#we'll shake it off and get back to aftermath very soon

[happyfoxx-art]

Hiii I think this is weird BUT

Leo's cast in color myb? Pretty please 🥺

yeah sure why not, have a boy on the mend

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Two: Convergence

Chapter WC: 10,048

Chapter Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of war, blood and medical stuff, child injury, i am not an expert in the Force or in medicine, there are good things in this chapter i promise, very good things some would say

A/N: i have the unfortunate habit of making everything a three-part ordeal. what was originally just this chapter has ballooned into three, last week's chapter and then next week's. thanks for being patient with me, we'll get our man back soon enough. though this chapter isn't without a little bit of Rex 👀

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Nadiem, 20 BBY

A hand shoots up from the rubble, clawing at the air and reaching desperately for the sky.

“Over here!” you shout, and two of your men rush forward and dive into the mess, their hands working furiously to clear the rocks and debris. A cry of pain comes from somewhere within, and the clones move faster, their hands digging and pulling, tossing the rocks aside.

The air burns your throat as you lift your arms and call on the Force to aid their efforts, using it to clear a path. The rubble shifts and moves, and soon, a gap appears. Screwball dives forward and pulls a body free, dragging them out into the open.

“We've got a live civilian, sir," he yells. "It's the kid."

You release a breath, your knees going weak.

The battle was over, and you had just begun the process of evacuating the civilians, the area cleared and the wounded accounted for, or so you'd thought. A nagging feeling had settled in your chest, and it was only after the first transport was off the ground that the source of the disturbance became apparent.

It had been a little boy. Just a boy, buried beneath the ruins. You hadn't sensed him until it was almost too late.

You watch as the men lift the small body and begin carrying them towards the aid station where Wise is waiting. Screwball lingers, his gaze locked on the ruins.

"Are there others?" you ask.

Screwball shakes his head. His helmet is smeared with dust and grime, nearly obscuring the twin flames painted across the sides, and you frown when you notice a gash along the edge of the helmet's visor. You reach up and brush a finger along the split metal, a shiver running down your spine.

"I'm fine, sir," Screwball assures you, his voice low. He glances at the aid station and takes a deep breath. "We've got more important things to worry about."

You can't argue with that. There's a flurry of activity in the distance, and the distant shouts of medics and wounded carry through the air.

You let your hand drop and nod. "Take Dash and do another check. Then report to Wise so he can patch you up."

Screwball doesn't hesitate. He's off, calling for Dash, and you watch as the two clones make their way through the ruins, checking every corner and every shadow. A few others join in the search, and it's not long before the entire company is involved, digging through the wreckage.

Once they're a safe distance away, you allow yourself to collapse, your legs giving out and your body hitting the ground hard. You close your eyes and take a moment to steady yourself. The pain is excruciating, a constant ache radiating throughout your entire body. Your head feels like it's going to explode, and every breath burns. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you can't stop shaking.

This is the worst you've felt in a long time.

It's the aftermath of the battle. The adrenaline is gone, the battle rage spent. It leaves you weak, your limbs heavy, and your mind foggy. The weight of what happened is pressing down on you, the enormity of the destruction bearing down on your soul. You can't shake the feeling of wrongness, the sense that something is missing.

You know it's the darkness. You can feel its absence, its loss. You don't know how, or why, but you know that this is the price you've paid for holding back the tide of the dark side.

But that's nothing new.

You've had that feeling for weeks.

The vision flickers through your mind, the images sharp and vivid. The screams echo in your ears, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils, and the taste of blood coats your tongue. You can't shake the image of Rex holding a blaster to your chest.

For a moment during the battle, you'd thought that would be the end of it. That the vision was about to come true. That this was the beginning of the end.

But no. It's still a long way off. You still have time.

Maybe it’ll never come.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to the present, and you suck in a sharp breath. Your eyes open, your hand falling to the hilts of your lightsabers, but the sight of a familiar gold-and-white helmet eases the panic.

"It's okay," Snap murmurs. "They're safe."

You sigh and let your shoulders slump, the exhaustion washing over you. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Thank the Force," you whisper as you turn  and find him kneeling beside you. You're not sure how long he's been there, but worry is emanating from him. You touch his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm alright."

"Sure you are," he says, his tone flat. "Come on, let's get you up."

He lets out a breath, his gaze shifting to the battlefield, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. Snap pulls you to your feet, and the two of you stand, surveying the carnage. The fighting has stopped, the smoke has cleared, and the wounded are being treated. But the damage remains.

"We'll need to send a team down here," you say, more to yourself than to him. "Clear out the rubble and get the rest of the supplies unloaded. Make sure the survivors have food and water."

"Booker's taking care of it," he assures you. He lets his hand fall from your shoulder and looks back at the battlefield. "Once the wounded have been cleared, we can start the repairs."

"Good," you murmur as you sigh and run a hand over your face. Your skin is slick with sweat, and the dirt and ash cling to your fingers. You grimace and wipe your hand on your robe. "C'mon."

The two of you step back into the street and join the rest of the attack battalion. The fighting is over, but the work is far from done. Nadiem is a mess. Buildings have collapsed, the roads are filled with debris, and the streets are littered with the bodies of droids and clones alike. The dead will need to be collected, their armor removed and their bodies given a proper burial.

It was a victory, but it didn’t feel much like one. Nadiem is a remote world, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The only reason the Separatists were here at all was because the Republic had chosen to defend it. Now, it was nothing more than a scar. A reminder of a war that had gone on too long.

Master Unduli, Barriss, and their men had come and gone, leaving you behind to handle cleanup, and in some ways you're glad for it. Being left to do what is necessary has always suited you, and with Luminara gone, there was no longer any need to maintain the facade. No more pretending that everything was fine. No more pretending that you could ever be the kind of Jedi Master she is.

You and the troopers have a routine now. Every time a battle is over, you go through the same process. Check for survivors. Treat the wounded. Collect the dead. Dispose of the fallen droids. And, finally, begin the rebuilding. You've done this a dozen times in the past few months, and the process has become rote.

The only difference now is the size of the battle. It's bigger. Worse. And the carnage is even more gruesome.

Still, the men don't complain. The full brigade is spread out around the city and the countryside, and Booker and Wise have been working tirelessly to get the injured into transports and the supplies delivered. You've made it a point to thank them both, and each of the men under your command, but you know the words are never going to be adequate.

These men have risked their lives for you, over and over. They've fought by your side, protected you, and supported you. You're grateful for them, and you're determined to repay their loyalty in whatever ways you can.

For now, the best you can do is keep the fighting going. To protect them, and to ensure that they are ready, no matter what comes. No matter how dark things become.

Your feet stop, your gaze lifting to scan the ruins. The buildings are a mixture of stone and metal, the facades crumbling and the windows blown out. There's no power. No lights. Just a thick darkness and an eerie quiet that's only broken by the sounds of your men trudging through the streets.

“What a mess," you murmur. You take a deep breath, your hand coming to rest on your chest. It hurts to breathe, a sharp stabbing pain in your ribs. "This is going to take days to clean up."

Snap nods, his helmet tilting toward the horizon. The sky is streaked with orange and red, the clouds heavy and dark. Night is coming. The air is still, and the faint smell of smoke lingers. There's no wind, no breeze, no sign of life. The city feels like a tomb.

”Yeah," he agrees, his voice quiet. 

He reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His free hand runs over his face and his buzzed head, his fingers lingering on the tattoo at the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I hate this," Snap mutters, and you study him, his words making your chest ache. He gives a slight shake of his head, his hand tightening around his helmet. "I hate it so much."

"I know," you murmur.

You look away, trying not to let the emotion show.

In the early days of the war, the clones had been enthusiastic and eager to fight. They had a purpose. Something to believe in. And their dedication and passion was infectious.

Now, after so many months, that passion has shifted into a grim determination. One borne of necessity and the need to survive. To protect their brothers. It's still there, and it's still strong, but there's an exhaustion and a resignation. An acceptance.

It's a reality you don't like to think about.

The truth is, this is all just a stepping stone. It's a path you know you have to walk, but a path you hope will eventually lead to a place where your men no longer have to fight. No longer have to sacrifice their lives. No longer have to die for a cause they didn't choose.

It's a goal, a distant hope. But it's a hope that you'll do anything to see realized.

You glance over at Snap and see him watching you, and there's something in his gaze that you can't quite place.

"Is everything alright?" you ask. "You seem...off."

He sighs and drops his gaze, his hand tightening around his helmet.

"No," he says, and his shoulders slump. "But I think it will be. Eventually."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he blinks. Snap's hand tightens on the back of his neck as he looks away, his gaze returning to the crumbling streets, and you can see his expression softening.

"There's a group of kids playing a game a little ways down the street," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "I…I'm afraid they'll get lost, or hurt."

You smile and rest a hand on his upper back, giving him a gentle pat. "Go. Keep them safe. We can handle the rest."

His gaze lingers on yours, and he smiles, his eyes lighting up.

"Thank you," Snap murmurs.

"You don't have to thank me," you reply. You return the smile and push him lightly toward the group of children, who are gathered around a small crater. "Just get out of here before I change my mind, Captain.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. He's off, jogging down the street, his armor flashing in the dim light. You watch him go, your smile fading with every step he takes until he's nothing more than a blur of white.

Then you close your eyes and let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging. Your hand reaches into the folds of your robes and grabs hold of the smooth stone hidden there. It's warm to the touch, and a familiar peace settles over you, faint, but enough to aid you in pushing the fear and grief away.

Ever since your vision, you've found yourself reaching for Yaddle's necklace more often. Holding it in your hand. Clutching it tight. Trying to find the same calm, the same peace that she seemed to exude. The same certainty.

But it's difficult. So difficult. And you've begun to wonder if there will ever be an end to this war. If you'll ever have the chance to make things right and give the clones the lives they deserve. To find peace, and justice.

The thought is troubling, and you shake it away, focusing on the here and now. You take another deep breath and exhale slowly, letting the darkness settle back into the corners of your mind, and the necklace falls back into your tunic. You turn and continue on your way, heading for the center of the city.

Your footsteps echo off the buildings, the silence broken by the occasional shouts and whistles from the troops. You can hear the rumble of speeders in the distance, and the distant cries of the wounded. The air is thick, heavy with dust and ash, and you find yourself coughing, your eyes burning.

"General!"

You look up and see Booker approaching. He's carrying a crate full of ration packs, and he looks exhausted, his hair disheveled and his mustache unkempt. But there's a hint of satisfaction on his face, and he's moving with an ease and grace that's been absent in recent months.

"You look like shit," you quip, and he snorts.

"Speak for yourself," he retorts. He comes to a halt and sets the crate down, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The medics have got everything under control, and I think the last transport should be leaving soon."

"Any issues?"

"None worth mentioning," he replies. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he scans the surrounding area. "Dash has already started working on the comm tower. The rest of the supplies should be here soon. Hopefully, we can get the power running and the civilians can start settling back in."

"And the wounded?"

"We're bringing the ones who can make the trek to the aid station in the next town over," he says. His eyes return to you, and there's a flicker of concern. "Are you sure you don't want to join them? You look like you could use a breather."

You shake your head.

"I'm fine," you assure him.

His lips thin, and he doesn't look convinced. He glances at the crate and picks it back up, balancing it on his hip.

"Well, if you won't rest, at least take a ration pack," he says as he throws one of the packs at you. "You've barely eaten anything since we landed."

You catch the pack and turn it over, the plastic crinkling. Your stomach rumbles, and the realization that you've gone most of the day without eating suddenly hits. You hadn't noticed.

Booker chuckles and shakes his head, giving you a small salute.

"I'm gonna make another round, check in with the guys," he says. "Let me know if you need anything."

He's off, disappearing around the corner, and you watch him go, the ration pack still in your hand. You look down at it, the hunger pangs intensifying, and you sigh. You’ve all been eating nothing but ration packs and instant caf for weeks now, interspersed with the mess hall meals served on your ships. The Oracle, Utterance, and Pathfinder are all more than adequate, and the crews have done their best to make sure you have food that's edible, but it's not the same. Nothing tastes right. And as the days go on, you find yourself looking forward to that dinner with Rex more and more.

The thought sends a wave of warmth through you, and you smile, tearing open the pack and taking a bite.

You'll need to talk to him soon, you know. Tell him the truth. About the vision, about the darkness, about the fact that you love him. But as always, the timing is off.

You haven’t seen Rex in person since you were on Coruscant, and the only communications have been brief exchanges via holo. It's not a conversation you want to have through a screen, and the distance has been a blessing. It's made it easier to hide the truth, and you're grateful for the opportunity to have time to think, and plan, and prepare.

Rex has his own struggles, and the stress of the war is wearing on him. His missions have become more dangerous, and his responsibilities have increased. It's no longer uncommon for him to disappear for days with no communication. None of those stints were as long as the two months you’d spend in the jungle on Drongar, comm silent and cut off from the galaxy, but it had still felt like an eternity.

But, he'd come back. Every time, he'd come back.

The last message you received from Rex was encouraging, promising a dinner and a drink and a hug the next time you were both on Coruscant, and despite everything, the thought had put a smile on your face.

The fact that he's still interested, that he still wants to be with you, means more than you can say. And even if he can't admit his feelings, or doesn't want to, you're grateful for the chance to be close to him, and the fact that he's willing to try.

You take another bite and let your gaze wander. The street is mostly empty, and you can see the beginnings of repairs beginning to take shape. Apparently, Screwball is capable of more than blowing things up. His expertise with demolitions and architecture has proved useful, and he's already barking out directions to a group of clones and civilians as they work to repair the damaged facade of a nearby building.

It’s a relief to see something be created instead of destroyed for the first time in days, and you find yourself breathing a sigh. You tuck the wrapper into the folds of your robe and turn on your heel, heading towards the aid station. The sun is setting, and you want to check in with Wise and make sure everything is going well before the darkness settles.

You speak into your comm as you walk, fielding reports from the other battalions about their progress and their efforts. It's been a long day, but things are starting to come together. It won't be long before the civilians can start returning home, and you'll be able to return to the ships, and maybe even return to Coruscant, if you’re lucky.

The door to the makeshift aid station creaks slightly as you shoulder it open, and the smell of blood and bacta washes over you.

What used to be a small schoolhouse is now a large triage unit, with rows of cots filled with injured civilians and clones. Medics are scurrying around, attending to the wounded, though there isn’t a droid in sight, as per Wise’s instructions. He claims it’s easier on the wounded civilians, but you both know it has more to do with his personal distaste for droids.

It seems the worst of the injuries have been treated, and the remaining patients are being tended to. You make your way around the room, taking deep, steady breaths and trying to spread a sense of calm, the way Master Yaddle taught you. You stop to offer a reassuring word or two, but most of the injured seem content to just sit quietly, the exhaustion and the pain apparent on their faces.

"Sir."

A voice calls to you from across the room, and you turn to see Wise approaching, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks haggard, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dull, and he stops a safe distance away. The usual grumpy scowl has been replaced with an expression of weariness and worry, and your chest tightens.

"What's the status?" you ask, and his eyes dart over your shoulder, toward the far wall. 

You follow his gaze, and your stomach clenches at the sight of a boy asleep on the cot. His head is wrapped in bandages, his arm is in a sling, and there are several bruises and cuts on his exposed skin. You recognize him as the boy Screwball and his men had pulled out of the rubble. You can't help but wonder if he has any family left, and your throat constricts.

"He's stable," Wise mutters. He rubs his neck, his expression grim. "We lost a few more on the transports, but I've got the worst of them under control."

Your eyes snap back to him, alarmed by his tone. His words are flat, his voice monotone, and his usual sarcasm is absent. You've seen this before. Many times. It's a look of resignation, of acceptance, and it never means anything good.

"How many?"

"Six," he replies. He sighs and rubs his forehead, his hand trembling slightly. "And that was just today. It's only a matter of time before the number rises."

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He's staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, and his fingers drum nervously on his leg.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. His eyes dart to yours, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"It's not your fault," Wise mutters, but the words are hollow. "It's not anyone's fault. It's just the way it is."

"I know," you answer quietly. "But, still...I'm sorry. You're doing all you can, and—"

"Hey," he interrupts, his tone softening. "It's not your fault, either."

You don't reply. You know he's right. You can't blame yourself for every tragedy that happens. But it's difficult, especially in the wake of the vision. Especially after days like this.

"It's fine. Really,” Wise continues. He takes a deep breath and takes your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it drop to your side. “It's just part of the job. You know that."

"Yeah," you murmur, and a heavy silence stretches between the two of you. Wise shifts awkwardly, his gaze returning to the boy on the cot, and you know the conversation is over. There's nothing left to say. No more platitudes or reassurances. Just the grim reality of the situation.

You watch him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the exhaustion in his gaze, and after a while, you let out a heavy sigh and straighten.

"You should rest," you tell him. "The others, too."

"Yeah," he agrees, running a hand over his face. "I think we could all use a few hours."

"Get some sleep," you order, and he nods and turns, making his way through the rows of beds. He murmurs something to the other medics, and they nod, moving away from the cots and heading for the door. 

Wise lingers behind, and your eyes follow him as he goes around the room, checking the IVs and adjusting the blankets, a tenderness and care in his movements. He stops by the boy's bed and places a hand on the child's forehead, his thumb brushing a strand of hair away. His shoulders slump as he pulls away, pinching the bridge of his nose, and a wave of sadness washes over you.

Wise is the last of his batch, and he's seen more death and destruction than most. He's spent most of his life in Kamino’s sterile medical facility, watching his brothers die from defects that never should have existed and training regimens that were meant to break them. The sight of a child, so young and so full of promise, is no doubt bringing back a host of painful memories, and it's all you can do to hold yourself together.

“Wise," you call, and he starts, his head whipping towards you. He blinks rapidly and straightens, his expression hardening.

"Sir."

"I'm serious," you say. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," he says, his voice low. He gives a slight shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the bed. "Right."

“You should go now while you can. I'll watch him,” you offer.

"No," Wise protests, his eyes moving back to yours. His jaw tightens, and a spark of defiance appears in his eyes. "Sir, you need sleep, too. You can't—"

"I'm fine," you assure him, holding a hand up. "Besides, I can't sleep right now. My mind is...well, it's not quiet."

“And you think mine is?”

The sharpness of his tone catches you off-guard, and your mouth snaps shut. Wise pauses, a flash of regret crossing his face, and he clears his throat and gives a slight shake of his head.

"Just...just let me stay. Please. I...I don't want him to be alone."

"Wise—"

"Please," he says, his voice cracking. His eyes are wide, pleading, and you know there's no point in arguing. Not now.

"Fine," you relent. He lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax. “I guess we’re both staying, then.”

Wise doesn’t argue. Instead, he just nods and moves around the bed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the sleeping boy. He settles into the seat, his hands reaching out and gripping the sides, and you make your way across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him.

The boy doesn’t stir, and the silence is deafening. You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your head drops, your eyes closing, and for a few minutes, you sit like that, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors and the faint rumble of the engines and voices outside.

It's peaceful, in a strange sort of way, and you can feel yourself drifting off, the exhaustion and the adrenaline crash finally taking their toll. It's tempting, the thought of giving in, but you fight it, knowing that the nightmares are waiting just below the surface. Ready to swallow you whole.

The darkness has been a constant companion, a weight hanging over your shoulders and a threat always lurking just out of reach. Ever since the vision, the fear has been almost overwhelming, and it's all you can do to keep the paranoia and the anxiety at bay.

The only time the darkness abates is when you’re around your men, and you’ve spent more time than you probably should surrounded by them. Playing Sabacc. Training. Talking. Doing anything, really, that would take your mind off the darkness and the visions and the ever-present threat.

The truth is, they have become your lifeline. Your source of light and hope and strength. Their presence is a reminder of the goodness and the beauty of the galaxy. Of the things worth fighting for. Of the reasons to continue, even in the face of the darkness.

There's a reason you were given this brigade, and not another. It's not a coincidence, not a fluke. You know that. The Force has led you here, to these men. And for whatever reason, they need you, too. They have a purpose, and so do you.

You're not sure how long it is before Wise breaks the silence, his voice low and rough.

"I couldn't save them," he mutters, and you open your eyes, glancing over at him. His face is drawn, his gaze fixed on the child, and his shoulders sag, his eyes moving to the floor. "I...there were so many. And, I just..."

His words trail off, and he takes a shuddering breath, his head dropping into his hands. They slide up, his fingers digging into his scalp, and he exhales a ragged gasp. 

"It's not your fault," you murmur, and his fingers tighten, his head shaking. You reach out and rest a hand on his arm, your thumb finding the spot between the plates at his elbow, and you can feel him tense.

"I could have done more," he mumbles. "I should have done more."

"You did all you could," you assure him, and he shakes his head again. "Wise, there was nothing you could have done. You can't save everyone. And that's not your responsibility. That's not on you. You have to understand that."

"I should have done more," he insists. He pulls back and meets your eyes, his own red and watery. "They deserved more. Better. I..."

He sighs, his hands rubbing his face, and you lean forward, your grip on his arm tightening. You're not sure what to say. There's nothing you can say. Nothing you can do. So instead, you reach out with the Force and wrap it around him, hoping that your presence, your support, will be of some comfort.

"The men...they don’t understand,” he mutters, his hands falling into his lap. "They're different. They didn't...they never saw the others. The ones that didn't make it."

His voice is barely above a whisper, and his gaze falls to the floor. You can see the tears glistening in his eyes, the emotions threatening to burst free. But he doesn’t cry. Instead, his hands ball into fists, and he looks back at the boy, a grim determination crossing his face.

"I'll save this kid," he mutters. "I have to."

"I know," you say quietly, and his eyes flick to yours, the pain and the anguish reflected in their depths. "And you will."

"He didn't ask for any of this," Wise murmurs. He shakes his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "He's just a kid. Just a fucking kid, and now, he's..."

His voice cracks, and he lets out a choked noise, his eyes closing as he struggles to breathe.

Your hand tightens on his arm, and you pull him towards you, wrapping him in a hug. He stiffens, his breath catching, and for a moment, neither of you move. Then, slowly, his arms lifts, his hands coming up and gripping the fabric of your robe. His face presses into your shoulder, and his shoulders shake, the tears soaking through the thin fabric.

You close your eyes, wrapping him in the warmth and the safety of the Force, and hold him, your hand moving up and cradling the back of his head. You can feel the weight of his grief, the pain and the loss, and it's almost too much. But somehow, you manage to stay strong. To hold it back. To stay in control.

It’s easier, you think, to help someone else deal with their pain. There’s something in it that calms the darkness, something that pushes it aside, and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief. You may be haunted, you may be a wreck, but this...this you can handle. This is something you can do.

After a while, his silent sobs subside, and his breathing slows, his body relaxing in your embrace. You keep him close, holding him tight, and it's not until his grip loosens and his head shifts that you finally release him. Your hands come up to cup his face, wiping away the tears, and you give him a small smile. Wise isn't the only brother who has ever cried in your arms, and you know better than to think this is the last time.

You reach into your robes and retrieve a cloth, handing it to him, and he accepts it with a quiet thanks, his voice hoarse.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be," you reply easily. You lean back and fold your hands, resting them in your lap. "We all need a good cry now and again. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Wise huffs a laugh, wiping his face and blowing his nose.

"It's been a while," he admits, his cheeks flushed, and you hum in response.

"Guess you were due."

"Guess so," he grunts. He takes a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs, and he lets out a heavy sigh. "Thanks."

"You don’t have to thank me. I'm just glad you trust me," you say, and his head jerks up. He opens his mouth, a protest forming on his lips, but you hold up a hand, silencing him. "No, it's true. I am. And I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. But I want you to know that I'm here. I may be your general, but I’m also your friend. Whether you want me to be or not."

Wise scoffs and rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile.

"I don’t think that’s how friendship works, sir," he points out, his eyes returning to the boy. His brow furrows, and he reaches out, brushing the hair away from the child's forehead. "Not that I'd know."

“Yeah, it’s…a pretty new concept for me, too," you admit. "But I think I'm getting the hang of it. You should give it a try."

He laughs. It's a short, harsh bark, and his hand falls away. His gaze turns inward, his expression pensive. After a while, he lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his forehead.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

He huffs a breath, shaking his head.

"I guess you're not the worst," he concedes. "For a Jedi."

"Wow, thanks," you reply dryly.

"I mean, at least you're not Skywalker," he continues. Wise lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "That guy is a fucking mess."

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, and his mouth curves into a grin, the first genuine smile you've seen in days. You’re a little delirious, maybe, but you can't help the laughter that spills from your lips.

You haven't seen much of Anakin lately, or any of the other Jedi for that matter, but you've heard plenty of rumors. You have no doubt that Rex has seen more than his fair share of reckless behavior and dramatic stunts recently. It's no secret that Anakin and Ahsoka have gotten themselves into more trouble than most, and the image of Wise being assigned to the 501st instead of the 419th has you struggling to breathe. 

“You should’ve seen him when he was a Padawan," you say after your laughter subsides. "He made me look sane and rational."

"You're shitting me," he deadpans.

"Not in the slightest," you reply. "Trust me, it's better that you ended up with us. He'd probably drive you insane within a week."

Wise snorts, the grin fading.

"I didn't ‘end up’ anywhere," he says quietly as he reaches out, fixing the corner of the child's blanket. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze darts away. "I chose to serve with you. It wasn't an assignment."

"I...well, that's..." you stammer, his words catching you off guard. He clears his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and you blink a couple of times. "Oh."

You had assumed he was assigned, the same way Booker was. And the rest of the men, for that matter. That the Republic had decided to pluck him from the clutches of the Kaminoans, and the recommendation from Booker and Rex had only helped seal the deal. You had never considered that he had actually chosen to be here, and the realization is almost more than you can take.

"I wanted a change," he mumbles, and his fingers drum nervously on the side of the cot. "Booker and I talked about it, and...I knew it was a risk, but, well, we're clones. Risks are part of the job. And you're the best we've got."

"Oh."

You don't know what else to say. The words are stuck in your throat, and it's all you can do not to start crying, too. He chose this. He chose you. He came to the 419th because he thought you were the best, and he was willing to risk his life and his future to fight alongside you. Not because he had to, not because someone ordered him to, but because he wanted to.

And, if that isn't the biggest sign of respect you could ever receive, you don't know what is.

You take a deep breath, swallowing hard, and Wise shifts, his gaze fixed on the blanket.

"Don't let it go to your head," he adds, his voice gruff.

"I'll try not to," you murmur, and his gaze flicks to yours, the corners of his mouth curving upward. He looks tired. Exhausted, really. And a little sad. But there's a hint of fondness, too. A sense of affection.

You smile back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest, and the two of you settle back in your seats. Neither of you speaks, and the silence stretches on. It's not long before a yawn escapes your lips as the exhaustion finally catches up with you, the weariness settling into your bones. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you lean your head back, resting it against the wall. 

You can feel Wise watching you, and after a while, his chair creaks, and you hear his footsteps receding. You don't open your eyes. You're too tired. Too comfortable.

It feels like no time passes before you're suddenly being jolted awake by a noise, a soft whimper. You start, your eyes snapping open, and for a moment, you're not sure where you are. There's a blanket draped over you, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the monitors above the bed. You blink a couple of times, taking in your surroundings, and your gaze lands on Wise, slumped over a nearby desk, his face pressed against his folded arms.

The boy is still asleep, but his forehead is creased, his eyes moving behind his lids. There's a sheen of sweat on his brow, his breathing rapid and uneven. The monitor above his head beeps in warning, and a low groan escapes his lips as his hands scrabble at the sheets, his legs kicking.

You leap from the chair and cross the space between the beds in a flash, your hand reaching out and grabbing his wrist. You can feel his pulse racing, and the bandages are wet with sweat. The beeping intensifies, and the boy starts thrashing, his head shaking from side to side, and his eyes snap open, his gaze unfocused.

"Kid?" you whisper, your fingers brushing the damp hair off his forehead. He whimpers again, his body going limp, and his eyes close, his head lolling to the side. "Shit. Wise!"

Wise jerks awake and straightens, his chair falling over as he leaps to his feet. His eyes land on the boy, and he crosses the distance between the beds, his hands reaching for the bandages around the child's head.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's gonna be okay," he murmurs, his eyes darting to the monitors. "Help me sit him up. I'm going to have to change the bandages and check the wound."

You nod, reaching for the kid's shoulder, and the two of you carefully roll him onto his side. Wise reaches for the bandage on the back of his head and gingerly peels it away, exposing a nasty gash, the edges blackened and bloody.

Wise sucks in a breath, his eyes widening, and his hand moves, gently parting the hair and touching the area. He pulls a medscanner out of his belt and runs it over the wound, his brow furrowed in concentration. He mutters under his breath, his fingers prodding the area, and a curse escapes his lips.

"What? What is it?" you hiss, and his gaze snaps to yours. He holds the scanner out, and the display blinks rapidly, a long list of words flashing across the screen. You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the information, but the medical terminology is unfamiliar.

“Subdermal hematoma,” he mutters. His hand moves away, and his eyes dart to the child's arm, his lip curling. "And an infection. He's going to need a bacta tank and a brain surgeon. A real medical facility. Now."

You hesitate, knowing that it's impossible. There are no facilities nearby, and the only ships are transport vessels. They have no medical capabilities, and the journey would be too risky for a child this young. Even the Venators' medical bays are no substitute for a proper infirmary, one capable of performing a procedure this complex. 

"There has to be something," you insist, your hands moving to the boy's shoulders. He's still, his breathing shallow, and you can feel the panic rising. "Something we can do."

"There's not," he replies, and his voice is flat. "It's not like the Republic is going to send in a team of neurosurgeons to save a kid from a planet that they've abandoned."

"Wise..." you begin, but the words die in your throat. 

You know he's right, and it hurts, a dull ache spreading through your chest. This child, this innocent kid, will die because the Republic has forsaken him, and there's nothing you can do about it. 

You look down at the boy, at the blood and the bruises, and the anger wells up inside you. It's not fair. None of this is. He doesn't deserve this.

"We can't," Wise mutters. He leans over the child, his hand moving to the IV port in his arm, and he begins to remove it. "It's too risky."

"No," you gasp, and your hands shoot out, wrapping around his wrists and pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's over," he says simply. "He's not going to make it, and you know it. It's better if we just—"

"Stop it," you snap, and the words echo in the room, reverberating off the walls. Wise stares at you, his eyes wide, and you tighten your grip. "Stop it. Now."

He doesn't answer, and you can feel him trembling beneath your hands. Your grip tightens as your mind races, trying to come up with an answer, a solution, a way out. But the truth is, there isn't. Not for this. Not without a miracle.

The realization hits you like a blaster bolt, and you glance at the child, your chest tightening.

There's only one option, and it's not a pleasant thought. You know the risks, the consequences. But if there's a chance, even a small chance, that you can save this child, you have to take it. You owe him that much.

You take a deep breath and let go of Wise's wrists, your hands falling to your sides.

"I can heal him," you murmur.

"What?" Wise hisses, his eyes narrowing. He leans back, his gaze searching yours. "You can't be serious."

"I can heal him," you repeat. "I've done it before."

"General, no. I—"

"It's fine," you insist. Your hand moves to the folds of your robe, reaching for the necklace hidden there. "I can do it. Just trust me."

He stares at you, his eyes flitting between the wound and your face, and you can see the conflict on his features. He's torn, his medical training and experience telling him that it's not a viable option, that it's not a risk worth taking. But there's something else there, too. A glimmer of hope, a spark of desperation, and after a moment, he nods, his eyes hardening.

"Will it hurt him?"

"No," you assure him, and his shoulders slump. "Not if I do it right."

"Okay," he says. He reaches into his belt and pulls out a pair of gloves, tugging them on and moving around the bed. "Let's do this."

"Lay him down," you instruct, and Wise gently lowers the child onto his back. You kneel beside the bed and take a deep breath. Your eyes close, and you reach out, feeling for the child's pain. His agony is palpable, the wound a source of searing heat, and you can't help but wince.

“Just so you’re prepared,” you murmur, your hands hovering over the child's head. "I might pass out. If I do, just make sure I'm not bleeding anywhere."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me," you mumble, and you place your hands on the boy's head. The Force flows through you, a wave of warmth and light washing over the room, and the child gasps, his eyes opening wide. His body tenses, his hands clenching the sheets, and a soft groan escapes his lips. "Just keep an eye on me, and if I start bleeding from the ears or nose, try not to panic."

"Oh, that's comforting," he mutters, his voice tight.

"I'm serious," you say, and his fingers flex.

"So am I."

You shake your head and ignore him, turning your focus inward. Your breathing slows, and the world around you fades with each breath.

The sounds of the room disappear, replaced by the steady musical hum of the Force, a chorus of voices and energy, and you let the music wash over you. It's beautiful, intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the song, letting it guide you.

Your hands begin to move, finding the places where the wound connects to the child's mind, and you reach out, sending tendrils of your fading energy into the damaged area.

As soon as you make contact, you’re pulled under. 

It feels like drowning, a current pulling you down, and it's all you can do to keep from being swept away. You fight against it, struggling to stay afloat, disoriented and terrified. Pain lances through your skull, and the world seems to shift and spin, the colors and the shapes morphing into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.

There's a ringing in your ears, a high-pitched whine that grows louder and louder, and the pain intensifies. It's a blinding agony, and you cry out, your mind trying desperately to process the flood of information, to fight against the torrent and take control.

It's a losing battle. You're no match for the power of the Force, the connection between the child's mind and yours. The strength of it is overwhelming, and it's all you can do to hang on, your thoughts and memories becoming muddled and distorted. Flashes of your vision, your childhood, the Temple, the men, the darkness, Rex. They mix and meld, twisting together, and you let out a strangled scream.

You’re grasping at the threads, chasing, trying to hold onto them, but they slip through your fingers, dissolving into smoke. It's impossible. There's too much, and you can't find the answers, can't make sense of it all.

And then it hits you.

The memory of Yaddle, her calming voice as she instructs you to be the current, to give yourself over and allow the Force to flow through you. To be the leaf, to let go of your expectations and allow yourself to be carried along, to trust that the Force will show you the way.

You take a deep breath, focusing on the song of the universe. The rhythm and the melody, the steady beat, and the hum of the energy surrounding you.

And you surrender.

The darkness rushes in, and for a moment, you’re consumed. The world disappears, and you find yourself adrift, alone and afraid. But the fear is fleeting. You're not scared anymore. You know what to do.

You can feel the Force now, the song and the current, and you let yourself drift. There's no resistance. No fighting. No struggle.

The child's presence is a bright light, a beacon in the void, and you focus on it, letting it pull you closer. As the distance between the two of you lessens, the world around you starts to materialize, the images and the feelings solidifying. You can see a golden field, a meadow filled with strange plants and flowers, and the sun is shining, the air warm and fragrant. There's a distant sound of children playing and laughing, and a gentle breeze blows, rustling the leaves of the trees.

It's peaceful, and you can't help but smile, the sight of the meadow a welcome respite.

For a moment, you simply stand, taking it all in. It's not the first time you've seen this place, but the past glimpses of the vision have always felt like just that—glimpses. Fleeting and brief, the memories coming in flashes, hazy fragments of a larger picture. 

But this time, it's different. This time, it feels real, the details sharp and the colors vivid. And perhaps more importantly, there is no sense of urgency, no need to flee, no fear.

This is a place of safety. A sanctuary.

You take a deep breath, the smells of the meadow filling your lungs, and the warmth of the sun settles over you, easing the aches and the pains that had plagued you since the battle. You let your eyes close, a soft sigh escaping your lips, and a wave of contentment washes over you. You can't help but marvel at the simplicity of it all. The calmness.

The feeling is so familiar, and yet, so foreign.

It's been a long time since you've experienced such peace. So long, in fact, that you almost forgot how wonderful it is. How amazing it is, to not be afraid, to not have the weight of the galaxy resting on your shoulders. To simply be.

A soft voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. The last time you had this vision, you turned too quickly and saw nothing. But now, there's no fear, no panic, no anxiety. Only calm and acceptance.

And finally, there is no surprise.

You already know who’s standing behind you.

"Rex," you breathe, and he gives your shoulder a squeeze. 

You open your eyes, and he's there, the sunlight bathing his features, his skin glowing and his eyes filled with warmth. He looks so real, so tangible, and the urge to reach out and touch him is almost irresistible.

Rex smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he gives a soft chuckle.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks. His tone is gentle, but there's a hint of teasing, a spark of mischief, and your mouth curves into a grin.

"I don't know," you admit. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to find you," he replies. His brow furrows, and the sparkle fades from his eyes. "I was worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," you assure him, and he snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I know.”

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. You’ve had this conversation many times, and you’re certain you’ll have it many more. Round and round in circles, the two of you going back and forth, neither able to let the other go.

"I'm glad you found me," you whisper, and his fingers dig into your shoulder, his hand moving down your arm and his fingers entwining with yours. He steps closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm always going to find you," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "No matter what."

The words hit home, and you can't help but smile. It's a sweet, gentle reassurance, and it's exactly what you need. What you've always needed. The simple reminder that someone cares, that someone loves you, even if the rest of the galaxy seems against you.

And it's not just anyone. It's him. Rex. The man who's been by your side since the beginning, the man who's been fighting alongside you, the man who's loved and cared for you despite all the obstacles and challenges. Despite all the risks and the dangers. The man who's always had your back, no matter what.

Your gaze flickers to the field, the sun and the grass, and the thought hits you. This isn't just a dream or some hallucination. This is the reality you've been craving. The peace and the serenity. The freedom. The quiet, simple life you've been longing for.

You want this. You need this.

And if the Force is showing it to you, maybe...maybe there's a chance.

Your gaze flicks back to his face, and the hope blossoms in your chest, the possibilities unfolding before you.

You could have this.

It could be possible.

But before the idea has time to take root, a voice calls your name, the faint echo shattering the moment. Rex's brow furrows, his fingers tightening around yours.

"That's not good," he mutters, and you frown, his words snapping you back to the present. The memory of the child, the injury, and the wound flash through your mind, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I have to go," you murmur, and he nods. "I don't want to, but..."

His hand comes up, cupping your face, and his thumb rubs your cheek.

"I know," he murmurs. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, a warmth blooming beneath his lips. "Just be careful."

"Always," you whisper, and he chuckles. He leans back, his gaze meeting yours, and his eyes sparkle with affection and pride.

You smile, the warmth spreading through your chest. There's a lightness to him, a calmness and a happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, and it's almost too much. There’s still a tiredness in the way he holds himself, a heaviness to his shoulders, but there's no darkness. No pain or sorrow or fear. Just him.

And it's beautiful.

A small, contented sigh escapes your lips, and he grins, the dimples appearing.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, his words filled with the conviction that only a true believer could muster. You nod, knowing that he will, and you give his hand a final squeeze before stepping away. His hand slips from yours, his fingers trailing across your palm, and when you turn, he's gone.

There's a gentle tugging at your hand, and you look down, surprised to see the child next to you, his eyes wide and his face flushed. The rest of the vision falls away around you, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, surrounded by a swirling, hazy mist.

He's so young, and the realization sends a pang through your heart. He looks up at you, his lips turning down, and he wraps his arms around your leg, pressing his face into the fabric. He's trembling, and you place a hand on his head, your fingers gently brushing his hair.

"It's okay," you murmur. "You're safe."

His eyes dart to yours, a question in their depths, and you nod, offering a small smile. His shoulders relax, and he releases his hold, looking up at you expectantly.

"Are you ready?" you ask, and he nods. You smile again, reaching down and taking his hand, and the two of you walk into the fog.

There's a light shining ahead, a small pinprick, and the boy moves a little faster, his steps sure and determined. You reach out with the Force, parting the mist, and together, the two of you step through.

The world rushes in, a sharp intake of breath filling your lungs, and your eyes fly open. 

There's a pair of hands on your shoulders, and they're shaking you, the grip almost painfully tight. You blink, the bright lights and the noise of the schoolhouse coming into focus, and you find yourself staring up at Wise. His eyes are wide, his face pale, and he's saying something, his words garbled and indistinct.

You try to reply, but your tongue is heavy, the words stuck in your throat, and you settle for a simple shake of the head. It's all you can manage, and it's clearly not the response Wise was hoping for.

"Shit," you hear him mutter. "Shit."

He releases you, and your head lolls to the side, the motion sending a wave of nausea through you. You gag, bile rising in your throat, and Wise curses again, moving to grab a wastebasket and thrusting it in front of your face. You retch into it, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief as the contents of your stomach are expelled. The taste is disgusting, and the smell is awful, but the nausea and the dizziness begin to abate.

You cough and sputter, and Wise takes the basket, placing it aside.

"Wise," you mumble, blinking a few times and trying to clear your vision. "Did it work?"

He looks back at the boy, his expression grim. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, and the ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

"It did."

The relief that fills you is overwhelming, and you can't help but laugh, a giddy, slightly hysterical giggle escaping your lips. You reach up and wipe your mouth, wincing as the pain in your head spikes, and you slump, closing your eyes and trying to catch your breath.

"You're bleeding," he grumbles as he kneels next to you.

"It's okay," you tell him.

"Like hell it is," he snaps. His thumb swipes under your nose, and the familiar copper tang fills your mouth. He presses a handkerchief to your face, holding it against the stream of blood, and you reach up, covering his hand with yours. "You could have killed yourself."

"Worth it, though," you manage, and his eyes narrow.

"You fucking—dikut’la, dini’la jetii," he curses, his free hand gesturing wildly. He lets out a string of profanities and insults, the words mixing together until you can't even distinguish individual phrases, but you’re too busy laughing to care, the joy and the relief overpowering any concerns.

You've never done that before, not like this. Your attempts at healing had always felt forced, like you were trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. But this time was different. 

This time, you had given yourself over, and the results had been incredible. Not just the success of the procedure, but the feeling, the way the Force had flowed through you, filling you with peace and light. It had been...indescribable. Wonderful. A feeling you hadn’t felt in so long.

But the moment is short-lived, the euphoria giving way to the pain, and you groan, your head throbbing. Wise is still ranting, his voice rising in volume and intensity, and you can't help but wince.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you mutter. You push his hand away, the cloth soaked with blood, and lean back, propping yourself against the wall. "I'm sorry."

He snorts, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

"No, you're not," he grumbles. "You're never sorry. You just...you..."

His words trail off, and his gaze drops to the cloth. Wise shakes his head, his eyes returning to yours, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"You scare the shit out of me, you know that?"

You offer him a weak, bloody smile.

"Aw, we are friends, aren't we?" you tease, and he huffs a laugh, his eyes rolling.

"If anyone asks, I'll deny it."

Wise clears his throat and hooks his hands underneath your arms, lifting you up and depositing you in a nearby empty cot. You wince, the sudden change in position causing a fresh wave of pain, and Wise frowns and reaches for a cloth and a bowl of water.

"You should get some rest," he tells you, wringing the cloth and dabbing at your nose. The water is cool, and you let out a sigh of relief. "I'll watch him."

"Mmhmm," you murmur, your eyes already drooping. You lean back, the pillow supporting your head, and your eyelids slide shut. "Wake me if anything changes."

"Sir, yes sir," he mumbles, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You're about to reply, but the darkness is already pulling you under, the exhaustion taking hold, and before long, the world fades away.

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[autumnalwalker]

A Dream About An Investigation

I am in a cramped building that is hidden away down a twisting alleyway in a crowded warren of a city.  This building has been many things over the years, but it is currently an avant-garde restaurant decorated all in stark whites, strongly at contrast with the chaotic swirl of black and neon paint that characterizes the rest of the neighborhood.  

I do not belong here – or anywhere else this fancy – but there is something here I need.

Unfortunately, the thing I need is in a room that's been sealed off by the most recent round of renovations.  I decide to try breaking open and climbing through the ventilation system.  I'm in something of a hurry so I set off the fire sprinklers to get people to leave and then take the risk of using magic to try to force the vent open.

One of the waitresses is staring at me.  She keeps scratching at the left side of her torso as if she has some sort of terrible itch or rash hidden beneath her clothes.

Another, deeper, more ominous alarm sounds.  This one is city wide.  The great Thing in the sky will soon be here.  All who are able to begin evacuating the city.  I attempt too, but soon realize I cannot.  I pull out my phone and call my friend to see if they can get me out of here.  They have their own loved ones they need to prioritize.  I understand.  They wish me luck.

The great Thing appears over the city and reality melts into surreal chaos.

I can't shake the feeling that this is all my fault.

In the aftermath, I return to that restaurant.  The pristine interior is now a ruined mess.

That waitress from earlier is still here, clearing the floor with a pushbroom.  Once again she stares at me and scratches at her side, but says nothing.

A wall has fallen in, revealing a short staircase to an unlocked door to the room I was seeking before.  This building has been many things over the years and this room has been untouched since it was a machine shop.    Steel tools remain scattered on workbenches, carts, and tables.

This room was also the sight of a murder that nearly everyone else believes was a suicide.  It was a family member of mine who died in this spot.

It takes some searching through the mess, but I find what I'm looking for.  Several tiny medicine dose sized cups still bearing the dried residue of a blue liquid.  The evidence I need to close a case that everyone refused to so much as give the most cursory investigation into back when it happened.

I exit the old machine shop and that waitress is still staring at me and scratching at her side.

Much, much later I am traveling through mountains on foot near an alpine lake with some close companions of mine.  It is nearing dusk as we approach the torii gate marking the last stretch where the stone road becomes a rising wooden boardwalk into the small town where we'll be spending the night.

Small, floating, ephemeral beings appear that look like spoked wheels made of light and move like jellyfish appear and try to alight upon us like curious butterflies drawn to flowers.  They're charming little things and most of our party are quite endeared to them.  One of my companions, a man in robes with long black hair in a high ponytail shoos the floaters off and tells the rest of us to pay them no mind.

As the rest of us pass through the torii gate my ponytailed friend tells the rest of us to go on ahead.  There's something he needs to handle real quick but he'll catch up.  Most of us give him the benefit of the doubt and continue on.

Just after we leave him, he steps sideways into a pale mist and the world goes gray for him.  There are suddenly far more of the floaters, and with sword and flame he begins to destroy them.  He downplayed how dangerous these things are to the rest of us so that no one would panic.  In truth these floaters drain the life from the living they touch.  He is very good at what he does, but he begins to get overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

I reappear at his side and begin ripping apart the floaters with my own violent lights, conjured with a mere gesture.  This is not the first time my friend has pulled something like this, nor is it mine.

We turn the tide and begin tracing the remaining floaters back to their source.

We find a familiar woman in an unfamiliar dress, scratching at the side of her torso.

I recognize her from the restaurant all that time ago and realize at long last that it was not me who brought the great Thing in the sky down upon that city, but her.  Guilt becomes anger.

The woman's side splits open and a hundred strand of thread from which the floaters are woven spill out.  Her rent body twists and warps into some sort of hybrid spider creature guiding those strands of light through what is at one moment a spinning wheel and at another moment a harp.

My friend and I steel ourselves for what is sure to be a hard battle.

[logicaldelta]

Scrunkly Week Day 6 : Winter Blizzard

Prompt: remember those we've lost

This is about my Final Space OC, Meowcha/Charcoal. While it isn't directly about loss or mourning, it does focus on the crew of raiders that she was rescued by and worked alongside for several years before they died. So! Themes of loss, ehe

•°•

A thudding noise travelled through the floor of the ship, waking Arty from their sleep. They had been on edge since their last raid, having found an injured Ventrexian left in the wreckage of a battle field.

They threw on a lab coat over the top of their sleep clothes — which had slowly morphed into just a random shirt and some sweatpants over time – and made their way out of their room and to the medicine bay.

They found the Ventrexian awake, her one uncovered eye wide and panicked. Her ears bent back as they entered the room, and a low growling sound resonated from the back of her throat.

She opened her mouth to speak but instead winced, lifting a hand in an attempt to feel her face but halting as she realised her right arm was connected to bunch of cords, while her left arm was completely obscured by bandages.

"Try not to move too much, you're very injured," Arty commented, moving to her bedside to offer her some water from a bottle that they held up to her mouth. She hesitated for only a moment before accepting it.

"Where am I?" She coughed a few times after speaking, her throat dry and voice cracking from disuse.

"You're on our ship, we found you in the aftermath of a battle, bleeding out under a broken stone wall. We managed to get you here without you dying. Yay!" Their little cheer is meant to encourage her, but they see her pupils shrink in response and lower their voice. "I'm sorry... you've been through a lot. Does it hurt?"

"Kind of. Mostly my neck."

Arty nodded. "That makes sense. I'll give you some painkillers, and hopefully they'll help you get back to sleep."

"I need to get back to my squadron. They'll be looking for me."

Arty stopped what they were doing, the liquid painkillers held in their hand. They stared at her, at the unwavering look of responsibility on the face of the heavily injured Ventrexian in front of them.

And they didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.

"We'll get you back to them as soon as you've recovered." The lie slips from them easily, years of evading the law making it feel like second nature for them.

She nodded as they began injecting the painkiller into her, eyes slowly blinking as she begins falling back asleep. "Soon?"

"...soon."

She didn't notice their hesitation, already drifting off to sleep.

Arty sighed, placing the syringe down as they stared at her. Half her body had been torn to shreds, yet she wanted to rejoin the fight.

They exited the room, pulling up the report that Rena had sent them only hours before.

A photo of their patient, included on a list of the Ventrexian soldiers lost in battle in the past week.

It revealed her name, which was helpful considering how her identifying soldier tags had been destroyed in the blast that injured her. Arty did not like having to pick all of the shards of it out of Meowcha's skin. Dealing with the armour fragments was hard enough.

They sighed, closing the report and shaking their head. They knew their lie would fall apart as soon as their patient was lucid enough to move around on her own. The first thing she'd do would be to look for information about her squadron if her question from earlier was any indication.

Rena already had a plan in mind for her. They'd look after her while she recovered, and slowly teach her their raiding skills when she's well enough to learn. They'd help her find her squad once she proved that she was able to hold her own in battle once more.

They just had to hope that she'd cooperate with that plan.

•°•

Meowcha groaned as she opened her eyes, slowly climbing out of the bed that Rena had assigned to her when her initial stay in the medbay came to an end. She was still adjusting to having an entire room to herself – she was used to bunks crammed into rooms shared with a minimum of five squadmates. The ongoing war meant that soldiers weren't granted the luxury of personal private spaces.

She was also trying to adjust to the limited hearing in her left ear that she had now. Arty had assured her that it would improve as time passed – they believed her eardrums were just weakened by the trauma of the blast, both in volume and impact – but there was no guarantee that she'd ever fully recover her hearing in it.

Life had been... tough, since the raiders found her. She was glad that they had. She had accepted the fact that she would've died if they hadn't found her and chosen to help her. She'd always be grateful to them for that.

But each day spent with them, learning their ways and getting more comfortable around them, made her feel some sort of shame deep inside her chest. It felt wrong to not be with her squadmates. It felt worse to not be fighting the Tryvuulians like she had been for years. But she knew that she'd be no use in a battle right now.

Staring at the fresh scars forming on the left side of her body reminded her of that. She could barely move without the pain from them making her wince. It was obvious to all of them that she'd be useless in battle.

But Rena tried to keep her entertained, doing her best to teach her everything possible while she wasn't field ready. Even Lear had tried teaching her how his job worked, though she didn't understand that much. She was never good with mechanical stuff like he was.

Meowcha tried to go through the very basic training exercises that she did when she had first joined the Ventrexian army, in order to try keeping her strength up, but the pain quickly grew too overwhelming for her to continue.

It was a difficult realisation for her to come to. Knowing that her body had become so weak and sore after the blast that she could do even the most basic exercises without collapsing affected her badly. She figured that was why the others were trying so hard to keep her occupied, to prevent her from falling into a depressive spiral.

She appreciated it. Even if they did get a bit overbearing with it sometimes.

Her train of thought was broken by a knock on the door, followed shortly after by Arty popping their head into the room. "Good morning, Charcoal!"

She was still adjusting to the new nickname that they'd all given her. It was strange, but she didn't hate it.

"Morning," she replied. "What's the plan for today?"

"We're approaching an old junkyard that's been abandoned for ages." Arty grinned, seeming pleased about something. "You ready for your first raid?"

[ogdoadfates]

It was only a cough: CH# 10 Thunderwave

Here it is! The long awaited final chapter of 'It was only a cough'! Wow, this is....wow. My apocalypse au was the first au I ever really talked about and one that got a fair bit of attention too!! So this is kinda well amazing! Now 'It was only a cough' is finished but my apocalypse au is far from done~ At some point I do plan on doing a long fic for my Apocalypse au but for now we'll just be doing some prompts/drabbles. Thank you all so much for reading this fic of mine, it means so much to me! Ao3 link like usual!

Vax is soaked, he’s pretty sure he’s bleeding from somewhere and he’s not only going to have nightmares once he finally goes to sleep but be massively sore when they inevitably wake him up. It takes what feels like hours but most likely was only a few minutes to get to the van. Luckily it seems Percy had heard him cause the first thing he hears after launching him and his sister into the van is the strong thuming pur of the engine coming to life. 

As soon as the backdoors close Percy hits the gas, it jostles them all, yelps and a bark from Trinket fill the air for a second before everyone is suddenly in motion again, like a bird desperate to move for standing still means death. It’s blurs of hands on people's bodies and items being thrown about. Someone shouts that Grogs fine, no bites, which is a miracle considering how the big man was holding off a good-sized hoard. Pike has his sister’s shirt pulled up, the wound looks grotesque but as she uses a towel to clean it up it looks nowhere as bad as he’d feared. His mind swims, it rushes back and forth between the now and the past, even going further than the hospital. His head is loud but simulatiously quiet, he doesn’t return to the present till he feels shaking fingers touch his side.

All at once everything snaps back into place and god did everything hurt, his vision threatened to blur again but he still feels those shaking hands on him, now more firmly grasping him with a sweet yet panicked small voice trying to reach him. Vax forces his breathing to calm, slowly but surely all his senses coming back.

“Vax?” Keyleth’s voice is shaking and it makes his racing heart still like a rabbit caught mid-run in a snare. Finally, he turns to face her. She's scared, panicked, her face is ravished with worry and anxiety. He can feel his few wounds ache but they don’t compare to the hurt he feels for Keyleth and his own sister. One is in mental agony and one in physical pain but they are alive. All of them are, it’s this notion this fact that lets him give her a true reassuring smile, one that she can tell is not just to placate her. It doesn’t calm her completely, she keeps her hands on him, more firmly on him if anything, still a slight shake to her but he can tell at the very least her panic has lessened. It takes a moment for Vax to drag his attention away from Keyleth, his gaze goes straight to his twin. 

Pike stays close to Vex, poking and checking over the bandage they’d put on her side, it’s not bleeding too much which is a good sign. Vex has been hurt worse before and luckily this time they have more than enough medical supplies that none of them will have any lasting issues from their current wounds. Vax would much rather forget about the time they had no supplies and Grog had taken a massive hit to his back, the scar still haunts them all. To be fair just about any scar nowadays is just another horror story waiting for them to notice again so its haunting lullaby may find them again in their sleep but at least these new ones they’ll get will be small enough that they’ll most likely not notice them as often.

A loud boom of thunder drags Vax out of his thoughts and causes everyone in the van to fall in a sudden hush, only the torrent of rain against metal and the lumbering roll of its aftermath fills the space with noise. The white noise leaves them all to look at each other, taking stock of each other's conditions. Vax almost missed the wince from Pike before she carefully manoeuvered her way over to him, her gaze locked on some spot on his stomach. Looking down it suddenly makes sense why Keyleth was still shaking. Blood slowly trickles from the tares in his skin and around a few small specs of broken glass that must’ve dug their way into his skin from the ground when they’d made their grand escape from the grotesque-infested hospital.

It hurts and stings when Pike slowly and carefully extracts the small shards from his flesh, Keyleth moving her hands to take one of his, offering him the little comfort that she can provide in this moment.

~~~~

It’s times like these that Percy wished he had contacts but just like every other time and every time to come he’ll have to make do. Even if he can barely see the road through the blinding rain and his fogging glasses. He desperately wants to turn around, to see if Vex and everyone else are alright but his attention must remain forward.

It’s so strange how just months ago he and Vex had been talking about going on a road trip to his hometown, just the two of them, and how after their return they’d finally tell the others about how they’re dating, have been dating for a while and now he’s driving his car in a hell storm away from flesh-eating demonspawns while his girlfriend is possibly injured in the back. Fuck, the only reason he knows she’s not gravely injured is because Vax isn’t freaking the fuck out.

Another rumble shakes the world around them. Percy’s very bones feel like tightly wound strings of copper full of static as if the storm outside has conducted all of its electricity into him. He’s going to explode, he’s going to scream, he’s-

A gentle, familiar, hand lays onto his shoulder before he can see the owner of said hand slowly and carefully manover herself into the front passenger seat. He keeps his main focus on the pavement that he can make out from his rain-painted windshield but he notices the bandages covering Vex’s side, some slight red bleeding through but not enough to be concerning. Not enough to be concerning? Gods what's happening to us? What's happened to us that any more blood than that released from a pin prick is not concerning? That the only time we are concerned is if they are bleeding out?

The gentle hand returns to his forearm this time, taking hold of it as she gently rubs her thumb across his skin. His body still buzzes with wild tension but the internal fog clears just enough, he lets out a long sigh, a barely noticeable shakiness finds its way into it but that's just for him and Vex to know.

“The roads are going to be icy after this.” Keyleth’s voice pierces the silence that had encompassed the van, filling the stagnant air with the seeping chill of dread taking its place. She isn’t wrong, they all know it but it also reveals a different issue.

“We’ll have to be careful with the van, it’s possible we might not be able to shut it off till it’s completely dry.” His voice is void of emotion but he just can’t bring himself to put anything into it and what would he? Despair would just hurt everyone, panic would scare everyone even more, so he just avoids it. He finds himself doing that a lot these days. Avoid the things that bring him pain, avoid till they slap him in the face or threaten to sneak behind him and rip his heart out through his back with a triumphant cry as if to mock him for his incompetence and inaction. He’s still reeling from how he didn’t notice Keyleth getting sick. If he’d just been paying just a smidge more attention he might’ve noticed, might’ve prevented his friends, his family, from splitting yet again, and half of them getting hurt in the process.

Logically he knows that no matter what they would’ve had to stop for supplies at some point before they hit the next middle-of-nowhere highway but he just can’t scratch this ever-present itch that he could’ve done something.

The rain continues to pelt down but luckily from what Percy can see the roads are completely cleared so he relaxes ever so slightly and as if they can feel the mood shift from him the rest of the group starts to idly chatter. Only three voices don’t join in, Vex, Keyleth, and his own. Chancing a glance in the rearview mirror reveals to him Vax softly talking to Keyleth, who has her head buried in the side of the long-haired man's neck.

Percy returns his full attention to the road, best not to intrude on a moment when they’re already forced to have it in the open. A lack of privacy has been one of the strongest most felt losses they’ve all been scrambling to get accustomed too. It’s to the point that whenever they reach Whitestone or Zephrah one of the first things he’ll do is just find a room to himself and scream. A slight slice of privacy just for him, is it wise? No. Is it selfish? Yes, but gods he feels everyone would want to do the same.

A cough brings a cold end to the little conversations everyone just started to have. Percy dares not take a glance through the mirror, avoiding yet again. His grip tightened on the wheel.“I’m fine, it’s just from, well you know.” He hears Keyleth say just barely audible enough for everyone to hear. She’s still recovering, it’d be irrational to think she wouldn’t cough here or there but after the rush and fear they all felt and the fact she hadn’t coughed for hours at this point, it sends cold shivers up all their spines. Percy keeps his eyes glued to the road, as Vex’s hand goes from giving comfort to holding onto his arm in a firm grip. It’d better just be a cough.

[kissorkill16]

Telling The Parents: A Sky High Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: The aftermath of the homecoming dance, Will and Layla are finally ready to announce their relationship to their parents. Hence the title, Telling the parents.

"Will, are you sure about this?"

Will and Layla were sitting on the couch in Will's house, waiting for Mr and Mrs Stronghold to come home.

"Layla, we planned this weeks ago. We agreed we'd tell our families about our relationship, and we're starting with my parents."

"But aren't you nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"Why else would you be shaking?"

Will looked at his hands, and they were definitely shaking and twitching like crazy, almost like a can of soda about to burst. It was true, Will was indeed nervous. He'd lied to his parents about his powers in the past, so there was a 95% chance they'd think he was lying about him and Layla dating.

He waved his hands a little bit, trying to shake off all of the negative energy.

"Okay, I'm a little bit nervous, but I have a right to be. I lied to them before, so they might think I'm lying now."

"But what if they think you're telling the truth?"

"Then we're all in the clear. ...Shit."

"What?"

"We still have to tell your mom."

Layla didn't think about that. Sure, she came from a family of pacifists and hippies, but there was also a 99% chance her mother would throw all her manners out the window and freak out.

"Right. I'm nervous about that too."

"And you have a right to be."

"Look," Layla put her hand in Will's, "We'll tell my mom after we tell your parents. Okay?"

"Okay."

And just as they were about to share a passionate kiss, the Commander and Jetstream came through the door, looking disheveled and exhausted.

"Ugh, what a day."

"I know, right?"

The couple backed away from each other, startled at their sudden appearance.

"Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!"

"Hey, Will. Look, if you need us, we'll be taking a bath together."

Just as they were about to get upstairs, Will spoke up.

"Actually, I have something to tell you both."

The two exhausted superheroes crashed down on the couch in front of them, and they were all ears. Will was sweating nervously, but only a little bit. He sucked in a deep breath, and said...

"Mom, Dad, Layla and I are dating."

The room fell silent, both the Commander and Jetstream were shocked to hear that. Layla was clenching her knuckles and teeth in nervousness.

Jetstream blinked twice, then told the two...

"Congratulations, to both of you. We're so happy for you two. Right, Steve?"

The Commander didn't say anything, just sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"Right, Steve?"

That's when he finally spoke.

"Right, right. I'm just shocked. I knew you'd try to find a way to get over your breakup with Gwen, but I didn't think you'd hook up with your best friend. Homecoming only happened a week ago."

"Yeah, and we've been dating since then, Dad."

Will noticed something, how his father was being so weirdly calm about this. He decided not to question it, but he'd definitely ask him about it later when he got the chance.

"In other words, I'm very happy for you both, and I hope you guys have a wonderful, healthy relationship."

"Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom. For both of your support."

Now all they had to do was tell Layla's mom.

As soon as the couple got back from school, they went straight to Layla's house. It was full of vines and roots were everywhere, all ivy covered walls. It's kind of nice, thought Will.

"Mom, I'm home! And I brought company!", Layla called out.

Arose from a giant pre-bloomed plant came Layla's mother.

"Hello, my dear. I was just in my personal space, I needed a moment to think. Oh, and I see you brought Will over?"

"Yes, Mom. And there's something we need to tell you."

"Of course, dear. But first, would you children like some tea?"

They both nodded and sat down at the living room table as she got the tea ready. All the while, Layla was shaking with nervousness. She wanted to tell her, she wanted her mom to know that she was now dating her best friend, but something inside of her told her to keep her mouth shut.

Layla was pulled out of her thoughts when Will's hand came in contact with hers.

"Layla, it's going to be alright. Just breathe and shake all of the negative energy away."

Layla did exactly that.

As Layla's mom sat down the tea, she pulled up a chair and sat down, ready to hear what her daughter had to say.

"So, Layla, what would you like to talk to me about?"

Once again, Layla became nervous. Maybe we could reschedule for another day?, she thought.

No, she was telling her today. Nervous or not.

"Will and I aren't friends anymore."

"Oh, darling, that's terrible-"

"We're more than that now. Now, we're boyfriend and girlfriend."

Layla's mom was shocked to hear that. She thought she was dating that Warren Peace boy, she never knew Layla was only fake dating him to make Will jealous.

"Mom, are you alright?"

"Yes, dear. It's just...what happened between you and that Warren Peace boy?"

Layla's face heated up with blush. But before she could say anything, Will but in.

"You see, Ms. Williams. Layla and Warren were only together because they thought I'd get jealous, but it didn't work. Well, not much. So after homecoming, we officially started dating."

Layla's mom seemed to understand that.

"Well in that case, I'm very happy for you and Will. But could I talk to your boyfriend for a moment, honey?"

Layla nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving her mother and her boyfriend to talk.

"Now, Will. I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully."

"Yes, Ms. Williams."

"See, my little flower is very delicate, and her feelings can get hurt very easily. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking down on her, I was just very angry to come home and hear my daughters crying sounds."

Will shuddered at that, he had flashbacks to the night of that party he had at his house. He had no idea what Gwen said to her, but he knew she cried.

"I know, Ms. Williams. I tried to call her to check up on her-"

"Oh I know. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she never wanted to see you again, so I had a suspicion that maybe you've done something to upset her or someone else had done something to upset her and you just stood there and did nothing."

The woman leaned in closer to Will.

"So hear me when I say that if you ever hurt her like that again, or if she ever gets hurt and you just stand there and do nothing, I'll summon the strongest vines in the ground and pull you so deep underground, you'll mistake the ozone layer for the firey depths of hell."

She whispered this as quiet as she could, and Will was trying to muster up whatever little bladder control he had left.

"Do you understand, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good. Then I grant you my blessing to date my daughter. Treat her well."

Layla's mom called her daughter back in the room, and told her that she granted him her blessing to date her, and as soon as she left the room, Layla and Will smothered each other in kisses.

[deans-mind-palace]

Sweet as marshmallows

Pairing: Dean x Male!Reader

Summary: Things get heated between you and the elder hunter after a dangerous Wendigo hunt. 

Word Count: 1,400+

Warnings: Smut, angst 

Author’s Note: The shot is based on this request. I would love a dean x male reader and if sam wanted to join in/some wincest occurred, I wouldn’t be mad. I’m thinking reader has been a longtime friend and fellow hunter. They’ve all just finished a hunt and either dean or reader had a close call which leads to an unplanned and heated kiss in the aftermath when adrenaline is still running high. Whether it leads to a declaration of feelings or they agree to be fuck buddies (although one of them is secretly pining) is fine with me. Enjoy and shower it with love.

You ran further and further into the forest. Your footsteps echoed muffled on the soft ground. The adrenaline pumped through your veins and again and again you looked back frantically. But you could not see it. Your foot got stuck on a protruding root and you almost fell, but caught yourself in the last moment.

"Come on!" shouted Dean, who had already arrived at the safe circle. Sam reached him seconds later and your feet moved faster. "Hurry up!" yelled Dean, whose gaze was written in panic. Your lungs screamed for oxygen but you didn't allow yourself a break. One pause, one little mistake and you'd be sentenced to death. You heard a growl nearby, then a human laugh and your hand rushed to the knife that was jingling in your belt. The knife would not hurt it. It was useless. You saw Dean's eyes widen and he aimed his shotgun at something over your shoulder. Immediately, Sam ripped the gun out of his brother's hand. "You're just making it mad!" hissed Sam, who unloaded the gun. At that exact moment you slipped inside the safety circle. Dean grabbed you by the hand and pulled you back to your feet. Your chest slammed into his and he smiled.

"Hey there, mate." Dean winked at you. You laughed with relief. The deep laugh rumbled in your chest. Then you took a few steps away from the older hunter to put some distance between you. Sam drew new runes on the floor in the meantime. You felt the presence of the dark being lurking out there in the shadows. The Wendigo was just waiting for one of you to make the first mistake. It enjoyed playing with your psyche. The bushes rushed and something scurried around your camp so quickly that not even the flickering flames of the fire could catch it. Your heart was still beating in your throat.

"At least we found the bastard's hiding place now!" Dean growled grimly as he sat down by the fire and stared into the flames. The reddish glow of the flames illuminated his face in the dark. It cast long shadows over his features. You sat down next to him and looked up at the sky full of glimmering stars. It would have been almost romantic, had you not been in serious danger. "Tomorrow we'll get it!" you muttered, and Dean fixed you with his apple-green eyes that shimmered in the dark like two emeralds. Sam sat down across from you and nodded his head. "Damn right."

Your gaze wandered out into the depths of the dark woods in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. Somewhere out there, the wendigo lay in wait for its next victim. You couldn't see it in the dark, but you knew it was there. The wind rustled through the leaves and the trees rushed ominously above your heads. Sam yawned and smacked softly. "Do we have any marshmallows?" Dean asked and looked at his little brother hopefully. You rummaged in your pocket and threw him an unopened package and he beamed. "Never come unprepared, Dean." You winked at him slyly and he laughed while Sam rolled his eyes because of your dirty puns but at his lips tugged a grin as well.

"I'll call it a night, guys," Sam said, yawning like a confirmation. "Night, Sam," you said and he smiled warmly at you. Dean paid no attention to him but happily stuck as many marshmallows as possible on a stick he'd found in the brush. Sam moved the zipper of his tent and you heard the rustling of sheets followed by a soft snoring a few minutes later. You stared into the flames. Dean's sudden cursing ripped you from your thoughts. You had to laugh at the sight because Dean had stuffed as many marshmallows as possible in his mouth. His cheeks were full and he looked like a hamster. "Damn, that shit's hot." he cursed muffled by the marshmallows in his mouth. His lips glistened from the sugar and white spurts were covering them. Immediately you wondered how his lips would look stretched around your cock with your white spurts on his lips.

He saw your look and tapped with one hand on the free spot next to him. Immediately you slid closer and put your head on his shoulder. "Man, thought I'd loose you out there, pookie bear." You snorted at his nickname for you. "I'm not that easy to get rid off, De." You mumbled and started to cover his neck in feathery kisses. The fire crackled. "Damn right. You're mine." Goose bumps ran down your body and he turned his head towards you. His eyes locked on you intensely and the fire gleamed at him from the side. His eyes moved to your mouth and his tongue ran lazily across his lips. Your fingers stroked the rough stubble that shadowed his cheeks. He leaned into the touch.

Greedily, his lips found yours and your teeth clashed against each other. It was a wild mixture of tongues, lips and teeth. You both struggled for dominance for a moment, then Dean gave in. Even though he was always very dominant on the outside, he liked to give up control and responsibility. You knew that, and you liked to take advantage of it. Gently you bit his lower lip and he sighed as your tongue apologetically stroked his lips. Immediately you took the opportunity and your tongue entered his mouth while your fingers dug into his short blond strands. Dean still tasted sweet after the sugar of the marshmallows.

Gently he pushed you and you lay under him. He moved above you and you groaned as his hand made its way to the bulge in your jeans. Your hands skillfully opened the buttons of his plaid shirt. Then you stroked his belly and he shivered under your touch. Soon his fingers found the button of your pants and opened them. As he prepared you, his lips never left yours. Only after one groan from you and a second finger from him did his lips leave yours and wander across your face. Soon you could not wait any longer and pulled impatiently at his belt. He laughed at your impatience.

"Eager, are we?" he asked laughing and you cried out as his fingers left your body. You heard the sound of his belt hitting the forest floor and the sound of his zipper. The anticipation filled your whole body and you couldn't wait any longer. Dean jerked his cock and made you wait. Just when you thought you couldn't stand this torture anymore, you felt his velvety tip on your asshole. Then he penetrated you and stretched you pleasantly. You relished in the feeling of his hard and thick cock in your tight hole. He gave you some time to get used to him before he finally moved. You threw your head back and moaned deeply, your muscles tightened around Dean. He too growled deeply and his chest vibrated from the deep noise under your fingers.

"So tight." whined Dean. You gasped as he started to pound into your tight heat. The muscles in his jaw were set tight and he had to hold on to himself so he wouldn't come too early. The twitch of your muscles around his cock made it hard for him. You both gasped with effort and his hot breath stroked your lips before he shut your mouth again with his. More and more quickly his thrusts became. With each thrust he brought you closer to the edge of your orgasm. You moaned as his hand went between your sweaty bodies and embraced your hard cock that bounced up and down with every thrust. You gasped in surprise as he bit your lip and his thumb simultaneously spread the pre-cum from your slit over the swollen head of your cock. His next thrust pushed you over the edge and your orgasm hit you so hard that you saw stars. Trembling and shaking you came undone beneath his hot body. His hand jerked you through your orgasm and you cried out as your cum spurted over your bellies. Your muscles clenched deliciously around Dean and he threw his head back in the neck as he changed his pace one last time. His thrusts grew erratic and he lost his rhythm when he pounded into you mercilessly.

You felt his cock twitching inside you, then he moaned and collapsed as soon as his hot load coated your insides. He caught himself in the last moment. You were both trying to catch your breath as he pulled you close to his body. Your head lay on his heaving chest. While being in your post coital bliss you felt safe in his arms. No matter what, Dean would always protect you. You were sure of that.

Dean spread open-mouthed kisses on your damp skin and you shuddered. "That was amazing." He mumbled and his lips lazily grazed your ear. "Beyond amazing." You agreed, then you rolled over so you were spooning him. You pulled him close because you knew that Dean loved to be the little spoon sometimes. "Thank you, babe." You mumbled and spread kisses on his bare shoulder. He smiled at you lazily the he sighed and his fingers traced over your arm wrapped around his chest. "I wish it could always be like this. I wish it wasn't so damn dangerous out there. The world a little less dark. I'm tired of always losing," he said, looking up at the stars. The fire was almost gone and only the embers were left glowing. "So tonight you better stop and rebuild all your ruins, because peace and trust can win the day despite all your losing." You whispered into his ear while the cool wind of the forest gave your damp bodies goosebumps. You nudged closer as the wind rustled through the trees.

"Did you just quote Led Zeppelin?" he asked and looked at you in surprise. "Yeah." Your fingers traced the outlines of his muscles. A grin spread across Dean's face. "Oh, God, I love you!" Then he widened his eyes in horror. "I- I no - sorry - I meant that-" he stuttered. But your thumb ran across his swollen lips and he fell silent. You smiled as you bent down and kissed him.

"It's okay, Dean. I love you too." You breathed against his lips.

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Dean tags: @vicariouslythruspn @crazybutconfidentaf @zizzlekwum @ashthefirefox @outofnowhere82​ @rintheemolion​ @justas-confused-asthenextperson @wreak-havoc02