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sentientsky · 7 months

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Excerpt from one of my gomens fics, in which I reveal that I have abandonment issues (and should probably start going to therapy more often. whoops!):

Three years, eight months, and seventeen days ago, the world had nearly ended. Again. And he and his angel had (with a great deal of help from Muriel) brought it back from the brink of destruction. Again. And when the metaphorical dust had cleared away, the Almighty had found him in the dawn of a new world, all unearthly gaze and shimmering ethereality. She had offered him a complete return to the way it was before—not as a principality or even an archangel. No, She offered him the chance to be as he once was: an engineer, the Starmaker, a seraphim with all of creation at his fingertips and all of divinity at his feet. In a new world, too—one without Heaven or Hell, She promised. He had gripped his angel’s hand tighter, felt him return the pressure in equal measure.

Crowley had leveled his gaze at Her, terrified but unflinching in the face of so much heavenly heat. Like looking into the sun.

He would not leave, would not fall prey to a God that made too-pretty promises. Even if She had let him ask all the questions he desired, he would still refuse, and he told Her as much.

She had accepted this decision with a somber nod. Eyes full of plasma, She’d looked at him one last time and asked for forgiveness.

“My dearest Starmaker, I hope you understand.” A flock of birds flitted across the sky behind Her. He tracked their movement from the edges of his vision. “I am so sorry for all the pain I caused you.” She reached up to try to touch his face.

He pulled back, nearly snarling.

Dreadful memories of falling from a great height flashed through his mind. The taste of sulphur coated the back of his teeth, noxious and terrible.

“You let me fall. You pushed me—for asking questions ,” he had hissed, all venom, all jagged teeth. So many eons of abandonment, of sheer loss…Well, it does something to a not-person, to a beating, not-human heart. You learn to go cold, to slow your breathing and keep yourself boarded up and hidden. Your body learns to react to affection like a rejected organ transplant. You carry on through life scarred and spitting and backing against the wall like a cornered animal. You believe you don’t deserve tenderness. You believe it will ruin you. Because to love, to let yourself be loved, is to turn all vulnerable and underbellied—to show your hand in a game of cards with everything on the table.

And yet…a very young, hands-trembling part of you yearns for it—begs, desperate and hungry and aching, for love. Like a starved dog with all its ribs showing. Like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock, knowing full well which way the hill slopes.

After so long spent in the mires of self-destruction, Crowley would not—could not—forgive Her. For not only the violence inflicted against him, but also against the entirety of a vast universe. He would heal himself—had been healing himself—but he would not give Her the satisfaction of forgiveness. A breeze picked up, tossed scarlet hair against his forehead. He set his jaw, felt his heart slam against his chest.

“I know.” Her gaze softened. “I made a mistake.”

He’d barked a laugh at this, strangled and bitter and full of unspent wrath. “No fucking shit.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply beside him, and Crowley could practically feel the anxiety burn through his palm. But She made no move. She didn’t pull the edges of reality apart and rummage through the outer reaches of time. She didn’t pull the Book of Life from between worlds and condemn him to the heavy violence of non-existence—of never-having-been, never-will-be.

She only murmured into pearlescent air, quiet and resigned and infuriatingly serene, “I would take it all back if I could. I’d go back. Set things right.”

But she could, he thought, if she really wanted to, of course. She was God, after all—the Almighty. The one who held all the strings, the one behind the curtain, orchestrating the whole damned symphony. Was not everything within her control?

But of course, too much had transpired, too much had been changed in the last little stretch of eternity. And in truth, would Crowley have changed it—pressed restart—if given the chance? His gaze had flickered, momentary, to Aziraphale. From his periphery, he traced the soft line of his jaw, the arc of his curls. He breathed deep and tasted familiar bergamot on his tongue. Would they have been able to replicate what they had now, given the opportunity to do it all over again? How many times does lightning strike the same ground twice?

“Okay.” A beat. A ragged breath. “I hope you don’t expect me to forgive you.”

“I do not. And that’s alright; I understand.”

Thank u for reading!! Here’s the rest of the fic if u want it lol: x

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #good omens 2 #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #go2 #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 good omens

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years

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What the Rain Can’t Wash Away- Chapter Twelve

*FINAL PIECE IN THE LOOK IN HER EYES TRILOGY*

Sixteen years after Lucifer rose, and Dean lost his wife he finds himself with a teenager, a Nephilim, an angel, and his brother living out a Full House rerun with some seriously dark undertones. How will he be able to raise his daughter, fight monsters, and deal with the loss of the love of his life? Sometimes moving on is the hardest part, but with the Winchester’s there’s always something harder around the corner. Isn’t there?

Chapter Twelve, While You Were Asleep

Ella

It was dark and swirling, like I was falling. My arms flailed, trying desperately to grab on to anything around me. “Just seems like everything ends this way.”

“Dad?” I called out into the emptiness.

“Yeah.”

“Uncle Sam?”

“But we got one,” Uncle Sam said. “That counts for something.”

“We got one and there are thousands to take her place. Whose that guy who kept pushing the rock up the hill forever?”

“Sisyphus?”

“Yeah, him. I feel like him most of the time. Like we will be doing this forever,” Dad said sadly.

I reached for his voice, and urged my mind forward. Focus, El, or you’ll be falling forever. I focused on his voice. On his face. Dad, where are you?

“I’ll give you six months. Six months of bliss with your baby momma and then my hounds will come for you. That’s the best I can do, and I’m only that sweet because you look so damn pathetic.”

I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. I needed to probe through his memories. Where did you hide Michael?

“You’re the one, Sweetheart. It’s always been you. From the second I walked into that bar. It’ll be okay, because everything with us is right. You’re the only thing that’s right.”

Focus.

“Well, Mrs. Winchester, I could use the help. Step into my office?”

“In a minute. I want a famous house special.”

“Have you heard from Nel?” Dad asked.

Bingo. I focused my mind, and when I opened my eyes I stood in the bar. He sat at a table, his legs crossed at the knee, and his hands together. He wore my dad’s face, but he was a different man all together. “Michael.”

“It’s the littlest Winchester. How cute.”

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. “I’m not cute.”

He shrugged.

“We need to talk.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “About what, may I ask?”

“I need you to get the hell out of my Dad’s head.”

“I’d love to.” He leaned forward, his leg dropping back to the floor. “But Daddy has me all locked up. I don’t suppose you’re volunteering?”

I pursed my lips and stood my ground. “No.”

“Because you would be a perfect vessel.” He stood up slowly, smoothing out his slacks. “A Winchester, a direct descendant, and the power of your mind… I can smell it from here.”

He wanted to scare me, and I wouldn’t let him. I was a Winchester, after all, and strength was in my blood. I put out a hand and focused. “Stop right there.”

He did. He fucking stopped, and I watched him press on his forward foot to try to move, and he couldn’t. He was stuck. “I’ll be.”

“That’s right,” I said, firmly. “I’ve got you.”

It hurt like a pain that I’d never felt before, to see a man who has caused so much pain wearing my father’s face. “He is a good man,” I said, not meaning to, entirely. “My father is a good man. He doesn’t deserve what you’ve put him through.”

“He said yes.”

“To save his family! To be honorable.”

“And that’s what you’re doing now?” Michael’s voice was like a hum, a low frequency, if I wasn’t on such high alert I would be lulled to sleep.

“Yes.”

He scratched his chin like he was considering my words. “You are an interesting girl, Eleanor. Your father does love you. I can tell. It’s all in here,” he said, tapping his temple gently.

“I don’t need you to tell me that. I already know.”

“You’d do anything to save him, wouldn’t you?” He tilted his head to the side like a curious dog. It made my blood run cold.

“Yes.” But he knew that already. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked.

Ava

“What’s wrong with them?” I paced back and forth anxiously with my arms crossed as Castiel presses his fingers to my husband and daughters foreheads. “Jesus Christ just tell me something!”

“Sam, calm her down I need to focus,” Castiel said shortly.

“Ave, come here,” Sam said, pulling me into a familiar hug.

I wanted to squirm away and pace, because what the fuck, but I didn’t. I let him hug me, because I knew that he was just as worried as I was. I could give him some comfort, and that was worth something.

I walked out to find Dean. I didn’t want to fight with him, I never wanted that. Especially if we were really running out of time. When I came out I found them both on the floor passed out. “I can’t lose them,” I murmured into Sam’s chest.

“I know, Ave. Me neither.”

“Come on, Castiel.”

He sighed and stood up. “She’s confronting Michael.”

“What?!” Sam and I said together.

“We need to get her out of there!” I exclaimed, pushing away from Sam.

Castiel put his hand out. “We can’t. It’s too dangerous. Dean’s mind is very fragile. If any of us try to poke around in there the wall he put up around Michael could collapse.”

“It could collapse anyway,” I hissed.

“Ave, come on. She’s strong she...”

I could feel the sting behind my eyes, the flip of my stomach. I dropped to my knees between my daughter and my husband. I cradled Nel’s head in my lap, and I stroked her hair. “You can do this, baby girl. You’re a fighter.” I wiped one of my tears off of her cheek.

“Should we get them to a hospital?” Sam asked gently. “We don’t have the supplies to monitor them correctly here.”

I nodded quickly, reaching to take Dean’s limp hand in mine. “Yeah, we should.” There was danger between us. There always was the risk that we would lose each other. We did, over and over again. I just never expected it would end like that. That I would be the one left alone.

Sam reached down and picked up Eleanor effortlessly, her head resting against his shoulder. “Cas, you got Dean?”

I leaned down and held Dean’s face in my hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You come out of this or I will never forgive you.”

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

“Hey, I got you a coffee,” Sam said, offering out a cup to me.

I sat, curled into a chair in the waiting room as the staff examined my comatose family. I took the cup and sipped the foam off the top. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He lowered himself next to me, his eyes locked on my face. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk since you’ve been back.”

My eyes flickered up to his. “I didn’t know if we should talk.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

I reached out and touched his cheek. The scruff along his jaw, and the wrinkles on his forehead. “Just after everything with us.”

“That was a life time ago.”

“Not for me.”

We looked at each other, really looked at each other for the first time since I’d been back. He looked older, but in his eyes he was still Sam.

“It all has been so fast. A few days ago we were trying to stop Lilith and then I wake up and it’s been sixteen years. I know you’ve all gotten past what happened all that time ago, but for me it’s so fresh.”

“I’m glad you’re back, Ave.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn, right for the jugular.”

“Sorry, I’m nervous with everything… I don’t know. Just distract me.”

“Alright, yeah. I’m seeing someone.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Her name is Eileen… it’s kind of casual. She’s another hunter.”

I smiled.

“What?” He asked, his cheeks pink.

“I just remember when you wanted out of this life, but you look good, Sam. Really.”

“I did used to want out of the life, but I don’t know. Something changed in the last few years. I think I was meant for this, Ave.”

“I think so too.” I clasped my hands at my lap letting out a shaking breath. “God what’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know,” he said, standing up. “Cas made it seem complicated. It’ll probably take some time.”

“You seem pretty calm,” I commented. “Before you would’ve been hopping and ready to do anything to get him out of trouble.”

Sam smiled with only the left side of his mouth, his lips pressed tightly together. “I guess I’ve learned that we will either survive or we won’t.”

“You’ve stopped fighting,” I said helplessly, my heart sinking. That was the thing about the Winchesters, they were always fighting for each other. If Sam lost that… I didn’t know how they would ever recover from that.

“No.” He offered a wide grin. “It’s just not time for that yet.”

“Restraint.” I nodded softly. “Guess I need to learn some of that myself.”

“It’s hard.”

“It is. Sit back down.”

He complied and lowered himself back down next to me.

“How was it… raising Nel? I never thought I’d miss so much.” I could feel the sting in my eyes again, but I refused to fall to the impulse again. Every moment was extra time that I didn’t have before. I needed to be grateful for whatever I got. Even though losing them felt like dying all over again, but so much worse.

“It was really fucking hard,” he admitted with a light laugh. His eyes were focused off somewhere else, like he was looking into the past. “But it was damn rewarding, too. She never complained about the three of us raising her, and she never got in trouble. She’s a good kid. She’s smart and funny. She reminds me of you.” He elbowed me gently, lovingly.

“Ava Winchester?” Castiel asked, stepping into the lobby.

I raised an eyebrow at him, and Sam blinked a few times. “Why are you wearing a lab coat?”

“My name is Doctor Novak,” Castiel said slowly and awkwardly. “You can see your husband and daughter now.”

I shot Sam a glance and we both stood up, following Cas to the room. “What did you figure out?”

He shut the door behind us. “They’re all perfectly healthy. We have them on IVs to keep them hydrated, and catheters for urination.”

“Okay, Cas,” Sam cringed.

“They will be closely monitored, Ava. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.” His voice broke as he spoke. He glanced at Dean with a longing that I felt myself. “All we can do now is wait.”

“Can I have some time with them?” I asked, swallowing back emotion as my eyes landed on my entire heart laying in two separate beds.

“Sure,” Sam said, putting an arm around Cas. “We will be back in a bit.”

I pulled up a chair between the two beds and covered my mouth with my hand. “Dean, I’m so sorry.” I took his hand and watched him. He looked like he was sleeping, his mouth barely open. If I didn’t know better I’d think he looked down right peaceful. “After all this time you’re going to do this. Why can’t we just have something normal, huh? Why can’t we just be? The world isn’t yours to save. Not just yours. Whenever I get you out of this we are done, okay? Apple pie life. Just you, me, and Nel. If Sam, Cas, and Jack want to come that’s fine, but no more hunting. No more risking our lives. No more saying yes to Arc Angels or the Devil…” My voice trailed off as I laid my head on his chest. I listened to the steady thrum of his heart as tears soaked his hospital gown. “How dare you bring me back just to leave me like this.”

Dean

“Eleanor Mary Winchester open the fucking door!” I shouting in my best authoritative Dad voice, my fist banging against the door that she slammed me behind when she locked me away in my own fucking mind.

I sighed. It was no use, I wasn’t getting out of here until she opened the door. Damn demon blood. Damn hormonal teenagers. Damn mother fucking Arc Angels. To say I was sick and fucking tired of it all was a huge understatement.

I remembered the bar in my head and Ave. Small moments of peace were all we got. Eleanor’s first steps, the first time she said dada, and the moments after where Cas was certain she was babbling it at him. Halloween costumes and pancakes. I had a life time full of those moments all broken apart from the things that I fight and at what fucking cost? I knelt at my father’s grave years ago and wept like a little girl. I asked him why even though I already knew the answer. I’ve always known. Chuck told me himself. We are his guys. We save the world. I should just be happy for what I’ve gotten. Fuck, I even got to see Ava one last time. That was more than I thought I’d ever get.

I remembered all the nights I stayed up praying to a god that doesn’t give two shits about one guy, just to see her one last time. I begged and beggin don’t look pretty on me. I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to see her and hold her. Fuck, I wanted to fight with her again and have that makeup sex we were so good at. I got that, but I guess I’m selfish because I want more. I want it all. I want the bar. I want retirement. I want to sit with Sammy, Cas, and the kids on the beach with Ava in my lap. I want to have another baby and watch her stomach swell and grow. I want to see my kid being born and hold the baby. I want it all.

But it doesn’t matter what I want. It never did. I had a bunker and a job to do. Be a dad and save the world. Over and over again until all the breath is knocked out of my body. Guess that time is now. At least it looked that way as I was staring at the thick mahogany door.

I considered trying to beat it down, but I knew my kid was too smart for that. “You’re grounded if I get out of this.” I said, weakly. She wouldn’t have a dad to ground her. I knew that, in my gut. I just hoped that she would come out alive herself. I tangled with Michael, and he wasn’t exactly the type to spare people.

Click. I saw the door swing open just a crack, the light from the room pouring in and over me. It started out like a thin line and then expanded the more the door creaked and swung open.

“Fuck,” I said, slowly standing and walking right into the bright, white light.

Ava

The door swung open to the room. “El.”

I turned to see Claire. Her black makeup was running down her cheeks. “I came as soon as I… oh my god.” Her voice broke, and I moved to make room for her. She ran and lowered herself next to Eleanor’s bed. “Hey, baby. I’m here. Okay?” She took El’s hand in her own.

“She’s stable,” I said, weakly with a smile.

“We don’t know anything else?”

“Castiel said she is fighting Michael. We just have to wait it out.”

Claire’s face crumbled in front of me, her cheeks and eyes growing red as she choked back a sob. “Damn it.” She turned back to Eleanor and touched her cheek. “You stupid, beautiful idiot. Why did you do it, huh? You can’t just leave things alone. You stubborn…” Her voice broke again.

I looked to Dean. I knew the feeling. If Claire loved my daughter half as much as I loved her father, then Claire and Nel would be fine. They’d make it through anything. I laced my fingers with Dean’s limp ones. We would all make it out. “She’s strong,” I reminded Claire, putting my other hand on her shoulder.

“She is,” she agreed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “You hear that, Winchester? You’re going to make it. You’re going to kick Michael’s ass and then we will go home together and watch any movie you want. Even Harry Potter for the thousandth time. I won’t even complain or make fun of their accents. I promise. How does that sound, huh?”

She was sleeping beauty laying peacefully on her back, her chest rising and falling gently with every breath, and her princess was there to save her. But the princess didn’t have all the answers. She leaned in and pressed a desperate kiss to Eleanor’s lips, and I half expected her to open her eyes.

She didn’t.

One Week Later

“How’s our girl?” Claire asked, pushing open the door to the hospital room.

“The same,” I said, smiling up over the novel I was trying to read.

“And Dean?”

I forced a smile. “Also the same.”

“Stubborn asses,” Claire complained, walking to Nel and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Just can’t wake up first, can you?”

I pressed my finger to my lip and pointed to Sam in the corner who was curled up on a chair with his laptop dead on the table next to him.

“How long?”

“A few hours now.”

“The bigger they are the harder they fall,” Claire said fondly.

“Have you heard back from Mary?” I asked, closing my book and placing it back in my purse.

“Not a peep,” she complained, sitting in her chair across from me. “I even went by her place today and she wasn’t there. Mother of the year that one.”

I sighed. “I bet they were devastated when she came back and didn’t live up to expectations,” I said, my stomach twisted with the worry that Eleanor would think the same about me.

“You can say that again. She didn’t want to go by Grandma, either. Just plain old Mary. She barely let the boys call her Mom, but you’ve seen Sam’s puppy dog eyes. Hard to say no to them.”

“You have no idea.” I let out a breathless laugh.

“If you want a break I can take a round,” Claire offered, touching my hand.

We bonded in the last week. We took turns leaning on each other when we couldn’t sleep. When watching them lifeless in front of us was too much.

“I don’t need a break, thanks though.” I rubbed my eyes, trying not to look as exhausted as I felt. “Have you heard from Cas?”

“No such luck. Last time he checked in he was still trying for a lead.” She sucked in her breath and looked back at Nel. “It feels hopeless.”

“Hey. If I learned anything from this family it’s that there’s always hope. Hope’s kind of the whole point.”

Claire’s eyes flickered back to mine and she nodded quickly. “I love her, Ava. I know you and Dean aren’t thrilled about her being with a hunter... but I love her. She’s got me in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“He never dated, you know.”

“He mentioned that.”

“He was always hung up on you. Made me think that there is just one love out there for each of us... and Ella’s it for me.”

“So...sappy.” A hoarse voice coughed next to me.

I turned slowly, not believing it as I met Dean’s green eyes. “Oh my god you’re awake.” I stood up immediately, pulling him into a tight hug. My heart was in my throat, and I knew I should be asking questions but I couldn’t. All I could do is hold him.

“Hey Ave.” He grunted as I squeezed him tighter.

“Hey back.” My voice was like a soft squeak in between tears, but I didn’t care. I pulled back and touched his cheek with my hand. “Are you okay? You were under for a week.”

“I’m good. What about El is she...”

Eleanor. A lump grew in my throat, and I turned my body slowly to her bed. Claire held her head. She was crying again, looking down at Eleanor. “She’s not waking up. Why isn’t she waking up?”

She laid her back down and turned to Dean, grabbing him by his gown. “Why the fuck did it have to be you that wakes up! You’ve lived and died more times than I can count! Why wasn’t it her?” She was losing it. Black mascara tears ran down her face. “She is my life. I can’t be without her. I can’t...”

“Hey,” a soft voice said. “Don’t kill him, okay?”

Claire’s fists released Dean’s gown, and he settled back into his pillow, his eyes wide.

“El.” Claire’s voice broke again. “You scared me so bad.”

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said, smiling weakly. She looked completely warn out, as if she hadn’t been sleeping for the entire week. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn straight you will,” Claire said, holding her face and pressing an urgent kiss to her lips.

I turned to Dean and he wiped a tear from my cheek. He wrapped an arm around me. “Dean, what about Micheal?” I asked quietly against his ear.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened, Ave, but Micheal is gone.”

—————

Chapter Thirteen, When it Comes to You

Get caught up!

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mugsywrites · 5 years

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About your feelings on Daryl- I feel ya. I still like him a lot, but season 7 and 8 I really fell out of love with the character. I still loved the Daryl that existed in fanworks. I’m loving seeing him actually have lines this season. Your depiction of him in Ripples and FotR are probably my favorite. You write him beautifully. I miss your Desus fics but I totally feel you. I feel like Gimple actually forgot how to write Daryl for a couple seasons. He became a caricature for a minute there.

Yeah, I feel like it’s always one step forward and three steps back for him. I liked him in season 7 still because I thought after Glenn’s murder/being tortured he’d hit rock bottom and Maggie forgiving him and asking for his help was going to be a turning point for his character. But nope! Watching him is like being Sisyphus pushing that rock up hill--you think you’ve reached the top and maybe *this* time the damn thing won’t roll back but every time it does, and every time it’s a little bit further.

#Anonymous

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coastofnebraska · 7 years

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After @uttervogonity showed me a rad playlist about Icarus, I thought it would be cool to make some playlists myself. I had the stray thought of making one about Sisyphus, since he seems to be important to modern, overworked people. The mythic Sisyphus had to push a boulder up a hill in the underworld only for it to fall down every time. Despite this, all he can do is try to push that boulder up again.

I tried to incorporate these themes with lyrics, but sometimes it’s just an impressionistic idea. There’s rock and underworld imagery and other times there’s abstract feelings. Funnily enough, my two favorite picks on this list are from Nebraska artists (Simon Joyner and Tim Kasher). Below is the song list and some lyrics that inspired me to put them on the list. Enjoy!

1) The Well of Loneliness: McCarthy

“I once thought fame and romance could drag me out of hell

But they have only chained me here, in a lifelike prison cell”

2) Target: Simon Joyner

“It’s not difficult to picture

seven long and unlucky years

Those cement bones sure hide

Some shaky nerves”

3) Five Ten Fiftyfold: Cocteau Twins

“By taking it forward

It went gushing gust wind

Five ten fiftyfold

Five ten fiftyfold”

4) Shaking Through: R.E.M

“Could it be that one small voice doesn't count in the room?

Yellow like a geisha gown denial all the way

Could this by three be ten? Honor marches on.

Yellow like a geisha gown denial all the way”

5) Snow Crush Killing Song: The Mountain Goats

“I know you're changing

Damn you

I know you're changing

Goddamn you for that”

6) Dreams Burn Down: Ride

“Waiting, hoping for a sign

That what's forbidden can be mine

I just want what I can't have

'Til my dreams burn down and choke me every time”

7) Gravel Bed: Codeine

“Once stood on a shore so grand

Slept in a gravely bed

In a kingdom so pure

In a kingdom so pure”

8) I’m Afraid I’m Gonna Die Here: Tim Kasher

“So, I'll write another chapter, I mean, it's all I can do.

And if my body's tossed along the craggy rocks

I hope this book is waterproof”

#music #playlists #sisyphus #ancient greek #cocteau twins #r.e.m.

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

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Helping Hands

Chapter Seventeen: Hands in the Air

It was strange, Bucky thought, riding up the elevator, the things that a man could get used to. He was used to thinking certain ways, doing certain things. But it hadn’t taken him long to adjust, and now he hardly wondered at doing things like riding up sixty floors in a glass-backed elevator. (It was actually faster to ride up the central elevator that had a keyport and opened into Tony’s foyer, but Bucky liked the glass one, even though he had to climb the last flight of stairs and go in through the housekeeper’s entrance.) He was sleeping in when he wanted, and eating whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted. He was going to have to start using the building’s private gym pretty damn soon or he was going to get fat.

Which was why, when J had come by the penthouse that morning to drag a protesting Pietro out to the studio to re-record “Order and Chaos” because J hadn’t liked the way the guitar sounded, Bucky had impulsively decided to tag along. Steve was at the new school for orientation and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, Tony was at the office, Wanda was… doing whatever it was Wanda did when she wasn’t with J or at college.

Bucky had never been in a recording studio before, although it had been a dream of his, once upon a time. Before money for college got so scarce that he’d decided to join the Army to cover tuition. Before he’d lost his arm and with it, his ability to play the guitar. Friends from high school, he and Jim and James (there was a reason Bucky had stuck around as a nickname; too many goddamn Jameses in his circle of high school friends) and Tim (whom they all called Dum Dum for reasons no one could really remember), they’d formed a garage band with dreams of becoming the next Nirvana. Like most kids, he thought, looking back on his younger self with a certain degree of exasperated fondness. It hadn’t happened, of course, and Bucky couldn’t even remember anymore why they’d gone their separate ways.

They had arrived at Cherry Hill around ten, and J had immediately gotten into it with the sound director -- a burly, short man named Logan who reeked of cigars and had excessively righteous sideburns -- about the backing chorus, and something about the session singer, Jean Grey. Watching them, Bucky was left with the impression of a whirlwind talking to a boulder. Bucky mostly stayed out of it, though he’d taken J’s guitar away from him when it looked like the young singer might be tempted to go after Logan and use it as a blunt instrument.

While everyone split to their corners to nurse their wounds -- Logan had stomped off and come back with coffee and doughnuts, claiming that J’s low blood sugar was the problem, a clever move for someone who called people ‘bub’ and acted like an angry weed whacker -- Bucky had found himself with a guitar in his lap for the first time in most of a decade. The silver Les Paul was a beautiful instrument.

He hadn’t played in so long all his callouses were gone. He’d gotten new ones, learning how to do a number of chores with his good right hand, and then again when the prosthetic came along, but neither set was going to keep him from bleeding out his fingertips if he practiced on a steel-string. He’d poked around in J’s stuff until he came up with a guitar pick. The new metal hand was so much faster and more responsive to his thoughts. The feedback from the fingers was so good he could feel the minute vibrations in the strings.

Without entirely deciding that he was going to do it, Bucky had found himself plucking out an old melody, a song he’d learned from a friend in Afghanistan. He had to go over it several times -- he’d never had sheet music for the piece, and it had been years since he played it, but as it was the song he’d used to sing Steve to sleep for years, he was pretty familiar with the melody.

The elevator opened, interrupting Bucky’s replay of the moment, and Bucky ran up the stairs at a quick jog, and used his key and thumbprint to open the door to Tony’s penthouse.

“Why do you always come in the back door?” Tony said as he came in. “You’re not one of the staff.”

Bucky shrugged, not thrown off by that at all, although he might have been, if Tony had said it earlier. “I like lookin’ out over the city,” Bucky said.

“In another life, you were a dictator with your own little nation?” Tony suggested.

“No, you’re mistaking your past life for mine,” Bucky said. He darted forward and kissed Tony’s cheek, feeling a little more daring than normal. They’d sort of had sex a few times, if Bucky could call a few quick hand-jobs and getting blown twice sex but Tony kept shying away from anything that Bucky considered a normal part of intimacy, the stuff that wasn’t sex but that happened in the spaces between a couple.

They were living together, dating, and yet… there was this distance. He couldn’t decide if Tony didn’t want to get closer, or if he didn’t have the slightest idea how. Or even, perhaps, that he didn’t know it was possible at all. Bucky had picked up a bit of that from his old man; Big Jim hadn’t been the sort to ask for things; when he wanted the potatoes at dinner, he’d just stared at them until Bucky’s ma had passed them over. The first time Bucky had tried that with Sarah, she’d laughed at him and moved the rolls further away. You want something, Jamie, you ask for it. You ain’t Big Jim and I ain’t your mama. With that in mind, Bucky opened his mouth to say something -- he wasn’t even sure what, yet, but Tony interrupted him.

“You seem in a good mood, today,” Tony said.

“Hung out with J and Pietro a bit,” Bucky said. “Wanted to see what trouble they were up to with the recording.”

“Yeah?” Tony said. He moved to the bar and Bucky couldn’t help but check the clock: a little after three.

He grimaced; Bucky had been watching Tony’s behavior slip, rolling backward like Sisyphus’s stone, a little bit at a time, but inevitable. He pushed it aside for later; it was too nice a day to get into it now. “Aside from nearly coming to blows with some little sound guy --”

“The Wolverine?” Tony asked, eyebrows going up. “Brave kid, if he’s yelling at Logan about making a record sound perfect. You do not fuck with perfection, and you do not tell Logan what to do.”

“Well, no one told J that. They seem to be working it out when I left, though.”

“If J gets a single note through and the record sells, I guarantee you that in five years, J will be producing and mixing, not singing,” Tony said, leaning back against the bar with his whiskey in one hand. “Logan’s a tyrant, but he recognizes talent.”

“That’s a bet I’ll put money on,” Bucky said. “I left because J was about ready to murder me for touching his baby. Doesn’t matter how talented he is, J’s not going to give up singing. Not for anything.”

“So, you were playing again,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “Any good? The arm’s working out for you? That’s great.” And Bucky watched with delight as Tony’s eyes lit up, the smile that came to his lips softening into something more natural, and he actually put his drink down to come closer and run a hand lightly up the cybernetic arm. He turned Bucky’s hand over, inspected the fingers. “You can play with your hand like this? I mean, it sounds okay? I’m not much of a musician, but I imagine --”

“There’s a rough edge to the notes,” Bucky admitted. “It’s got a kinda Steve Reynolds sound going on, not bad, though.” He pulled out his phone. “Pietro recorded some of it, if you want to listen.”

Bucky tried not to wince too badly when the music came up; he’d been running scales a bit, trying to get the feel for J’s baby when his fingers wandered into the opening notes and he’d gone ahead and played it. He was so out of practice, it started out really rough and not quite at the right tempo, but once he’d finished the opening and gotten to the lyrics, it started sounding like music.

The song had been a favorite of Steve’s when he was a baby.

The first few months after Steve was born, Sarah had sung to him every night. Bucky remembered lying on the sofa, turning the volume down on the television so he could hear her voice, and it soothed him as much as it comforted their son. Then Sarah had stopped singing. Bucky had thought she was just tired; her milk had dried up, and she was back at work again. So he’d done what he could, taken on what duties he’d been able to manage with one hand. Rocking Steve to sleep and singing, that was something he could do.

After the first verse, Steve himself came in through the door, Tony’s driver right behind him, and Steve stopped just inside, dropping his backpack and staring at Tony with Bucky’s phone as if shocked into stillness.

When missing her is all I do, the days all pass me by like these dreams of Mississippi and these ghosts who cannot lie. Oh, this ring rests on my finger like a veve on a wall and whispers gather 'round me, come to dance when darkness falls. Everything I see adds up to say the tale is tall, but back into her arms is really not that far to fall. There is moonlight on the river where I never thought I'd go. There's a dream of Mississippi that I never tell a soul.

“No, no, no,” Steve yelled, running at Tony suddenly and snatching the phone away from him. “That’s Mama’s song!”

“Steve!” Bucky said, shocked at Steve’s unexpected behavior. The music died as Steve managed to stab at something on the screen that stopped the video.

“That’s Mama’s song,” Steve insisted. “You’re not supposed to sing it for anyone else!”

“Stevie, no, honey,” Bucky squatted a bit, listening to his knees pop and thinking he was getting too damn old for this. “Music is for everyone .”

“But that’s her song, Daddy,” Steve said, tears starting, his lip quivering. “You sing it to me because she can’t, anymore.”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky said, and drew his son into his arms. “I sing it to remember her.”

For just a moment, Steve’s body stiffened and Bucky braced himself to deal with a Steven Grant Barnes temper tantrum; he didn’t have them often, but when he did, they were legendary, the sort of thing that made single women swear off child-bearing for the rest of their days, and made Bucky wonder if people could hear his kid all the way in Jersey.

Instead, Steve hitched in a breath, looked up at his father, “Do you still love her?”

“Of course, honey,” Bucky said around the ache in his chest. “I will always love your mama. Always.”

Steve sniffled, loud and wet, but he seemed convinced of Bucky’s sincerity. “Sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

“You’re forgiven,” Bucky said. “You should probably say sorry to Mr. Tony, too.”

Tony, who was trying to sidle out of the room unobtrusively, looked a little guilty. “No, it’s okay,” he said, holding up one hand. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky nudged his son. “What do you think would be a good way to make up for it, Stevie?”

Steve hitched in another breath, looked a hair’s breadth away from rebelling, then let all the air out of his chest with an exasperated wheeze. Bucky knew telepathy was a thing, because he could clearly hear his son thinking God, DAAAAAAAAAAAD. “We could watch it together?”

“That’s a very good idea, I think,” Bucky said. He picked his phone up off the floor and made a get over here and act like an adult glare in Tony’s direction.

Telepathy. It was a thing. Because Tony was clearly thinking I do what I want.

“Don’t make me call Darcy, Tony,” Bucky threatened.

“Unfair,” Tony said. “You are a dirty cheater.” But he huffed and came back into the living room.

“Yep.” And Bucky sat down on the sofa, and his two favorite boys curled up, one on either side, to watch the damn video.

Bucky opened the magazine that Darcy had thrust at him, looked at the close-up of his own face, biting his lip, an expression that made him look younger and more uncertain than he’d like, but also kinda like a young pop-star.

Hero in Paradise, The Story of “Bucky” Barnes

-- Christine Everhart

Anthony Edward Stark and James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes‘ unique displays of affection make them seem like a perfect match. It would be hard to find two people from more different backgrounds, but reporter Christine Everhart got a good look at what goes on behind the scenes in Tony’s penthouse. In the wake of Barnes’s tabloid introduction to the glam world of Tony Stark’s playboy lifestyle, Barnes opened up to Profile, Weekly about his past in the military, current hardships, and plans for the future.

Barnes, 37, revealed that although his and Stark’s relationship started off with a casual date, he was pretty serious about seeing where they could go, despite their different interests and lifestyles. “Tony’s a great guy, you know,” Barnes said. “I wouldn’t call him down-to-earth, no, but he makes me laugh. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life, and I can’t tell you how much I missed it. Being happy. It’s pretty miraculous.” When asked if he thought Stark’s vast fortune was part of what was making him happy, Barnes was pretty adamant, “To be honest, the money thing… Well, it makes me feel a little inadequate.” “I never quite feel good enough for him,” he shared, adding that he’s “real uncomfortable around rich and important people.”

Certainly, Barnes isn’t taking into account his heroic and distinguished military career. Although he never ranked higher than Sergeant, Barnes was responsible for saving the lives of half his unit, when they encountered heavy fire during the offensive at Baluchi, in July, 2006, the battle that cost the sergeant his left arm. Granted a replacement limb in Stark Industries’ early testing for their cybernetic prosthetics, Barnes found the quality of his life greatly increased. “Taking care of Steve -- my son -- was a lot easier once I had two arms again.” He laughed, those stormcloud-blue eyes of his bright. “To all the single parents out there, I salute you. And imagine, if you will, trying to change a diaper with one hand. Stevie was the youngest kid I knew who was toilet-trained, just to make my life a little less -- well, you know.” “I like how I am,” he said. “Some people give me some side-eye about the arm, but I love it.”

Despite losing his wife in 2010, Barnes says that he has hope for the future. “Sarah gave me the best gift she ever could. I have regrets, sure; everybody does, but Stevie makes everything worthwhile.”

Barnes’s young son seems well at home in Stark’s palatial penthouse; he came in about halfway through our interview. Barnes’s heroic actions and determination are echoed in Steve Barnes, who apparently got into a playground tussle when one child used a slur against one of Steve’s friends.

These days, Barnes is spending his time working with his niece and nephew, singer and guitarist for the up and coming new band, Vision.

Bucky eyed Darcy over the magazine at the last photo in the spread, one of the shirtless pictures he’d let Christine take. “This--”

“Is gorgeous,” Darcy interrupted. “Seriously, girls will swoon over it and Ty will have a lot more trouble making bad news stick to you. Everyone loves a broody hero.”

For just an instant, Tony looked up from his own copy of the magazine and met Bucky’s gaze, which did something interesting to Bucky’s stomach, but then Tony was looking down again.

Well, maybe some people do.

Notes:

(inspiration picture for the news article)

Dream of Mississippi, by SJ Tucker is actually one of my favorite songs. I find both the lyrics and the melody haunting, and thought it was an appropriate piece for Bucky to sing about his dead wife. You should really take the time to go listen to this talented lady; my particular favorite songs of hers are Dreams of Mississippi, Cheshire Kitten, Ravens in the Library, and Wild River Child. Also, Truth about Ninjas is hilarious. Go… go support indie musicians!

#winteriron #prompts #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #tisfan #helping hands au

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