at the sound; he doesn’t recognise the guy but Ian apparently does because he immediately stops hitting the guy on the floor, sitting back on his haunches and huffing out a laboured breath.

There’s moment of quiet while the guy – Byron, Trevor thinks he heard someone say – quickly scrabbles out of the way with the help of his friends and Ian stays kneeling on the floor, staring up at the guy in front of him.

And it’s funny because as Trevor watches them watch each other he recognises the moment something shifts in Ian’s expression. The way his eyes widen slightly and his breathing cuts off and his features rearrange themselves into something determined. Like he’s just made a decision.

Trevor’s seen that face before and he knows nothing and no one could talk Ian down from whatever the fuck he’s about to do.

Ian’s throat bobs and his gaze fixes on the guy in front of him; Trevor feels his curiosity spike again when he sees the other guy’s expression shift, like he’s just realised what Ian’s about to do. And then Ian’s pushing himself up on one knee.

“I love you, Mickey Milkovich,” he begins.

And that officially explains everything.

The infamous ex. The reason he and Ian crashed and burned. He supposes he’s not shocked they somehow found their way back to each other. Ian was never the same after he came back from him. He’d chased Trevor but even he could see Ian’s heart wasn’t in it. He was doing it because he thought he was supposed to and because he was lonely.

“More than anything,” Ian continues then, expression sincere and voice steadfast. “And I don’t care how scared I am, okay? Loving you fucking beats that because it’s you. It’s always been you and I just- if you let me, I promise-“

“Jesus Christ, save the fucking speech, you pussy,” Mickey says dryly and Ian stares up at him with so much hope in his eyes Trevor almost feels like he should look away.

Mickey huffs out a laugh then, mouth curving up at the sides, and, sounding much softer than his reputation had led Trevor to believe, he says, “I’ll marry you. Of course I’ll fucking marry you.”

The sound that escapes Ian’s mouth is breathless and relieved and Trevor’s not sure he’s ever seen Ian look so happy as he scrambles unsteadily to his feet and reaches for Mickey to crush their lips together.

People in the crowd start clapping but Trevor can only stare, dumbfounded, as Mickey sinks into the kiss, as Ian fingers slide into Mickey’s hair, as they grin against each other’s mouths.

And it’s not- Trevor definitely doesn’t have feelings for Ian anymore – that ship sailed a long time ago – but watching them, it sort of makes him realise that he never really stood a chance. Because he’s pretty sure in all the time they were together Ian never kissed him like that.

The crowd begins to disperse but Trevor finds himself rooted to the spot, watching their kisses peter off until they’re just leaning their foreheads together and talking quietly. Mickey says something that makes Ian laugh and whatever Ian says back makes Mickey kiss him again.

And Trevor knows it’s time to move, to leave them to their moment, but just as he’s about to turn away they break apart and Ian’s eyes land on him.

“Trevor?” Ian says incredulously and Trevor doesn’t miss the way the smile immediately slips off Mickey’s face. So Ian’s told him about him then.

Great.

“Hey,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels. “That was quite a show you put on.”

Ian puffs out a laugh like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or embarrassed. His crutches are still on the floor but he seems more than happy to let Mickey hold most of his weight. Mickey seems more than happy to oblige too if the possessive arm around Ian’s waist is anything to go by.

“Congratulations,” he adds when Ian doesn’t reply, as a peace offering more than anything else.

“Thanks,” Ian says and Trevor watches as Ian’s entire demeanour softens as he turns to Mickey. “Um, this is Mickey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Trevor replies perfunctorily. He considers offering his hand but he doubts Mickey would take it.

Mickey gives him a clear once-over before his hand seems to tighten on Ian’s waist. “You too.”

Trevor flashes him a strained smile and decides that’s enough polite small talk for one night. “I’ll uh, let you two enjoy the rest of your night.”

He sticks around long enough for Ian to nod and then he makes a beeline for the bar.

He needs a fucking drink.

*

“Can’t believe your fuckin’ ex got a front row show to our proposal,” Mickey says as they make their way down the street, keeping one hand on the small of Ian’s back as he hobbles along beside him. “Who else was fuckin’ there? Terry?”

Ian snorts, nudging Mickey half-heartedly with his elbow. “Aren’t you feeling just a little bit smug right now? I already left him once for you.”

And Mickey’s feeling a lot smug right now but still.

Ian stops, effectively forcing Mickey to stop with him and Mickey turns to him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Look, I don’t give a shit who saw or who didn’t see,” Ian says quietly, lifting one hand off his crutch to clutch the front of Mickey’s jacket. “You saw and that’s all that matters. I did it for you, not for anyone else’s benefit.”

Mickey feels a combination of understanding and affection settle in his chest at that.

What you and I have makes me free. Not what those assholes know.

He’d done the same for Ian once. Shouted the truth in front of everyone to prove a point. It’d been for Ian, not for anyone else. (Except maybe himself.)

“I know,” he replies, keeping his voice low and soft as he slides a hand over Ian’s jaw. “I love you.”

He still finds it hard to say it first sometimes but he supposes technically Ian had said it first in the club.

Ian’s smile is beaming as he looks at him and he uses the hand on Mickey’s jacket to tug him into a brief kiss. “Love you too,” he murmurs, voice muffled against Mickey’s mouth, and Mickey believes him. “Let’s go home.”

Mickey nods, lets his hand drop back down to Ian’s waist, and lets his fiancé take him home.

*

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

STOP

HEY

WHAT'S THAT SOUND

ALL THE MAMMOTHS ARE IN THE GROUND

[thepartyresponsible]

another whumptober fic! the prompt for this one is isolation. so here’s steve rogers waking up in the wrong century and moving into clint barton’s apartment building.

warnings for depression and angst, but, again, this one is fairly sweet.

SHIELD puts him in an apartment in a building in Bed-Stuy, citing ongoing concerns that he is exhibiting an alarming lack of social integration. Steve doesn’t see how the hell they expect him to stop being lonely. His whole generation is dead or dying. And the older people, the men and women he looked up to, are bones buried under untended gravestones.

A man should lose his mentors one-by-one. Like baby teeth. One bloody bit of bone in your palm is a life lesson, but a whole mouth full of blood, a graveyard full of teeth, that’s a tragedy. That’s a nightmare.

He went for a swim, and, when he came up to breathe, everyone he ever knew was gone or changed.

Every night, he dreams about putting that ship in the water, and, somedays, all he can think when he wakes up is: It was supposed to be quick.

God knows, by the end of the war, he didn’t have the heart left for anything slow. But he’s here anyway, plodding along. Breathing, walking, fighting. These days, people never quit, never slow down, never take time off. There’s always a war somewhere. Always somewhere for him to be.

There’s a woman that SHIELD wants him to talk to. She asks him questions that are probably meant to help. “How are you feeling, Steve? What do you do in your spare time? Have you spoken to any of the Howling Commandos? What about Peggy Carter? Have you made any new friends, Steve? When was the last time you left a SHIELD facility for a reason other than a mission? Did you go outside today, Steve? Are you sleeping? Are you eating?”

Honestly, he’d probably have a better time if she dispensed with the questions and just started ripping his fingernails out with a pair of pliers. It’s a hell of an exaggeration and a disrespect to Bucky besides, but sometimes, after an hour with her, all he can think about is Bucky, strapped to a table, repeating his name, rank, and serial number with empty eyes.

He spends one too many nights walking the hallways after particularly murky missions, and SHIELD gets unnecessarily proactive about it.

“We’re worried about you,” Phil Coulson says. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that isn’t quite disappointment. Steve remembers when Phil used to look at him with the feverish light of hero worship.

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not hungry, not tired, not cold, not sad. He’s nothing. It’s like his brain and body woke up, but his soul stayed in the water. Like every human part of him is still frozen solid.

“If you need time,” Coulson says, “if you need a break from the missions--”

“I don’t,” Steve says. He tries to be patient about it, but the words feel like a threat. He doesn’t know how he’d fill the days if he didn’t have the missions to keep him occupied. There are only so many punching bags in SHIELD storage. There are only so many times he can reread the obituaries of people who died simultaneously four days and forty years after he saw them last.

“We’re worried,” Phil repeats. And he looks it.

From a hero to an object of pity. Well, he’s had worse falls.

“I’m getting better,” Steve says. “I’ve been reading the reports. I have an email account.” One of the SHIELD agents on the latest Strike Team told him he needed a private email address to sign up for things online. Steve’s not sure what he wants to sign up for, but he dutifully checks the empty inbox every morning.

It’s good, he thinks, to be prepared.

“I haven’t broken a phone in two weeks,” Steve tacks on, when Phil still seems unconvinced.

He’s trying. He doesn’t know what the hell they expect from him. Six months ago, he lived in a pre-atomic world. Now people walk around with technology in their pockets that far exceeds what they used to walk on the moon. He can use his phone to check baseball scores and grocery store stock and the weather anywhere in the world. He can order food he’s never tried from a place he’s never been made by people he’s never met, and they’ll deliver it to his door, and he can do all of this without seeing or speaking to a living human being.

No flying cars, though. Guess Howard never did figure that one out as well as he wanted.

“We’ve found an apartment for you,” Phil says. “You need to reintegrate.”

Steve is baffled as to how Phil expects him to reintegrate. His whole world is gone. He’s not coming home. There is no home left. He’s homesick for a time and place that don’t exist anymore. Like a refugee who can’t ever go back. Uprooted, transplanted.

He’s a woolly mammoth, a sabretooth tiger. A reanimated extinct species, brought back to pace the bars of a cage he doesn’t understand. Useless and ludicrous and out of place. A man out of time.

“Sure,” Steve says. It’s no use fighting about it. No reason to upset all these people who just want to help. “That sounds fine.”

  What he appreciates most about Clint Barton is that he never once tries to pretend like he isn’t Steve’s assigned babysitter. “Hey,” he says, that first night, crashing into Steve’s apartment with a couple of beers in one hand and the other holding a freezer bag of peas to the side of his face. “I’m Clint Barton. I kinda own the place.”

“Kind of?” Steve asks, blinking as Clint careens a little unsteadily from one corner of the apartment to the other, apparently looking for a place to land. He settles, finally, on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” Barton says. He arranges himself on the cluttered kitchen counter, squeezing between the boxes of unpacked dishware and kitchen appliances SHIELD thought he’d need. “I mean, legally. I do. I’ve got paperwork.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. He’s been thinking about getting unpacked. He was coming up with a plan. He got a little distracted staring out the window after all the helpful SHIELD agents disguised as movers left, but he won’t sleep tonight anyway, so he’d figured it didn’t matter how long it took him to get started.

He hadn’t been expecting a guest.

“Um,” Clint says, after a few seconds of silence. He juggles the peas, pinning them against his face with his shoulder, and then pops the caps off both of the beers. “Here. To your new place.”

Steve thinks about asking him to leave, but the ghost of his mother hisses at the discourtesy inherent in refusing a gift-bearing guest. He crosses the apartment to take the beer, knocking the bottle gently against Clint’s before lifting it to his lips.

What the hell. He doesn’t know a poison that will kill him. And he figures SHIELD will have vetted the place from rooftop to basement.

“Thanks,” he says. The beer is cold and hoppy. Decent, he thinks. It tastes vaguely medicinal, the way most food tastes now.

“No problem,” Clint says. He’s blonde-haired and blue-eyed. There are bandages on his hands, and, when the peas droop, Steve catches a glimpse of a still-blooming shiner that’s going to cover a quarter of his face.

“You have some trouble?” Steve asks, tipping his chin toward the bruise.

Clint shrugs. He takes a drink of his beer and kicks his feet, looks perfectly at ease in Steve’s apartment in a way that Steve decidedly does not. “Milk run,” he says, offhand. “Guess I got a bit expeditious about things toward the end. Wanted to be sure I got back in time for your first day.”

Steve blinks. Milk run, he thinks. He hears the word in old echoes, memories of soldiers reporting back. Some of the old slang survived. It’s nice, hearing it. He wonders if someone gave Clint a list of terms to work into casual conversation.

“You’re SHIELD?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs, grins up at him. His smile is slanted sideways, held down on one side by the bag of peas. But his eyes are bright and friendly, and there’s something comforting in the lazy disregard of his body language, like he doesn’t know or care who Steve used to be.

“Don’t tell them I told you,” he says. “I have a bet going with my buddy that I can make it at least a week.”

Steve snorts. He’s quiet for a second, weighing out the mischief in Clint’s eyes. It’s been a long time since anyone dragged him into anything even remotely playful. “Sure,” he says, caving the second Clint waggles his eyebrows. Something aches and splinters in his chest. He ignores it, clearing his throat while he turns to regard the mess of boxes and bags scattered around the place.

Someone’s going to have to do something about this mess. He figures, as usual, that the someone is going to have to be him.

“Hm,” Clint says. He slithers to the ground, heavy boots clattering on the kitchen floor. He surveys the kitchen counter and then visibly perks up, dropping the peas so he can grab a box, cuddle it lovingly against his chest. “C’mon, Steve,” he says, hefting the new coffeepot onto his hip, “we’ll start with the important stuff.”

  Clint leaves around midnight. The living room and kitchen are unpacked, and Steve hasn’t even started on the bedroom, but he’s not worried about it. He goes out to wander the neighborhood until dawn. Just keeping his feet busy, shushing the buzzing hum of his mind. He tests his tether, climbing up onto the roof to watch the sunrise, but, if he has a tail, he never sees them.

When he goes back to his apartment, he encounters Clint in the hallway. He’s mussed and sleep-dazed. There are red lines on his face from where he slept too hard on his pillow. There’s a bit of toothpaste stuck to his chin, and he has a piece of toast shoved in his mouth, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a dog’s leash in the other.

“Mmph,” he says, greeting Steve through the toast.

“Morning,” Steve says, going stock still at the sight of such disarray.

Clint’s wearing pajama pants with little purple bullseyes on them. They’re tucked into combat boots. That bruise got ugly overnight, but all those dark shades really set off the bright blue of his eyes.

“Hey, Steve,” Clint says, after he hooks the dog’s leash around his wrist so he can take the toast out of his mouth. “You sleep okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Steve says. “You?”

“Like a fucking rock,” Clint tells him. And then, with a grimace, “Sorry, I gotta—this is Lucky, and Lucky really needs to pee.”

Everyone Steve’s encountered on this side of the new millennium is efficient and serious and professional. Everyone’s been so bloodless. He thought that was how they raised people these days. But Clint’s a loud, frazzled, mussed-up mess. Clint’s the first living thing Steve’s seen in this century.

Well, right up until the dog sticks its cold nose into the palm of Steve’s hand and whines like a thing with a heart breaking clean in half.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says, crouching down. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

The dog pants kibble-scented breath in his face. He’s missing an eye. His fur is soft and warm under Steve’s hands.

“Oh, for—Lucky, stop guilt-tripping Steve. He’s a nice guy. C’mon.” But for all his complaining, Clint doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. He’s standing unsteadily, sloping slightly to the side, with one eye closed like he’s letting that half of his brain catch a quick nap.

“You gotta go,” Steve says, giving Lucky one more gentle scratch behind the ears before he stands up. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, definitely,” Clint says. “Just come see us whenever.” He straightens up, gives himself a little shake, and then smiles sweet and sleepy, right in Steve’s face.

Like they’re friends. Like Steve’s a real person. After all this time, after everything he’s done, he can still just be someone’s neighbor.

“See you, Steve. Let me know if you need any more help unpacking.” And then Clint shoves the rest of the toast in his mouth and reaches out to pat Steve on the shoulder as he walks by. He misses pretty catastrophically, getting a handful of Steve’s chest and then just committing to it anyway, patting him like Steve had just patted Lucky, before he dozily meanders his way up the hall.

Steve stares after him for a long moment and then he goes into his apartment, locks the door, and makes some coffee. He drinks it sitting up on his new couch, and he doesn’t expect to fall asleep, but he does anyway.

He dreams about the water. He always dreams about the water.

But he keeps getting flashes, little glimpses through the ice. A black eye and a friendly smile. Soft fur under his hand, a dog’s sad whine echoing from years and years away.

Coffee. He tastes coffee.

And he feels something on his chest, a warmth that spreads outward. A patting. Or maybe a knocking.

Wake up, he thinks. And he does.

[devinsnewyork]

Juliet and Thisbe’s Unexpected Adventure

(temporary title, will take suggestions)

It was the end of August; summer was still very much alive (the heat oppressive and the days long), but with two more weeks until Thisbe went back to college, it already felt like summer was taking his last breaths. 

Thisbe had thought this summer would be The One. She’d planned to write a book and watch all the movies on her list and go to parties with her high school friends, but all she’d managed to do was befriend the local murder. 

“Hey, Nigel.” Thisbe held out her left hand, which held a few pistachio nuts. “Here you go.” Nigel hopped onto her knee, black head twitching, shiny eye looking like a pebble glued to his face. Then he pecked at the nuts. Stretching her right hand out a few feet from her body, Thisbe opened her palm, revealing the peanuts for the other three crows, Sir Bird, Walter, and Captain Corvid, better known as the Captain. 

It’s not that Thisbe hadn’t had human contact all summer; she regularly hung out with her friends. She just felt lonely in the way all people do, Carson McCullers’ the Heart Is a Lonely Hunter kind of loneliness. She couldn’t describe the feeling herself; she could just remember what writers had written in the past and feel it. 

She watched the sun blink, his eyes drooping low, his tired sighs turning the sky orange. Her murder lingered for a few minutes, and Thisbe pretended that it was because they enjoyed her company, not because they were hoping for more food. 

“Dude!” Nigel squawked. Thisbe beamed at him.

“Dude!” She shook her head, still smiling. Teaching the crows human words was definitely one of her better ideas. 

“Come with us!” Thisbe snapped her head to the right and narrowed her eyes at the Captain. 

“Since when could you say that?” 

“Come with us! Adventure!” This time it was Walter who spoke, fluttering his wings by his side and tilting his head up, sending his calls into the sky. Thisbe kept shifting her gaze, taking turns on staring at all the crows, who were all remarkably still for such twitchy creatures, and she swallowed when she realized it seemed that they were all looking at her. 

No. Thisbe shook her head vigorously and stood. Nothing weird here, no call to adventure. These are normal crows. 

“Where are you going? Adventure!” 

“Come with us!”

“No, guys.” Thisbe sighed and showed them her empty palms. “No adventure. Good night.” That apparently wasn’t the right thing to say because the crows started screeching angrily, a raucous, discordant orchestra composed of scratchy violins, piercing violas, and cellos with their strings snapping. “Shh! Stop!” But her murder, ever recalcitrant, continued the ear-splitting squawk fest. Thisbe grimaced and retreated indoors, where the shrill noise was much more muted. 

Thisbe’s dad was in the kitchen, sitting at the counter, plate with crumbs sitting in front of him, his face in his phone. She tilted her head and looked at him. 

With his wide eyes, high cheekbones, and square chin, he and Thisbe looked nothing alike. All they shared was their cool obsidian skin. 

“What is wrong with those crows?” Thisbe’s mom walked in, eyebrows high on her forehead. Thisbe shrugged sheepishly and ducked her head, and her mom laughed. “You better apologize. I want to sleep tonight.” She threw Thisbe a pointed look, round face betraying amusement in the fullness of her cheeks and the topaz glow in her eyes. 

“I tried, I swear.” Thisbe opened the silver refrigerator, grabbed a red apple, and made for her room, twisting away from her mother when she reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Ignoring the shrieks coming from her brothers and sisters in the living room, Thisbe took the stairs two at a time. She opened the first door on the right and closed it behind her. 

She sighed and threw herself down onto her bed, biting into the apple and staring at the ceiling. The white fan circled around, and Thisbe tried to follow one blade around and around and around with her eyes until they started to water. She sat up and sighed again, glancing around at the computer that lay on the grey rug on the floor, the guitar leaning against a green wall, the stack of books she had piled in front of the much-too-small bookcase, and she only had to ask herself what should I do? once before her phone buzzed. She took another bite of the apple and thumbed open her phone. 

Thisbe smiled so widely a bit of apple juice dripped onto her chin.

Juliet: what are you doing

Thisbe typed back Nothing. 

Juliet: lame. 

Juliet: you should hang out with me instead 

Thisbe sent back Okay. 

Juliet: good i’m outside your house

Thisbe barked a shocked laugh, then shot up. She glanced at herself in the mirror, making sure her afro wasn’t doing anything weird before jogging down the stairs, shouting “JULIET’S HERE I’LL BE BACK LATER BYE LOVE YOU” just as she pulled the front door shut. She turned and waved to her friend and walked around to the passenger side door of her little, black 2004 Volvo called Romeo. 

Juliet’s long hair was pulled into a low ponytail, evidence that her curls were too frizzy to let loose tonight. Thisbe’s eyes lingered on the blue silk ribbon that complimented Juliet’s dark brown hair and made her look like Anastasia from that animated movie they both loved as kids. “So!” Thisbe waited for Juliet to look up from her phone. “Where to?” 

Juliet shrugged. “Do you wanna get sorbet?” 

“Duh.” 

Juliet shuffled their favorite playlist and started singing along as she pulled away from the curb. 

At the outdoor ice cream shop, Juliet and Thisbe ate their lemon sorbet with rainbow sprinkles from small cups and watched people come and go. Thisbe couldn’t stop laughing; she was so happy to be with Juliet. They weren’t best friends, but Thisbe always relished Juliet’s company, and eating sorbet with her in the dark while joking back and forth made her feel relished, too. How dare she let herself feel lonely! This is was love felt like. Thisbe wanted to hold on to this. 

Juliet drove her home and was just pulling up to the curb, ready to drop Thisbe off, when there was a blurry shape and a loud THUD against the windshield. Both girls screamed. The shape moved, popped up, and tapped its talons against the glass. 

“Thisbe!” Juliet gasped. “Is that one of yours?” 

The crow twitched and glared at Thisbe, and she recognized the patch of feathers missing around her right eye. “It’s the Captain.” She opened up the door and shouted, “DON’T GO IN FRONT OF CARS YOU IDIOT! WE COULD’VE KILLED YOU!” The Captain flapped his dark wings that blended in with the night and flew forward, landing on the frame of the door Thisbe had just propped open. He turned his head to look at her sternly with one eye. 

“Come with us! Adventure!” 

Thisbe groaned. “Not this again.” 

Juliet placed her hand on Thisbe’s shoulder, getting the other woman’s attention. “Um … we have company.” 

Thisbe’s mouth dropped open. She stepped out of a car to get a better look at the tens of hundreds of crows that were coming to land on the hood of the car, the paved street, the sidewalks, even mailboxes and the roofs of houses. Thisbe couldn’t see all their bodies, but she could see their eyes, all of which reflected the white shine from Romeo’s headlights, and she could hear the beating of wings like the turning of thousands of pages. 

“Adventure!” Nigel was there, his one white feather making him noticeable even though he was completely surrounded by crows in his spot by Thisbe’s feet. 

“Thisbe. Are your crows giving you a quest?” 

“No! They’re … they’re normal crows, Juliet.” 

“Normal crows don’t give you quests.” 

“They’re not giving me a quest!” 

“Quest!” The Captain squawked from the door. 

“Come with us!” Nigel hopped forward and landed on Thisbe’s sneakers, looking up expectantly. 

“Thisbe …” Juliet turned and looked at her friend with wide brass eyes. “Follow the crows.” 

“Are you joking?” 

“Are you?” Juliet waved a frantic hand back and forth. “Do you see this? This is not normal. They’re talking. Follow them.” 

“Are you gonna come with me?” 

“Of course.” 

Thisbe bit her lip, then turned and looked at the Captain, who stood just above eye level. “Okay. We’ll follow you.” The crow puffed up his chest and called out to the group. The mass of crows lifted from the ground, wings collectively flapping as loudly as helicopter blades, and they all started moving down the street. Thisbe and Juliet followed, glancing between each other and the birds silently with wide eyes and open mouths. 

Thisbe’s hands were shaking. 

They moved up the small street Thisbe’s house was on, past all the yellow and blue and brick suburban homes filled with sleeping, ignorant people. Thisbe hoped no one would decide to glance out the window to uncover the source of the deafening noise that almost sounded like hurricane winds. The crows all turned right, so Thisbe and Juliet followed. Then the crows veered off the street and started across a small field, headed towards the forest. 

“Juliet … I don’t like this.” 

“Thisbe, I think we don’t have a choice.” 

The two girls trailed the mammoth murder into the woods, tripping over roots and uneven earth even when dimly lighting the way with iPhone flashlights. The crows started moving faster, then suddenly the flapping noise was above the women, and the birds tore through leaves and left Thisbe and Juliet alone. 

The quiet rang in Thisbe’s ears. Her head hurt. “Where do we go now?” 

“Look ahead.” Juliet pointed, but Thisbe couldn’t see anything. She followed Juliet through some more trees and saw some flags up ahead, red flags on a string stretching between two tall trees. Juliet marched right through. 

Thisbe blinked. Juliet wasn’t there. 

Thisbe choked on shock and for a moment was still, but then her legs by instinct carried her forward under the flags into a green clearing with withering purple asters shaking in the grass. The trees around were all bare, the sky above a sickly grey-blue. 

Nigel, Sir Bird, Walter, and the Captain flew from behind and hovered in front of the women. 

“Follow us! A quest!” Then the four birds started through the trees. 

Thisbe looked over at Juliet. “I think we just answered our call to adventure.” 

“Shut up and get moving, they’re not slowing down for us.” 

Thisbe and Juliet left the clearing, jogging through a foreign forest after four feathery guides, and Thisbe wondered what adventure they could’ve possibly gotten themselves into.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Pinky Promise: Four

Sierra Elizabeth Barton was having a rough week. And Clint wasn't quite sure how it had gotten so out of hand. But he felt like the worst parent, even if he knew it wasn't his fault. 

It had started with Nat watching her tripping over her feet more often and noticing her struggling to get up. "Clint," she'd murmured, nudging him to look where Sierra was rambling slowly, more slowly than usual, across the grass with her stuffed mammoth in her little knapsack, happily helping Tony test some new tech thing. She could see the twinges of pain across her little face and watched her struggle, leaning on a table for support. 

"What?" he said, looking up from his phone and glancing that direction.

"How long has she been like that?" She asked. 

He wants to ask like what. But then he sees it. The pale little cheeks and the fine sheen of sweat from the effort of staying on her feet. But her little voice gives no sign. Clear as a bell and mixing with Tony's snarky replies.

"Fuck," Clint said softly.

"You didn't notice?" Nat asked softly. Clint hung his head for a second, and she rubbed the back of his neck, "How long has it been since she had x rays?" she asked.

Clint doesn't know that either. He thought he'd been doing everything right. Physio, making sure she kept up on music lessons, getting her in some advanced classes. "I'll try and get a hold of Jennie," he sighed, "See if she can get me the number for her doctors. Get a referral for someone out here."

He heaves himself to his feet, and Nat catches his hand, "Clint," she starts, but when he shrugs her off, she lets him go, catching Bucky's eye and jerking her head, indicating he should follow. 

Bucky frowned but nodded, following after his boyfriend. On the phone, Clint sounds tense. 

"Look, Jen," he sighs, "I don't wanna give her back. But she's in pain, and I wanna know why."

"I know she's always in pain. It's worse. She needs x rays so they can figure out if she's gonna need surgery."

"Fine. Thank you. I'll call as soon as we hang up... Does anyone know where Evie is?- Of course not. Why would she?"

He hangs up the phone and stares at the note pad on the counter with the number written on it. "Clint?" Bucky asks softly, "What's wrong?"

Clint exhales slowly and looks up at the ceiling blinking back frustrated tears. "Did you know Sierra was in that much pain?" he asked.

"No-I," he feels like he did something wrong. Clint holds up a hand to stop him and pulls him closer, wanting comfort. "What's wrong?" Bucky repeated gently, realizing this wasn't an interrogation. 

"I don't know," Clint said, swallowing hard. He hates it. He hates knowing that his kid is in pain, and there's no easy fix. He hates it even more that she's so used to pain that it didn't register that it was getting worse. 

"What do you need?" Bucky asked, cupping his jaw gently.

"I need Sierra to be okay," he said softly. The archer glanced towards the window. Natasha had apparently had a quiet word with Tony because he now had her sitting on top of the worktable he set up and was listening to her ideas about his design. Clint appreciated Tony's approach to Sierra. A lot. Stark had, surprisingly, never treated her as less than a pint-sized prodigy. He listened to her talk for four seconds and decided, "Ah, yes. A fellow weird kid." Tony didn't seem to register her disability. Not as anything but something that required occasional accommodation. 

"It'll be fine," Bucky said, "You think Sierra is gonna let anything keep her down that long?" Bucky had a lot of experience with scrappy little blonde kids. Too smart for their own good. 

That makes Clint smile a little, "No," he said softly. 

"Then call the doctor. Let's figure out what's wrong and get her back up to speed, Okay?"

"Okay," he said, stealing a kiss, "Do me a favor?"

"What's that?" Bucky said, anxious to try and make this easier. 

"See if Nat can track Evie down... She should probably be told there's a major appointment coming."

Bucky can't help it, he frowns. "I know," Clint sighs, "I know. But that's her mother. And she needs to be told."

"Even if she won't show up," Bucky growled.

"Shh," Clint said, "I know. And you know. Hell. Sierra knows, but..."

"But that's her mom," Bucky finished.

"When she grows up, Sierra can define the relationship on her terms, but... Until we get custody all the way sorted out, we can't be seen to be hiding anything. Or actively preventing Evie from seeing her."

Bucky nodded. He didn't like it. He hated knowing that Eve was going to break that little girl's heart again and again. And that He and Clint had to let her do it. But he does as Clint asked and went to go and find Natasha. 

The spy is sitting in the shade outside, keeping a careful eye on Stark. Not that the Inventor would put her in harm's way on purpose, but still, it's good to have a responsible adult on hand. "Hey," Bucky said, taking a seat next to her.

"What's up?" she said, looking over her shades.

"Clint told me to tell you to find Eve," he said, exhaling slowly. The redhead frowns, and Bucky snorts, "I made that same face."

"What's he want her for?" Nat asked

"He thinks she needs to be there. He's pretty sure this is going to be at least semi-serious."

Nat glanced over across the grass. Stark had Sierra slung giggling and protesting over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Probably to keep her from moving the joints that hurt. Without her knowing about it as he brought her over the grass. "Shit," she muttered.

"Yeah," Bucky answered.

"So," Tony said, "Here's the thing, pretty sure this kid needed a job in my lab yesterday."

"Oh?" Nat said, watching as he sat her upright in a chair.

"Why's that?" Bucky asked, amused.

"I fixed his equation," Sierra piped in beaming.

"She fixed my equation," Tony agreed, tugging the end of her braid fondly. "And I think that deserves ice cream... As long as none of the parental figures don't disagree."

"I think we can let her have some," Bucky said, stretching, "What do you think, Nat?"

"Did you do your homework?" she asked.

She nods, "And all the extra."

"Then yes," Nat said, kissing her cheek, "Just sit tight, okay? Strawberry?"

"Yeah," she said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Princess," she said, kissing the top of her head as she passed to go find some strawberry ice cream, thankful that she was even hungry. Sometimes, on the days when she hurt this much, she hardly ate anything. 

Clint looked up from his phone calls and quirked an eyebrow. "Sierra solved Stark's equation," Nat explained, "We're rewarding her."

"It's not dinner time," Clint said, looking at the clock.

"And?" she said, daring him to veto her.

""Small bowl, Tasha," he said, frowning at the calendar. 

"Nah," she said, rolling her eyes, "I was just gonna hand her the carton."

Clint gave her a look, but the spy only smiled and carried a little bowl of ice cream out to her waiting protegee, happy to see her still sitting where she was supposed to be and explaining something about bones to Bucky who, surprisingly, was listening patiently. 

"You're so smart," Nat said lovingly.

She gives Nat a look, tilting her head. Not the head tilt that says "The Audacity of this bitch" but the Curious one.

"I'm just weird," you tell her, "It's easy to sound smart when you learn about stuff no one cares about."

“Well, I mean someone has to care,” Tony mused, “Someone has to spend decades in dusty little Archives studying the stuff to put it in books for you to read.”

“And they’d probably be thrilled to see an eight-year-old who can understand their arguments. And probably super jealous,” Clint added, sitting next to Bucky and putting an arm around his shoulder. “How’re you feeling, Sunshine?” he asked.

“ ‘m okay,” she answers around a mouthful of ice cream. 

Clint doesn’t press but makes a mental note to give her some Tylenol and make sure she takes a hot shower to try and ease some of it so she can sleep. She needs rest, and that’s hard to do when she can’t get comfortable. 

________

“Hey Squirt,” Bucky said, tugging a damp lock of hair gently, “It’s bedtime. Your dad’s waiting for you.”

Sierra sits up, rubbing her eyes and looking a little lost. “You worked too hard today, huh?” he said sympathetically, moving to try and help her off the couch. 

She’s moving slow, and it’s painful just watching her trying to get her feet on the ground. “Baby,” he hums, stepping forward, “Do you-” he can’t even get the words “need help” out before her legs fold under her, and she pitches forward smacking her head on the coffee table and curling on the floor with an anguished little whimper. 

“Shit!” he said, scooping her up gently and looking at her forehead, anxious, “baby,” he kissed the injury and wiped tears away gently. As a rule, Clint didn’t spend much time coddling little bumps and scrapes, so Bucky followed suit, but this had been scary. “Clint!” he called over his shoulder, “Call medical.”

The archer half ran across the suit and assessed the situation for a second before realizing that his daughter was actually crying, and Bucky looked shaken.

“What happened?” he asked, worried. 

“She went to walk forward, and her legs just folded under her. She smacked her head on the table on the way down,” Bucky explained. 

“Okay,” he said gently.  “Sweetheart,” Clint asked, “More hurt or more scary?”

“It hurts,” she whimpered, reaching for him. Clint took her gently, picking up his phone to alert medical he was bringing them Sierra and explaining what was happening. “Shhh,” he soothed, rubbing her back. 

Bucky didn’t know what to do. So he scooped up the nearest stuffed animal to give her something to squeeze the stuffing out of and followed after.

In medical, they decided to expedite the x rays put Sierra under mild sedation to keep her from moving around too much until they could assess the suspected damage to her little spine. It also helped with the pain. The poor kid was clenching her jaw so hard Bucky could hear her teeth grinding. But as she slid into sleep, it eased up, and thankfully, she wasn’t whimpering anymore. Bucky didn’t know what was worse, hearing Sierra whimper or watching Clint cringe every time. Both felt like someone stabbing him in the chest, and he hated feeling that powerless. 

“Bucky go take a walk,” Clint said kindly, “We’ll be okay for a minute.”

“But-”

“Go,” he said softly, carding fingers through his daughter’s hair, “She’s not going anywhere. And the Imaging hasn’t come back yet. Go stretch your legs.”

Bucky nodded and stood slowly, walking out of the room. But he couldn’t stay gone more than a couple minutes. Too worried to leave them alone for more than a moment or two.

“The first one is the hardest,” Clint said gently, giving Bucky a sympathetic look. “The first time she collapsed, I panicked and called 911. I thought she was dying, and I scared the poor kid so bad she had nightmares about waking up at her own funeral for a second... Which is terrifying on its own to hear from a three-year-old. You’re doing a lot better than I did.”

Bucky blinked at Clint slowly. He’d never thought of Clint having to deal with Sierra’s medical emergencies on his own. For a second, he’d thought Clint’s first question is “More hurt or More Scary?” had been a little callous. But the longer he listened to Clint give doctors a detailed medical history and advocate for her, the less sure he was about that. He realized now that it was him trying to figure out if this was an emergency or if he could hand her an icepack and put her to bed.

Clint kissed her hand tenderly and glanced towards the monitor, nodding, satisfied that for now, she was doing okay. 

“How do you keep all of her stuff straight?” Bucky asked.

“I keep files,” Clint answered, “Have done for years. Every operation, medical note, check-up, allergy... whatever it is.”

Bucky nods, a little impressed, “What is she allergic to?”

“Artificial sweeteners and blueberries,” he answers, “Neither is deadly, but blueberries give her hives, and Artificial Sweeteners give her migraines... And that’s why she can’t have gum.”

“I always assumed it got stuck in her hair once.”

“Nope,” Clint said, “But those stupid wax soda bottle candy things are a lifesaver. I gave her gum on an airplane once taking her back to her mom, and oh my god. Toddlers with migraines are hell. Pure hell. She was in pain and told me her head hurt but like... What three year old can articulate, “dad, you idiot I have a migraine”? I mean- She probably could have if she knew the words but... Yeah. Never again.”

Bucky snorted, “Good to know,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Barton?” a Doctor said, knocking on the door.

Clint jerks to attention and stands up, shaking the woman’s hand, “Please tell me this isn’t that serious.” 

She smiles a little, “Not... Not yet,” she said, carefully putting the x rays up to show him, “The impact on the ground is basically breaking her spine, and it’s already working on her hips.”

Clint looks up at the x-ray and gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, “So what do we do?” he asked. 

“Don’t let her fall,” she said sadly, “Otherwise? Preventative maintenance. Lots of low impacts exercise to help keep her weight managed. Leg braces as often as you can.”

Clint exhaled slowly, “What about her legs collapsing?”

“That,” she said, “We’re going to need an MRI for. It might be neurological. She might have something abnormal happening. An MRI might give us a starting point.”

“Abnormal? Like a tumor?” Clint asked, looking for clarification. 

“Not necessarily,” she said, trying not to alarm him. 

Clint nodded and looked back towards the bed, swallowing hard. “When do they want the MRI?” he asked. 

“You can take her home tonight,” she said, “Put her to bed. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

The archer nodded and took a deep breath, “Good,” he said, “It’ll give me time to contact her mom.”

The doctor nodded and shook his hand again, “Of course,” she said, “If you can, keep her home tomorrow. Give the inflammation in her hips some time to go down. I’ll have nursing call you and tell you when to bring her back.”

____________

“Bucky?” Clint asked in the dark of the bedroom.

“Yeah?” he answered, rubbing the back of his lover’s neck.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked.

“You’re gonna love her,” he answered gently, “And you’re not gonna worry. Not yet.”

Clint made a soft unhappy sound and all Bucky could do was hold him a little closer. 

[densi-mber]

Early Arrival

A/N: So...without giving too much away, this involves a baby being born. So if you’re a bit squeamish, read with caution.

***

“Kensi, I do not think this is a good idea,” Deeks repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“You’ve been saying that for the last three weeks,” Kensi replied, her tone slightly breathless yet still somehow able to convey her annoyance. She had insisted on carrying her own duffle along with some kitchen supplies from the truck to the Air BnB they’d rented near Mammoth. It was a cozy looking little place that supposedly came equipped with all the amenities they could ever want.  

Deeks trailed slightly behind her, weighed down by a cooler, two more duffle bags, and a collection of miscellaneous crap. He would have gladly carried all of it if Kensi let him. She was being stubborn though and he was the last person to tell his extremely pregnant wife what to do.

“That’s because I still think this is a really terrible idea. You’re 38 weeks pregnant, we’re up in the mountains and my cell phone connection is already sketchy.” 

Stopping in front of the front door, she looked over her shoulder, her expression all but settling the argument.

“Oh my god, nothing is going to happen. We’ve had these reservations for over a year. It’s a miracle that we didn’t have to cancel them for some reason so I am not going home.” She punctuated the statement by stabbing in the 6 digit code into the security system keypad.

Sighing, he followed Kensi through the door, eyeing the sky. It was a fairly warm day for December, there wasn’t a cloud in sight and the roads had been in good condition.

“I still don’t like it,” he muttered, hopefully low enough that Kensi wouldn’t be able to hear it.

***

A few hours later, Deeks was finally starting to relax. They’d turned on the electric fire in the living room and were sipping mugs of hot chocolate while they lounged on the floor.

“Ok, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to the top of Kensi’s head. She looked up at him, snuggling into his chest a little more.

“Mm, good,” she said contentedly. “You needed a break. Oof.” She quickly grabbed his hand and pressed it to the left side of her stomach. He grinned at the now familiar feeling of a tiny foot pushing back.

“So cool,” he muttered, not for the first time. Kensi smiled indulgently, but pointed out,

“It would be nice if your child didn’t feel the need to practice his football skills at all hours of the day. Mama needs her rest.”

“Then let me escort the lady to her bed,” Deeks said gallantly, placing an arm under her knees.

“Oh no, Baby,” Kensi protested. “You’ll hurt your back.” He ignored her and gathered her against his chest as he slowly got to his feet.

“All part of the Marty Deeks holiday service.” Kensi snorted and rolled her eyes, looping an arm around his neck while he started to ascend the small flight of stairs leading to the master bedroom.

“You are so ridiculous,” she said fondly. Her fingers brushed against his neck in a soft caress as she gazed up at him. “But I love you anyway.”

***

Deeks shivered and burrowed under the covers, scooching closer to Kensi. Her skin was blessedly warm in comparison to the chill of the room. She made a soft sound of protest before shifting back against him, bringing their mostly naked bodies together. 

A shiver ran up his spine, not from the cold this time. Last night was the first time in a few weeks that they’d really had the opportunity to have sex without worrying about being interrupted. Or at least as much as they could with an 8 month baby bump between them. It turned out that pregnancy made sex a slightly more difficult, if not intriguing, endeavor. 

“Ugh, why aren’t you sleeping?” Kensi asked groggily, blindly reaching out and brushing the side of his head by chance. Deeks pressed a kiss to her fingers before she hastily snaked her hand back under the covers. 

“I got cold. You should go back to sleep.” The covers shifted and most of Kensi’s left eye appeared; from what he could tell she was frowning.

“I would, but your son keeps kicking me in the liver.” He held back a snort and started rubbing his hand over her back in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s a boy, huh? Yesterday it was a girl,” he pointed out. They’d been going back and forth on the gender for the last several months since they’d decided they wanted it to be a surprise. “And I didn’t realize you could feel your liver.”

“He’s acting more like you today. And believe me, I can definitely feel my liver. I’m pretty sure it’s covered in bruises.” 

“I would say you’re being ridiculous,” Kensi narrowed her eyes dangerously and he quickly finished with, “but I’m smart enough to know that to do so would be suicidal.”

“Smart man,” Kensi said around a huge yawn. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know, but based on the light-crap!” Kensi jerked up at his sudden exclamation, automatically reaching for a nonexistent gun while clasping the other hand to her belly.

“What?” she demanded.

“The window’s covered in snow,” he said, pointing to said window as he climbed out of bed. The lower pane was covered with a thick coating of white let through only a small amount of light. Already, his mind was filling with images of a three foot snowdrifts and blizzard like conditions.

“The wind probably just blew it there,” Kensi said reasonably. “Come back to bed, Baby. I’m cold,” she wiggled her eyes ridiculously but Deeks couldn’t deny her. He crawled back under the covers, tugging Kensi towards him and began kissing a path down her neck.

Several pleasant hours later, Deeks wandered into the kitchen in search of food. They’d dozed off and on, enjoying the opportunity to just stay in bed without interruption. While Kensi showered, he planned to scrape together something for lunch.

They’d brought along some sandwich stuff and he was in the process of making two truly spectacular BLTs when Kensi called out, sounding weirdly hesitant.

“Hey Babe?” 

“You want me to shave your legs again?” he shouted back. For some reason, Kensi found asking for help with that task particularly humiliating. 

“No...I think my water broke.”

“Would you mind repeating that,” he requested calmly, sure he’d misheard.

“My water broke,” she said. His mind blanked for a moment and then he was running up the stairs. He found Kensi wrapped in a thick white towel, braced on the edge of the tub. She was breathing a little bit harder than normal and her cheeks were flushed. “Hey.” Her voice was casual but she winced slightly, her face scrunched up in pain.

“Oh my god, you’re in labor.” It was a ridiculous, obvious statement, but somehow his mind didn’t want to accept the fact.

“Pretty much.” 

“Ok, that’s fine. It’s fine. I’m just going to grab our stuff and we’ll drive to the hospital,” he said with forced calmness. 

“Can you help me get dressed first?” she asked, her fingers clenched so tightly the knuckles were pale. Deeks helped her change sweatpants and a large shirt and then started grabbing a random collection of items to throw in the truck. 

When he stepped out on the driveway, he skidded a few feet and nearly crashed into an inconveniently placed tree. The ground was covered in a sparkling sheet of ice. There was no way he could risk driving on it.

“The roads are too icy, I’m going to call an ambulance,” he told Kensi as he ran back inside and grabbed his phone. 

“We don’t have time for that,” Kensi said in a strained voice. 

“What do you mean we–” he started to say and then broke off as he saw Kensi was now braced against the kitchen counter and panting shallowly. “Kensi?”

“Yup.”

“Kensi, no. This isn’t what we planned for.” 

“Well, I’m sorry but apparently this baby doesn’t care what we planned for. My contractions are already two minutes apart,” she snapped out, punctuating it with a moan. 

“Ok, you’re right. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable and then we’ll maybe get some blankets and hot water and totally not have a panic attack,” he said, placing a supportive hand on Kensi’s back and one under her arm. He started to head for the living room, the closest room, but Kensi shook her head and said,

“No, we’ll never get our security deposit back. The bathroom.”

“Oh my god, you are so ridiculous,” he muttered as they changed directions. 

Once he had Kensi semi-comfortably reclined against a mound of pillows and blankets, started searching for scissors, clean towels and anything else his scattered brain could think of. When he had it all together, he paused just outside the bathroom door and promptly collapsed to his knees.

He hadn’t been joking with Kensi. He felt on the verge of an honest to god panic attack. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to slow his racing heart.  

“Deeks?” Kensi called some time later. She sounded scared and he felt terrible for leaving her alone, even for a few minutes. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he pulled in several short breaths and walked back in.

“What’s wrong? Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?” 

“I need you,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. He took it and crouched down beside her, brushing damp strands of hair back from her temple.

“Kensi. Baby, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted.

“We took the classes and watched the delivery videos. And didn’t you read a book about delivering babies?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting to actually have to do it,” Deeks retorted. “This is the kind of stuff that happens on sitcoms.”

“And to us apparently.” She let out a quiet moan, biting down on her lip. It spurred him back into action. However much he might want to deny it, this was really happening.

“Ok, we should probably get your pants off and see how dilated you are.”

“Now I really know you’re worried.” She paused to gasp, her hand squeezing his so tightly it hurt.

“Why?” he asked as he helped Kensi scooch out of her sweatpants.

“You didn’t make a dirty joke,” she answered and he snorted out a somewhat hysterical chuckle.

“How long between your contractions?”

“About a minute and a half.” She let out another strangled groan, her eyes squeezing shut as her belly heaved. “It feels like I need to push.” Gingerly, he pushed Kensi’s legs farther apart. Never in a million years had he imagined this happening.

“Holy crap, I think I can see the head!” he said in quiet awe. A sudden feeling of calm replaced his earlier panic and he squeezed Kensi’s hand again as she smiled at him hopefully.

“What’s it look like?”

“Um, dark. I can’t really tell yet.”

“Well, I think-aaah-I think you’ll get to see in-oh my god-in a minute. I really need to push,” Kensi said, her voice strained and higher pitched. She looked a little panicked now, her breath short and shallow.

“Ok, Baby, breathe with me. Deep breath in and then out, good. That’s perfect, Kensi,” he instructed. Kensi closed her eyes and focused on matching him breath for breath. After several minutes she seemed at least a little calmer. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to give birth in a bathroom in the middle of the mountains,” she said.

“If you think about it though, this isn’t even one of the crazier things we done. We routinely jump out of exploding buildings, a crazy Russian guy try to kidnap me from our wedding and last year our Thanksgiving party included a Russian criminal, six Navy SEALs, and Hetty Lange. We’ve got this babe.”

“Great. Because I think this baby is ready to come out now.” She made an unearthly sound and bore down. Deeks hastily lifted her legs higher as she continued to push.

“Don’t push too hard,” Deeks instructed, recalling some salient bit of information from the recesses of his mind. “I’m going to count to five and then I want you to take a deep breath and stop pushing.” Kensi nodded again, not making any other noise than panting.

Far quicker than he thought possible, he could see the head was crowning.

“You’re doing so good, Baby. Just keep pushing. Ok, the head’s out, but I think the shoulders are stuck.” 

“You need to turn the baby,” Kensi managed to say, her voice strained.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Deeks said, gingerly supporting the baby’s head with one hand while the other hesitated. He could almost hear Kensi’s eyes roll as she said between clenched teeth,

“Just do it.” Then she added more softly, “I trust you.” 

Carefully, he turned the baby until one shoulder was free. He eased the second shoulder out and the rest of the body slipped into his trembling hands with surprising speed.

“Oh my god, it’s a girl, he whispered, staring down at the tiny human wriggling in his arms. She had a full head of dark brown hair that he guessed would be the same shade as Kensi’s. Even covered in pasty vernix and slime, with her eyes squeezed shut, she was beautiful.  Carefully, he ran the tip of his pinky over her cheek. Kensi pushed herself up a few inches on shaky arms and asked,

“Deeks, is something wrong, I don’t hear anything?” At the sound of her voice, the baby’s eyes popped open and she let out a tiny wail.

“She’s perfect,” he answered, moving to Kensi’s side and gently laying the baby on her chest. “She’s absolutely perfect.” 

“Oh, she’s so little,” Kensi breathed. “She’s so beautiful.” He was in awe as Kensi shifted their daughter towards her breast as though it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked entranced. His throat tightened suddenly with emotion, tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

She looked up at him and noticed the tears now slipping freely down his cheeks and reached for his hands.

“Don’t cry, Baby.” He scrubbed at his face and sucked in a shallow breath.

“I just can’t believe this is real.” He’d wanted this for so long, they both had, and now he was slightly afraid it was somehow a cruel dream. Kensi tilted her head and gave his hand a weak tug.

“Come here,” she whispered. “Hold us.” Deeks shucked his shirt off, easing behind Kensi. She leaned back against him, letting out a deep sigh of exhaustion. He rested his hand on the baby’s back, partially covering Kensi’s and pressed his lips to her temple. Kensi shivered and he yanked a clean towel off the towel bar, draped it over them all and then wrapped his free arm around Kensi.

He knew they’d have to get up soon, but for now he was content to sit there, basking in the snuggling sounds of their daughter as she slept.

“Love you, Kensi,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. She didn’t speak, but gave his hand a small squeeze.

For the moment, everything was perfect.

***

A/N: Please remember this is meant for entertainment purposes and not intended to be taken as completely medically accurate. The more gruesome bits will take place post-scene.

[onbeatbot]

Ride

My car did not break down. I don’t know what happened to it, but as I was making my way to New Orleans on I10 things went black abruptly and now I'm in the grass on the side of the road. It is about 2 AM, which is late for me to be out but I was disquieted at a friends house by some things in my head, and needed to leave. So now I am here in the dark about 20 minutes from the causeway. The grass is dry and my hands begin to itch, so I stand up.

I should be panicked that my car is lost-gone God knows where-but I’m not. That is just like me. I spent last year making a quilt of intangible reality and I haven’t had the energy to consider most things since. Like my car, this is besides the point. The point right now is getting down the interstate and making it home so I can eat some Cool Whip and get in bed. 

I have my phone here but I’m in debt really bad and there probably isn’t any service to call a taxi or whatever anyway. I just turn on my flashlight, sticking my hand in the direction of the road, and walk.

The night is cool and my mouth still tastes like citrus energy drink. I am so goddamn tired. Too often I find myself misplaced on a whim. I’m really careless like that. But hey, I’m dressed warmly.

After the third or fourth car flashes by I lose heart and turn off the light. The moon has shone herself underneath the crawling clouds, and in the blue night I find it hard not to buckle underneath the irony and the mystery of my predicament. Laughter has always been the chink in my armor. I shrug to myself and access the wall of vegetation to my right. The moonlight plays on the bushes and tree trunks and there is a violent wave of cicada hum. Some presence behind the thicket attracts my attention and I hold my phone back up to make my way inside.

I maneuver through the forest slowly. The ground is uneven and I’m wary of the possibilities of poison ivy and thorns. Time wears on until I reach a small clearing. It feels like poor decision called me here, so I sit in the dirt and put my head in my hands for a few minutes.

A number of loud crunches set my hair on edge and I peak over my fingers. Something large is approaching from the forest in front of me, and from the shadow I figure it must be a black bear. I stay very still, and watch the mammoth person step out into the clearing. It is easily twice my height, but even in the dark it looks starved and pathetic. It makes a low tone for a second or two, and begins to approach me slowly. I make a hard “A” sound and it flinches, stopping about 6 feet in front of me.

“What are you?” I demand, and it just looks down at me with big black eyes. It holds out its hands and claps them together loudly, yelling a shrill sound like, “Aieeeey.” It then approaches me quickly, lifts me to my feet by my arm, and leads me into the space it stepped out from. I have to run to keep up with it, but I let it lead me. Why not?

We reach a clearing where the ground drops off to a stream about 10 yards below. On the shelly bank something small glints in the fractured light. The creature stops, blinking with me at the scene below. As I am trying to think of what to do next, the earth beneath our feet starts to shake, and the shaking is soon joined by a droning sound that washes over us from no discernible direction. In a second it all stops, leaving the scene less dazzling than it was when we arrived.

The forest creature grabs me by my waist and jumps onto the bank, causing me to yelp as it lifts me to a sitting position on its shoulders. It squats down, picks up the object and hands it to me. It is a small light blue model of a Saturn L200, my car. I clutch it, wrapping my arms around the creatures forehead, and let it intuitively carry me to the causeway. After it sets me down in front of the interstate it turns back and walks into the forest. Not knowing what to think, I continue the journey home.

[bullwrinkledmagnum]

I scrolled through the article 3 times to reexamine the picture of the nails...

Abu tells me: it's there it wasn't a disappearing picture!

Then he tells me....: there was no pictures on the internet, it was in your head!

I remember when we went with Queen Elizabeth II

And she had told me we were gonna go watch them excavate coffins... No one else pays attention to a little old lady in a plane full of rambunctious boys. Except me.

So when we got there jesse tells me "hey you know everything, what's inside these?" And he got distracted by kids and had to yell turned back to me and said "huh whats these all about huh kid what? Tellll me!"

"Bones" and i walked away and he got to me and said "those are big bones"

I looked at the coffins and said "not really. They look to be normal size" cause the coffins were normal sized although tall but we were talking bones not fat which was all gone already...

So he was all bugging "so they're WHALE?!?!!?"

The Queen whisked by me giggling and I didn't know why...

Me: we're mammals! Think! What's wrong with you anyways?!!? You got too much airplane food?!?!

The Queen is in the corner hiding her mouth with her hand and just laughing and laughing do hard! She sounds like she's wheezing from the dirt and dust.

Jesse: is the quee ok?

Me: yes she's okay just a bit coughy. But there's noting wrong with her. Go on and look. [He starts towards the queen] at the box, dummy

Jesse: look i need to stsrt getting a little respect around here i aint her roayl highness majesty but i am an adul-- what?

Me: you really think the box is made of bone?

Jesse: yeah what? I do. You said --

Me: Then what kind?

Jesse: you said mammal so im guessing wooly mammoth

Me: DING!

Jesse turned away to kiss ass to the queen and i muttered "bat" under my breath but loud enough ...

Jesse: huh?

Me: no yeah you're right respect let's go into the next chamber.

So he goes to the Queen "do you know about these?!"

She nodded and tried to correct him But not "nooo" she told herself not to laugh

"Oh!! I made the best ancient discovery, yet!!"

I looked at him alk wtf are you talking about ass hole?!?!

"See these are all wooly mammoth coffins! Come look!"

"But Jesse excuse me! Jesse! Yoo hoo!"

"Huh"

"Jesse i thought all these caskets in these here tombs were all about rocks?"

Jesse looked at me

I shrugged palms up "Idk all the people left? Or maybe they were evil and had to have rocks piled on top of them!!" I ran towards the sunny door way because I don't make shit up, usually and the Queens smile was getting me to giggle and if she winked again id lose it.

Jessse: did you hear her? She was just repeating what i told her earlier. What im thinking here is all these are filled with Gold!! Because these people were the best and wanted to take all the gold with them! Here let's lift the lid off.

Queen: oh no! I don't mess with wooly mammoth bones. Human's only!!

Jesse: well, ill fond someone queen this will be amazing. I'll be right back. Keep an eye on the kids.

The queen stepped outdoors with me and we giggled ourselves silly until he returned.

He came out shortly and said he had help but the Queen said she needed help up the excavation laddar to get the boys and girls from the park and have lunch/supper.

He asked if he could continue with the coffins... She giggled.i told him she had said sure

So while upstairs picning in the grass... Alex, William and Jabar in the trees eating. William climbed down and said Jesse bad a wheel barrow

So i was sent to scout... It was empty.. So i returned to report the news

But William had seen it was full so he went around the corner, looked down and saw the ladder on the ground and the rocks piled down in.

Upon his report the Queen looked alarmed. I told her "don't worry. He told the kids a billion times how fragile everything is so he knows not to bother with to damage but also hes doing something stupid. Don't worry it will be fun. Always is"

The Queen decided to change from her usual dress and to put on slacks. Yes she ladders in heels and dress and hats and gloves and even a scarf from time to time.

"Think they're ready enough?"

"Oh you look nice. I like the blouse. I really like the polka dots. Come on boys. Youll need to drop the ladder for us ladies, shes old and privileged, I'm young and stout with a bad back. And come on jabar you can hold my hand like a good boy.... Or not" as he ran past us to tap William on the shoulder... But then he doubled back after telling William he was going to walk with me and the Queen.

At the pit as we called it we hollered for Jesse and we heard scrambling and rocks dropping and sounding like they were breaking.

"Like ice in a glass" said the Queen in a giggle

"JESSE! HEY GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! WE NEED HELP DOWN!"

"Yeah well we need the ladder!!"

"THERE AINT ONE!!"

Jesse looked pale

"Idk ask one of the kids. See if you can climb down" he caught me on his shoulder as i slid down the wall "you gotta see what i did kid i think i messed up... There was a body..."

I heard the Queen shouting i stopping to motion them to get the ladder and to climb down and ESP my twin not to jump

"You coming?"

"What? Yeah"

"So i took the body out and put all the rocks in here But they sure aren't gold. Why is your eye twinkling? Is it okay? I mean. I did good right?!?"

"Was it a real body?!?!"

"Yeah!! See! And i covered it with a tarp!".

"Let,me,see! Let me,at her!!"

He led me around the corner of the coffin and I lifted the tarp... I noticed it getting darker slowly from the doorway light then it was completely dark. I looked up. Everyone gathered in the doorway, shocking Jesse into a startle as he stood behind me rubbing my lower back. I dropped the tarp stepped back quietly, closed my eyes and bowed to the queen once to notify her the body looked undamaged.

She giggled... Jesse continued his speech and she couldn't help but burst out full blown hee haww

Jesse was all telling us how thrilling and masculine his discovery was and how if we left the room and went into the other chambers he would remove the rocks and put them in the wheelbarrow upstairs and discover a body completely undisturbed by the weight of the rocks!!

The boys eyes were in awe... The actors anyways... As we had all laid/sat in the grass telling the story of Jesse downstairs.

"But Jesse!! The rocks!! There's too many!! How on Earth did you get the lid off and so,many rocks appear? Did the lid break"

"They just popped up like popcorn! And the lid os here under this tarp safe and sound. See your majesty? Its perfect. We were very gentle. But this. This is magic!"

"Oh okay boys come on lets get through with the show" she was unpleased but tolerant.

"But Jesse you're like magic!! This! Look guys! Wait! I found a nail to the coffins! The Whale bone coffin!!"

2 boys had to laugh... And it started a train of giggles.

"I bet this one nail held this entire room of coffins together by itself!! And when you opened this one coffin! Just this one! It popped out! Amazing! Unbelievable!"

Everyone began to walk out..

"Thanks kid, know I love ya!"

"I know im appreciated!" I threw my arms ib the air and skipped to catch up with Everyone else.

I went into the next chamber which was filled with anger. We blew it out like dust and sat down and I said what i saw of the body and then we discussed theories and ideas of what the room we were in used to be. We discovered it used to be a home. And we were in the kitchen.

On the way home we of course had to wait for Jesse to load the last of the plane including his rocks that might turn to gold had said the Queen.

One of the protective squad mentioned how stupid and disappointing and annoying that Jesse James character is and how he almost ruined the entire tomb, disturbed a body, could have killed the Queen whom didn't want use the ladder, carried her on his shoulder, and on and on. So angry, bitter and adult like.

We all agreed and I looked around the plane, let out a great exhale of air and said "yeah and it was the best day ever!"

This man whom hadnt winked, snorted, giggled or even grinned the entire day snorted then suddenly he collapsed in his chair and began laughing, slow shoukder shaking at first then into insanity of hilarity. Then he bent around the back of his chair and said "thanks for being the best boss ever!!"

And for the first time in quite awhile, Ms Queen Elizabeth II blushed.

[everythingandeveryplace]

Finding Family

"Family is not an important thing.

It's everything."

"I've never seen anything like it before in my life. They have this wall and it's all concrete, and then the crops and live stock! everything is so meticulously organized, their armory is stocked in ways you couldn't even imagine." Rick rambled, ducking beneath a low hanging branch as the rest of the group followed behind. They'd been on the road for over 11 hours when Rick had finally instructed them all to pull over through the walkie.

It was nearing close to another hour since they had all started walking through the poorly shaded woods, the Atlanta sun burning their skin and stray walkers hiding in the brush. Daryl had never seen this part of Atlanta before and he couldn't help but be impressed with how well this supposed "miracle community" was hidden.

"If I hear bout' this damn Georgetown one more time, I'm throwin' him all the way there." Merle grumbled from beside him, cutting down the far too tall grass with the chiseled saw he called a hand.

"Just keep ya mouth shut and keep ya eyes on the path." Daryl hissed at his brother, moving to walk a few feet ahead. Their relationship was beyond strained and some days it was worse than others, there was a deep seeded resentment amongst the two brothers, most days Daryl couldn't even look Merle in the eyes.

Everyone knew the reason why.

"Are we almost there?" Glenn panted, leaning into the hand Maggie was massaging his achey neck with.

"Almost." Rick promised.

"They gonna see us comin'? Ain't gonna attack or nothin'?" Daryl fell into step with Rick.

"No. They seem to be good people, they know I'm bringing my people to talk. I've only spoken to their leader Charlie and a few of the residents, it was Charlie's idea to bring you all for a visit. He wants to see the type of People Alexandria produces." Rick explained.

"So best behavior folks!" Abraham chuckled and slapped Eugene on the shoulder sending the mulleted man stumbling into Carol and Michonnes backs.

Carol whipped around and raised a brow at Eugene, Michonne laughed as the socially awkward man scrambled back to Abraham's side with wide, frightened eyes.

Almost half an hour later the sounds of muffled voices broke through the silence of the woods, Rick hadn't been lying , the concrete wall that blocked the community from the outside wall was incredible and large and so tall there it seemed to tower over even the tallest oak tree lining the woods.

"Holy shit." Jesus stopped abruptly, his jaw practically on the floor as he stared up at the dark grey, smooth concrete slab.

"That's unbelievable." Carol whispered

"Carl's going to be so mad he missed this." Michonne added

"Rosita too." Sasha stepped forward and pressed her hand against the wall tugging Tyreese alongside it.

Merle elbowed Daryl in the ribs and grinned

"Looks like that old burned down factory we used to store our huntin stuff in' with the cracked concrete and tall ass walls."

"Yeah. S'also where you started sellin' the meth and damn near got me killed by a tweaker." Daryl mumbled, dodging another elbow from Merle.

Wasn't that always how it was? Every good thing daryl had ever had was tainted by Merle's reckless and stupid behavior. It was that way then and it hadn't changed, it never would.

The heavy welded doors opened slowly in front of all of them and out stepped an older man who was so tall even Tyreese had to look up to catch his eyes.

"Hello Alexandria, I'm so happy you all could make it. The ride here was smooth I assume? No trouble?"

Rick stepped forward, extending his hand to the stranger and grinning.

"No trouble at all. Thank you again for giving us the opportunity to say our piece, and Thank-you for giving my people a chance. I know how difficult it is to trust someone you hardly know, especially in this world."

Rick would have been one hell of a politician if the world hadn't gone to shit, it was amazing to see the easy way he talked to anyone and everyone never giving away even a piece of himself.

"Well of course, of course. Come on in then, you never know what's lurking in these woods." The man Daryl assumed was Charlie ushered them all inside the walls of the community, signaling to a group of men on top of the walls to close the doors.

It wasn't real.

There was absolutely no way something as prospering and lively and god damn beautiful could exist in the world they lived in now. Behind the walls of Georgetown was row after row of blooming and blossoming crops, farm animals grazed behind fenced fields, families tended to the fields and satellite panels stood tall on poles surrounding the beautifully kept homes. There were children playing and mothers knitting on porches, men were lugging lumber though the sidewalks and someone to Daryl's left was patching up the roof of a tiny yellow cottage.

"I told you." Rick whispered in his ear "I've never seen anything like it."

Neither had Daryl, not in this life or his last.

It felt welcoming and clean and homey..

It felt safe.

Maggie was the first to speak

"This place is beautiful, it's like a different world. I can't believe how much food y'all have! And the protection from the barriers and fences.. it's truly amazing."

Charlie smiled proudly

"Yes, we've worked very hard to achieve all that we have. But Rick tells me you've all worked hard as well. I'd heard of the saviors from passing travelers, fortunately we never encountered any at Georgetown. We're far too hidden to be found, of course we do have a plan of action in place should the time come we're threatened." His tone held a hint of a warning and Daryl felt Merle shift uncomfortably beside him, he got all fidgety when the saviors were mentioned. Daryl just got nauseous.

"You said we'd be able to meet more of your people? Not that I'm in any place to rush you but clearly we can see how well this place is run and I think we're all curious as to who's behind it." Rick smiled brightly and nudged Michonne until she was smiling just as wide.. albeit a bit more awkwardly.

"Well to be fair every single person who lives within the walls of our community is responsible for the progress and safety of our home. But if you mean my counsel, let me introduce you." The taller man pulled a walkie from his utility belt

"Hey team, meet in the corridor. Emergency meeting."

A chorus of jumbled

"Okay... got it.. be there in a sec."

sounded through the device.

"I haven't told them I was bringing you in, they would all be too anxious. They're going to be the deciding factors on whether I agree to the trade so I feel it's important they look at this with fresh eyes. It's better they don't have time to think on it." Charlie winked.

"I was in the shower. Someone better be dead."

A petite woman with short hair and tattooed arms came sprinting down the steps of the large white building that Daryl and his group were standing in front of. She was beautiful but the way her eyes landed on Michonne and lingered for just a moment too long made it fairly obvious she would not be interested in Rick, Daryl, Merle or anyone of that particular gender.

"You were in the shower? I was in dreamland. I was out all night scoping for walkers, you said I could sleep in." A mammoth sized man with a scarred face and dark blue eyes followed the smaller woman, trailing after her and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Charlie chuckled and shook his head

"These are a few of the people I wanted you to meet. They've come looking to trade with us, I wanted them to come by and meet you before we get into any details." He explained.

The tattooed woman reached a hand out to Michonne and the huge blue eyed man instantly reached for a high five from Rick

"I'm Tucker and that's Ruby. I run construction and head most of the supply runs, Ruby runs the armory she knows everything there is to know about guns so if you guys think you can ever get one over on her you're sorely mistaken." Tucker's laugh filled the air before he clapped a hand onto Glenn's shoulder nearly drilling him to the ground with the force of his grip. Merle snorted and Daryl had to fight to keep the smile off of his face.

"Aidan is tied up in the kitchen right now, he's got to get lunch out before we hit the road for our next run. He said he'd come by after."

Charlie nodded in understanding before turning towards The front doors of the white building again

"Where's Lil, I thought I heard her say..."

"I'm here! Sorry I got stuck with stitches on an eight year old not fun at a.."

Daryl's head snapped forward at that voice, he knew that voice, could pick it out of a million people. He never thought he would hear it again.. he never thought....

"LiliAnna?!?" Maggie practically squealed, dropping her weapons and running towards the blonde currently staring slack jawed at the group standing in front of her.

"Maggie?" She choked, falling back onto the steps of the stairs as the short haired brunette tackled her to the ground, squeezing her tight and rambling in her ear.

"I can't believe it's you! It's been almost two years! Look at you! You look amazing! I've missed you so much!" She babbled, tears leaking from her eyes as she held tight to her former best friend.

"I've missed you too." LiliAnna whispered, cupping Maggie's face and dropping her forehead to hers. When Maggie finally stepped away Rick was there to take her place, wrapping his arms around LiliAnna and smiling

"I had no idea you lived here? I've been back and forth for the past few weeks and I haven't seen you once." He pulled away and gave her a once over for injuries, Daryl had seen him do it countless times and it made his heart ache to see the familiarity playing out right before his eyes.

"I run Medical here, I'm The head nurse and we had a bit of an accident on our last run. I've been tending to the injured all month trying to get them back on their feet.. not to mention how busy I am typically." LiliAnna smiled softly before squeezing ricks hand and turning to greet the rest of the group, lingering a little longer on carol and wiping the older woman's tears with the sleeve of her jacket, they had always had a special bond.

"I feel like I'm missing something here." Ruby scratched her head.

"Ditto." Tucker shrugged, smiling at all of the happy faces "doesn't matter much though, look how happy they are. Can't bottle that up."

LiliAnna hugged Abraham one last time before finally turning towards Daryl.

"Daryl Dixon." She smiled softly, her eyes slightly misty with tears.

"Lili." He breathed, the name coming out no louder than a whisper. She looked beautiful, if possible even more so than he had ever seen her. Her long blonde hair was left loose at her shoulders, sky blue eyes big and bright on her sun kissed face. She was still too skinny, she always forgot to eat and it drove Daryl crazy, she was always too busy looking out for everyone else she often forgot about herself. But still she was beautiful, perfect. Except for..

There was a jagged light pink scar that stretched from the temple of her right eye all the way down to the corner of her top lip and when she walked towards him she walked with a limp, it wasn't all that noticeable but Daryl could see it, he'd memorized it as she walked away two years ago.

"Didn't think I'd ever see ya face again." He swallowed.

"Didn't think you would either." She answered honestly, her eyes were just as warm and beautiful as he remembered and her skin looked just as soft, he reached a hand out to touch her cheek when suddenly the shadow of a figure covered his back.

Almost as if she had been burned Lili flinched away, eyes casting over Daryl's shoulder and narrowing dangerously before she stumbled backwards and away from him. Daryl whipped around to see Merle standing directly behind him, eyes wide and apologetic when He noticed Daryl's hand still raised.

"Sorry little brother.. I didn't think."

"Ya never think." Daryl growled, harshly turning away from the man who had single handedly destroyed his happiness more times than he could count.

"LiliAnna! We gotta show you something."

Someone was coming towards them from a few feet away. Daryl couldn't make out the face yet but the voice sounded strangely familiar.

"That's D." Charlie explained "he's part of our combat group.. teaches our residents how to defend themselves."

D...

Dwight.

Sure enough the mangled man came rushing forward, a child in his arms with wild blonde curls and bright blue eyes, a huge smile on the child's face.. the kid couldn't be older than a year and he looked nothing like Dwight.. actually he looked more like..

"Mama!"

Mama? Did that mean..

"Hi sweet boy! How was your nap? Did Uncle D keep you up again?" LiliAnna reached for the baby in Dwight's arms and cradled him to her chest pressing sloppy kisses all over his cheek while he giggled and squirmed.

"You have a baby?" Michonne let the severe sharpness of her features lessen for just a moment as she stared at the mother and her child.

"I do. His names Greyson and he just tuned one." She smiled proudly.

"Oh my god Hershel Jr. just found himself a new best friend." Maggie tugged in Glenn's sleeve in excitement and even the lanky Korean couldn't keep the smile off of his face. LiliAnnas eyes softened immediately and she grinned

"It was a boy?" She asked Maggie.

"It sure was.. just like your little angel." Maggie moved forward to squeeze the chubby little ones cheeks. Rick was talking to Charlie and the rest of the group was either admiring Greyson or asking Ruby and Tucker questions.

"You see it don't you?" Merle asked from his space beside Daryl.

"See what?" Daryl refused to take his eyes off of the baby in LiliAnnas arms.

"Those are mamas eyes." Merle chuckled making Daryl snap his head towards his older brother.

"What?"

Merle shook his head at his brothers obliviousness

"That boys a Dixon through and through."

Dwight's body stiffened at the sound of Merle's voice, he whipped around and drew his gun the instant his eyes caught sight of Merle.

"Woah!" Ruby shouted

Everyone turned towards the commotion and Charlie rushed towards Dwight

"D, what are you doing.. these people are our guests.. you can't just pull your.."

"Guests?!" Dwight scoffed "why the hell is he in our camp?! Why would you let him in here!"

LiliAnna handed Greyson off to Maggie and moved to stand beside Dwight, placing her hand in his arm she spoke quickly

"It's okay.. I'm okay. It's fine Dwight, put the gun down"

"Are they here to do business? They want to trade? Fat chance!" Dwight kept his gun trained on Merle but spoke directly to Charlie "you cannot let these people in here, you cannot do business with them. They took in that.. that monster." His hands were shaking around the trigger of his rifle and Daryl couldn't move, his feet frozen to the spot. Merle seemed to be in the same position because he hadn't even drawn his gun yet.

"What did he do? What's going on LiliAnna?" Tucker came to stand behind Dwight as back up and Ruby soon followed, her hands tight on her pistol.

"He.. it was the past.." She whispered, her eyes darting to her son behind her.

Suddenly images flooded Daryl's brain.

Dwight carrying a nearly lifeless Lili through the smoke and ash, her face so bruised and bloody it was almost unrecognizable.

The screaming. Her cries of pain and desperation as Hershel attempted to stitch her up and set her bones.

Her wide, terrified eyes when she looked up at him from the cot as Hershel relocated her shoulder

"Merle." She had croaked "it was Merle."

"I'll tell you what happened." Dwight growled, the click of his trigger sounding through the almost silent air "that bastard beat Lil to death and made me watch. She survived because she's stronger than all of us but he was trying to kill her... slowly.. he wanted her to feel it."

Daryls eyes met Lilis from across the field.

She looked him dead in the eye for just a moment before she raced over to Maggie, scooped up Greyson and rushed back up the stairs to the big building.

Charlie cleared his throat and placed a hand on Dwight's raised Gun.

"It looks like we may have more to discuss."