Thirteen hours.
It’s been thirteen hours since Scarecrow escaped Arkham. Nobody knows where he is, nobody knows his plans, and nobody knows when they will take place. All they know is that it’s going to be bad.
From what little you can see on the security footage, Scarecrow is pissed. The kind of pissed where he attacks orphanages and playgrounds instead of office buildings and warehouses.
And it's been
Thirteen
Hours.
[CW below the cut: mentions of bullet wounds, stitches. Screaming. Lots of screaming. Mentions of torture, especially in a medical setting, mental torture, mention of child torture, the chick is Creepy but doesn’t do anything SA-y but I’m gonna mention it just in case, mention of being trapped, mention of “the box” that might set off claustrophobia, being a self sacrificing parent, calling a child “it.”
Let me know if I forgot anything or if you spot an error]
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Wil is almost relieved when Scarecrow finally surfaces. A typical attack on an occupied warehouse, one where the bats collectively decide that Hood and his henches have it handled and let them do their own thing.
When they arrive, they're not prepared for a firefight. They were expecting to see more people screaming on the ground from fear toxin than bullet wounds—they don't have enough medical supplies, and they certainly don't have enough ammo.
But they're Hood’s men. They claw their way to victory with bloodied hands. While they rush to save as many gunshot victims as possible, they don’t realize that they haven’t needed their gas masks yet. They don’t realize that Scarecrow isn’t done. Not until it’s almost too late, not until toxic green gas starts seeping up through the floor.
Beforehand, Wil is thinking about a large crack in the back of his boss’ helmit, where an enemy goon tried to knock his skull in with a metal bat.
After, Wil’s first thought is Aw shit, and his second is Holy shit boss’ ‘elmit is crack’d.
As he races over to where Hood is kneeling, stitching up a gunshot wound on one of Wil‘s coworkers, he mentally checks what all he brought with him.
Two gas masks and a rebreath’r. One mask got hit wit’ a stray bull’t, but the oth’r one and the rebreath’r ar’ fine. 
When he finally, finally, arrives at Hood’s side, all he has time to do is stuff the mask in his face, say “Your ‘elmets cracked,” and stick the rebreather in his own mouth. 
Ok, Terror Protocol.
-Ensure everyon’ dangerous ‘as a mask (Check)
-Find a mask fer yerself if ya can (His eyes scan the room, but everyone else had ta use ‘eir extras fer vict’ms)
-Leave if possible (“Boss,” calls anoth’r goon, we’re lock’d in from th’ outside.” Shit)
-Hand someone mask’d yer weapons (He starts throwing his guns and knives at Hood’s feet, desperately trying not ta pass out from the oxygen deprivation)
-Warn someon’ about triggers that could make ya violent (He feels his heart rate pick up as soon as he takes a breath of toxic green air. “Boz,” he chokes out, “k’p m’ aw’y fr’m med’c’l sh’t an’ an’on’ ‘n wh’te.”) [Boss, keep me away from medical shit and anyone in white.]
The Boss shouts something, but someone starts screaming with Wil’s next gasping breath and he can’t tell what was said.
Distantly, he recognises his own voice.
————————————
Riley hears Hood’s “Get us th’ hell outta ‘ere!” but only barely, because just as soon as he’s said it, someone starts screaming. The kind of screaming that reminds them of someone being tortured, taken apart slowly and never really put back together.
A second or two later, the sound stops—so abruptly they wonder if they ever heard it at all.
The other goons are searching for an exit or way to make one, so Riley looks for Hood, to see if he needs any help with whoever got dosed.
Fuck, they think, that’s Greenie.
Greenie, real name Wilbur Jacobs, has worked for Hood for three years. He started as a goon but worked his way up to the point where he’s now sixth in the hierarchy and even leads his own team of goons at times. He was actually the one to hire Riley in the first place.
(Greenie gets his nickname from a long conversation about the Green Lantern, where he made the joke “If ‘is ring runs on willpow’r, that mean I could control it? ‘Cause a my mast’ry of my own Wil-pow’r?”)
Greenie looks like shit. He’s shaking like a leaf in a hurricane; his hands are clasped in front of him like they’re cuffed there; his eyes are darting back and forth, scanning for hallucinated enemies, glassy, like he’s barely holding back tears, and terrified. Worse than Riley‘s ever seen in somebody who’s been fear-gassed.
Worst of all is the muttering. 
It’s only partly intelligible, but that’s only because he’s spitting his words through his teeth, not moving his jaw at all. (Did he think he was muzzled?)
“Damn you. Damn you. You can’t have him. You won’t touch him-”
“Ma- no, ma please-”
“If you touch one hair on my son’s head, I’ll make the Alcatraz escape look like a petty quarrel. I’ll string you up by your intestines-“
“Don’t leave me alone Pa, please I’m sorry-“
“Don’t- don’t touch him. Please. Leave my son alone. I swear- I- I’ll stop fighting. I’ll go back. Just let him go. Please-“
Shaking themself back to the real world, Riley turns to Hood. “Antidote not work?”
“No- he’ll have to wait till the Bats get here so they can synthesize one.”
Greenie was screaming again.
“I think-“ the Boss cuts himself off, “I think this one makes you feel the pain. Not just in resurfaced memories either.”
Riley flinches at a particularly pained scream, “I think you’re right.”
————————————
No. Nonononono no NO
Not again. Please. This can't be happening again please no pleasenono-
“And here I thought three years was long enough to make you stronger. It’s a pity that you’re just as pathetic as you were before.”
No not Her pleasenotHerno-
“Stop screaming. Look at me.”
And he does and She’s just as crazed-excited-cruel-
“There we go.” And She turns off the machine and he can breathe-
“I’m thrilled you found yourself a little toy. A talon, impressive. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Damn you. Damn you.” he spits, “You can’t have him. You won’t touch him-”
“Have you already forgotten that you don’t get to tell me what to do, Subject g-7512?”
And then She had his ma’s face and he was being left again and he was only seven howcouldthey-
“Ma- no, ma please-”
“Aww. Calling for your mum again?” And She was Herself and his ma was gone-
“Bring it in,” She called, and Wolf and Snake were hauling something through the door-
Morel.
“If you touch one hair on my son’s head, I’ll make the Alcatraz escape look like a petty quarrel. I’ll string you up by your intestines-“
She tsks at him, “Threats? Again? Have you not learned from last time?” And he did and he still had the scars but that was his son-
“A week in the box.”
“You’re a disappointment, son.“ That was his pa, behind him, to the right. “I’m glad we left you in that alley. You’ve only ever been a worthless leech.”
And he can’t turn to face him and his pa always hated that-
“Don’t leave me alone Pa, please I’m sorry-“
“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re not alone. You have me, and Wolf, and Snake- and the Talon of course.  I wonder- should we return it to the Court, or do our own tests on it?”
“Don’t- don’t touch him. Please.” he begs, “Leave my son alone. I swear- I- I’ll stop fighting. I’ll go back. Just let them go. Please-“
She tsks at him again. Then motions for Wolf to turn the machine back on andhecantbreathe andhe’sscreaming andShetoldhimnotto andhecan’tstop
————————————
When he comes to he feels exhausted and his throat hurts and his boss is staring at him where he’s sitting in the dirt and-
The dirt? His boss? Wil stares up at the red helmet of the Hood and tries to ask what happened, but his voice doesn’t work. 
“Don’t talk, Greenie,” Hood says, in lieu of a greeting. “Drink this.”
His boss hands him a thermos, which he finds is filled with Earl Gray tea.
The warm drink soothes his throat enough to croak, “Wher’z Mor?” [Where is Morel]
“Asleep. About 10 feet behind you,” Hood answers. “You gave us quite the scare.”
“Don’ wor’y,” WiI replies, ‘ad a ‘ell a time m’self.”
“What part of ‘don’t talk’ means ‘don’t shut up’?” 
Wil smirks, and is going to try and croak out another answer, but instead gets tackled by his kid.
“Father,” they start, “Injured?”
“Sor’ an’ tir’d”
“Going home.” And then there's forty-five pounds of ex-assassin trying to drag him off in the direction of their apartment.
He gives his boss a look that says Pleas’ save me. But Hood just says “Good idea squirt, I was going to send you both that way in just a second.”
When they’re finally home, Wil puts on a happy, safe TV show, and wraps himself and Morel up in a blanket with a cup of tea. And even though the day was terrifying, and neither of them sleep, they have a good night and throw popcorn at the screen whenever the characters do something dumb.
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A few years after Vecna, Steve gets invited back to the high school to play in a charity basketball match with (and against) other Hawkins basketball alumni. It's for charity, and he misses the rush of playing (and he kinda wants to see if he's still any good), so he agrees.
He asks Eddie if he'll be there, but although Eddie's somewhat enthusiastic to Steve's face, he whines about it for days to Wayne. He fucking hates sports, why did he have to fall for a fucking jock, of all things. UUUGH! Wayne puts up with it for a while before realising that Eddie's not going to talk himself around, and gives him a blunt, verbal kick in the ass.
"You think your boy enjoys watching your dungeon and dragons shtick, son?" He asks, sipping at his beer.
Eddie's offended, immediately.
"He's never missed a session, course he loves it." he says. "And i know he pays attention because we talk about it afterwards and he's always..."
"And how's that make you feel?" Wayne interrupts.
"Fucking amazing." Eddie grumbles, knowing what's coming, and hating it.
"...and how do you talk about his hobbies?"
Eddie sighs and covers his face. Wayne carries on, knowing he's made his point but hammering it home nonetheless.
"Your boy loves his sports, he's always here just in time to watch the games with me nowadays. And don't think I haven't noticed how bored you are when it's on. I reckon he's noticed too."
Eddie's silent, starting at the ceiling with a dramatic, melancholy pout.
"Ah shit." He sighs. "I'm a bad boyfriend, aren't I?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. But learn from it if you want to be better." Wayne shrugs. "He makes you happy by indulging in your hobbies, maybe you should think about doing the same. Guarantee it'll put a smile on your boy's face, if nothing else."
So next time Steve brings it up, (tentatively, like he knows Eddie will complain) Eddie is much more genuinely enthusiastic. Steve's surprised for a split second (and doesn't that hurt), before he's beaming and looking absolutely delighted. And shit, yeah ok. It does make Eddie feel good to see Steve happy. Course it does.
The game rolls around, and hell yeah, it's boring to watch. Eddie's been reading up on the rules, so he's not entirely confused, but it just seems so pointless. Steve's good though. From what he's seen (and he's totally not biased, thanks) Steve's running rings around the other team, and Eddie's so fucking proud! It helps that Steve's in those shorts, showing off damn near the full length of his legs.
More importantly, he looks so fucking happy while he's playing. He keeps shooting Eddie these big, beaming smiles when they've scored a hoop, or point, or whatever they're called, and Eddie finds himself melting where he sits, face aching from smiling so much in return.
By the end of the game Eddie's fully invested. Sure, he barely understands what's going on, but even he knows enough that getting the ball in the hoop is a good thing, and Steve does it loads. Their team wins, and there's a huge group hug, pats on the back and other sporty, manly things before they all part ways and start making their way out to the parking lot.
Eddie stays put. He knows Steve will come right to him, and he does. They walk back to Steve's car together, and Steve's on some sort of winner's high; all smiles and cocky strutting. It's kinda hot. Screw that, it's totally hot, and suddenly Eddie's glad that Wayne's working tonight and they've got the place to themselves.
"Surprised you lasted the whole game, Eds." Steve says, teasingly, before he just downs a water bottle. "Thought you'd have died of boredom halfway though."
"Pssh." Eddie waves him off, trying not to feel embarrassed. "You know, Stevie, you're pretty amazing at that." He waves his hand vaguely back towards the court. "That shot you made from almost the centre? Chills, baby, full on chills."
Steve doesn't even bother checking to see if anyone's watching. He slams Eddie against the side of his car and kisses him, cradling Eddie's face with his hands, as though he'd die if he didn't have full body contact.
And Eddie knows the feeling. Like when Steve had recounted a particularly awesome moment from his campaign, and all Eddie had wanted to do was drag him right to the bedroom.
Steve pulls away.
"Get in." He said, opening the car door for Eddie like the gentleman he is.
And fuck, if this is the reaction he gets for paying attention, then he's definitely doing it more. If he's honest with himself, he should have been doing it from day one, but yeah sometimes he's a bit dense and needs a push in the right direction.
So basketball's boring as shit usually, but when Steve's playing? Hell yeah. He'll even put up with listening about it (and even football), if it puts that smile on Stevie's face. That's the price for dating a jock, he guesses, but it's miniscule, and it's fucking worth it.
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“Are you ever angry?” You ask quietly, head resting in Bakugou’s lap. His thumb pauses where it strokes your cheeks, the far away gaze in his eyes suddenly snapping into focus as he looks down at you. He looks…different than you remembered, before you both were cast out of the pearly gates.
His hair doesn’t shine as bright as it used to, and it falls a little flatter without the halo pulling it up, soft. His eyes still hold that hardened gaze as a battle angel, but they’re deeper now. More sunken in and hollow, the flickering ichor now a stained crimson. His face is scarred and his hands are rough after the fall but he’s just—different.
“About what?” He asks, his lips pursed in confusion. You reach a hand up, stroking over his bottom lip, smooth a hand through his hair. You can almost feel the throbbing light radiating from him, can almost see how broad and ivory his wings would spread and hold you tight to him.
“It all. Everything. The fall.” You whisper, try not to shrink into yourself with the way Bakugou’s lip curls back in disgust. He pulls away from you and you sit up, resting on your knees, looking at him in such a way that his heart pangs in his chest.
His heart, something he’s never had a reason for when he still had his fists bathed in heavenly fire and no ounce of rebellion hidden under sinless skin. It aches in his chest at the mention of life after being kicked out with the only thing he could hold onto—you.
“Why would I miss my thoughtlessness? My inability to make a decision for myself? Why would I miss being a pawn?” Bakugou is all snarls, all snapping teeth and jowls, but it doesn’t scare you. He’s never scared you, even when his gait was limp from the impact of hard soil, and his hands grew rough, and his back grew jagged from ripped feathers.
“I miss it.” You whisper so carefully into the humid night, hands reaching for his own trembling ones. “I want to be holy again, Katsuki.”
He hisses at you, snatching away like you’ve burned him, like you’ve seized his halo and ripped it into two until it split into horns. Looks at you with such heavenly fire burning in his gaze that you want to shrink beneath him.
“Well—well I don’t. Find someone else who will, cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” You wonder who he’s trying to convince here, with his shaky voice and fluttering eyes and trembling mouth. You stare at him for a long while, lips wobbling at the gravity of it all. Your head hangs low, gathering yourself in your arms, head bowed to him—it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.
“Just hold me for now.” You murmur, eyes low as you settle yourself in his arms, forcing your way into his hold. “Please?” You tack on, unafraid of his bite, his snarl, his growl. Bakugou sits there stiffly for what feels like a century, but you’re used to waiting.
He gathers you in his arms slowly, pulling you into his chest, his body covering yours completely. And if you let yourself relax enough, you can almost feel the warmth of his wings surrounding you again.
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