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usermoreid · 3 years

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Darkened Nights (Violent Things)

Fic Week Day Two: Alternate ending to an episode

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense’.”

The silence in the room was palpable. In almost perfect synchronicity, every head turned to face the man in question only moments before he stormed out of the room, footsteps echoing throughout the house.

"I'm not a narcissist," he said, pacing back and forth as the others entered the room, slowly as if approaching a wild animal that could attack at any second.

"Come on. Look, you can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch," Gideon tried to reassure him, quickly stopping when he was interrupted.

"No, stop. Stop." The room fell quiet once again. "Alright, everybody right now - what's my worst quality?" His head turned frantically around the room, taking in everyone's hesitancy to answer. "Okay, I'll start. I have no sense of humour."

"You're a bully," JJ said hardly a second after he'd finished.

"I'm a bully," he repeated.

"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

"Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men."

"Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever. So why did Reid say that I do?"

"Don't jump to any conclusions just yet. Reid is smart. For all we know, he could have been leaving clues this entire time. We just need to find what they are."

"Clues? We don't even know if Reid's aware that we saw that!" His voice raised at Gideon as an exasperated arm was thrown in the air. "What sort of clue is 'narcissist'? That doesn't lead us anywhere. Like you said, Reid is smart. His clues would be more obvious than that."

He turned on his foot, heading back in the direction he came from. The others all shared a look of trepidation before following after him. They'd never seen their boss so unsettled, and in turn it was fraying their nerves in an already precarious situation. Gideon was the only one to look unperturbed but even Emily, who had spent such little time around the man, could see the tightness around his mouth and the stiff way in which he stood. He may have been acting as though he wasn't bothered but they could see right through him. Despite this, they walked on without mentioning it, knowing how private of a man Gideon was.

Back in the computer room, the tension was so thick it was almost suffocating, squeezing their hearts like a clenched fist prepared to strike at any moment. They were all on edge, staring intently at each blank screen as if they would come to life, the answer to the question that was plaguing them all displayed clearly on the screen. But there were no bold letters written out in front of them. There was no easy solution. Their youngest team member was still at the mercy of an unsub that had seemingly no plan to let him leave alive and they had no way of finding him.

Hotch cursed softly under his breath and stalked out of the room once more after several minutes had passed without so much as a mumble from anyone. The team knew better than to feel any shock at Hotch's out of character expletive; none of them could blame the man for not acting like himself. Instead, they looked to Gideon for guidance. The older man held a single hand up, preventing them from joining him in going after Hotch. He searched through the rooms, not finding his colleague in any of them, and then the grounds outside. It was a few feet in front of the house that he finally spotted him. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he could've been mistaken for a statue.

"He's still alive."

Hotch showed no sign of having heard Gideon approaching or settling a few steps behind him, and yet he didn't startle at the words, his stare remaining off into the darkness.

"You can't prove that."

"It's Reid. He always survives."

A small sound filled the air. It would have passed for a chuckle if the bitterness had not been so clear, as if it had rotted within him before being set free.

"You know, sometimes I feel like God sent Reid to me for a reason; as if there was something I could do for him. I couldn't even teach him how to deal with the emotional side of this job before I sent him into what's probably going to be the most traumatising thing he's ever going to experience."

"Then you help him through the aftermath. You still have time, Hotch. Your work isn't done."

Hotch shook his head. "I can't save him."

"All by yourself? Probably not, but I wouldn't be surprised if you did. You've got an entire team in there, Hotch, ready to risk everything. You helped him become the agent he is. If there's anybody that can help him again now, it's you. You understand him. I'm sure there's something Reid mentioned that tells us where he is, but we need you to not treat this like he's already gone."

Neither of them spoke. The only noise between them was the delicate wind, soft whispers floating throughout the air as if sending a message that he couldn’t quite decipher. Hotch’s head dropped down to face the dirt below him, a queue for Gideon to leave that he thankfully took, making his way back to the house that he was beyond tired of seeing. A small breath left Hotch’s lips, almost a sigh but not quite. He knew that Gideon was right. Standing outside staring at the ground wasn’t helping anybody but Hankel, and yet he couldn’t quite find it in himself to turn around. Spencer’s words were playing on repeat in his mind.

“He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team.”

Was he right? Of course he was, Hotch thought to himself. Spencer was never wrong, and he wouldn’t use the word ‘narcissist’ so lightly. But if he truly did put himself above the rest of his team, could he really trust himself to do what was best for one of its members? After all, everybody else was in that god-forsaken house, working tirelessly to bring Spencer home, and here he was: standing alone outside, focusing on his own problems instead of helping them.

With a shuddering breath, he turned around, pausing for only a moment before heading back to his team. Reid may have been right about the narcissism, but he would do everything in his power to get him back regardless. Reid was still alive, and he intended to find him that way as soon as he possibly could.

They all worked until the sun came up, the bright gold rays almost taunting them as they shone in through the windows. It was as the morning light hit that Hotch finally managed to force some of them to sleep. Morgan, JJ and Garcia were the firsts to go, though Morgan was only out for barely two hours before he returned, letting Gideon rest instead. Hotch felt the need to ask if he’d managed to get any sleep at all but based on the drooping of his eyes and the anxious clenching of his fists, he felt it wasn’t necessary.

They continued the search, finding dead end after dead end, and all the while both Hotch and Morgan refused to sleep. Prentiss eventually conceded, taking JJ’s space once she’d woken up. Hotch was rather impressed by how well she functioned on such little rest but he didn’t spare much thought on the matter, knowing that there were more important things at hand. It was only after the third time that they’d nearly fallen asleep on each other that the two men finally accepted that it was time to rest. They needed their entire focus on getting Reid home and they wouldn’t be able to do that if they were incapable of thinking. With heavy hearts and much hesitation, they left the room.

Neither of them had wanted to sleep in the house, the knowledge that they were currently residing in the home of the man that had their friend was hanging over their heads, making it almost impossible to even stand in. Instead, they chose the comfort (or lack thereof) of the FBI SUVs. Hotch climbed into one as Morgan climbed into the other, both immediately sitting in the driver’s seat and laying it back as far as they could go.

Being mid January, there was a strong chill in the air despite the persistent shining of the sun above them. Hotch wrapped his suit jacket tighter around himself, trying to maintain any sense of warmth that the thin clothing gave him. His eyes fell shut and he attempted to fight back every thought that was swarming around in his mind, loud and obnoxious and refusing to leave. It felt like hours of trying to quieten his mind, though in reality it mustn’t have been more than thirty minutes, when the passenger side door opened. His head instantly turned, eyes flying open as the lack of sleep made him more paranoid but less alert.

“I’m guessing I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Morgan said as he dropped into the seat next to him, door slamming shut behind him.

Hotch grunted, eyes closing again. “I knew I should’ve just stayed there and continued working.”

“No, you still did the right thing coming out here. I want to be in there just as much as you do but we’re no help if we can’t even stand upright.”

He hummed non-committedly. “Maybe so. Doesn’t make me okay with being out here while my team is in there working.” Typically, Hotch would never speak to a subordinate in such a way. The lack of sleep, however, was really beginning to affect him, taking away his filter.

It was silent for a few beats, no sound to be heard in or out of the car, until Morgan finally spoke again.

“You know Reid doesn’t actually think you’re a narcissist, right?”

“I hardly think it matters. I’m his boss, he’s allowed to view me in whatever way he does and I have no say in that.”

“But you’re not just his boss, you’re his friend. He had to name someone so that Hankel would stop the roulette. He did it as a means of survival and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

Hotch swallowed hard, still refusing to open his eyes. If he didn’t see Morgan there, he could almost pretend he was talking to himself.

“I just… he’s so young, Morgan, and he’s been through so much already.”

“I know,” Morgan replied quietly. “It’s awful just watching him go through it, I can’t imagine what it actually feels like to be trapped there.”

“We haven’t even seen a video of him in hours and I don’t- It’s not like I actually want to see him being hurt but I’m going out of my mind wondering why it’s been so long.”

Morgan sighed. “I wish I had an answer for you, man. I get it, though. Seeing him is awful but at least we know he’s alive. Right now we’re stuck in this weird limbo where Spencer Reid is both alive and not alive and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Schrödinger's Spencer.”

Morgan didn’t reply for a moment but when he did, it was with a snort. “That’s such a Reid joke to make.”

Hotch let out a light chuckle. “I suppose it is,” he said, his head gently falling back to rest against the seat behind him, “and I suppose that’s a sign for me to go to sleep.”

“Aaron Hotchner cracking jokes? Absolutely a sign to sleep. Good night.”

A small smile made its way to Hotch’s face for hardly a second but the weight that had been taken off his chest felt more permanent. “Good night, Morgan.”

It only took a few minutes after that for the two of them to drift off into a less than restful slumber, the anxiety still flowing through their veins making it difficult to stay asleep. It was enough, though, and by time they walked back into the house, they were ready to start the search again. “What have we got?” Hotch asked as they entered the room.

“Nothing new,” Prentiss informed them, a restrained disappointment seeping into her words. “We haven’t got any more videos, we’ve searched everywhere that’s connected to him, and there have been no new murders.”

“So another dead end." Morgan's fists clenched by his side but he managed to hold himself back from hitting anything.

“I know it’s difficult,” Gideon said, “but we just have to wait it out. I’m aware that the last thing any of us wants is to sit around doing nothing but until we have something to go off, there’s nothing we can do but be patient.”

“Patient,” Morgan murmured with a small scoff. “Right. I’ll just be patient while my best friend is off being tortured.” His eyes drifted around the room, lending on the stack of books sitting on the table. “I guess I’ll go through Hankel’s writing again, see if we missed anything.”

Hotch watched as he reached for one of the books. “I’ll help.”

---------

“We’ll have to watch the videos again.”

Every head turned to face Gideon. They’d spent the past few hours reading the books, over and over and over, looking for any little thing they could’ve missed. Garcia had conducted the most in-depth cyber search possible, trying to find anybody and anything that could be connected to either of the Hankel men. Everything had come up empty. The only thing they had yet to do was rewatch the tapes. They knew it was the next logical step but the thought of watching Reid go through that pain all over again made them feel sick to their stomachs.

“JJ, Garcia, neither of you need to stay for this. Go see if you can get some food together for us, it’s been a while since any of us have eaten a real meal. I know it’s already dark but take a car and see if you can find something. Prentiss, Morgan, you’re free to join them if you’d rather but your eyes would be of use here.”

Once Garcia had loaded the videos ready to be played, her and JJ followed Hotch’s orders, though not without some hesitation from the latter. Morgan and Prentiss immediately sat down without a word, prepared to watch them regardless of how much they wished it wasn’t necessary. It was an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge the way everybody froze momentarily as the first video started, an image of Reid coming onto the screen, clear signs of physical trauma evident.

“The other heathens are watching. Choose a sinner to die, and I’ll say the name and address of the person to be saved.”

“I won't choose who gets slaughtered and have you leave their remains behind like a poacher.”

“Did you see that?” Morgan asked. “The way he looked into the camera before he spoke. What did he say - ‘leave their remains behind like a poacher’? I think that’s a clue.”

Gideon considered him for a moment. “I think you might be right. Here,” he handed him his notebook and pen, “write it down.” He played the next video.

“Tobias, help me.”

“He can’t help you, he’s weak!”

All four of the viewers flinched as skin hit against skin; as whimpers and cries fell from Reid’s lips. Morgan’s fist hitting the table was ignored as the agent on screen fell back in his chair, head hitting the floor with great force.

“You came back to life.”

“Raphael.”

Their focus didn’t leave the screen, watching intently as Reid stared God’s Will directly in the eye and didn’t flinch, God’s angel holding the trigger.

“Choose.”

“I choose Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist.”

Hotch exhaled deeply but didn’t stop watching, listening to the words that had been playing on repeat in his mind since he’d first heard them. Morgan’s mouth opened as if to speak when Prentiss suddenly raised a hand in front of her, stopping whatever he was going to say. The men looked up at her and she put a finger to her lips, her other hand pointing in the direction of the room next door. They remained silent, ears straining to hear what Prentiss was referring to. It was a few moments later that they realised what it was - a small thump.

Immediately alert, they all reached for their weapons, drawing them up and preparing to defend each other. Hotch crept forward, signaling for the others to get behind him. He moved soundlessly, slowly approaching the door frame that led to the front room. Once at the edge, he glanced into the room, immediately spotting the man standing on the other side.

Morgan moved to stand next to his boss. Gideon and Prentiss would’ve taken the only other door in the room, leaving him with no exit, but there was no path to get there without passing him. Instead, they pressed close, ready to charge in behind Hotch and Morgan. As they were about to move, the man turned around.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Hankel said, voice low but strong, back straight as he stared down his target. “You’re a sinner. Job 15:31. ‘Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.’ You must repent.”

His arm hadn’t raised more than a few inches before four different guns went off, bullets lodging into several different parts of his body. He dropped.

Gideon immediately pushed forward, crouching down to check the man’s pulse. “Dead,” he told them.

“Did you hear what he said?” Hotch’s voice was subdued, his gaze fixed on the body on the floor.

“What about it?” Prentiss asked.

“Job 15:31. He said it was Job 15:31. Reid said it was Genesis 23:4. Why would he get it wrong?”

“He’s under a lot of stress. It’s understandable if he misremembered something,” Morgan answered, though he sounded sceptical.

“But he didn’t misremember it. He misquoted it. So what does Genesis 23:4 actually say?” They all hurried to the bookcase that contained bibles, Hotch getting there first and instantly grabbing the closest copy to flick through the pages, sparing hardly a glance at each. “Here,” he said, passing his book to Morgan, “Genesis, chapter twenty-three, verse four. Read it.”

Morgan took the offered bible, finding where Hotch gestured before reading it out loud. “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”

“He wouldn’t get it wrong unless it was on purpose.” Shock and relief stretched his lips into a smile.

“He’s in a cemetery.” Prentiss realised.

At that moment, the door opened and in walked the two that had left earlier, each with a bag on their arm. “Oh my God,” Garcia gasped as she saw the man on the floor, bag falling next to her feet with a thud. “Who is that?!”

“Is that Hankel?” JJ placed her bag down next to Garcia’s but paid no more attention to the food it contained, her focus entirely on the face that was currently surrounded by a pool of its own blood.

“It is,” Hotch answered quickly. “Garcia, check to see if there have been any reports of poaching in the last couple of days.”

“Okay, okay, uh…” She trailed off as she rushed to the computer with the others following, taking care to not step in the blood. It took less than a minute for her to set up the system and conduct her search. “A farmer reported two sheep being slaughtered on his property.”

“Where are we talking?”

Garcia zoomed in on the map in response to Morgan’s question.

“What’s that patch of green there?”

“Marshall Parish,” Hotch replied to JJ. “I think it’s an old plantation.”

Emily leaned forward, catching everyone’s attention. “Wait. Tobias wrote in his journals about staying clean and keeping away from Marshall.”

“Does that say that there’s a cemetery on the ground?” Gideon pointed at the screen.

“We’ve found him,” Hotch breathed. “We’re going to save him.”

-------

“FBI!”

As soon as Hotch’s foot hit the floor after kicking the door open, he was moving. Along with some of the local police, the team entered the cabin, guns drawn and eyes on alert as they searched for any sign of their missing agent.

“Clear!”

“Oh! What’s that smell?” Prentiss scrunched her face up against the overwhelming scent in the air, casting her glance around the room to find the source. She spotted it on the floor: a pile of burnt fish. The smell threatened to take over their senses as they coughed against it, fighting the urge to leave immediately.

“Let’s spread out. He has to be here somewhere. Let’s go!” Hotch stormed ahead, looking as though the stench hadn’t had the slightest effect on him.

Gideon watched as everybody fanned out to search the grounds as his eyes took one last look over the room, being drawn to the pair of handcuffs laying haphazardly on a chair that he clearly recognised from the videos. Spencer had been sitting in that chair. He’d had those handcuffs on him. He’d been surrounded by that smell. So where was he now? He couldn’t have let himself out of those cuffs, but Hankel wouldn’t have just let him roam free.

With that thought in mind, he left into the darkness of the winter night, the chill immediately seeping into his bones despite the thick clothing he had on to protect himself. An image of Spencer, as frozen as the real Charles Hankel, pushed its way to the front of his mind completely unbidden. He did his best to shove it back, knowing it wouldn’t help. It didn’t leave.

They scoured the cemetery, searching over every inch looking for anything that might tell them where Spencer was before it was too late. Hankel must’ve left him hours ago without a fire or any other means of warmth, it was no wonder that he’d finally become desperate enough to leave the cabin on his own accord despite the great risks it presented him, Hotch thought.

He was aware that Spencer could’ve made it to a road by now but judging by the presumed lack of shoes and warmth, as well as his recently sustained injuries, he felt that it was reasonable to assume that he hadn’t gotten far. Just to cover all bases, he sent some local officers further up, closer to where they’d arrived from.

They’d been searching for over twenty minutes when they finally found something. A patch of soil, packed more freshly than that around it. It had been recently planted within the last few days.

“Morgan!” Hotch yelled at the top of his lungs, above the noise of everybody else calling out a different name. He instantly dropped to his knees and began clawing at the dirt, scraping it out and throwing it in random directions, not paying any mind to anybody around him. A body dropped down next to him and hands joined his own but neither looked at the other, concentrating only on the cold ground below them.

They dug and they dug until they hit something - something colder than the dirt it was surrounded with, something much paler. They continued tearing at the floor even more savagely than before, desperation leaking through at the sight of the foreign object. Fear gripped them tighter than the cold did, making them work harder and faster until suddenly a white cloth was visible, soon followed by a familiar dark red.

“No, no, no, no,” Morgan muttered, each word faster and louder than the last. “Come on, man!”

Hotch pulled away dirt from higher up, more gently this time, though he refused to acknowledge what could be under it until he finally saw it. A face, skin soft and almost glistening in the moonlight, marred by dirt and blood. Spencer.

He wedged an arm underneath his back as soon as the opportunity presented itself, Morgan having pulled enough of the ground off of his arms for it to not cause any harm, and he pulled. Once the top half of his body was fully out of the dirt, his hand raised on its own accord in search of a pulse as Morgan set to work on the CPR.

No pulse.

His breath caught in his throat but his fingers didn’t move. He was vaguely aware of the ringing in his ears but he ignored it.

“Please, Spencer. Please,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Wake up. Come on. Wake up!”

“Not like this, pretty boy. Not like this.”

Morgan hadn’t stopped the CPR, going harder than what was necessary. It didn’t escape Hotch’s notice that any CPR at all may be unnecessary as he took a closer look at the boy in front of him. His eyes were closed and his skin was freezing to the touch. At first Hotch assumed that he must have been buried only hours before, likely just before Hankel left on his final self-righteous mission. Now, though, as he stared at the blue-tinted pallor of the agent in front of him, he doubted it.

Spencer Reid had been dead for at least a day now.

“Morgan, stop,” he muttered half-heartedly, his line of sight not moving from eyes that wouldn’t open. He’d never forced Spencer to make eye contact with him before but he was wishing with everything he had that just this once, he would; that just this once, Spencer would open his eyes and stare right back at him.

The aggressive panting by his ear hadn’t stopped, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. What if Spencer opened his eyes for only a second as he looked away? What if he missed Spencer’s final breath? What if-

“Morgan. You have to stop.” His voice was weak but it was all he could muster, still not looking away but being able to see the hands still pumping down on Reid’s chest as he periodically reached up to perform mouth-to-mouth. “Morgan.” He didn’t stop. “Morgan!”

He finally snatched his eyes away from those in front of him, becoming frozen in place as he watched Morgan lose control of the tears rolling down his face. Small sobs fell from his lips but he was clearly holding them back, trying so hard to save a dead man. It didn’t look as though he’d even heard Hotch’s words.

With a shaking breath, Hotch put his hand on Morgan’s arm, not surprised when it was instantly thrown off in a rather violent manner. He put his hand back, holding tighter but still getting thrown off. He forced himself to sit back, body threatening to collapse under the stress of it. Harsher than before, he gripped Morgan’s arm and pulled. Nothing. He pulled again. Nothing.

“Morgan, he's dead. You have to stop.”

Morgan furiously shook his head but otherwise didn’t acknowledge him, leaving Hotch with only one other option. He wrapped both of his arms around the man’s torso and pulled as hard as he could, refusing to let go no matter how much the struggling man tried to get away. Morgan’s arms flailed wildly but Hotch didn’t budge.

“You did all you could, Morgan. You did all you could. There’s nothing more to do. I’m sorry,” he murmured into his ear, the low volume not entirely on purpose.

“No!” Morgan shouted, fighting harder against the restraints of Hotch’s arms. “We can’t just give up on him!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, finding himself unable to stop apologising despite the fact that the words were unable to reach the ears of the person they were meant for.

“Hotch, we can’t- we can’t just give up. We can’t just give up.” At this point Morgan had stopped struggling, both against Hotch and the sobs that were now ripping their way out of his throat. His head buried itself into Hotch’s shoulder as his hands came up to grip onto the arms around him, his legs slightly curling up as wails of agony tore through him.

Around them stood the rest of the team, watching the scene in front of them unfold whilst knowing that there was nothing they could do to help. JJ and Penelope were wrapped around each other, tears falling freely from their eyes as they listened to the slowly quieting cries of the usually hard-to-break agent. Emily was completely frozen, her breath slowing to almost a complete stop. Gideon’s face remained unchanged, though the tears blurring his vision were hard to miss. He took one more look at the man he considered his son, and he turned around, walking away back into the darkness.

Hotch’s arms loosened but didn’t let go of the man inside of them. His apologies hadn’t stopped even as his eyes became less focused, his mind trying to take him somewhere far away but failing to take him further than that cabin. It was ironic, he thought, that a house belonging to someone so dedicated to his worship could be so void of God. No, there was no God here, but there had been an angel, and he’d taken Spencer Reid away from them.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch whispered. “I should’ve understood.”

#hiii<3 #i wish i spent more time on this i might rewrite it a little before i post it on archive but idk yet #i know that there are mistakes in this pls forgive them i havent edited this yet #cmficweek

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

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Riptide

A love story told from two perspectives. One after it is has ended, and the other just as it begins.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Words: 3.8k

Rating: Mature. Major Character Death.

You can either read over on a03, or below the cut.

I would love to know what you think.

“I have loved with the breadth of the ocean, and lost with the grief of rainfall.” - Angie Weiland-Crosby ___________________

October 2025

His wake is in the house they shared together. People she both recognised and didn’t mill through their home, giving her and Jack their condolences as they passed by.

Emily’s grief felt oppressive, like she was drowning in it. Every breath she heaved in through her lungs burned in her chest. Hollowing out the place where his love used to live.

She had been through a lot in her life. Her childhood was snatched away from her at 15 in a small clinic in Rome. Ian Doyle had torn through her life twice, leaving disaster behind him both times. The ruins of her life his personal victory, even in his death.

But this, losing Aaron, was by far the worst thing she had experienced. Since the moment she was told he was dead she had struggled to comprehend it, only really believing it when she was taken to see his body. Emily felt numb. She knew she was pushing everyone away but she couldn’t help it. The solitude of her grief helped her just about cope enough to get up in the morning.

“Emily?”

She turns to see JJ standing at the door of Aaron’s home office, having clearly sought her out. Emily would place money on the fact the team was taking it in turns to check on her. Their own grief for Aaron outweighed by concern for her.

“I’m hiding from my mother.” Emily explains from where she is sitting on the couch. “She has no tact and I can’t cope with her today of all days.”

JJ sits next to her and places her hand on Emily’s. She runs a thumb over her knuckles. A gesture Emily thinks is supposed to be comforting, but she can barely feel it. The numbness she has felt the last couple of weeks ever present. Like she was watching life from behind glass, all of her senses muted and warped by grief.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I’m ok. Or say anything kind.” She pulls her hand from under JJ’s and stands, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Trying desperately to hold herself together, but feeling like she could fall apart any minute. “I don’t think I can take it.”

JJ stands too but keeps a good distance from her friend, respecting the boundaries Emily had put firmly in place the morning after everything changed. “He wouldn’t want this for you, he’d be worried.”

Emily scoffs, but tears fall onto her cheeks anyway. She furiously wipes them away with the heel of her hand. “I wish people would stop saying that.”

JJ’s face crumbles, barely restrained emotion on her own face. “He loved you Emily. You were going to-”

“JJ. I really don’t need you to explain my relationship to me.” Emily says harshly, bitter words falling past her lips to stop her from breaking down. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying in days. “I have to go check on Jack.”

“Em-”

“He lost his father. The only parent he had left. He’s what’s important right now, everything else can wait.” She turns to leave, hand hovering over the door handle to lead her out of his office and she hesitates to turn back around to look at her friend. “I love Aaron, JJ.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on either of them. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And he’s gone. I’m never going to get him back and you need to let me deal with that in my way. Okay?”

She leaves the office before JJ can respond. She walks through the hallway of the house she and Aaron had bought together, a photo on the wall making her stop in her tracks. Penelope had taken it on a night out with the team not long after Emily and Aaron first got together. She had just been injured on a case, her shoulder still sore from where she’d been stabbed. Aaron was still fussing, not drinking so he could take her home whenever she was done. He had pulled her onto his lap, his broad chest protecting her shoulder from being jostled by anyone. Occasional whispers in her ear asking how she was slowly driving her crazy. Penelope snapped the photo as she turned her head to admonish him, a loving look on her face.

The squeal that came out of her friend after she took it still echoed around Emily’s head 4 years later. Penelope had passed her phone over, showing them the photo of them looking at each other like no one else existed.

She’s always loved that photo. She had sent it to her own phone immediately and had it printed. Now it made her heart clench in her chest, wishing she could see him again. Their home now felt like a museum of memories, their life together a snapshot in time that would never have been enough, even if they had grown old together. In the two weeks since he had died every part of her wanted to run, to get out and leave this all behind.

She stays despite everything in her screaming to leave. To get out of the house they shared, the city that reminded her of him at every turn. She wants to be somewhere he never had been, in the futile hope that she would one day be able to breathe without it being painful, without her lungs constricting like she was underwater.

She stays. She knows from experience that running away won’t fix anything, that she would just take memories of him anywhere she went. Carried on her skin like tattoos of his affection, etched permanently onto her. And in her worst moments, when having been loved by him felt more like a curse than the blessing it was when he was alive, she wishes she could hate him for it.

Jack is standing with Jessica in the living room. Emily is reminded of watching Aaron and Jack together at Haley’s funeral so many years ago. It was hard to believe that the little boy was now the young man in front of her, back in town from college and clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

He looks so much like Aaron that it steals her breath away.

“Jack.” She says gently as she approaches, a tight smile on her face. Both Jack and Jessica turn to look at her. “I’d ask how you are doing but that’s a stupid question.”

The 20 year old nods at her. “It’s weird. Knowing he’s gone forever.” Jack replies, clearing his throat. “It feels final now.”

Emily agrees, her fingers digging into the skin around her thumbnails. “Where are you staying tonight? You can stay here if you want. Your room is still set up.”

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jessie.” He says tilting his head towards his aunt. “Thanks, though.” He adds as an afterthought. “Excuse me.” He walks off, having spotted Henry in the corner, and Emily sighs as he goes.

Her relationship with Jack had always been good, but since Aaron’s death it had been difficult. Tense in a way that tore through her. Their mutual love for Aaron was no longer the thing that was the foundation for Emily and Jack’s relationship.

It was that they both believed his death was her fault.

“Emily.” Jessica puts her hand on her arm and squeezes it. “He’ll come around. You know he doesn’t actually think-”

“Thanks, Jess.” She cuts the other woman off, not wanting to hear anything else. She walks off again, desperate for a moment alone.

JJ seeks her out again once most people have left. The team helps tidy up, removing all traces of the wake from her house before they leave. JJ has a plate of food in her hands that was clearly intended for Emily. She places it in front of her on the coffee table and sits next to her.

“I’m not hungry, JJ.”

“Em, please.” She says, worry laced through her voice. “You have to eat something. He wouldn’t-”

“JJ stop.” Emily shouts, finally at her wits end. “Aaron is dead. He’s dead. So it doesn’t really matter what he would want, does it?” She curses under her breath as tears spring to her eyes, and she wipes them furiously away from her cheeks as they fall. She’s aware of the rest of the team around them, stopping their individual tasks and desperately pretending they weren’t listening in.

“Emily-”

“Do you know what I keep thinking about?” She asks, interrupting any more platitudes JJ may have that she simply cannot bear to listen to, she watches as her friend shakes her head. “I keep thinking about when I died. There was nothing. It was dark, and empty. Just nothing.” Emily’s chin wobbles as she tries to keep the emotion in, failing as her next words choke out around a sob. “And I lay there at night, on his side of the bed, and hope it’s different for him.”

This time she doesn’t shy away from JJ’s touch, and allows herself to be pulled into a hug she cannot bring herself to return. ___________________________

Once everyone has gone she lays in bed, on his side, and stares at the ceiling. She is wearing one of his shirts and wonders when all of his clothes will stop smelling like him, when she will lose the last trace she has of him.

Emily closes her eyes, both wanting sleep to come and for it to evade her. Aaron was always in her dreams, mostly good ones. Memories of their lazy mornings in bed together played out during the night in her head. The sound of his laugh as he trailed his fingers down her spine to wake her slowly, his enjoyment at her inability to function first thing in the morning never ending.

The dreams were a blessing. A reminder that it had been real, that she’d had him. They were also a curse. She’d wake with the ghost of his touch on her skin, and for a blissful moment she’d forget he was dead. She’d half expect to see him standing at their bedroom door, coffee in hand with a smile on his face.

Then she would remember, and it was always too much to bear. ___________________________

It’s Dave that comes over. Letting himself into the house with the spare key Aaron had given him, claiming that he felt better knowing other people that they trusted had access to their home in case of an emergency. Emily knew it was a lingering fear he had from when Foyet had broken into his apartment, those memories still sharp in his mind until the day he had died.

A small knock on the bedroom door announces Dave’s arrival a mere second before he opens it. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t tear her gaze from the dress hanging on the door of the closet. She's sitting on the floor, back pressed up against the side of the bed. Her knees are against her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was physically holding herself together.

“Did you draw the short straw today, Dave?” She sniffs, wipes her hand across her face to wipe off what felt like ever present tears. “You guys don’t need to check up on me. I’m fine.”

Dave sighs and sits next to her, groaning as he joins her on the floor, his body protesting the movement. “You’re not fine, bella.” He says simply. “And the others don’t know I’m here.”

She can sense his want to help her, sees his fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye as he seemingly tries to figure out if she wants to be touched or not. In the end he settles for leaning against the bed with her, a distance between them just small enough that she can feel his presence. Emily leans her chin on her knees, eyes still fixed on the white dress infront of her.

The dress that, if things had been different, if she hadn’t lost him, she should have worn today. She remembers teasing Aaron about it, telling him just enough about how it fastened up her back, how careful he’d have to be when he took it off to not break any of the delicate buttons.

She fiddles with her engagement ring before she opens her clenched fist to reveal two matching wedding bands in the palm of her hand. The rings they would never get to wear.

“It’s meant to be my wedding day, Dave.” She says, voice breaking around the words that didn’t need to be said. “And he’s not here, he never will be.” ___________________________

June 2021

When Aaron first moves back to Virginia it feels strange, like he was stepping back in time. The first thing he thought of was the team, of her. Once he no longer had to hide his identity he could have reached out. He almost had more than once, this thumb hovering over Emily’s name in his contacts, but he always stopped himself. Unsure what to say, thinking whatever they could have been had passed them by in a flurry of tragic circumstance and bad timing.

He’s back for two weeks when he sees her, and she’s somehow more beautiful than ever. He calls her the next day. ___________________________

Emily shouts at him. A lot. Years of pent up anger and worry spilling out over the phone when she answers, mixed with curse words and sighs in a way that was just so *her* it makes him laugh.

“And what is so fucking funny, Aaron?”

He clears his throat, tries to smother another laugh but doesn’t quite manage it. “Nothing, Emily. I just...I missed you.”

“Well.” She replies. “Whose fault is that.” There’s a pause, and it is just long enough that he thinks she’s going to hang up, leaving their interaction there. Aaron is about to speak and give her an excuse when he hears her sigh. “I missed you too.”

A spark of hope flares in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. “How about I take you to dinner? My treat. You can yell at me in person.”

Emily laughs at that, and he can picture how her eyes would crinkle with it. She was always so damn beautiful when she smiled. “That does sound appealing.”

“Tomorrow? If you don’t get caught with a case?”

She pauses, and he would bet his life savings if he could see her that she was biting her lip. “Tomorrow.” ___________________________

When she doesn’t get a case, and confirms that she will meet him at the restaurant he suggested, Aaron tries not to overthink it. He tries not to get carried away and think that this could be their chance, that the universe was finally aligning for them.

Emily tells him about her relationship with Andrew, how it had come to an end. Both of them were too set in their ways to truly make room for each other in their lives. He tells her about Jack, how he cannot believe his son is a teenager. The years had slipped by in a way that made him reflective, and she teases him out of his melancholy by telling him stories about the team. Aaron didn’t realise how much time had passed until the waitress came over and gently told them they needed to close the restaurant. Emily exchanges a sheepish look with him when they realise they are the last ones there.

She refuses his offer of walking her home, claiming it was pointless since she lived so far away and that she’d be fine in a cab. He gets a text from her when he gets home himself, an offer of another meal soon, insisting that she pays next time.

For their third date, because that was how he now exclusively thought of their dinners, if only in his head, he purposely choses somewhere near hers so he can walk her home. She narrows her eyes at him as he suggests it, having figured out his game but she allows him to play it anyway.

During the three block walk to her place she slips her hand into his. He turned to look at her but she was pointedly looking ahead, avoiding his gaze. That’s when Aaron realises she wants this as much as he does, and is just as worried about it as he is, what it could do to both of them. Neither of them would ever admit it, but they were both fragile when it came to love. Damage as clear as the scars they both bore on their bodies.

He stops them in the street, now half a block from her building, and stands in front of her, still holding onto her hand. He uses his spare hand to cup her cheek, to make her look at him. She licks her lips, her eyes now staring right into his.

He’d always thought her eyes were beautiful.

Aaron closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She responds almost immediately, tearing her hand out of his so she can cup the back of his head and pull him closer.

It’s years of waiting, of hoping, coming together in a perfect moment. Her hands are in his hair, and his are on her back, pulling her closer as he tastes the dessert they shared on her tongue.

She pulls back, and rests her forehead against his, a laugh escaping her lips before she presses them against his again.

“We should have been doing this for years.” She murmurs against his lips, her hand stroking the back of his head . He mumbles his agreement before kissing her again, unable to help himself now the dam was broken. She suddenly pulls away, lips swollen as she looks at him, seemingly remembering that they were standing in the street still. “Come on, let's go.”

Aaron smiles at her as she tugs his hand, determined to lead him down the street. “Where are we going?”

“To mine.” She says simply, groaning when he comes to a stop, easily stopping her from walking any further. He places a hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him again.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I'm sure.” She says, bringing a hand to his cheek and smiling at him, “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

That night they lay in her bed, in tangled sheets, fingers trailing over scars they’d both imagined for years. They are reverent with each other, acting as if they are both made of something precious. He laces his fingers through hers as he enters her for the first time, her broken gasp in his ear almost too much for him. When she breaks around him and he follows her over the edge he whispers words of praise into her skin, tells her how perfect she is to him, and he hears her repeating it back to him as her lips press to the scar closest to the top of his chest.

Aaron thinks she has never looked so beautiful as she did when she was curled up against him in her bed, hair in disarray and a sleepy smile on her face. When he tells her as much she scrunches her nose at him and tells him he’s ridiculous, a hand sliding up his chest as he pulls her in and kisses her again.

He stops himself from telling her he loves her that night as she falls asleep in his arms. The promise of their next date being breakfast the following morning dying on her lips as she is lulled into sleep. ___________________________

Emily gets hurt on a case a month later, and it’s bad enough that she ends up in hospital. Dave calls him, and Aaron isn’t even sure how he knew to do so until he says Emily asked for him.

The case was mercifully close by, Aaron jumping in his car to do the two hour drive as soon as he’s off the phone with Dave. A note left for Jack saying what had happened, and a call to Jessica to ask her to look after the teenager that night.

He makes it to the hospital in 80 minutes. A vaguely amused looking Dave meets him at the front desk and tells him that she is fine, that she lost a fair amount of blood to the unsub’s knife and that they were keeping her in for observation overnight.

Aaron doesn’t believe him until he sets eyes on her himself, the door to her room clicking closed behind him. He briefly thinks about the team standing outside her room, the confusion on their faces at him being there, at what he was sure was fear on his face.

“Em, sweetheart.” The nickname slips out before he realises what he is saying, the first time he’s said it, and it makes her eyes brighten at him.

“Hi Aaron.” She tries to smile at him, but the pain lacing through her arm and shoulder means it doesn’t go far. She swallows against her dry throat and she holds out her good hand to him which he eagerly takes, any concerns about the team disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. “It looks worse than it is.”

He raises an eyebrow at her before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.” She smiles up at him. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Em.” Aaron smiles when she fails to suppress a yawn. “You should get some sleep.”

Emily frowns at him. “You only just got here.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He runs his hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way. He can’t help but smile when her eyes flutter shut at the first touch of his skin to hers. He keeps the movement across her skin going, watching as her breathing evens out.

“I think I love you.” He whispers, sure she was fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by his thumb stroking over her forehead.

She laughs weakly and opens her eyes. “Oh, well I know I love you.”

Aaron leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you.” Another kiss. “Now get some sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She closes her eyes, the painkillers in her system making her tired. “I hope you’ll always be there.”

Aaron smiles at the admission, something she would never have said out loud in normal circumstances. He runs his thumb over her forehead again.

“I’ll always be here, I promise.”

(It’s the only promise he ever breaks.)

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #angst #major character death #fanfic #fanfiction #i am oddly proud of this #I made myself sad

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four-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Game Night

I don’t really know what this is, I’m just glad I was finally able to finish a sanders sides’ fanfic for the first time.

This fanfic was born from the last video, obviously, and the realization that the creativity twins canonically feel physical pain when their ideas are desregard or their function is “offended” let’s say, which I had to exagerate and turn int angst, of course, so enjoy!

Summary: Remus get sick so frequently that those nights have became his idea of a sleepover.

Ship: platonic dukeceit. Or romantic. You can interpret it however you want

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders and Janus Sanders

Warnings: swearing, kinda grapphic descriptions of pain and sickness, mentions to vomit. Also maybe some umsympathetic Virgil? I don’t see it like that, but I guess it depends on how you interpret it.

Word Count: 1729

Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

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

If Remus was real, he would be dead.

And if snakes could demonstrate worry, they would make exactly the same expression that Janus had after looking at the thermometer.

"How do you manage to get so bad so quickly?"

"What can I say, being bad is the only thing I'm good at" Remus joked, the words scratching his throat as an unwanted cough came with them. Janus rolled his eyes, trying to seem calm. And falling.

"Any idea what was the cause this time?" Remus' focus went down to the old and familiar sheet, which he fiddled with, avoiding the question.

"How hot am I?" He vaguely pointed to the thermometer.

"You have a 113°F fever"

"Well, fuck. That's a new record" he touched his own forehead, smiling almost maniacally right after "Shit. How long do you think it takes until my brain melts?

"Bold of you to assume it hadn't already" Virgil was the one to answer, entering the room with a bowl of hot soup in his hands.

"Wow Virgil, that was fast " Janus lied, raising an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"I was trying to actually cook something real for once"

"Please don't tell me your burned the kitchen" the half-snake child replied, with some amount of actual fear behind the dramatic hand to his chest and horrified expression.

"Ha ha" pause "...not on purpose" Virgil replied, looking away.

"Yeah, that's my job!"

"Remus, eat your soup, the grownups are talking" the embodiment of Fear interrupted jokingly, even though any of them was older then twelve. Then he turned to Janus again, already guessing what he was going to say "but... it's fine now. I took care of it" Janus made a mental note to go take a look at the damage as fast as possible. They could all be kids, but Janus knew very well he was the only responsible there.

"I don't like it...!" Creativity replied, sounding like a child who doesn't want to eat salad. Janus sighed as his thoughts were interrupted, conjuring a bottle of perfume and poured it in the meal.

"Now eat" and so he did. Virgil raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling, trying not to be so worried. Or at least not demonstrate it. After so many times, he should be used to it, but... well, he was Fear. It was his job to keep track of the worst case scenarios.

"Did he get better?"

"On the contrary. The fever is higher than ever"

"And I also feel like someone ripped my bones out of my skin and then put them back, but like... in the wrong way" Remus added, spilling hot soup all over the sheet and his clothes by trying to communicate with his mouth full.

"So it's one of those nights" Virgil mumbled.

"I'm afraid so"

Remus finished his soup smiling like there was no tomorrow, opening his arms despite how much that simple gesture hurted "Game night while I'm dying!" Janus smiled, with more sadness in his eyes than anything else.

"I'll get the monopoly"

•••

"I won"

"No, you did fucking not" Remus immediately answered, not even looking away from his cards.

"You can see for yourself" Janus showed his game, which clearly meant a victory, indeed. Remus tossed his cards on the sheet like it was their fault. He was so fucking close!

"You cheated" Virgil said sharply, as if it was an undeniable fact.

"Do you have any proof? Janus challenged, not losing a beat or his mischievous smile.

"Yeah. It's the only thing you know how to do" the teenager replied, his tone as cold as a lake in the winter. Janus looked down before he could help himself. Couldn't he keep it down for at least one night? The night Remus needed both of them?

The cards caught fire. It was an accident, but Remus decided to go with that, jumping out of the sheets, trying to ignore the terrible twist that movement gave to his stomach. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he threw up. At least that way these two would stop fucking fighting.

"What the hell?!" Virgil exclaimed, tossing his game away like it was burning. Which was the case, indeed.

"Let's watch a horror movie!" Well, he got their attention.

"Did you need to burn things before saying that?!" Virgil screamed. He was standing and seemed even more distressed.This was a mistake, Janus realized. It was foolish to think they could ignore their differences for the sake of Remus.

"It's more fun this way! What can it be? One of the classics? Some shitty obscure one?" He kept trying, getting out of bed and walking toward Virgil, who walked away from him. Janus immediately got up too, already anticipating the disaster that situation could turn to. A worst one. Because it was already a disaster.

"Please, control yourselves"

"I'm controlled! I'm not the one burning things" Virgil replied, the trace of the tempestuous tongue in his voice proving that he was anything but in control.

"Remus, please. Apologize for burning the cards"

"It's just some stupid paper!

"Now"

"It was a fucking accident"

"We all know it wasn't" Janus almost, almost told Virgil to shut up after that. But he didn't need to make things worse than they already were.

"It was a fucking accident" his voice started getting threatened, his eyes started shining with a red danger "But you know what wouldn't be a fucking accident? if I..." his vision went black, a headache that felt like someone had opened his skull being everything that existed and then not even that.

Anxiety got out of the room immediately after his friend fainted, keeping his gaze to the ground, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand any amount of time alone with Deceit.

•••

Remus wished he was real, so he would be dead.

He felt like someone had catched his body on fire, then hit his head with an axe, then exchanged his blood for poison and his bones with knives.

"I knew you were stupid, but not stupid enough to try and suggest an idea for Thomas. On your own. After terrorizing him the whole night. Literally hours after recovering from your last..." Janus looked down at his friend, in one of the only moments he didn't try to hide his emotions. Fear. Somebody had to fill the vacancy now that Virgil is gone, I suppose.

"It was..." He coughed blood. "A good idea"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure he thought the same" Janus rolled his eyes. Remus tried to say that he would be fine, but his throat still hurt from the acid of his stomach and the scratching of his coughs.

"I told you to not do anything too dangerous. We are..." he looked down to his gloves which, as he knew, covered up for the scales that apparently had decided that half of his face was not punishment enough. "In a delicate situation, now that..."

"The emo is gone. I know" Remus completed, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"Oh please, no. We are better off without him haunting us all day. If he prefers to deal with them, the only thing I feel is pity" anyone else would have believed that. Remus knew it was bullshit the second those words left his mouth. But he didn't say that. Mostly because he was feeling nauseous again and he learned that, apparently, people don't like if you throw up while trying to talk to them.

Janus stayed in silence for a couple more seconds, then something changed in his eyes and he got up.

"Well, if you need me, I'll be reading" said, but before he could go too far, Remus grabbed the bottom of his coat, deciding to make use of his positions of creativity, as with a snap of his fingers green words appeared in the air:

"It's game night, not a fucking book club"

"I don't think you're able to play games right now"

"I've never been better in my entire fucking life"

The words glitched as his consciousness stumbled.

"Remus"

"You've been reading, studying, planning, whatever every fucking time we were together" he finally was able to find his voice again "Is it me, Virgil, or just you being a dick?

"You need to rest"

"I'm gonna vomit on your shoes"

Janus sighed, sitting again on the bed.

"What do you propose?"

"Truth or dare" Janus never plays truth or dare. The two of them, Virgil and Remus, would play it at any given opportunity, on the other hand.

"Don't test me"

Floating words again: "I'm gonna take it easy"

"You never take it easy."

Remus frowned.

"Ok" the half-snake man sighed "let's find a compromise: I can play Never Have I Ever"

Remus smiled diabolically. So they had a deal.

•••

"Finally! It's been so long since our last sleepover!"

"This is anything but a sleepover" Janus replied, not looking away from his book.

"Yes it is! We're sleeping together not in a sexual way and wearing pajamas.

"I'm not-" Remus snapped his fingers and suddenly Janus had a yellow onesie on. "...I'm not having a sleepover with you. And you're not even that bad"

"But I'll be. And in the meantime... Please play truth or dare with me just this time please please" he said in one breath.

"You already know my opinion about this game"

"I know that you like it! You would always laugh and even participate when me and Virgin played!" Janus flinched.

"That was a long time ago"

"Just two rounds!"

"I..."

"C'mon! You're not gonna lose an arm if you play just one time. And even if you did, you would still have five perfectly good ones left"

Janus hesitated. He knew Remus would get worse. It was obvious by the tiredness in his voice, even when he was so excited. And how pale he was. How deep his eyeshadow appeared, making him seem like a dead body.

He sighed. Remus smiled from ear to ear. Literally.

"Truth or dare?!" Asked as if he was a child whose birthday had come earlier.

"Dare, obviously" Janus said, unable to stop himself from smiling at his friend's happiness, even though they both knew it wouldn't last long.

But that was okay. Because they would have one another. And that was enough. It had to be.

#sanders sides #fanfic #dukeceit #tw swearing #tw vomit #tw sickness #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #rabbit writes

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ness-plays-wizards · 3 years

Text

Alfonse Route, Chapter 1 (6-10)

Last time on this route: We recapped the last season and introduced the mysterious Furry Disease, which is what I’ll now be calling the disease even if I’m proved wrong in a few chapters.

Caesar finally thinks to ask where Klaus and Alfonse are. We learn that Alfonse isn’t here for personal reasons and Klaus finally, FINALLY went back to the fucking Ministry of Wizardry. Remy tells the prefects that they need to work together to investigate the Furry Disease. Zeus starts bitching, but Remy finally grows a spine and chews him out.

Fucking finally. It’s about time Remy did some actual headmastering instead of just hanging out as a vaguely evil stuffed animal. Anyway, Remy tells them to go investigate the ruins where the first victim of the furry disease was found. Caesar mentions that couples apparently go to the ruins, because everyone knows there’s no sexier atmosphere than crumbling buildings and the occasional history class field trip. Very Helpful, Caesar.

Remy informs us that a couple found the first victim, who is a part of the Gedonelune staff we always hear about but never see. Maybe the reason we never see this many teachers is because they’re always getting mangled by Big Booty Wizard or getting struck down with Furry Disease. Gedonelune feels like a dangerous place to work. Someone call OSHA.

Zeus is bitching again. Hooray more of this! /sarcasm. But this time Elias and Yukiya actually have comebacks.

And that brings us back to the present, where apparently Remy still hasn’t learned the meaning of the word nocturnal because Zeus and Hiro are extremely sleep deprived, which means they are Not Fully Functional. Who keeps thinking this is a good idea?

Shut the fuck up Caesar.

Liz, please stop making me defend Zeus. The only thing I will defend him on is the ridiculous way the staff forgets the the Night Class people..... have class during the night. Who would have thought. Certainly not me. It’s not as if it’s right in the name. But I don’t want to defend Zeus because he is contender for Worst Character in this entire game, right behind Azusa and Route 1 Klaus.

Liz tries to get everyone on track to search. Zeus refuses to search, then refuses to say why while bitching about “working with the day class” because this is still a fucking thing for some goddamn reason., dragging out this chapter even longer and making me want to bang my head against my keyboard.

grkl.OL.]j

That was me banging my head against my keyboard.

It’s moments like these that I remember Remy is basically a dragon furry. So... scaly. I think.

Elias tells Liz to just ignore Zeus and do the investigation by themselves, and I’m inclined to agree with him because I’ve had just about enough of Zeus. Liz wonders if this is the right decision because Remy told them to “wOrK tOgEtHeR.” Normally, that wouldn’t mean shit when one party (Zeus) is being an uncooperative douchebag, but because this is otome-land, specifically, Wizardess-Heart-land, where douchebags are always fucking right for some reason, he’s still going to end up being important.

We interrupt my rant to bring what is hopefully plot!

So, this wasn’t Furry Disease! And is that a zombie from Lost Island??

Man, Gedonelune staff needs better benefits. They’re always at risk of falling victim to some kind of magic evil overlord shenanigans.

Welp, looks like we’re dealing with the durable kind of zombie, folks. Oh look, there are more of them now! Wizardess Heart just took a sharp turn into the zombie apocalypse genre. Zeus tells everyone to run away, and while normally I’d agree, that’s some awfully big talk for someone who was spewing out a bunch of “hur dur i’m stronger than you” bs two seconds ago. Zeus grabs Liz’s hand because of course he fucking does and everyone books it the hell out of the ruins.

I guess those ruins won’t be ideal for any coupley shenanigans anymore now that it’s infested with magic teacher zombies.

#wizardess heart #shall we date #solmare #alfonse route #anti zeus brundle #caesar raphael #willem v rembrandt #liz heart #elias goldstein #yukiya reizen

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anathewierdo · 3 years

Text

Call of the Ocean Chapter 41: Merlaw 101

CEO!Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Mermaid!Female!Reader

Word count: 5808

Chapter Summary: Everything is changing in Sindarta for the better. Plans are set for the future and Thasman gets closer to being king. Dean, Roan and the King awaken.

Series Summary: CEO of Winchester Auto Dean Winchester has had enough of the office life. With his father keeping him from what he wants to do, which is work on the plant floor, Dean decides to leave for a quiet life. In Matagorda, Texas, he finds something he never thought he would, a chance encounter with a mythical creature.

Call of the Ocean Masterlist

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the delay. This series is a collaboration with @flamencodiva . Text dividers made by the awesome @talesmaniac89

“The council has overstepped its grounds!” Thasman growled, his previously carefully contained anger exploding out of him in waves of incredulity at how the council was so cold to his mother. “Calling a meeting while the King is healing and the Princess is doing what she can for the kingdom!” he looked around the room at the familiar faces. “You are cowards! Just like the leech that tried to take over our kingdom!”

Their faces mostly showed offence, though a couple of the councilmen had the decency to show some shame. From his far side, he heard one of them shout: “You insolent, outrageous bastard!”

“Bite your tongue!” Thasman spat and glared at him. “On what grounds are you trying Liara?”

Tasman looked at Thames before looking back at the council.

“That is not her name!” another voice called. “She has lied to this kingdom. She is the Princess Thames, who abandoned her tournament!”

“And she has compensated Sindarta by taking over as the scroll keeper for the past twenty six years!” The merman argued back.

“Convenient,” another said. “That she were to appear after you were left at the castle gates. And here you are with a mark on your neck, proof of her treachery.”

“But didn’t she risk her life by going to our allies in search of aid in this dark time that had fallen over Sindarta?” He defended, “Did she not risk her life every day avoiding Michael’s claws while you, honorable members of the council, were hiding like cowards in some dark cave in waiting for someone to come and get you? She has done more than you ever did! Hiding did not give the Sindartan people their home back, her risking everything to tend to the King in his agony and get help did!”

“Shackle him,” one of the members said. “He is proof of her indiscretions towards the kingdom.”

“Gentlemermen please,” one of the councilmembers said. “Thasman is loyal to our kingdom and he is right. Thames, in the guise of Liara, has saved our kingdom. Besides, I have said for years that the tournaments are nothing but trouble.”

“The tournaments form part of the most ancient merlaw!”

“And yet only the Princess’s are put through as prizes,” a council merwoman argued. “I am here replacing my father and even I can see it is outdated.”

“King Nereus underwent his own tournament in his days!” another argued. “Princes all over the ocean do as well!”

“And he was not treated as a Prize! The merwomen went through their trials but he ultimately made the choice,” She reminded them. “The merwomen did not fight themselves, they had a series of tests.”

“And the suitors were barely allowed to even look at our Princess.”

“Really?” Thasman called out. “Because I remember Michael trying to corner the Princess every chance he had. And if I wasn’t there to protect her then who knows what he would have done to her?!”

“Be that as it may,” another member interrupted. “She must be punished for running from her duty. And be lucky Your Highness,” he looked at Thasman. “That we won’t give you the same fate. It is not your fault that she lied, and you have serviced our kingdom well.”

“So has she!”

The member at the center of the large semicircular table banged on top of it.

“The council will now place judgment on the Princess Thames. Her crime,” he said, staring at Thasman. “Abandoning her duty and having a child out of her marriage duty.”

“Let it be me who reminds you, members of the council: Whatever you decide must go through whoever is ruling our kingdom before being official. Once the King wakes up or the Princess is fit enough to take over in the meantime, your decision will most likely be overruled. You help rule this kingdom, but you are not the ones who have the final word.”

“The council will vote and reconvene when the King awakens,” the head member said as he banged on the table and concluded the meeting.

Thasman swam to his mother and pulled her into his arms. “The King is not going to stand for this,” he whispered to her. “He will not let their judgment stand.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Thank you, Thasman.”

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s head back to the medical wing.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Inside the medical wing, the Princess was moving between the three beds that held those she held dear to her heart. While her father was conscious for his healing, Roan and Dean were still under the influence of the jellyfish sting.

The Princess never left Dean’s side for too long. She would run her fingers through his hair, then trace his face, and place gentle kisses on his skin, all while praying to any of the gods that were listening to spare him, to punish her for failing in protecting her kingdom, not the man she loved.

The sound of a merfolk swimming their way snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, believing it was another medic coming to check in on Dean, but saw Thasman instead, heading directly to his love’s bed, who was still, unfortunately for Thasman, unconscious.

Aunt Thames had come in a mere two minutes before him, having settled beside Nereus’ bed. As soon as he had taken Roan’s limp hand in his, Thasman gave each mermaid a slight bow in greeting.

“How are they doing?” he asked a young medic who was nearby. His eye’s roamed over Roan’s tail and sighed in relief when he noticed they fixed the tear in his fin.

“The balm is already working wonders on most of their injuries, but even with that we suggest to not rush into anything.”

“I just want him to wake up,” Thasman whispered as he squished momentarily Roan’s hand in his and kissed his fiance’s knuckles. Y/N’s heart cracked a bit at the sight in sympathy. “Tell me,” he licked his lips. “Are the people really happy I’m here?”

“In this room alone, every medic is,” The medic assured. “He will wake up in a few hours, once the balm and jellyfish stings’ effects run out. We’ll give him something to eat and put him under again until we know for sure the worst of his injuries have healed.”

“Thank you,” Thasman said as the young medic swam away.

Thasman kissed Roan’s lips before placing his forehead against his. The Captain of the Guard, now prince, ran his thumb across the sleeping merman’s cheek. He got back up and ran a hand across his face before looking at his mother and cousin.

“I need to go to the training ground,” he muttered in apology before leaving the medical wing.

YN only sighed. Surely, Thasman’s heart was just as (if not more) wounded as hers. She gave her aunt a sad smile, attempting to be reassuring. “He just needs time. As soon as Roan wakes up, he’ll be better.”

“I hope you’re right, sweetshell.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dean let out a groan as he tried to move. But everything began to sting and he hissed slightly. His eyes fluttered open and he tried to focus on where he was, but the world was too bright and it was just easier to keep them closed. His body felt stiff and heavy. The phantom pain of the things Michael did still resounded and he never thought he would ever be so happy to feel his tail twitching.

He was alive. Fuck, he was alive.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered. Her eyes focused on his hand in hers. “This is all my fault.”

He was sure that if they were back on land he would feel her tears. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t her fault. That Michael was a monster and he would have put himself in danger to keep her safe.

“Please wake up and tell me you’re okay,” she pleaded. “I don’t care if you hate me. I already hate myself. But please be okay.”

Dean’s throat felt closed up. Speaking seemed like something impossible to accomplish. Hell, moving was.

He managed to give Y/N a light squeeze on her hand, making his girlfriend gasp and squeeze his hand tighter.

It’s not your fault! he kept yelling in his head. I promise.

It took a while for his body to function properly. At first, when Y/N noticed he was waking up, she kept apologizing, begging him to forgive her for not being able to protect him from Michael… turns out, whatever they gave him also made his brain foggy, because he ended up slurring things between “s’ok” and “I love you” like those were the only words he’d ever been taught to say. Next thing he knew he could move his head and open his eyes and smile goofily through the brain fog to Y/N, eventually playing in front of her with his sleepy extremities and giggling like a small child at being able to lift his arms and move his fingers. His tail was taking longer than expected, but at least he’d regained enough control to somewhat move it without getting hurt.

Y/N found him to be so adorable she was giggling right along with him.

When the fog had cleared and he felt somewhat normal again, a medic interrupted their conversation before it could even begin, saying how Dean needed to eat so they could put him back to sleep.

He didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping meant not being able to tell Y/N this wasn’t her fault.

Y/N compromised, telling the doctor she would feed him and then help them put him back under… hmmm… under… he was still underwater with who knows how much time left to reach the surface and breathe oxygen. He watched as a female medic brought Y/N a tray full of colorful foods. He could only guess it was fish and what Roan had described as live coral while they were in the dungeon.

“It’s not as good as Ellen’s food,” Y/N said apologetically. “But, it’s going to help you regain your strength and counteract the effects of the dead coral you were fed.”

Dean simply gave her a lazy smile.

“Sounds yummy,” He slurred.

His hand was squeezed once more before Y/N helped him to sit up gently.

“You’ll be happy to know that there is salmon in here. Just like Sashimi you showed me back home,” she whispered. She was scared of making him angry. It was bad enough he was here because of her. “Let me know if there is anything you don’t want to eat.”

“And miss out on eating coral that won’t drug me?” He shook his head lightly. “No way.”

Y/N gave him a thin lipped smile, “here you go,” she pulled a piece of fresh coral and placed it on his lips.

“Whaf’s wrong?” He asked, his mouth full of coral.

“I’m scared about how long you have before the pendant’s magic turns you back,” she whispered. “We need to make sure you get back home in time.” She reached for a piece of salmon and offered it to him.

Dean gave her a comforting look as he chewed away sloppily the salmon. “I’ll be alright. We can just swim upwards to the surface if the necklace magic goes away.”

“If I wasn’t so selfish this wouldn’t have happened to you,” she whispered.

“Wrong,” he countered.

“Dean,” she sighed. “If I hadn’t been obsessed with wanting to not be a princess and gone to see you all those months ago, this never would have happened.” She grabbed another piece of fish, this time tuna, and held it out to him. “Eat, you need your strength.”

“You wanted to live your life. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Y/N bit her lip as she let Dean’s words sink in. She couldn’t help but shake her head at them though, “Dean--”

“Not budging on this, Y/N,” he said, reaching up to try and caress her cheek but failing. “I would do it all again if it meant you stayed in my life. None of this was your fault,” he let his fingers reach for hers. “Don’t think for a second that what that monster did was your fault.”

“I can’t help it. If I had just let you go you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Y/N/N,” he chuckled. “Dal em woolbul my hhu-hng.” (you are in my heart). He looked at her and smiled brighter. “Dal em my hhu-hng.” (You are my heart.)

“I’m not sure if I should be.” She confessed. “While you were gone, I just kept going back to the thought that maybe I shouldn’t have gone to the garage that day, and just not… say anything.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Dean said as he winced getting up. “You have made me happier than anyone I have ever known. And forget what that monster did. Because I would rather it had been me than you. If I could distract him from your dad and have him hurt me more it’s worth it. Even with Roan, I tried to have him focus on me as much as I could.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Sweetheart,” Dean breathed. “I’m sure if our positions were switched you would do the same. So please, for me, know that I love you and I am not letting go.”

Y/N bit her lip and nodded as she looked at him, “Alright.” Reaching for another piece of fish she looked at him. “Let's get you fed,” she said softly. “They need to put you under to heal you some more.”

A groan from a few feet away startled them out of their conversation. A couple of medics flew by Y/N and she saw as they started to talk to an agitated, but barely moving Roan.

“Thasman? Where is he?” He slurred. He winced in pain trying to get up. “I need my stingray. Where is he?”

“Don’t move too much, please.” A medic pleaded.

“I’ll be right back, Dea,” she swam the few feet towards Roan’s bed, right by his side in no time. “Roan, Thasman is ok. He’ll be here soon.”

“I want to see him,” Roan tried to sit up, growling in pain as he tried to look around. “Thasman!” he cried.

“Dathan,” Y/N called.

“Yes, Highness?” He asked as he bowed.

“Go get Thasman, and tell him to hurry!” She ordered as she tried to calm Roan. “Please, Roan, he’ll be here soon. I promise, he’s fine.”

A tray identical to Dean’s was brought to them by another one of the medics. Y/N didn’t miss how one of them had a jellyfish ready in his hands to put Roan back down.

“Where is he?” He slurred.

“Dathan is going to fetch him, he’s in the training ground,” Thames said as she swam up to him, holding her hand up to stop the medic. “Roan, please calm.”

The merman seemed to give up. His head flopped back in the bed, scrunching his eyes closed. “Michael?”

“Captured,” Thames said, “Held in chains in the dungeons as we speak,” she ran her fingers through Roan’s short hair. “Thasman called you his fiance in front of the whole kingdom when he saved you.”

Roan’s eyes seemed to pop in surprise as he gasped. “He did?”

Before Thames could say anything more, the doors to the medical wing opened to reveal Thasman. His high bun was messy from training and his eyes searched for the person that had called for him. He found his mother and could feel his heart swell with happiness at the sight of Roan awake.

“Feenhoom,” Thasman let out as he swam quickly towards Roan.

The medics, Princess Thames, and Y/N backed away as Thasman wrapped his arms around Roan. The Merman's shoulders shook as he cried onto Roan’s neck.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he whispered as he pushed up and held Roans face in his hands. “I couldn’t sleep without you. I kept having visions of what that eel was doing to you,” he paused and placed his lips on Roan’s. “I thank Poseidon you’re alive.”

“I’m alright,” his fiance breathed back, trying and failing to get his arms to move so he could hug his Stingray back. “You succeeded. I’m alright now.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t get here in time,” he croaked. “I love you Roan. You are mine and I would never be able to live with myself if that eel took your life.” Thasman took the blade in his hand and presented it to Roan. “We are getting married, and you will be my king,” he whispered.

“I am?”

Y/N watched as Thasman straightened his shoulders and looked at everyone in attendance in the room, “I am Thasman Kai,” He began. “Captain of the Royal Guard, Protector of the Princess, Winner of the Tournament,” he paused to take a deep breath. “I am the son of Thames, Princess of Sindarta, sister to King Nereus. And Roan is my betrothed.”

All around the medical wing, the princess could see merpeople smiling at her cousin and his love. Her father was still unconscious and probably would be for a little while. Y/N observed as Roan, on the other hand, looked down at the dagger and smiled.

"I should have done more to protect you, Roan," Thasman said, before licking his lips. "And I will do everything in my power to make up for not getting to you sooner."

“Noy your fault, Thas.”

“Thasman that is enough,” Thames said gently as she placed her hand on her sons’ shoulder. “Why don’t you help Roan eat so that the medics can put him back to sleep to heal. You and I will head to the archive room, there are things we must look up,” she turned to face Y/N. “You too, sweetshell.”

“What kind of things?” Thasman asked as he proceeded to feed Roan.

“Just some things on merlaw, nothing serious.” Thames said with a small shrug.

After Roan and Dean finished their meals, the medics were ready to put them back to sleep. Thasman kissed and caressed Roan, promising to be back later. Y/N did the same with Dean, hoping that when they got back to Matagorda everything would be okay. Once Dean and Roan were put back to sleep, Thasman, Y/N and Thames made their way to the archives.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“We’ve been at this for hours,” Y/N said as she put down another scroll.

“Mother, I read the scrolls on merlaw for a long time for Y/N’s tournament. I would have found something about abdication.”

Thames sighed as she swam up to a high shelf and grabbed a few more scrolls. “There has to be--” she paused and smiled. “I found it!” she grabbed the scroll and swam down towards Y/N and Thasman. “Here, the golden scroll of the five royal children during the time of King Peredious.”

“What about them?”

“This has to do with how Nereus gained the throne when I left,” she explained. “You see, Peredious’s eldest child was a princess.” she opened the scroll in front of them. “She didn’t want to rule. So she proposed abdication to one of her brothers.”

“Didn’t you simply disappear?”

“And in my disappearance,” Thames said. “I never officially abdicated. If Nereus overrules the council’s decision, then technically, I am Queen.” She pointed out. “Even without my tournament, I had an heir,” She turned her gaze to Thasman.

“So then--” Y/N looked at the scroll and smiled at her aunt. “It makes Thasman the true king?”

“And because he won the tournament,” she smiled. “He solidified his place as heir. Since I have kept his father a secret,” she continued. “Many will just assume that he was a merman who died if I tell them so.”

“So this… this could actually work. But do you think my father will support this idea?”

“We will have to wait until he wakes and is healed to ask,” Thames sighed. “And unfortunately we do not have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean, mother?” Thasman asked.

“Dean,” Thames reminded them. “We have no idea how long the pendant’s magic will allow him to be a merman.”

“We’re leaving for Matagorda as soon as he wakes up again,” Y/N promised. “I’m not risking him changing back while we’re here.”

“I think I can try and use magic to speed up the process,” Thames muttered as she swam towards the back of the archives. “Before we moved to science and logic,” she began to explain. “Our kingdom was very versed in magic. We still are but I think we have lost some of the knowledge along the way in favor of advancement, but I think we can bring it back.”

“That’s how you found out about Y/N’s cuff?”

Thames nodded, “And this one,” she lifted another one. “I had to swim into another cavern in an ancient ruin to find it.” She swam up to them with a scroll labeled healing. “I think I can find a way to teach the medics to tap into the ancient magic to quicken the healing process.” she turned to Thasman and caressed his cheek. “I will do everything I can to make everything right, my guppy.”

“I know you will, mom,” he said as he kissed her forehead.

“Come,” Thames said to her son and niece. “We must get to the medical wing and show them.”

“Will they be able to do it?” Y/N asked worriedly.

“Not to worry,” Thames assured her. “All you must do is follow my instructions and everything will be alright.”

And as they found themselves once again in the medical room, they came to the view of the King himself, trying to sit up in his bed and asking for the medics to give him something for an ache on his fin. When he turned in their direction, expecting some medic but finding his daughter, sister and nephew instead, he gave a smile as big as it could get, motioning and calling for them to come over. Y/N found herself next to his bed in no time, her relief practically palpable as she all but vibrated with the effort it took to restrain herself from hugging her father.

“My sea star,” he breathed in awe, “you’re okay. You’re home. I would hug you–”

“Do not risk it, father. You are still healing.”

“I know. Could you hold my hand instead, please?”

The Princess watched as he turned his hand with some difficulty, smiling as she took it in her own. “Of course.”

Nereus looked behind her, now smiling tiredly to the rest of their family.

“And my sister and nephew are alright as well.”

“Michael is to face trial and execution in the kingdom of Zenara,” Thasman informed.

“Excellent news.”

“Thasman prevented the council from banishing me,” Thames added.

“Even better news,” The King nodded, proud. “I missed you, sea star. So so much.”

“I did too, father.” Y/N choked out.

“Nereus,” Thames said gently. “Lay back and let me heal you.”

“Thames--” Nereus began but closed his mouth when his sister gave him a glare.

“Yeah,” Thasman sighed. “She does that to me too, uncle.”

“I must say, hearing you call me that is strange. But good.” Nereus said as he smiled at his nephew.

Y/N swam back and away from the bed as she watched her aunt assess her father's body. Y/N’s eyes took in the missing scales and the tear in his fin. She could only imagine the pain her father went through as Michael tortured him.

“Nereus,” Thames said, “I need you to lay all the way down before I proceed.”

“You are not a medic, dear sister.” He huffed, doing as he was told anyways.

“And you forgot that I have access to all the knowledge available on our people,” she chidded. “Now let me concentrate.”

“Still not a medic.”

Thames rolled her eyes as she held her hands out over Nereus’s tail. Y/N and Thasman watched as Thamse’s hands began to glow slightly as she moved them along his tail. It was nothing short of a small miracle as some of the scars began to fade. Thames’ hands made their way down towards his fin. The tear that Michael had caused began to close. And Thames looked over to the medics.

“I can teach you how to tap into this magic,” She said. “This is something lost to us, but we can have it again.”

The King looked to his tail in astonishment. “Thames… when did you learn this?”

“I spent years in the archives. Did you not think I wouldn’t find secrets that would benefit the kingdom?” Thames turned to her brother. “We all must talk. Y/N has something to tell you and I have found a solution to help her get what she wants.”

Nereus lifted himself up, looking at the medics who were now surrounding his bed. “Can one of you check if I’m in good enough condition to leave?”

Two merpeople (including the head of the medical quarters) swam to check the King immediately. The head medic turned back to the rest of their team, ordering them to go back to their assigned patients. A few moments later, the head medic and their partner were as surprised as the King, informing the royal family that his injuries were mostly healed, but wanted him to not strain too much while swimming.

“Mind helping me, sea star?”

Instead of answering, Y/N helped him get out of his bed, taking one of his arms across her shoulders before starting to swim towards the quarter’s doors.

“Father,” she said gently. “There is something you should know about Dean,” she glanced back at him as he continued to sleep under the jellyfish sting influence.

“I already know, sea star,” he whispered to her. “Let us head to the archives and talk. I want to know everything.”

Y/N looked at her father, eyes full of fear, “You know?”

“No merman speaks the way he does. He is not… quite normal.”

“Father I am so sorry for betraying your trust,” she whispered. “But I am not fit to be queen. And I --” she licked her lips nervously. “I love him.”

“I suppose so.” The King hummed. “Now, we will discuss that, but all in due time. At least wait until we’ve arrived at the archives.”

Y/N simply nodded as she helped guide him to the archives. Once there, Y/N helped her father sit on one of the chairs. She wasn’t sure if he was angry with her. She knew that after her mother's death things had changed.

“Your mother,” he sighed. “Loved the surface. I would go with her and we would explore. Of course this was before your aunt ran away,” he explained. “I knew Thames would visit the surface to see what it was about and saw when she met the human. She doesn’t know I knew.”

Beside him, said mermaid gasped in surprise and offence. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“You were so secretive about what you were doing there. And so protective of that human, that I just didn’t. You never told me anything either.” He scolded softly.

“I thought you would try to turn me against him,” she accused. “It would have been nice to know that you knew then maybe I would have had a chance with Robert!” Thames hissed. “Nereus, you went to the surface with Nereida to look for me, didn’t you? That’s how she got into the accident.”

“I did look for you. I did go to your human’s home, but I went alone. I wasn’t going to risk Nereida if he’d been responsible for your disappearance. He answered the door with a bottle and red eyes. He was innocent. And if you were not with him, I assumed you weren’t in that human city at all. I thought you had gone someplace else.”

“I stayed on my own until I gave birth to Thasman in the cave,” she admitted. “But then how did Nereida get hurt by the humans if she didn’t go with you?”

Nereus gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m a jellyfish. We didn’t know there was a cave. We went to human land during the night and arrived by the beach.”

“I remember you leaving and saying it was to visit a distant pod,” Thames said. “You went back to look for me? Why? Nereus, you should have forgotten about me!”

“Maybe. But I did not want to. I should have just begged Nereida to stay with Y/N back at the time.” He smiled sadly. “Too late now. And it wasn’t until Nereida’s predicament happened, that I stopped looking.”

“Father,” Y/N said as she looked at him. “You said she died because humans hurt her. But you never said how.”

“We were not as careful as I thought we were. A human saw us crawl out of the waves. He followed us around and decided that he would be rich if he had at least one of us captured. We tried to run all the way from the town to the ocean and he had an advantage. A human weapon. There was a bang, Nereida screamed. The human was already celebrating having damaged one of us. Sereia and I barely made it out alive as well… Your mother couldn’t make it to the castle gates.”

“Oh, Nereus,” Thames said as she placed her hand to her mouth. “I--,” she swam back and found herself against the wall. “Its my fault. Everything is all my fault.” She looked to her brother, shaking with guilt.

“Nonsense!” The King bellowed. “I will not listen to you blame yourself for that. It was not your fault.”

Thames shook her head as she placed her hand on her heart as she looked at her brother. “How could you sit there and say it is not my fault? How-- how can you stand to look at me.”

“Mother,” Thasman said gently. “What the human did to the queen is not your fault,” he pulled her in and ran his fingers through her hair. “The king doesn’t blame you. Your brother doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

“The leech who enjoyed hunting us down is the one to blame for my Queen’s death. Not your affair with that human of yours.”

“Father,” Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Does this mean I can never see Dean again?” She looked down at her hands and let out a sniffle. “I know mother being hurt by the human was hard. I love him father, I really do. But--” she shook her head. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Bah,” he waved a hand dismissively. “I am sure we can reach some sort of agreement. You, him and I.”

“But, father,” Y/N said as she looked at her father. “He’s--”

“No different than we are,” Nereus sighed. “Look at what Michael has done? How is that any different than what the human did to your mother?” He placed his hand on Y/N’s cheek. “My sea star, that human in the medical wing loves you. I have not seen someone stand up to Michael the way he did. He drew Michael to him and denied knowing you.”

“They are disgustingly sweet to one another,” Thasman teased. “You should see how he fawns over her, uncle.”

“Is he really good to you?” the King queried his daughter. “Love sometimes can be… not healthy. He doesn’t have any ulterior motives, does he? One thing is what I see, but it’s another thing what you see, sea star.”

“He is perfect, father,” she said softly. “You see, he has shown me so many things. And, he is willing to learn our ways.” She smiled brightly, “he loves me father I can feel it in my soul.”

Nereus nodded softly, smiling at his daughter. “Alright… now, can somebody tell me what my daughter and nephew did in two months on the surface? Apart from getting themselves a human and cutting their hair.”

“Well Thasman proposed to Roan!” Y/N said with a smile. “And he learned to drive a car and fix them. He even has one.”

“Y/N and Roan work in a place called a diner!” Thasman returned and looked at his uncle. “You need to also try the food they have up there. Ellen makes this thing called lasagna and it is delicious!”

“From the beginning, please,” the King chuckled.

“No, wait. Nereus, there is something we must talk about. My unofficial abdication and your daughter’s wish to not rule over Sindarta.”

“After I have heard what my daughter and nephew have found out what they know of the surface,” The king said with a smile.

The king laughed at everything Thasman and Y/N had begun to tell the story starting from before the tournaments. Time had gone by with Thasman and Y/N filling them in on their trip to Zanara and Thasman telling his uncle his new found powers of communicating with the sea creatures. From Ellen, to Bobby, to how Dean and Y/N basically fell in sync and in love like they had spent years at it already, all the way to the food and even more. Eventually, they made it to the elephant in the room: Y/N’s abdication and how Thames had never completed hers.

“So I can overrule the council and you never abdicate, making you ruling royal.” Nereus said as he looked at his sister. “And it would make Thasman next in line for the throne,” he nodded. “I will do it. I would never let the council banish or kill you.”

All three merpeople breathed in relief at the King’s words. Thames swam to him, squeezing him in a hug. “Thank you.”

“But when it comes to the human,” he looked at his daughter. “I want to speak to him. I want to see for myself what he is made of and what his intentions are.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. Now, if there is nothing else to say. I think it’s time that we finish some business with the council.”

Sooooooo?? What did y’all think?? :D

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #dean x mermaid!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x mermaid!reader #dean winchester angst #Dean Winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #mechanic dean #mechanic!dean x reader #mechanic!dean winchester #mermaid!au #mermaid!reader #Supernatural #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

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I would love to see a modern AU of Peggy's first Christmas away from home/the 40s! Something where she's feeling homesick and steve finds a way to throw her a 40s styled holiday

SO this is almost 5k again.

*insert your favorite reasons as to why Peggy is alive and young in the 21st century*

Peggy wouldn’t say it, even if Steve had asked, but something was wrong. She stared out the windows to their apartment in Stark Tower, she stared longingly at old photos of a lifetime ago that graced their walls. Once or twice he’s caught her muttering in her sleep about traditions.

And Steve knew what was wrong.

It was the same thing that was wrong with him, to a sense. She was homesick for a lifetime that never came to exist. A lifetime that was yesterday, last week, last month, last year to them, but to the not-so fossils (as Natasha fondly called them) around them, the 1940s was just a lifetime ago. They never knew the feeling of homesickness that you couldn’t cure by being welcomed home or with a drink or photos.

This was a sickness that wore down on you and in Steve’s case (he couldn’t and wouldn’t speak for Peggy), it came with a crushing guilt. Hot and bobbling in the back of his throat, that weighed on his soul and made it increasingly difficult to function some days when he wasn’t busy with a mission.

And Christmas time? That magical year? It just made it all the worst.

Not that Christmas wasn’t enjoyable in the 21st century, because it was. It was adorable with the twinkling lights, the heavy amounts of snow (even if the pair had an aversion to the cold), the kids running about with Iron Man-themed Christmas outfits, or even Captain America. But with Christmas came crashing memories that were hard to escape.

The worst were the parties. The mingling they almost were forced to attend because they were Avengers and had to keep up a brave face with the public and attend galas.

The last one was the hardest if you asked Steve.

“Is there a difference from then to now?” A voice at Steve’s elbow asked.

He paused in his conversation with Natasha and Bruce, seeing the way Bruce’s face pinched as he turned to look at a short reporter at his elbow. The guy wore wired glasses and had his phone in hand, already turned on to record Steve’s statement.

The blonde sighed heavily and looked around the room for Tony, seeing him caught up in the corner with a few of his own reporters. And unlike Steve, Tony enjoyed the spotlight.

For a split second, Steve wasn’t standing in the 21st century anymore. He was wearing a wool, heavy uniform, clenching a harshly wrapped present as he watched a few reporters talk to Howard Stark and Peggy Carter. He lingered on the edge, just out of the sight of the reporters. Any person with some amount of sense might’ve run away given the chance, considering how bad Captain America was at interviews, but this was one of the last few chances he’d get to give Peggy her present.

It was nothing much, but she’d complained about the rose water she used was about out and she didn’t know how she’d get anymore. He was just so lucky he’d found a shop the other day.

Blinking harshly, Steve found himself back in modern-day, with Natasha holding onto his elbow and Bruce in front of him. He blinked slowly and tried to give Bruce a sheepish smile. “I’m fine. I just...what?”

The reporter was still behind Bruce, giving an annoyed look that he was interrupted in his questioning because how dare Steve Rogers has a flashback when he’s asking a question.

Bruce didn’t look too convinced, leaning over Steve’s slumped form to whisper something into Natasha’s ear. He could hear, his ears were roaring. She immediately disappeared, leaving Bruce to sit him down.

“I’m afraid…” Bruce began, turning to look at the reporter. “Captain Rogers isn’t available for an impromptu interview. If you’d like to schedule one, please see Miss Pepper.”

“No, no Bruce, it’s fine.” The last Steve wanted to do was somehow start a discourse amongst the media. Not that the Avengers would always be in their favor, of course, but he didn’t want to risk it. “Let him talk. What was your question again?”

The man huffed and refused to sit. He still held his phone tightly in his hand. “The difference. What was the difference between there and now?”

“I don’t...understand.” Steve’s mouth opened and closed, his tongue sticking out to lick at his dry lips. “The difference of what?”

“Your life before, to now! What is it like?”

He wanted to groan and cover his eyes, feeling the start of a headache that shouldn’t even be able to exist to come to life. “Look…”

His mouth opened to explain just where the reporter could shove the question but thankfully he didn’t have to.

His wife stepped in.

Peggy dressed in a bright red, cocktail dress. It hung to her knees, white lace just barely seen underneath. She wore a white, fluffy shawl pinned in place by a star broach that looked just about as old as the fossils were. Her hair was pinned back in perfect curls, hazel eyes were boring into the reporter.

“If you cannot read a situation, Mr. Hynes, then I’m afraid you’re a shit reporter,” Peggy huffed, rolling her eyes. She stepped closer to Steve, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a comforting squeeze. “You’re just about as bad as the reporters before you. If you wish to know about how we are struggling to adapt or the difference in times through our eyes, then there are plenty of other blogs, reports, and even Mr. Parker’s little videos that can explain the situation better than us repeating ourselves. Which I tire to do. My husband is just far too polite to tell you to leave so I’ll do it for him. Leave.”

She took a step closer and rather it was the look on her face or the anger that she held in her voice, the reporter bolted. Steve sighed heavily and slacked into Peggy’s side. He smiled at her, reaching to take her hand. She easily fell into him. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here…” Peggy sighed, shooting Natasha and Bruce a thankful look. “I was...lost in thought, but I am told so were you. I think it’s time to retire for the night.”

There were no if, and, or buts as she took Steve’s hand and lead him out of the gala. They both breathed a sigh of relief and he kissed her softly in the little hall. It was brightly decorated with strands of silver garland and lights. Christmas music poured from the room.

“I think…” he began but stopped. She tilted her head to look up at him. “I think we...should talk.”

Peggy’s head nodded sharply, lips pursed together.

“So,” Steve sighed once they were both out of their gala clothes and into something more comfortable. They sat on the couch, a warm tea in Peggy’s hand and a beer in Steve’s. Not that he could drink. “Do you want to talk about what’s been bothering you?”

Her mouth opened, tinted pink now that the makeup was washed off. Her curls sat around her rather than pinned into place. Despite the relaxful atmosphere, she looked tenser than before. He’s seen her look more relaxed fighting the Alien of the Week than with him.

“Peggy.” He turned to face her, taking her hands gently into his own. “Talk to me and d-don’t say nothing, because it’s not nothing. You’ve been out of it and so have I, but you…”

He shrugged, not sure how to finish the sentence without just blurting out everything he was feeling. This was about Peggy, not him.

“I just…” She started, then stopped and sighed. Her shoulders slumped and she fell into his side. Her face pressed into his side. “I miss home.”

Steve’s face buried into her hair, breathing in the soft scent of lavender that seemed to linger in her hair. His arm tightened around her until she was buried into his chest. He didn’t want to let go, Peggy was home to him.

“I know,” he breathed, feeling his eyes burn with tears he’s fought off for so long. “I know, I know, my darling. I know.”

Her small hiccup turned into a soft sob and her shoulders shook. That broke his heart even more. It should be a crime for Peggy to sob, to have anything to cry over. It made him want to tear the world apart and stitch it back together, but what could be done to fix the problem? How could he fix a problem that he didn’t create?

“I do too,” he eventually whispered, not looking up when she made a sound. “I miss home too but what more can we do than miss it, hm? There’s no time travel. We’re here, but at least we’re together.”

Peggy’s face was tinted red as she pulled back, sniffling into Steve’s hand that cupped her face. “I know you’re right and I-I feel foolish about sobbing over this, but I can’t help but miss it. Our friends, our family, everything. The silly traditions war brought about us. You must think…”

“I think nothing of the sort,” Steve breathed, sitting up so Peggy was back against the couch. “Pegs, I love you. I miss it too but you…you got to live it. I did not. I had the sanctuary of being frozen and I don’t know what’s worst. Being alive and living all the decades or waking up in a new century. And...running through two walls…”

“Three walls, two teams of Agents, a glass window despite a perfectly working door was beside you, and into Time Square. It took me over fifteen minutes to track you down.”

Her pink lips quivered at the memory of meeting her beloved again. She should’ve been there when he woke up but duty calls when you’re a director and Steve’s timing as usual went against all she had planned.

“Yes, anyway…” The tips of his ears started to turn pink. “Either way, it’s okay to miss what we once had, Pegs. It’s okay, you don’t have to be upset about crying over that. We can’t help it. We can just...bring it here with us.”

Taking the fuzzy blanket, a gift from Tony, she wrapped it around her frame and smiled softly into Steve’s side when he wrapped her into another hug. “Do you remember our first Christmas together...shortly after you rescued Bucky?”

“You mean the Christmas I got both of us into the river? I swore you would’ve been so mad at me…”

“I should’ve been but your immediate need to take care of me despite you were starting to freeze yourself and your constant apology warned it off.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that we’re both terrible at kissing.”

“It is your fault because you tripped!”

“I tripped because I’m an oaf in giant shoes.” He snorted into her hair, feeling Peggy rolling her eyes at him.

“Yes, well, it seems to become a tradition after that… The next Christmas, you fell into the flooded ditch. Sergeant Barnes had to scrub you clean. No one else would get near you. The next one after that we were on a mission with the...the Howling Commandos and the roof flooded-”

“That wasn’t my fault. Jim chose the farm to take sanctuary in. We didn’t know it was going to storm!”

“And yet, all the water came down onto just you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “And the last Christmas…” Steve felt his throat tighten. “I was going to ask you to marry me but…”

But Bucky had died, then the Howling Commandos were called on a mission, and he was forced to leave his gift of chocolate cake in Peggy’s tent.

Then he died…

Peggy’s arm tightened around him and she pressed a long kiss to his jawline. He could feel her heart beating against his.

“We’re together now, you’re right. I’m grateful for that, please never think that I am not. I just miss it sometimes. The popcorn strings on the trees, the simpler music that isn’t so...so barbiarcly loud.”

“Handmade ornaments, my ma and I used to make them. She’d hand-sewn a tree skirt. Getting Christmas Trees from the orchid. We’d make a fort and wait for Santa. I always fell asleep. We couldn’t afford much - ma and I, but she’d handmake me presents every year. Teddybears, clothes, even one year she worked overnight just to make me a pirates costume.”

“Oh, darling that’s so precious.”

Peggy’s eyes were misty as she imagined younger and skinnier Steve running around in a little pirate costume, wearing it out until he was far too big for it.

“My brother and I used to turn off all the lights and light candles in the house. An even number so we didn’t have to fight. I’d wear a halo made of candles, fake candles, and a white dress. We’d sit by the fire and read stories. We’d string up the Christmas Tree. We’d have dessert first Christmas Day.”

Steve smiled into Peggy’s hairline again, tilting her head up so he could press a long kiss to her lips. “There’s nothing saying we can’t bring that here.”

Pepper and Natasha showed up on their doorstep bright and early the next morning, much to Peggy’s dismay. Be as she may, the greatest agent and director of Shield, Peggy Carter was not a morning person. Not even with Steve. It took half a pot of coffee before she’d even speak sometimes. Not that the pair cared, they just whisked Peggy away, without explaining as much as an answer as to where they were going.

I hate you. PC

Uh-huh. SR

You did this. PC

And what exactly did I do? SR

You had Pepper and Natasha kidnap me. PC

Kidnap isn’t the word I’d use. You willingly went. SR And no, I didn’t. We have some rare downtime, Pegs, hang out with our friends. SR

You’re up to something, Rogers and I want to know what it is. PC

Whatever it is, Mrs. Rogers, you will just have to wait and see. SR

I hate you. PC

I love you too. SR

Steve sighed as he set the phone down and rubbed at the back of his neck. He felt Sam brush by him with a box of items, followed behind an amused looking Bucky and Clint.

“Don’t,” Steve breathed at Bucky. “Don’t you say it.”

“I’m not saying nothing,” Bucky mused. “Just that Pegs is gonna kill you for this.”

“I would kill you for this,” Clint declared, picking up a dusty, plaid, looking ribbon before Steve snatched it from him. “Hey!”

“Careful with this stuff, okay? I know, I know what it looks like but Pegs is just...homesick.” His eyes fell to Bucky, who to a point could understand. His face slacked and he turned over the ribbon in his hand. “I’m just trying to be…”

“A good, devoted husband that’s sickening in love,” Sam commented, making Steve roll his eyes. “We get it, man. We do. It’s okay. Just tell us how to help. Tony is already looking for the music. We got a projection set up for the outside.”

“And Pepper, as of ten minutes ago, has secured the perfect dress for Pegs,” Bucky mused, turning his phone to show it to Steve. “Alright, Stevie, where to?”

“Natalia, what is all this?”

The name purred from Peggy’s mouth as the limo (of all things, of course, a Stark would give a limo ride back to the Tower) came to a stop and Happy eagerly open the door. She was met with the sight of Avengers Tower lit up in lights.

Christmas lights lined the exterior of the building, lighting up every other floor and frame and while yes, the bright white lights and the flood lamps were beautiful, what caught her attention the most was the red carpet, the trees lining the walkway to the normally heavily guarded entrance. The exterior looked…

“The Stork Club,” Peggy gasped, covering her mouth with a shaken hand. A date that would never come to be, somewhere she had foolishly waited for her date. Howard had walked her home after a brief dance with her and Dugan.

Bittersweet memories.

The air felt colder around her as Happy’s hand curled around hers and she was eased out of the car, feeling her legs to be made of ice. A figure was walking towards her, the lights surrounding him almost made him look like a walking shadow. She’d know that build anywhere.

Steve stood in front of her, wearing a beautiful, cashmere suit. The dark blue in the jacket lit up his eyes and the soft blue of the tie brought out the green flecks in them. Compared to him, she felt underdressed almost. Her dress was the shade of red she’d once worn in a bar in the middle of a war. It flowed around her ankles, a soft trail left behind her as she was spun around in his arms. Her hair was pinned up perfectly, Pepper had carefully studied hair tutorials, as did Natasha with the makeup.

It seems Steve got a little sense of fashion from Sam and Tony. Lord knows Bucky and Clint had none.

“St-Steve,” she breathed, nearly falling into his chest from shock alone. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“A night to remember,” he purred in answer, bending down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Would you care to join me, my love?”

Her arm looped around his without hesitation, shooting one last look at Natasha and Pepper, both women looking pleased as she was lead inside.

It was the music that caught her off guard. Shortly after Thanksgiving, the tower started to be filled with obnoxious Christmas music. Too loud for her taste. Now it was filled with soft jazz, the music and trombone sounds made her heartache more than Peggy could describe.

Inside the lobby, everything was gone. Gone were the desks, chairs, plants, and even the large Christmas tree. It had been replaced with a much smaller receptionist desk, a red curtain blocking their entrance. She could hear the sounds of a fountain nearby. A small Christmas tree awaited in the corner and behind the desk sat an amused looking Clint.

“Name?” He asked as if he hasn’t saved Steve’s life or hers a hundred times over.

“Mr. Rogers,” Steve replied, squeezing Peggy’s hand. “And Mrs. Rogers. I know we’re a bit early for our reservation…”

“For once,” Peggy snorted, making Clint snort into his hand.

“Better late than never,” Clint replied, waving them through the self-opening curtains. “Your diner reservation is just in the elevator.”

Behind the desk, Peggy saw the large fountain. It was made of marble, carved into angels blowing trumpets, so the trumpets spit the water onto the fountain. A Christmas tree decorated elegantly sat behind it, a few presents wrapped in burlap or even newspaper, old newspaper at that, sat tucked underneath it. She barely had time to admire it before she was whisked away and towards the elevator.

This is the only thing that remained the same, smooth panels with no cranks or loud noises. She can understand why, both she and Steve were sensitive to loud noises.

Her mouth opened, taking a step back to admire Steve’s look and the smile on his face. “I-”

His head shook and she felt her shoulders slack. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Thankfully (she’s still unsure if so), the doors answered for her and opened up to what would’ve been their common dining room. Instead, it still held the floor to ceiling windows that welcomed them to a night sky. Not the normal skyscrapers, New York skyline, but instead one that looked...well, 70 plus years ago. The floor had been replaced with a hardwood that made her heels click and clack as they were lead deeper inside the room. The spot where their living room had been with comfortable couches and tv-sat a dance hall with couples she’s seen around the Tower weaving back and forth, in each other’s arms. They were dressed similarly and even a band played a few feet away from them.

Instead of being caught up on that, Steve whisked her towards the communal kitchen, a few tables sat out and one with the name Rogers on a placard sat for them. He held the chair out for her, Peggy still a bit stunned as she sat down. He had barely just sat down before Sam walked over in his little, dapper suit, a tray in hand.

“You look dashing, Sam,” Peggy purred, feeling her cheeks flush. “Did you cook?”

“Do you trust anyone else to cook? I wasn’t about to let Stark hire some foolish chef. Besides, I owe ya’ll a favor.” He pulled the top of the tray off and smiled at the delightful look Peggy had. “As requested, dessert for dinner. My mama’s homemade Chocolate Cake, Cheesecake, Carrot Cake, Chocolate Mousse, and well...the list goes on and on. Steve did say you loved chocolate. Oh, yes, and sticky toffee pudding. That is if a certain James didn’t eat it.”

“He was fond of it years ago,” Peggy chuckled, helping Sam take the plates off to spread across their table. “Really, Sam, none of you had to go through this trouble for me.”

“Of course we did, Pegs. You deserve it. Now, for dinner, there’s pecan-crusted, honey salmon or duck with roasted potatoes and greens.”

“The duck, for both of us,” Peggy answered, sharing a look with Steve. “The last time Steve had salmon, he choked on it, so he avoids fish.”

“It’s not my fault Pinky didn’t clean it right,” Steve grumbled, shooting Sam a thankful look. “Again, thanks, Sam.”

Picking up a fork, he held a forkload of Sam’s chocolate cake to Peggy’s lips. His eyes were on those lips as she took the heavenly bite and sighed with relief at the taste exploding on her tongue.

“Steve, what is this?”

She pulled back to look at his face, unaware that a bottle of wine and glasses had been set between them.

Steve’s shoulders shrugged, busying himself with pouring them a glass of wine. “You said you missed...back then. I missed our date. I wanted to make it right. I...I know what you said, that by being alive I’ve more than made it up but still…”

Peggy had to blink hard to clear the mist from her eyes, reaching out to caress his hand and bring it to her lips to kiss the knuckles softly. “And you went through all this trouble for me?”

“You’re worth it.”

Lord, she was going to sob by the night was over, wasn’t she? Steve was determined to make her cry.

Their meal was wonderful, as always when Sam cooked. Even the duck that he had brought out with a too-happy of Bucky’s help. It was excellently cooked and moist and the flavors, Peggy could’ve kissed Sam for how good it was and she was sure Steve was in an agreement.

Bucky came back around to help clean the table off, returning once more to take Peggy’s hand. She gave him a skeptical look as she was taken off of her seat and lead onto the little, dance hall. Instantly the band started to play something sweet and slow. Something she shouldn’t be dancing with James.

“What are you doing, James?” Peggy asked, her head laid on his shoulder as he held her one hand, the other wrapped around her frame. They swayed gently from side to side. “Tryin’ to make Sam jealous?”

“That man doesn’t get jealous,” Bucky snorted, rolling her eyes. “No, dollface, Steve always felt bad how you avoided dancing because of him, so…” He shrugged and for God’s sake, he was blushing.

James Buchanan Barnes was blushing.

“So you decided to fulfill that for me. Thank you.”

She was spun around the second her lips touched his cheek and right into Sam’s arms. She laughed as he dipped her before swaying with them. Bucky had disappeared up the elevator and she could’ve sworn he said Steve’s floor.

“Sam, I wanted to thank you again…”

“Nothing to it, Pegs. You deserve this little night out and I think we all had our own fun planning it, especially Steve. You should’ve seen him, getting all Captain-like, giving out orders. I think Bucky was close to knocking him out, he was stressing us all out. The guy just wants this to be perfect.”

“It is. Even without all this...every last detail, it’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so.” The voice purred behind her. A hand was held out in her vision and Peggy took it, being lead right back onto the middle of the dance floor.

Steve dipped her lower than Sam and kissed her. A soft, loving kiss that made every inch of her nerves scream to life. She sighed into his lips as she was tilted back up and swung back to her feet. A giggle escaped her as they swayed.

They’ve danced more than a few times since Steve being found but this was different. This was a man trying to play to make up for lost time and she loved him for it. She loved him even if he didn’t try this.

“So, what do you think, Mrs. Rogers?”

The way he purred her surname still made her toes tingle, a shiver running down her spine.

“I think you’re an absolute madman for dragging our teammates into this. I think you’re an idiot for crashing the plane, but…” She pulled her head back from his chest to look into his eyes and smiled, feeling the tears start to burn her eyes. “I know that I love you and this is amazing Steve, so...so lovely, so beautiful. I-”

She started to tear up again and Steve held her tightly, kissing her cheek. “I know,” he breathed. “Let’s not make tonight about lost time and just enjoy this because I know the guys are going to make me pay hell for this later.”

“You deserve it, don’t you?”

“I...might’ve gotten ahead of myself, but it’s worth it for you.”

“Steve, what in the world are you doing?”

Peggy’s laugh was addicting, it caused a rush to flood his system. Steve couldn’t help his own snorting chuckling as he kept his hands securely over Peggy’s eyes and marched them slowly into their shared living space.

“Keeping a surprise from you. Bucky, Bruce, and Thor helped finish this last minute.”

Removing his hands, Peggy finally got to see what was behind curtain number three.

A fort sat in the middle of the living room. Huge blankets drooped over chairs and the couch cushions. Inside was large blankets and pillows. It was surrounded by fairy lights, the same fairy lights decorated around their apartment. Garland and tinsel decorated the walls. A large Christmas tree sat in the corner, adorned with even more garland, homemade ornaments, and popcorn strands. A projector displayed from the ceiling, a movie already waiting to play.

“Steven…” Peggy couldn’t help the soft sob that escaped her lips, her hand covering her mouth. This looked like her childhood dream, just more modern. He’d taken the time to take things out of her life and to bring it to life.

“I know it’s not much, especially compared to before but…”

He was silenced with a heavy kiss on his lips. It made him want to faint into her arms.

“You stop that. It’s everything I could’ve hoped for and more. You even have the fireplace up and look, JARVIS has prepared us books to be read to us. Hot cocoa.” Even outside, despite the weather, it projected a blanket of snow in some English cottage.

Steve’s face was a bright shade of red. He made a shrugging motion and rubbing a hand over his neck. “Tis nothing...Why don’t you go change into something comfortable and we can relax after that night of dancing?” Steve never thought he’d be thankful for two bathrooms, normally they shared one, and shared one shower together but he wanted to give Peggy time to calm down. He emerged later with wet hair, sweatpants, and a t-shirt thrown on. He wasn’t surprised to find Peggy already waiting for him in the fort, curled up around hot cocoa. She passed him a mug and crawled into his waiting arms.

“Thank you, Steven,” she yawned into his shoulder. “For giving me one last night of our past. Thank you for understanding everything.”

“I told you,” he breathed, setting his mug aside and kissing her hair. “You’re not alone in this. I’m glad I could give you a night to remember.”

“Mhm..”

Steve chuckled at the sound of a sleepy Peggy, laying them back amongst the covers. JARVIS switched the lights off without asking, the only light in the room was the fireplace. He yawned and kept his arms around Peggy, rubbing up and down her backside.

“JARVIS, can you play the first book?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

“Of course, Mr. Rogers. Now playing The Night Before Christmas. T’was the night before Christmas…”

#Steggy #Steggy Prompt #StevePeggy #darlingcarter #Christmas Fluff

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lailannajacobs · 4 years

Text

Girl Going Nowhere

Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader

Request: Aaaanyways I had a small request about a Bucky x reader fanfic that I was wondering if you could do sometime if you get a break in your busy schedule. Maybe something along the lines of them both being in the avengers and reader has like a huge crush on Bucky but he sees her as a "kid" until boom they have some sorta fancy event where reader turns up lookin like a snacc and Bucky is like o.O when he sees her AND THEN THEY GET TOGETHER AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER ...

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Little violence, pinch of angst but 99% fluff

A/N: thank you so much @winkwonk123456 I had a blast with this request! This is probably much longer than it had to be, but I couldn’t resist adding in some 2012 avengers type moments! Hope you enjoy, I’d love to know what you think! P.s Italics are flashbacks, all else is present <3

Girl Going Nowhere

“You know, I think you’re getting better at this,” Nat stared down at you, her smirk the only thing you could see.

A groan escaped your lips and you sunk further into the sparring mat. You’d done this enough times to know that you’d find a few new bruises tomorrow but that the worst part was right here, right now, trying to catch your breath.

“No, really,” She continued, “That was a whole minute longer than last time. Anyone else and you would have had them down.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” You muttered, taking her extended hand.

Straightening you out, she laughed, “You’ve got your first mission in a couple days. Just making sure you’re ready. The more pain-”

“I know, I know,” You interrupted, stretching your neck from side to side, “The more pain I feel here, the less likely I am to be dead out there. Doesn’t make getting pounded into the ground any easier though.”

“But then it would ruin the fun for me,” She grinned, the kind that usually meant you’d be flat on your back within seconds.

The gym doors opened and you both looked up. Bucky and Sam walked in, gym bags slung over their shoulders, already dressed for a workout. They both smiled when they saw the two of you.

“Hey kid, ready for your first mission?” Bucky asked with a pleasant smile.

“Always,” You snapped.

It was a wonder you’d heard anything passed the word ‘kid’. The one syllable, three letter word made you want to punch something. Mainly him. Though half the time you weren’t sure which part of your body you wanted to connect with his. And that was the problem. He saw you as the new recruit, as nothing more than a… than a…you swore internally: a kid. It didn’t matter that you looked the same age or that you were a fully functioning adult, in his eyes, you were just a kid who’d shown up on the compound a year ago - SHIELD’s newest asset. That old fart could go to hell for all you cared.

“You boys had better not be late for dinner,” Nat shot them both a pointed look, “It’s Tony’s idea of a big family dinner while most of us are around and he’s expecting you.”

“Tony’s cooking?” Sam asked incredulously. Nat laughed, steering you toward the door. He grinned, “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Just be there!” She called over her shoulder. Then she turned her action to you, winced and then shrugged, “If you need it, come see me, I’ve got concealer that works for that kind of thing.”

And with that cryptic bit, she walked off with a joyful wave. You touched your cheek and winced. Shower first and then you’d deal with the damage done.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t need to tell you this,” Sam stepped onto the treadmill, a devilish smirk on his lips, “But every time you call her that, I’m sure it’s the time she throws a punch at you.”

Bucky started at a slow jog and shot him a grin in response. He didn’t need to explain to Sam that the reason he did it was to make sure she stayed far away from him and all his baggage. They’d gotten too close the first couple weeks after she’d arrived at the compound, and the moment he realized there might be something between them he’d quickly dismissed the thought, starting the whole ‘kid’ charade. He was an old man, out of his time, who’d done far too many terrible things to even consider anything even remotely romantic. Even if it was with another agent who’d seen her fair share of shit and was living the same lifestyle as he was. One who knew who and what he was. One who…

He punched the speed on his treadmill, pumping his legs to keep up with the gruelling increase in pace. He was doing it again. Making excuses for himself - for the future he caught himself imagining from time to time. Calling her ‘kid’ as often as he could was barely working to remind himself that he was better off alone. Not that it mattered all that much. Nowadays, half the time she looked like she wanted to kill him, so even if he did change his mind - which he wouldn’t - he was pretty sure she wasn’t interested.

“She’s going with you on her first mission. Did you ever figure out why Fury recruited her?” Sam asked between puffs of breath.

Bucky stared straight ahead, annoyed that he couldn’t push the treadmill further, “No idea. All I know if that if they waited a year to deem her mission ready, then they would have waited longer if she wasn’t.Though whatever the reason is, it must have something to do with the reason Wanda avoids her like the plague.”

“Well, she’s not me, but I’m sure you’ll be fine with her as your back up,” Sam laughed, though he was fighting so hard for breath it sounded more like a wheeze.

Bucky chuckled, “I can’t get used to having you at my back 24-7. You have to sleep at some point.”

“Unlike you people. All you supers are making me dizzy,” Sam huffed with mock seriousness, “Look at you. Are you even sweating?”

“I’m still waiting on Tony’s new treadmills,” Bucky laughed, slowing the machine, Nat’s warning fresh in his mind.

They kept on in silence for another ten minutes until deciding to call it. Dinner with all the Avengers and their families. Oddly enough, Bucky found that he no longer dreaded this kind of thing.

“What’s going on?” You demanded, looking up at the numbers above the doors that were no longer glowing.

Bucky’s eyes widened a bit as if he’d forgotten you were there but recovered quickly, “Even elevators in a place like this jam from time to time.”

You nodded slowly, silently wishing it would start moving again. You weren’t ready to be stuck in an elevator with a complete stranger - well, a person you’d only spoken to for about a minute. You’d arrived on the compound less than two weeks ago and you’d barely said a word to anyone and that was including Natasha Romanoff who’d been assigned to teach you how to fight and defend yourself. You were not ready for close proximity chitchat.

“You okay in enclosed spaces?” He asked, settling down on the floor and extending his feet.

He looked like he was settling in for a long wait, not one bit bothered by the fact that he was stuck in a hanging box hundreds of feet in the air. Of course, if you were as resilient as he was, you’d be completely at ease as well.

Thankfully, apart from your anxiety at being trapped with someone else, you were pretty calm, and crouched down until your butt was on the floor, your knees tucked tight against your chest. You stared at your knees, half hoping he wouldn’t talk to you and half hoping he would. Although you did it on purpose to keep to yourself, it was undeniably lonely. Maybe you could use a friend…you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had one.

“Just a little warning,” He began, his tone causing you to worry. You hadn’t thought there was anything to worry about, but the way he spoke made you wonder if you maybe there was, “If you ever get trapped in here with Peter, he will most definitely tell you about the time his classmates were stuck in an elevator. Every time.”

You looked up at him, relieved and surprised, “So this kind of thing happens often?”

“Weirdly enough, yeah,” He shrugged, a small smile on his face, “It’s the one elevator in the whole place that never seems to work properly, no matter what they do to it.”

“Would you be able to get us out if this thing goes down?” You were surprised by the question, but you didn’t know much about the others who lived here and the question had come out on its own.

He shrugged again, “I’d like to think so. What about you? Got any skills that’ll get us out of here?”

You clenched your fists, thinking of the pain on the redhead’s face when she had walked into that Hydra base. Controlling your powers wasn’t something you were good at yet and you were avoiding anyone else with the mutant gene until you knew for sure that you wouldn’t hurt anyone else. You’d been relieved to learn that secret serums and alien lifeforms weren’t affected - even though Dr. Banner thought that maybe your abilities could extend to even inanimate objects one day. You weren’t sure you wanted them to. Too many people had gotten hurt. It didn’t matter that they had promised you that you’d only be doing good from now on.

“Forget I asked the question,” Bucky said after your elongated silence. You were about to apologize, but it was as if he knew exactly what you were going to do and he wasn’t having any of it, “Whatever reason you’re here for, I’m sure it’s a good one. It doesn’t matter where you were before this…trust me.”

And by the way he said it, you did. If ghosts were real, you had a feeling you could have seen them hovering around him weights.

“I’ve actually got a more important question to ask you,” He continued.

“What’s that?” You were glad your voice wasn’t shaky.

“You know about Thor’s hammer, right?” Your nod was all he needed to continue, “We’ve got a debate going; if you put it in an elevator and it goes up, is the elevator worthy?”

You raised a brow, not sure if he was being serious or not, and when he smiled, you did too, starting to feel yourself relax for the first time since you got here.

There were three things you knew were about to happen in the next minute and a half. The first was that Clint wouldn’t miss; he never missed. The second was that, immediately afterwards, you’d find a small smirk on Wanda’s face despite her claims that she was not involved and was not paying attention. The third was the the commotion would get the rest of the Avengers, who were still in the kitchen, into the massive living space.

Thor’s booming laughter filled the room, shaking the apple balanced precariously on his head. Lightening crackled at his finger tips, his eyes bright and his stance wide. Loki was in the corner, looking extremely bored as he picked at the grime under his nails, but occasionally he’d glance up, a slight quirk to his lips. Bruce stood quietly on the far end of the room, taking in everything with a slightly worried look on his face. Despite the number of adults in the room, he was the only one who looked relatively responsible. Your eyes kept searching the room for the same person they always did. Sam had his brow raised, arms crossed over his chest as he watched in amusement, and Scott stood by his side, a wide grin on his face. Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

Thor lifted his hand, index finger and thumb touching to create a small circle just above his head, right in front of the apple. No one was worried for anyone’s safety, especially that Dum-E stood nearby, fire extinguisher on hand.

“I thought I was done with parlour tricks,” Clint shook his head as he lined up his shot.

“Come on dad!” His daughter Lila begged, “I told Cassie that you could hit anything!”

Clint couldn’t hold back a smile, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, honey.”

“Are we ready?” Thor laughed, “Because I’m starving!”

“Here we go,” Clint muttered.

Then he released the shot. The moment it flew between Thor’s fingers, lightening cackled, setting the arrow aflame. The arrow split the apple, and still burning, lodged into the wall behind him. The kids burst cheers and Thor’s face split into a a wide grin. Dum - E moved into action. Everyone else, including Wanda, couldn’t help but smile and applaud along with the kids. You relaxed into the wall behind you, days like this making you so thankful that Fury had found you.

“Are you trying to burn the place down before dinner?” Tony asked, strolling into the room, “Because I’m pretty sure a flaming arrow will do it. The kinds of things I have to put up-”

You wanted to follow the rest of what Tony was saying, but all you could see was Bucky who had come in behind with Steve at his side. He smiled and mouthed the words ‘hey kid’ before going off to see Sam. Tearing your gaze away, you managed to catch the end of what Tony was saying, telling everyone that dinner was ready. Everyone else began filing out of the room, but you stayed seated, wondering why you couldn’t seem to behave like a normal person whenever Bucky was around. You knew you’d have to get your act together before the mission or else you’d compromise the whole thing and put everyone in danger.

Bursts of laughter exploded from the dining room and you decided it was time you joined. However, you let Wanda go first, making sure to give her a wide birth as she passed. She’d forgiven you, but you couldn’t say there was anything friendly between the two of you; not that you blamed her. Sam, Steve and Bucky were talking in hushed tones, lagging behind, but you walked away as if you couldn’t care less about him. You had dinner to get to and you were going to enjoy yourself.

“Are you in position?” Bucky asked into the coms.

He looked around the main floor, watching the rich party goers mingle and observe the artefacts at the silent auction. From his position at the top of the staircase, he could see everything except for the one person he was supposed to be on this mission with. Bucky was used to missions where he barely had any information to go on, but he wasn’t used to rely on a person whose abilities were classified - even to him. Fury had told him that it was safer this way. Bucky had had no choice but to believe him. The only consolation was that by the end of the night, he’d know that much more about YN.

He scanned the room for her, but couldn’t find her usual workout attire. Of course, this being a black tie event, she was probably - surely - wearing something completely different, but it was hard to picture her wearing anything else.

“I’m following the target,” Her clipped voice came in through the coms, “He’s alone.”

“Don’t engage. Stand down,” Bucky ordered, taking off in a sprint.

This wasn’t the plan - at least not the plan he’d been given. His heart rate picked up as he made his way to the target’s office. The target - Jackson Cure - was deadly, an inhuman with mind manipulation and telepathy and YN was about to walk in there, alone. He swore and picked up the pace, ignoring the pointed glares in his direction.

He raced up the stairs, going so fast that he almost came face to face with the target himself. Before Bucky could even get a punch in, he lost control of his body. Fear crashed over him. He struggled to regain control, refusing to let something like this happen to him again, but his hand was reaching for his gun and he knew it wasn’t because he was about to shoot the target.

“You’re a strong one,” Cure purred, eyes lighting up at the challenge.

Bucky grit his teeth, fighting a loosing battle. From the corner of his eye, he noticed YN creep up from behind. He tried to warn her, get her to leave before anything happened to her, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He only succeeded in making Cure notice that something was up.

Cure turned and practically laughed when he saw her, “Come to join the fun then?”

She lifted her gun, pointing it at his head.

“I don’t think so, darling,” He grinned, “Why don’t you kill him instead?”

Bucky felt his body still despite his futile attempts to move. The only thing he could do was look at her and try to convey a million different things before she pulled the trigger.

But she didn’t.

“Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your head,” She snarled, eyes flaring with hatred, “Do it now.”

Cure’s brows furrowed in what seemed like a mix between confusion and concentration.

She clicked the gun, “I said, do it now.”

“Your friend,” He started.

“You won’t do a damned thing to my friend,” She took a step forward, looking like she really would shoot him.

Before Bucky knew what was happening, Cure doubled over, howling in pain. Suddenly, he could move again, sucking in deep breaths of relief. But all he could do was stare dumbfounded at YN, who stood coldly a few feet away from Cure, watching. No, not watching. She was the reason he was in pain.

She stepped forward and his howls turned to groans. He watched as Cure tightened in a ball on the ground, looking like he was about to pass out.

“Sergeant Barnes,” He barely recognized her voice, but somehow it was enough it pull him out of his stupor, “Are you all right?”

He nodded.

“Then I need you to cuff him. Romanoff is waiting on the roof,” She spoke clinically, but her eyes kept darting toward him as if she was worried.

He followed her order, still out of breath and trying to piece his mind back together again. Cure was still in pain, but he couldn’t risk telling her to ease whatever it was that she was doing. Not right now.

When they made it to the roof, Bucky had regained most of his composure, but he noticed YN had sweat dripping down her temple. Cure was cuffed, but they didn’t know if it was safe for her to let go of her hold on him.

Nat slid open the helicopter door, “You can let him go,” She shouted over the sound o the blades, “His abilities won’t work with the cuffs on.”

YN looked skeptical but did as she was told, Cure sucking in a deep breath despite the fact that he was still powerless. She swayed and Bucky shot out his hand to steady her. She only stared at him, a look in her eyes he didn’t think he’d ever begin to understand.

“The limo will be here in a half an hour,” Nat continued, eyes darting between them, “Make sure you’re seen on the way out.”

They both nodded, watching util the helicopter was out of sight.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

He thought so. Though he knew he wouldn’t be is she hadn’t been there. Hell, she’d practically taken care of this whole thing singlehandedly. She may have been the new recruit, but there was no way he could get away with calling her kid anymore. Bucky didn’t know what would have happened if Cure had had the chance to poke around in his head longer than he had. He shuddered at the thought, trying to push it far away.

“I was supposed to have him subdued before you got there,” She continued when he said nothing, “That’s on me.”

Stunned, her realized she was trying to apologize to him. After everything she’d just done for him, she was trying to apologize.

“You saved my life. That’s on you,” He stated firmly, “I can never thank you enough for that, so please don’t apologize.”

She sighed, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” He said, turning to face her, “Thanks to you - holy shit.”

He stared at her, at a loss for words. Amidst all the action, he’d never really taken a good look at her. He’d known she was there, but hadn’t needed to know more than that.

“What?” She demanded, voice panicked as she whirled around to find the threat, “Bucky, what?”

He couldn’t help but stare at her in her gown. It was as if every feeling he’d pushed down since the day they’d met came rushing back to the surface, only to mix with the leftover adrenaline to hit him like a tidal wave. YN had always been beautiful, but tonight she was something else, coming through for him with confidence and kindness like he’d never seen at the compound. Bucky also had to admit that he’d always had a soft spot for a woman in a pretty dress.

Yet, all that managed to come out of his mouth was, “You look beautiful,” Which felt kind of lame and very much an understatement.

She stared back at him, an expression on her face he couldn’t read, then looked down at the dress she was wearing.

Finally, she shrugged, “You have Nat to thank for that. She picked it out.”

He extended his arm, trying to sort through all his emotions while not being able to help himself, “A dress is only as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

His words caught him by surprise, the familiarity of them like a long lost friend he hadn’t seen since the forties. He knew he would never be the person he was before the war, but maybe he could find away to be something else; something different, but just as good.

You were dreading working with SHIELD and living on Tony Stark’s compound. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep being blackmailed by Hydra - working for them against your will - but you were pretty sure these people wouldn’t accept you. They were all heroes. You were…you were a coward who couldn’t fight her way out of a shitty problem.

Fury didn’t say a word. You weren’t sure if it was because small talk wasn’t his thing, if he was ignoring you, or if he was being nice and giving you you space. Either way, you were glad for it. You weren’t sure what to say. After almost killing one of his team members the night they’d raided the Hydra compound you were on, the only thing you’d been able to say had been a string of apologies. The only break in your profuse apologies had been the moment you’d agreed to work for him, both a penance for your actions and a freedom from the situation you’d been stuck in.

When you followed him through a set of clear, double doors, you were hit with the bustle of what felt like a small city. Not only were there soldiers smiling about, but there were women dressed in suits - both regular and some like you’d never seen before - men in jumpsuits, people with clipboards, screens above-head with flashing lights and what appeared to be a mechanical bird swooping precariously in and out of the crowds.

“You can’t be a bazaar half your flock is gone loose!” A laughing voice shouted, “You’re going to have to catch that thing before it pokes someone’s eye out!”

“Shut up and start helping me!” A different, much less amused, shouted back.

You searched for the voices, but couldn’t find the men they belonged to amid the crowd.

Fury muttered beside you, “They’ll both lose an eye if that thing takes out mine.”

You smirked, the action taking you by surprise.

Two men then stumbled into the room, shooing the bystanders out of the way. The crowd parted with little more than an eye-roll . The long haired one raised a gun but didn’t get to fire off a shot.

The man with wings strapped to his back gripped his friend’s arm and glared at him, “You kill that thing, the guys in tech are going to kill you.”

“How do you want to get it then? Because last I checked, you weren’t able to fly this model,” He retorted, shaking him off and taking aim again.

“If one of you fires a damn shot,” Fury warned, his voice no louder than it was before but easily carrying across the room, “I don’t care how accurate it was, you’re going to wish you didn’t.”

In unison, they turned their heads, noticing Fury for the first time. The bird swooped toward them and you almost cried out to warn them, watching as it aimed for the long haired one’s head but his hard shot out, the clang of metal on metal ringing out through the room. You blinked, not sure you’d seen correctly, but knowing in a place like this there was no way you were imagining things.

Wings grinned, noticing you, “See you’ve brought a new recruit.”

They wandered over, blue and brown eyes trained unnervingly on you.

You looked down instinctively at the bracelet they’d given you only a week ago. Judging by the pain free looks on their faces, it was working fine.

“No need to look worried,” Wings shot you another grin, this one more welcoming, “There are only idiots here who sometimes manage to save the world from time to time.”

What little good mood you’d found at watching them chase after that metal bird vanished quickly. None of the work you’d done for Hydra had anything to do with saving lives…And that was the big problem, wasn’t it?

“Maybe she should be worried,” Blue eyes said, and you stopped breathing thinking that he knew who you were and what you’d done, “She’s going to have to work with you and your unruly birds from time to time.”

Wings rolled his eyes, “Wait until she sees the Spiderkid or Lang.

“You’ll be fine here. Trust me," Long-hair shot you a small, knowing smile, that eased the pressure off your chest as he extended his hand, “I’m James and this is Sam. But you can call me Bucky.”

You didn’t know what to think about Bucky’s reaction. You were part worried, part thrilled, and also riding the high that came from finally being able to loosen the cap that you kept on your powers. You didn’t know what the hell to think.

So, arm in arm, you followed him back down to the auction. He was silent the whole way, almost contemplative, so you said nothing. The fury you’d felt at seeing that man get inside Bucky’s head and then try to kill him…It had been so blinding you were surprised you’d managed to keep hold of your powers long enough to keep him alive. You could still feel it simmering beneath the surface, threatening your hard earned control over your ability. The bracelet was in your clutch, but you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t ever need to use it. You never knew who could be in the vicinity and you couldn’t risk what you’d done to Wanda happen tonight.

“Bucky,” You whispered when you walked out onto the quiet sidewalk. You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, his name having slipped out as if on its own.

His gaze found yours, searching as if to make sure you were all right. The look wasn’t the same as the one he’d had on his face earlier, but it still sent shivers down your spine anyways, “YN? Are you cold?”

You shook your head, not sure what to do or say.

He dipped his head, trying to get a better look at your face.

“Are you hurt?” The words were a deep growl, surprising you.

After the way he’d looked at you when you’d saved his life - as if he was truly seeing you for the first time - you were taken back to that moment in the elevator when you’d thought there was something between you. But you pushed the thought away. You were just a kid in his eyes, SHIELD’s newest recruit. Whatever you’d thought you’d seen was only what you were hoping to see there. Nothing more.

“No. No I’m fine,” You muttered, forcing a smile, “The limo’s here.”

Something flickered across his face, but you ignored it, shoving out of his grip to get into the car. You melted into the seat and closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the headrest. You heard him get in and felt the limo take off.

“YN?” He murmured.

You opened your eyes and slide a glance his way, “Yeah?”

“I never did thank you for saving my life.”

You shrugged, “You would have done the same for me.”

“I would have,” He said forcefully, “Every damn time.”

There was something in his voice that made your breath catch in your throat, and you turned so that you were fully facing him. He leaned in closer.

“I mean it,” He whispered.

You felt yourself getting sucked in, but pulled back just in time, “Good thing for you that this kid can take care of herself.”

His brow furrowed, “What I saw out there was the work of a powerful woman who looked absolutely beautiful while being completely badass. You’re no kid, trust me.”

You stared at him, confused. He was telling you the exact opposite of what he’d been telling you for the past several month. It was hard to believe that doing your job could have changed his mind unless…he’d always believed the same thing? You were so confused. You didn’t know if you were simply imagining things or if this was real.

“Exactly,” You said, opting for humour to try and avoid your feelings, “I’m no kid. You’re just old.”

The corner of his mouth lifted and you found yourself being drawn in again.

“Good thing then, that that’s only technically. I’m pretty sure we’re actually the same age,” He whispered.

You were having trouble tearing your attention away from his eyes and murmured, “Why’s that a good thing?”

He answered by sliding his hand around to the nape of your neck and closing the distance so that his lips were on yours.

“You could always wear that dress around the compound, you know,” He joked when he pulled away, fingers trailing over the edge of the material until they rested on your thigh, “Practice fighting while dressed undercover.”

You laughed though the sound was cut off by the feeling of his lips on your neck, “How considerate of you, but I’m going to stick to my usual clothes.”

You felt his smile on your skin, “I’m not good at keeping my eyes off you either way.”

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fanfiction #marvel fic #MCU fic #fan fiction #fanfic

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.43 prt.1

Keith slept like a log. When Lance had left so suddenly it’d taken Matt to make him realise what was happening. Forced into conversation, it’d been nearly an hour before he headed upstairs to check on Lance. Finding his boyfriend asleep and the sweet smell lingering in the room, he grabbed a blanket off the bed and stuffed it along the bottom of the door to keep the scent in. Shooting Shiro a quick text to let him know Lance was “sick”, Keith hoped that Shiro got his implied message. Stripping off to his underwear, Keith slid under the blankets where Lance immediately moved to cuddle him, mumbling his name as he wrapped an arm around Keith’s waist. Why couldn’t Shiro see this side of Lance? Sure, he might be a vampire, but he really was stupidly sweet. Not used to sleeping with someone like this, Keith had expected to spend the night tossing and turning, or even to be plagued with nightmares as usual, instead he woke to find himself spooned up with Lance curled around him.

Letting Lance sleep a little longer, Keith wasn’t looking forward to crawling out of bed. He would have stayed with his boyfriend but his bladder had other ideas, Lance stirring as he lifted his arm from around his waist

“Keith?”

“Bathroom”

“Mmm... ‘kay”

Using Lance’s bathroom felt like a privilege. Keith making sure he hadn’t made a mess before stumbling back to bed. Lance had woken up properly, but that didn’t mean he’d gotten out of bed. Crawling back onto the bed, Lance automatically reached for him, Keith too uncaffinated to feel embarrassed or protest as he climbed into Lance’s hold. Kissing his cheek, Lance sighed as he leaned against Keith

“Good morning”

“Mmm...”

“I know. You haven’t had your coffee yet. Do you have enough energy for me to cuddle?”

“Mhmm”

Lance kissed his cheek again

“Thanks for being here when I woke up. I know you’re not used to it and I’m not used to it, but I really needed a hug”

Turning his head, Keith pressed a kiss to Lance’s lips. Lance blushing slightly as he did

“It’s okay... are you okay?”

“Yeah... I slept like the dead”

Keith groaned at Lance. It was too early for his shenanigans

“Didn’t like that one? I’ll keep it in mind. Let’s get you your coffee. Everyone else is already up”

Lance laughed at him as Keith struggled into a pair of the vampire’s jeans and a shirt. Though he would have been fine wearing the clothes he’d had on the day before. Keith glaring the best glare he could manage, mind firmly on his coffee, as Lance went about getting dressed, Keith made to not peak as he changed underwear. Not that he was going to peak. Lance had nothing to be ashamed of down there, but there was a fresh wave sweetness that lasted a few seconds, making them both blush for no damn reason. Keith wasn’t a natural born blusher, yet it seemed to just happen around Lance. Managing to look far more presentable than Keith did, his boyfriend was annoying like that.

Yawning as they entered the kitchen, Keith ignored everyone as he made a beeline for the coffee machine, only to be irritated that his normal cup wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Sharing a house was already proving annoying. He didn’t like it. That wasn’t to say he didn’t like Matt and Rieva... he just liked things better when people didn’t interrupt his coffee routine. Glancing back to Lance, he found he’d already ducked out, leaving him with no support over his stolen cup

“How’d you sleep, kiddo?”

Keith grunted at Shiro. He didn’t deserve words until Keith got his damn cup of coffee

“It’s like watching Pidge in the morning”

“Keith isn’t functional until he’s had his coffee”

“Pidge is like a demon. She’d literally bite ankles if she could get away with it”

“Keith is too. He bit me once for moving his coffee”

“Oh, man. That’s just too good”

Matt and Shiro both seemed in excellent moods as they talked about him. That was something. Yesterday had been draining and he didn’t want a repeat.

“What are we talking about?”

Keith felt himself blushing as Lance walked in. His boyfriend didn’t need to know he was being teased

“Keith is acting like Pidge”

“Pidge is worse. Keith isn’t as snarky as she gets. You guys eat?”

Lance seemed happy enough replying to Matt. Hopefully that was a good sign

“Yeah. We helped ourselves. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I meant it’s your house too now. If there anything in particular you don’t eat or we need, let me know. I promise I don’t bite”

Matt laughed, even his laugh sounded like Pidge’s. Keith now wondering if she was on her second cup with her laptop in front of her. It seemed highly likely

“Honestly, there’s not a lot we don’t eat. What about you?”

“Blood three times a day and I eat. I think there’s a conversation we need to have too over what happened last night”

Keith froze. He felt like Lance was pushing himself when it came to the subject he thought his boyfriend had in mind. It meant confiding in strangers, which he wasn’t good at. He didn’t dare turn around as he watched his coffee finally coming out the machine and into the inferior cup he’d taken off the hook

“Did we do something wrong?”

“No. It’s just... It might make things complicated and hearing you react last night really drove home how awkward this might be”

“Man, you’re scaring me now”

There was the scraping of a chair, meaning Lance had sat. Keith felt like he should do something, but he didn’t know what

“It’s not you, it’s me... Wow, I didn’t think I’d be using that line so early in the morning... so... um... I’m not a normal vampire”

“You can’t turn into a bat or hypnotise humans to do your will?”

Lance snorted

“I can turn into a bat... not a very good bat... No, it’s, um... I’m a vampire, but... um... I get flushes like a werewolf... in heat. It’s from drinking human blood. Well, from drinking Keith’s blood. You know what it’s like when you turn, so I’ve been trying to live as humanly as possible... I didn’t go out of my way to find out much about that side of things. I thought I had a handle on it... but Keith was the first human I ever drank from... and his blood changed my body. You caught my scent last night... and fuck this is embarrassing. I’m a breeder...”

Lance’s words hung in the air, Keith finally able to move again. Turning, he found himself walking to Lance’s side, and placing his hand on his shoulder to let him know he wasn’t alone

“... and I’m kind of dating Keith”

Matt gaped at the pair of them. Shiro didn’t say anything, which Keith was grateful for

“Pidge never told me that”

“Pidge doesn’t know. That I’m a vampire or that I’m dating Keith. I don’t want to make a big fuss out it. But I really wanted to explain so there wasn’t a misunderstanding on why I left the room the way I did”

“So you go into heat?”

“Basically... My body is still adjusting to it. I didn’t think I could get any weirder but here we are. That’s why Curtis is here. In case I get sick again, or turn into a bat again. It’s not something I can control”

Matt snorted. Keith felt like punching him until he shook his head, he must have been glaring at the man

“Lance, dude, that’s not that weird. You’re in a room with two werewolves, and a cursed guy. We get it. We don’t really talk about heats outside of with our mates, but now things make sense. It’s cool, dude. We’ll show you a good time if you ever...”

Rieva slapped the back of her boyfriend’s head

“Ignore him. He doesn’t get it. If you need help managing your heats, we can talk”

Keith felt like he was invisible. He was the one trying to help Lance with that

“Hey, does that mean you’re boning Shiro’s little brother?”

“We’re not having sex... and that’s fine. My body isn’t stable”

“Damn Keith, you’ve got some balls being with a vampire. Make sure you keep his fangs away from your junk. Shiro, you didn’t let me know about this. You must be freaking out”

Shiro sighed

“Keith and I talked, then Lance I talked. They both know I don’t want either of them going through something like what happened to Adam”

“What happened to Adam was messed up, but Lance seems to have his shit together better than any of us. Plus, he can cook, so Keith isn’t gonna starve, and he’s got a house and job. At least he’s not doing crack in some back alley”

“This is true...”

Matt pulled a face at Shiro

“You’re a right royal arsehole when you travel. You should have seen him in Platt. Zero patience. I thought that orange haired dude was gonna have a coronary”

“I wasn’t that bad”

“You punched the elevator wall because you tripped into it”

That sounded like Shiro was stressed rather than just being cranky from a long flight

“It had it coming”

“Basically you were a dick and now you’re embarrassed. I can smell it on you”

“Fuck off. He’s my brother. I’m allowed to be worried”

“As long as you’re not dooming things. Patience yields focus... so focus on having some patience and not bringing the vibe down”

Keith had to hide his smile behind his hand. Shiro was being put in his place by Matt the same way Adam would have. It was easy to see the absolute worst in people after the shit they’d seen. One time they’d been on a hunt and the vampire caught wind of them. It left its human pets behind, Keith taking months to get over that. There was something even more fucked up about it feeding on children. The memory still made him queasy and his nightmares had been out of control over it. Back in their old apartment there’d been a bullet hole left in wardrobe thanks to him leaving his gun beside his bed before falling asleep. Adam had been pissed for days over it. Keith then forbidden from having his gun in his room, instead it went in to the safe in the hallway.

“You’re making me feel old here”

“Don’t start with that. We’re the same again”

“Technically I’m the older here, so you’ve got nothing to worry about, Shiro. There’s hope for you left”

With how negative Shiro had been, Keith expected him to snap at Lance. Instead his brother shook his head, looking like he’d been ganged up on. It wasn’t so funny when the teasing was happening to him

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better?”

Lance shrugged as he undid the cap on his bag of blood

“Whelp. I tried. Keith, your coffee’s going to get cold. Now, Matt, please tell me I don’t have to lie to Pidge for much longer. She always comes by on the weekends, she’s actually past due for a visit this week. I want to let Hunk know ahead of time, so he can be here too”

Keith went back to his coffee, some one had been at his milk. He had enough for two coffees left despite the fact they’d been shopping with Curtis. He wasn’t happy as he rationed his milk carefully, before carrying the cup over to the table to sit by Lance. His boyfriend was still on guard but Keith could tell he was feeling better now that he’s confused his secret. Keith quietly proud of him

“Tomorrow morning. Call Hunk and let him know. I probably need your number too while I’m at it”

“Sure. So what are you planning on doing today?”

“Shiro insisting on training to better protect ourselves. Maybe we can answer that age old question?”

“Which is?”

“Are vampires really that strong?”

Lance rolled his eyes

“Remember you said that when I’ve wiped the floor with you, Fido”

“Hey, Keith why don’t you stick your hand up his arse and count to ten. This over stretched muppet’s got no clue”

Lance groaned at Matt

“Dude... don’t bring the muppets into this. Though Curtis would be the Chef. No idea what he’s doing in the kitchen and I’m sure he’s make copious amounts of spaghetti if he could”

Curtis sighed, not wanting to be dragged into this

“You kill one toaster and they never let you forget it”

“Nope”

Keith wasn’t sure about this. Curtis warned Lance not to push himself, Lance simply declaring this to be “his weeks worth of physical activity”, before starting to stretch. Sitting in the backyard, Shiro and Rieva sat by him. Curtis would be the referee and Rieva would jump in if Matt got too carried away. Keith was quietly trying not to interfere, telling himself that this was Lance accepting how Matt wanted to bond. Catching his eye, Lance winked at him. Keith realising Lance hadn’t taken his glasses off. The idiot was on his way to breaking another pair

“Lance, glasses!”

Practically smacking himself in the face, his boyfriend pulled his glasses off, jogging over to Keith

“Good call. Look after them for me”

“Don’t make me regret this”

“Look at as a chance to make you fall for my fine Cuban arse all over again”

Keith wasn’t having it

“You hate combat”

“Yeah... but it’s an ego thing... Besides, we’ve got rules. No breaking anything and no going for the throat. Oh, you better take my jacket too”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when it hurts later”

“I will”

Lance looked like a video game character as he bounced on the ball of his feet. Curtis didn’t seem pleased to be between two supernatural creatures

“Ready?”

Lance nodded, Matt adopting his own pose. Keith waited for the video game announcer voice to come from no where... unfortunately it didn’t

“Yep”

“Bring it Dracula”

“No changing shape, wolf boy”

“I won’t need to”

“Remember that when Rieva’s patching you back up”

“That’s some pretty feisty talk from a virgin”

“What can I say? I believe in true love... and kicking your arse”

“I’ll believe it when I see it”

“Oh, it is so on”

Curtis retreated half a dozen steps backwards

“Okay. Don’t kill each other. Fight!”

Both males circled as they sized each other up. Matt growling at Lance, Lance’s fang emerging as his facial expression changed. His eyes changing from their brilliant blue to something darker, almost completely black as pupils dilated. Keith felt a stab of fear. Lance looked as if he’d let his ego go completely, Matt baring his teeth at the threat

“All bark and no bite?”

“You’re not going to beat me”

“No. You’d have to throw a punch first. If you wanna tuck your tail between your legs and run along, I won’t tell”

“Arsehole!”

Matt let Lance provoke him into the first swing. Lance blocking as he leapt back

“You’re going to lose if you can’t hit me”

Starting to circle again, it felt like a weird dance between the two of them. Lance could be a pain in the arse, practically an expert at avoiding physically attacking. Keith was worried that his boyfriend wouldn’t know what to do. Lance’s fighting experience of late had been fighting him

“Fine. I won’t hold back. You don’t hold back either”

Not holding back put everyone in danger. Matt and Lance going for each other too fast for Keith to catch up. One stage Matt was on the defence and the next he was throwing Lance across the yard... which Lance didn’t take too kindly too. His whole feel changed. His teeth bared as he smiled, nails elongated, and he seemed taller than Keith remembered. He was cold. And he was distant. This was the side himself that Lance feared. The two were back at it again, Keith had a mind to stop this. Lance hated senseless violence and this couldn’t be good for his mental health. Catching Matt as he lunged, Lance wrapped his legs around the man, head butting him hard. Matt grabbing Lance by the waist to slam him down, only for Lance’s legs to end up wrapped around Matt’s neck, hands pulling on the werewolf’s hair. Matt’s hands found their way to Lance’s throat, dropping to his knees as smashing Lance’s head against the ground. Beneath him, Lance went limp as Keith went cold. They weren’t supposed to do serious harm to each other. Matt immediately releasing Lance’s neck, only for Lance to draw himself backwards, kneeing Matt in the chin as he did. Keith hadn’t even seen how Lance managed it. The Cuban joked about being flexible, but this was something else. Snarling, Matt’s internal chain on his wolf snapped. The man changing shape and lunging at Lance. Rieva was tackling him down before Keith could shout in warning.

Laying on the grass, propped nip on his elbows, Lance watched as Rieva changed into her wolf, pining Matt down and snarling at him. Changing back to his human form, Matt looked a little sheepish as he cranes his neck to see Lance

“You good man?”

“Yep. You?”

“Yep. Tie?”

“Yep”

“Okay. Babe, you can get off me now”

Rieva turned back, Keith looking away from where she and Matt were. Both too naked and too casual about the whole thing

“Idiot. What have I told you about you wolf?!”

Matt whined pathetically

“I didn’t mean too”

“I don’t care. You need to control yourself”

“I was having fun. We were having fun, right, Lance?”

Lance flopped back, hand coming up to shield his eyes

“Sorry, you’re own your own with this one. I don’t like fighting at the best of times. Between you and Keith I’ve learned so many new moves I don’t think I wanted to learn. I like peace and not exercising... ugh... I think I’m dead”

“Dude, you’re already dead”

“Fair... I’m going to take a bath”

Keith watched Lance climb to his feet. His boyfriend swaying a little before limping over to him. Something inside Keith coiled away in fear of never having seen Lance like this. His heart was racing from raw power of the fight

“I won’t touch you, there’s blood and that’s dangerous. Can I have my glasses and my jacket?”

“Oh... sure... do you need help getting to the house?”

“Nah. You say and enjoy the sun”

Keith didn’t know if Lance had seen the fear in him, but he hoped he hadn’t. The fight had stirred up other emotions in him, other than his fear over Lance’s mental health. Taking a deep breath, he couldn’t quite catch it. Emotions over Adam too strong to stomp down. The fight has been so fast. The grass torn up from the force behind each twist and move. Adam never would have stood a chance... but if Adam had survived the turn why couldn’t he fight back? How had Shiro survived with simply getting scarred?

“Keith?”

Shiro’s voice was gentle, his brother asking if he was okay in just the use of his name

“I’m heading back up to the house”

Keith could hear Blue yowling as the sat himself down on the stairs. Burying his face in his hands, he fought to control his breathing. He hasn’t pushed Shiro on the death of Adam. He hadn’t pushed him and now all these questions wouldn’t shut up. Blue sounded worried, her cries getting louder and louder, Keith feeling he needed to find her, even if it was just to make himself feel better for doing something. Heading upstairs, Keith followed Blue’s unhappy cries to Lance’s bathroom door. Scratching on the wood, the feline was begging her human master to be let in, Keith crouching down to scoop her up where she immediately bit his hand

“You don’t want to go in there. There’s water in there”

Blue protested hard, Keith opening the door and the cat immediately jumping from his arms to the tiled floor

“Keith?”

“Sorry, Blue wanted in”

“I heard... Hey, can you come in here for a moment?”

It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be.

Slipping into the bathroom, Keith closed the door behind him. Blue was standing with her paws on the edge of the bath, Lance buried in a mound of bubbles. Keith wasn’t sure if he was supposed to look at his boyfriend or not

“What’s up?”

“Can we talk?”

“Aren’t we already?”

Lance huffed, turning his head towards him. The vampire sporting a rather impressive black eye, Keith’s breath catching at the sight

“It doesn’t hurt. Just... I need to... I need to talk to you and I’m worried”

Keith swallowed, nodding before heading over to sit on the toilet on lid

“What is it?”

“I... I want to apologise for upsetting you”

“You...”

“I did. I did and I know I did. You’ve been worried about me since this morning, but I still went ahead and fought with Matt, like I didn’t respect your feelings. I kind of want... I want to explain things to you”

Keith shook his head

“You don’t have to”

“I do. I do because you’re important to me. What you saw today, that was ego. Matt losing control, me losing control. That was ego. Last night I was pretty upset at the situation. About everything. Me. Us. This body. While you were getting dressed I was gathering up my bravery to tell him. You know that drive. How you train yourself until you feel satisfied and you hurt in a good way... feeding my ego is kind of like that need. It’s not but it is. My ego and his would kept clashing, so I told myself that if he suggested it, I’d agree. What I didn’t think about was you... and I feel like a douche for it. I know I scared you... I scared me when I saw my face... and I’m... I’m sorry”

Keith blinked half a dozen times. Feeling mad at Lance for not talking to him ahead of time. He had scared him. And he’d been scared for him. He’d thought his heart was going to stop when Matt changed shape. Lance was prepared for it, and he wasn’t

“Why couldn’t you talk to me?”

“We kind of...”

“You didn’t make the effort before deciding everything yourself”

“Keith...”

“No. You let yourself be hurt knowing it’d hurt you more than physically!”

Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t want to snap, but he couldn’t get the right words out

“I’m sorry”

“I was worried about you and now you have other friends here to talk to instead”

That’s not what he wanted to say. He wanted to question why there couldn’t have been another way. Lance didn’t need to train with other people when he had him

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syndianites · 4 years

Text

The After; The Athar: Chapter Two

Chapter 2/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 [Here] - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. Wag escorts Martha to Jordan's house and decides to have a day out with Sonja.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: The stuff about the Cult of Athar in here is canon! It was written by the Wizards, but never delved into. I did my best to represent it as accurately as possible.

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The duo had just started into Jerry’s Tree when they heard a call behind them. They turned to see Jordan hustling forward, an awkward smile on his face. Wag shared a look with Martha. Seems his suspicions had been correct.

He’d have to ask Jordan about that.

Jordan, meanwhile, had shuffled to a stop right in front of them. “Hey guys, glad I caught you.” He glanced between them. “What brings you to my abode?”

“You were looking for me yesterday, right?” Martha starts. “Well, I do have some free time now, I figured I’d stop by to see what you needed.”

He stopped for a moment. Hummed. “Oh!” Jordan jumped back in. “I wanted to talk to you about some godly related stuff. Spark’s been- uh, well, he’s been drilling in ‘how to be a perfect Ianite follower’ for-” Wag was amazed that neither of them reacted to the name anymore. Different goddess, of course, but that was still a festering wound. “- whatever reason, and I haven’t been able to escape him long enough to avoid the lecture. I honestly just want to talk to someone that’s more in the know-how that’s,” Jordan waved his hands, “not him. Give me another week of this and I might just turn from champion to missionary.”

Martha huffed, but a smile snuck up onto her lips. “He’s not that bad, I’m sure. But yes, I do have some time to talk about ‘godly stuff’.” She turned to Wag, hesitating a moment. “I’ll see you later then, Wag.” She reached out a hand to delicately stroke a cheek.

He gave what he hoped was a solid smile back. “Until then, love.” Wag took her hand, thumb stroking the back of it before he placed a parting kiss upon it. Reluctantly, he started to trail away, keeping her hand in his for as long as he could. When he was far enough, he offered Jordan a wave goodbye. Then he turned to walk back down the hill.

Shit. Now he had to figure out how to break up with Martha.

Yeah, these next few days aren’t going to be fun.

But what to do now? The day had only just started and there wasn’t much use in going back to being a shut in when the sun had hardly started up the sky. Well, hanging with Jordan, or Martha, was out. Maybe Tom? Or Sonja or Tucker? It was fairly hard to keep track of Tom nowadays, though.

Things were odd with Tom. Not between him and Tom, but with Tom in general. It felt like he was trying to balance who he was in this world and who he was in Ruxomar and not finding either. Like he was feeling pressured to merge the distant past with the recent past and come to terms with Dianite- both Dianites- and Mot.

What was up with them, anyway? Last Wag had checked, Tom and Mot were fairly buddy buddy and Tom and Dianite were pretty chill, despite the bit of tension when Mot showed up and when Tom’s penchant dumbassery was making its rounds. Now, it seemed like Tom was trying to keep a good distance from them.

Here he was getting distracted again. But damn if everyone didn’t have some issues skulking around. He wondered if Sonja or Tucker had something. What did they feel about the other Mianite? And his death?

Ok, ok, not the point. What should he do now?

Damn, did he really have no life outside of his tower that he was drawing such hard blanks?

Fuck it, he’d swing around Sonja’s and ask if she wanted to go flower picking with him. Sorry, gather floral ingredients for potions. With how many people were ordering luck potions, he was going to be stuck finding four leaf clovers in all his free time.

It seemed a pleasant stroll through town was in order, then. Maybe he’d pick up a muffin on the way. Perhaps a chocolate one. He would indulge in some more tea but he was looking for more of an on-the-go thing.

He nodded to himself, making his way through the streets of the town to the quaint little bakery settled just past the docks. The baker was a kind, younger lady who had told him that her dream was to open a bakery, and an island with few inhabitants that barely anyone had ever been to was free real estate. To be fair, she wasn’t wrong. No one else had tried to make any competition and no one was complaining about her being here. In fact, there would probably be a lot of hooting and hollering if she left.

When he wandered in the smell of warm bread welcomed him. Gretchen called a greeting from behind the counter, back turned to him as she kneaded a batch of dough. She was short, Wag towering over her, but she could take him out if she so pleased. Not just because she was finely muscled- she could give any seaman a run for their money- but also because a mere breeze could knock Wag and his gangly awkwardness over.

“How do you do today, dearest Gretchen?” Wag surveyed the items currently on display. The croissants looked heavenly, and next to them sat three eclairs. They appeared to have been recently chilled as their chocolate icing had drops of condensation beading along the top. There was a colorful display of macarons on the rack besides those, as well as a row of various muffins.

“Oh, I’m doing as well as one can when they wake at the crack of dawn,” Gretchen said over her shoulder, giving him a quick smile.

“So feeling shitty and barely functional?” Wag mused over the muffins, trying to spy a chocolate one. Unfortunately, though he was quite awake, his brain was struggling to spot the difference between what could be a chocolate muffin or a blueberry muffin. Or a morning glory. He wrinkled his nose. Why would anyone put raisins in a muffin?

Gretchen laughed. “Perhaps for a shut in, but I am feeling quite fine. It’s nice to watch the sunrise, y’know. Getting up early? Not so much. If not for the bakery I’d much prefer to sleep in.”

Wag scoffed playfully. “Me, a shut in? Preposterous. I’ll have you know I am, at worst, a friendly, magical hermit. At best, I am a magnificent wizard that lives in a tower nearby that oh so graciously helps out the townsfolk.”

“For a fee.” Gretchen was layering the dough now. If there weren't croissants sitting in front of him, Wag might say she was making those. Perhaps she was making danish pastries? It had been a while since he’d seen them on her display. It’d also been a while since he’d visited.

“A wizard’s got to make a living somehow.” Wag picked up a muffin, closely inspecting it. It looked like it was chocolate. He hoped it was chocolate. But if it was blueberry he would live. Both were good, especially from here.

“That he does.” She paused from her dough magic to take a look at him. “Blueberry muffin? Anything else?”

Wag clicked his tongue. “Was hoping this was chocolate. But yes, just one muffin to go. I wasn’t really anticipating being awake so early, but Martha was home and she likes to get up early, and Jordan wanted to talk to her, and I,” he waved his hands, “wanted to spend some time with her? So I walked her to his house. Now, I’m standing here. Then heading to Sonja’s.”

Yeah, it felt like he’d just recounted his entire life story to her. No, he was not going to acknowledge how painful that part of the conversation was to participate in.

Gretchen raised an eyebrow, plucking the muffin from his hand, replacing it on the rack and grabbing one from farther back in the line. This one, now that he saw it, looked much more like a chocolate muffin than the other. Nice.

“Funny you should mention Jordan.” It was Wag’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “He asked about you, oh, yesterday? The day before? About how you were doing. Seemed fairly concerned ‘bout ya. Asked me how you were doing when he came in for a treat.” She lifted a hand before Wag could interrupt. “He came here for the treat, but I guess he had you on the mind. This used to be one of your favorite places, I suppose it reminded him of you.”

Well if that didn’t make Wag feel warm on the inside, what would? It was nice to feel remembered. But wait, was that why Jordan had come over yesterday, then? Except he had been looking for Martha.

That put a frown back on his face. “He did swing by yesterday, but he asked for Martha. Are you sure he was concerned about me?”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Yes. It was very obvious even if he tried to hide it. I did tell him that Martha would know more about how you were doing than I would, so that could be why he asked for her.” She held out her hand and Wag dutifully placed some copper coins in it. “Mr. Sparklez doesn’t seem like the best with confronting people about their feelings, so it wouldn’t surprise me that he’d see you and balk at the idea of bringing up his concerns with you directly. Going to Martha would be way easier for him than going to you. If he actually ever asks Martha about you at all.”

Wag hummed in thought, ignoring the little ‘wuss’ Gretchen mutters under her breath in relation to Jordan. That much was true, Jordan was not much of a feelings guy. The dorky puns and trying hard to be the smart one guy? Yes. Feelings? You’d have better luck with Tom.

Actually, Tom was pretty easy on the feelings side. Kind of. You’d have better luck with Tucker than Jordan. And Tucker was not the most emotional sort of man. There we go.

“Well, when I left Martha with Jordan, he said he wanted to ask her about ‘godly stuff’. Do you think they’re actually talking about me?” Wag pulled a sliver off the top of his muffin and nibbled on it.

Gretched leaned on the counter with a shrug, dropping the coins into her apron pocket. “Maybe. Who’s to say?” She eyed him up and down, a contemplative look coming into her eyes. “Didn’t you say you were heading to Sonja’s? That’s good, you could use more time out of the house. If you weren’t naturally gray I’d say you were getting pale. Hard to tell like this, but you are getting more of the ‘I’m your friendly neighborhood ghost’ type look than ‘I’m your charming, possibly demonic, friendly wizard’ type look. Take one for the road,” Gretchen reached over to pluck another muffin off the rack, passing it to Wag.

“What if I just eat both myself?” Wag joked, taking the muffin in his other hand.

Gretchen tsked. “Sorry, I only give freebies to the pretty ladies. You sir, are no pretty lady.”

Wag gasped, “How dare you! My mother said I could be anything I wanted to be! If I want to be a pretty lady to get a free muffin, I’ll be a pretty lady!”

She pushed his shoulder with a guffaw. “Oh sure, princess. If you ever come in dressed to the nines as the most gorgeous lady I’ve seen, I’ll give you a pretty muffin. Be warned,” Gretchen bat her eyelashes. “I have seen quite the stunning women before.”

Wag rolled his eyes fondly, making for the door. “Just you watch, I’ll come blow your socks off!”

With a wave, he departed. He twirled the other muffin in his hand. Free muffin for a pretty lady, huh?

Wait, was Gretchen hitting on Sonja?

~~~

Wag didn’t end up making it to Sonja and Tucker’s house. Rather, he found Sonja sitting near the shore just in front of it, staring up at Mianite’s temple. He didn’t take Sonja for much of a morning person, but it seemed like the temple would have a nice view during sunrise.

Settling down next to her without a comment, he offered her the muffin. Sonja was surprised to see him, her eyes searching his face, but wordlessly took the muffin. They ate them in silence.

The temple had changed a lot, but that was to be expected. It had been razed to the ocean floor, after all. But from what he had heard there had been a big effort in rebuilding it. Though the work would have taken years, it apparently had taken mere months.

Mianite, according to word of mouth, hadn’t helped rebuild it at all. Rather, he didn’t expect anyone else to move to the island. Hell, neither did Dec, who had been making plans to move elsewhere. It made Wag wonder why the gods, why the priest himself, had shown up here. Why had the wizards? He drummed his fingers against his leg, dismissing the thought for another time.

The wizards, before the heroes had even left, had refused to help. Wag remembered this well. They hadn’t wanted to step on Mianite’s toes, so to say, as it was a gift he had sent the world and had been crafted by the god’s own hand.

Actually- again- Ianite had played a part in rebuilding it. It was almost strange to think about, the Goddess of Balance rebuilding the temple of another god. Except, it made sense. She didn’t rebuild it of her own power. Rather, she encouraged the common folk to rebuild it and helped a great deal along the way. She invited people from far off lands to come restore the temple and, with the assistance of Spark, set up the town that had been cultivated as a solid landmark. Ianite used the restoration of the temple as a way of connecting the island to the rest of the world.

Though, when asked why she had chosen to help rebuild the temple, Ianite had responded, “It’s my way of thanking Mianite and his champions for helping to save me. It is the least I could do for such a tremendous task.”

Maybe that’s why she rebuilt Jerry’s Tree, too. To thank Jordan. Or to honor him.

Wag’s favorite part of this story- as it was only a story to him, he’d never had any real confirmation on this- was what Ianite had said: Mianite and his champions. Plural. That meant Ianite acknowledged Sonja as Mianite’s loyal follower and champion just as much as Tucker. Sonja deserved it for all the effort she had put into this world and the last. She deserved a lot more than she got.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Wag startled at the sound of Sonja’s voice. He turned to her, but she was looking at the temple still. She inclined her head towards it, saying nothing more.

He had been looking at the temple without seeing it, he realized. Thinking too hard.

She was right. The sun was still low in the sky, giving it a faintly fiery hue. It couldn't have been too long since sunrise, yet the color of dawn still remained. Perhaps that was just the effect of the ocean.

But the effect made the temple light up. The eagle, standing mighty and proud once more, was burning in the light, smoldering and strong, wings raised up to the sky with an open, shrieking cry. It was the symbol of strength and sureness, of justice. The sun was a halo around it, blindingly bright.

That’s how the future felt: burning and bright, impossible to grasp. But it was there.

The rest of the temple held much of the same vigor. The majority of the original details were kept, but they were also exaggerated. The pillars had been built double the size, a subtle comment of ‘no matter how many times you knock us down we will return stronger’, the garden fuller and more organized, filled to the brim with blooming blossoms. The walls were filled with more gold than before, and more detail. Each column was carefully carved to perfection, but at this distance he couldn’t make all the details out. From what he remembered they ranged from majestic creatures running amok, to people dancing in celebration, to the retelling of great battles. The arches that served as the entrance had been decorated to the fullest, lavish silks and jewels hanging from their edges along the dutifully crafted gold lining.

The best part were the guardians. They stood tall and proud, just as regal as before but now with more life, more color. Rather than the same straight white they had been they were adorned with golds and blues. Shimmering prismarine and lapis lazuli. Their swords were colored to appear like the finest, purest gold- though Wag knew that they weren’t made of real gold, as that would have been more than expensive. To top it all off, each featured a set of wings raised high to the sky, like the very eagle that sat in the middle of the temple.

Another important detail was the fact that the back of the temple was open as well, likely for passing boats to see. On the other side stood dual lighthouses that burned bright in the night with mystical fire that would neither go out or be moved from their place. The area to drop prayers had been moved to the eagle’s feet and the hidden room supposedly not implemented. Supposedly.

It was truly stunning. Where the change in Jerry’s Tree felt like a rebirth, this felt like getting beaten down only to get up again. Like healing. Growing.

“It is.” He’d left her in silence long enough. “I still remember when it first appeared. It was glorious. Now?” Wag turns to her, maybe trying to make a point, maybe trying to say something deep, or just maybe just thinking out loud. “After being destroyed? It’s come back better.”

Damn, who the hell turned on the philosophy today? Next thing you know he’ll be wondering aloud what existence is and if there is a purpose to life.

Fuck that shit.

Isn’t this the exact thing that had been haunting him as he stowed away in his tower? His thoughts falling over themselves to derive meaning out of every little thing that’s changed? To make sense of it? The temple looks better because it's not a pile of rubble. Jerry’s Tree is different because it was practically a pile of ash before. Why does this all need meaning?

Sonja seemed to share his sentiment. She laughed at him. “Hey now, that’s trying to be too deep for so early in the morning. Come back better? Ha. It's just,” she pauses, giving it a wistful glance before shaking her head. “Different.”

Wag nods. “It is. It all is. Feels like everything’s changing, like we got plopped in a world just adjacent to ours.”

“Too deep!” Sonja decreed. Standing up, she brushed the back of her legs free of stray grass and sand. “Things are going to change and that’s that. I wasn’t expecting the world to wait on us, and it didn’t. That just means we have to catch up or get left in the dust.”

“Who’s too deep?” Wag chuckled to himself, taking the hand Sonja offered him.

“Alright, enough sitting around.” She sent a sly smile over to him after she jammed the rest of her muffin in her mouth. Wag watched in amusement as she chewed hastily, tried not to choke, and spluttered a little as some went down the wrong hatch.

Recovering fast, she gives him a pained grin. “What brings Mr. Tower Wizard out of the lair today? Something good, I hope.” She poked him in the ribs teasingly.

“Well,” Wag starts, ignoring the dig, “Martha happened to be home last night and I had the pleasure of walking her over to Jordan’s to chat about something. Which is why I am both awake before lunch and currently standing outside. I figured it’d been a while since I bothered you, so here I am, bothering you.” He finished with a wink.

Sonja frowned for a moment, focusing on something he said, before deciding to let it go. For now, at least. Knowing her, she’d find a way to bring it up later. Wag wasn’t quite looking forward to whatever she had latched onto.

Filling the silence, Wag added, “I was thinking we could go plant hunting. Specifically for four leaf clovers, but also for any other potentially useful plants. You know, for potions.”

He tried for a smile while Sonja looked him over. Her eyebrows rose. “You go plant hunting in that? Your typical robes and all? It’s, like, the middle of spring.”

Wag shrugged. “It’s not that big of a difference. Just gets the cloak a bit dirty.”

She scoffed. “Just gets the cloak a bit dirty,” Sonja muttered. “I bet you don’t even bring any food or water with you, do you?”

He looked to the side. “Of course I do!” That wasn’t a lie. He always brought at least a snack and a water skin. He wasn’t that stupid.

“I’ll believe you, for now.” She assessed her own outfit. Her typical hoodie over a white t-shirt, some lounge pants, and bare feet. “I, for one, need to get dressed. I would recommend,” she drew out the last word, giving him a look, “That you change into something more suitable for romping around the countryside. I won't force you to, but I won't be helping you if you get hot and sweaty and pass out like an idiot.”

He wanted to retort that he wouldn’t. That he was a wizard with powers that came close to the gods’ themselves. That weather was no issue for him.

But it had been in Ruxomar. The trip to Urulu had been sweltering. The Nether felt like it had been trying to slowly boil him alive. Whenever he’d come out of water, clothes damp as a rain shower, he’d felt frigid.

It still felt like he was in Ruxomar, powerless and startlingly mortal.

He bit his tongue.

Instead he shook his head, and started to wander back to his tower. He stopped as Sonja called after him. “Meet right here after you get dressed. I’ll round up some food and shit and then we can leave.” She turned to head back into her house. “If you thought I was going to trek up to your tower up in the sky you were wrong!” Then she shuffled up the hill with a laugh.

~~~

They convened later at the shore as told. Sonja looked at Wag with a little glee, having convinced him to actually change.

Athar knows how long it’d been since he’d changed.

… why did he swear on Athar’s name anyway? He helped kill him. Shouldn’t he swear on his own name? Wag shrugged mentally to himself. Better to swear on a dead guy's name than his own.

Anyway. Sidetrack.

Wag, instead of his usual cloak, was in surprisingly adventure-ready getup. Long sleeve hooded shirt- Sonja rolled her eyes at the hood- thick, but breathable, pants, and hiking boots. Actual hiking boots. That spoke volumes about how much Wag had tried to look like he knew what he was doing. Oh, and he had one of those handy dandy belt satchels? Utility belts? A belt that had neat pouches on it for carrying flowers and clovers. Hell yeah.

Sonja, on the other hand, had dressed much more like her usual outfit. To be fair, though, her usual outfit was both light and what she fought literal battles in. However, instead of short-shorts she had knee-length shorts. Her socks fit nicely underneath. Somewhere along the line she’d found black, fingerless gloves as well. Wag had a sneaking suspicion that she’d stolen them from Tucker.

“Alright, now that we’re all ready to go-” Sonja made a point of jostling the backpack she had slung over her shoulders, likely filled with food and drinks she had raided from her own kitchen,”-we can commence our dainty flower picking session. If you don’t find me the biggest, bluest flower the world has ever seen to leave for Mianite then this trip is a failure.”

Wag nods sagely. “It will be the most magical of flowers ever seen.” With a sweep of his arm, he motions for Sonja to lead the charge into the wilderness. Which wilderness? The Wilderness.

Basically they were going to go wander around out past the old FyreUK Castle. Why there? Where Wag has to look at the castle and remember everything that used to be? Easy: there’s a lingering magic that lurks about the castle that makes it more likely for magical flora to sprout and grow. Also because no one goes over there.

Mostly because no one goes over there.

It took them roughly a half hour of trailing up and down hills, through dry grass and loose dirt, and a few quick hops through water to get to the Castle. Good old FyreUK HQ. Still standing.

They were on the bridge, stopping to take a rest. Wag took a sweeping glance of the Castle and then looked away. Sonja tactfully didn’t ask about it. Instead, she waited while Wag poked around the trees sitting in the circle part of the bridge, watching him prod at the vines and undergrowth that had gathered there over the years. At one point he took out a pair of clippers, untangled a flowering vine from one of the tree’s branches, and politely snipped part of it off and curled it into a pocket.

Then they were off again, back down the bridge and further into the country. Not too much further, actually. The end of the bridge was just a hop, skip, and jump away from an oak forest, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the endless savanna and desert motif of the island. It was also right next to a nice little plains area.

Which made it perfect for Wag’s plans. Plains for the clovers and cool flowers, the forest for any other interesting stuff. He remembered chilling there in between building sessions for FryeUK HQ itself. It was always much cooler than the area around it.

“Well, darling dearest, here we are.” Wag gave a little twirl. “Here we shall find you the most magical of flowers for your pretty, pretty princess, Mianite himself. And maybe one for his maid, Tucker.”

“Ha!” Sonja turns her head away to snicker to herself. “If anything his fairest maid should be giving me flowers!” Her laughter dropped into a small, wistful smile. “Maybe I will.”

Wag gave her a description of some of the regular flowers and plants that he normally went for, then sauntered off into the woods.

Classy.

Sonja followed with a fond eye roll, eyeing flowers as they passed. True to Wag’s suspicions, -which weren’t suspicions so much as things he already knew from before, but who was keeping track?- there were some strange, magical flora laying about. Not magical in the ‘consume it to get temporary fire powers way’, but more magical in the ‘these colors aren’t something flowers can pull off on their own’ or ‘this shouldn’t ever have been able to get this big’. Like if they were subject to radiation, except this world had no concept of yellorium as far as he knew.

The first thing Wag collected was something of a marvel. Not because it was beautiful, but because it was weird. It looked like a flower. But instead of growing leaves along the stem, it grew petals. They were a soft pink, like the flush of skin, and soft to the touch. Not a trace of leaves remained on the flower. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a failed daisy. Or a successful one?

There weren’t many magical flowers, in all honesty. For all the magic the wizards had done, most of it was just absorbed into the earth as per normal. The world was teeming with magic, but that was what made it function. What made the gods gods was the fact that they could use this magic. Or, rather, that they, too, were filled with it.

It showed up in a lot of ways. Witches, potions, the way you could grow anything from any environment you wanted to, so as long as you gave it what it needed. Well, that last one wasn’t impossible, but what other world could you go to a desert, with minimal rain and the sweltering sun, and plant something that relies on constant water to thrive and have it live for months upon months?

He was getting sidetracked again.

The point was, this was just a small, insignificant place where a little bit of magic overflowed because of the proximity to the wizards. It used to have more weird things happen, but now the wizards were gone and Wag was… yeah. So he’d sometimes stumble upon a flower with a gradient from purple to red and have to puzzle out whether that was a normal mutation or a magical one. Then the flower would shimmer and the gradient would shift and he’d decide, yeah, that was a magical mutation, he was right!

Flowers were weird on their own, what could he say?

His favorite were the cornflowers. Not because they were beautiful- they were!- but because, by some manner of magic, they migrated over here on their own. You couldn’t find them in the savannah, or the desert, or even near the coastline. But here, in this tiny blip of forest and plains, they surfaced. He had half a mind to wonder if they weren’t a result of two different flowers populating, then the offspring mutating. Cornflowers, however, were a real flower. They just shouldn’t be real here. Which was cool.

So maybe Wag had become something of a flower nut over the past few weeks. Who was going to judge him, the gods? Well, fuck them! Not literally, though.

The cornflowers before him, however, were something special. From what he knew, they weren’t supposed to be this big, nor were they supposed to grow in such small units. They should be something more like a bush, with multiple stalks sprouting out and huddled together. The ones he found, Sonja poking at some poppies behind him, were very much trying to act like tulips. Less group-y and more individual.

He suspected magic was involved.

The buds alone were about the size of his palm, and those that had flowered were almost bigger than his hand! They were marvelous. And blue!

Wag snuck a look at Sonja, who was blissfully unaware of his sudden bout of mischief. He plucked a stalk- which was as thick as a pencil- and twisted around to carefully tickle the tip of her tail with the broken end of the stem. She didn’t notice, face scrunched up in thought as she appeared to be trying to decide if the poppies were out of the ordinary or not. They weren’t. Just good ole regular poppies.

Fighting back a snicker, he gently and slowly trailed the stem upward. It took the stem going from white to orange fur for Sonja to suddenly startle, ears shooting up and back going ramrod straight. She took a swipe at the flower, but Wag hurried out of the way. Clutching the poor, innocent cornflower to his chest, he mock gasped.

“Sonja! You almost destroyed the biggest, bluest flower I’ve ever seen!” He brought the back of his hand to his forehead. “Could you imagine if you had? We’d have to return with it crushed! Or worse.” Wag’s eyes widened comically. His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “The second biggest, most bluest flower.”

She gasped in shock. Her voice was but a mutter. “No, we can’t have that. Imagine! Bringing home something second best! T'would be not only a shame, but a disrespect to his name. I could never.”

Wag nodded sagely. He cradled the blossom between his hands, reverently offering it up to Sonja. “Treat it well. Though it may seem insignificant in the grand scheme of your life, it holds value untold. The gods themselves tremble beneath its weight, the tremors of the earth quake for its life. Hold onto this and you hold onto what men are willing to go to war for.”

Sonja delicately grasped its stem, a serious look on her face. “I will, O’ great wizard. I will guard this to my last breath, travel across a thousand seas, five hundred miles of land, to bequeath this to the god of which I hold most dear.”

Her lips twitched as she tried to keep her laughter in. “Ianite, of course.”

Wag, however, burst out laughing. “Oh yes, the god you follow, Ianite herself. Mianite who?”

Facade breaking, Sonja joined in the laughter. Placing the flower down, she held onto her stomach, curling around it. Wag tried not to fall over from his dramatic kneel.

They took a second to calm down, smiles still firm on their faces.

“But yes, this will be satisfactory as a gift to Mianite.” Sonja appraised it, looking past him to eye the bush it came from. “What are these flowers? I don’t think I’ve seen them before.” She looked back to Wag. “And I dabbled in Botania in the other realm.”

Wag stood up, turning his attention back to the flora. “Cornflowers. They live in more temperate climates; plains, some forests, and such. It’s strange to have found them here, all things considered.” He gestures around vaguely. “We do live in a mostly savanna environment. I’m not even sure how they made it to this little patch of paradise, never mind the fact that this area exists as it does.”

He shrugs. “It is what it is. They are rather pretty. They are most typically associated with hope, devotion, and remembrance.”

“And,” He places a hand on his heart, “According to some good ol’ folk tales, men in love would carry them around. If the color of the flower faded quickly, it meant their love was not returned. So,” Wag picked it back up, “If you wanted to listen to superstition, if the color lasts that means Mianite cares a whole lot about you.”

Sonja scoffed. “Oh please, he is far too regal and orderly to fancy anyone, never mind a human. Or, well,” she flicks her tail, “someone mostly human.”

“Imagine if he actually did, though! Tucker would be in for quite the competition. Champion of Mianite? Try Queen of Mianite.” Wag winked, holding the flower back out to her.

Except it seemed that was the wrong thing to say.

She held her breath, wilting before him “Yeah,” Sonja mumbled at the flower, “Tucker would really be in for it.”

There was a pause.

Wag eased back down towards the ground, getting comfortable. He tugged on Sonja’s sleeve to bring her down as well. Setting the flower aside, he pondered his next words. If he was going to pull out any wisdom, it better be now.

“Things aren’t going too great between you two, are they?” Wag started, giving her the option to push the conversation aside.

Sonja was silent for a second. Her ears flicked back and forth, agitated. Then she let out a sigh, deep and heavy.

“No.”

Wag nodded slowly. “It’d help to talk about it.”

He wanted to help, wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to press. He wouldn’t dare push the boundaries when it felt like he was already on the brink of losing someone else he cared about. A two for two special on failing relationships would hurt.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he reminded himself that this was about Sonja. Not his life problems. Hers!

“It’s…” she cast her eyes around them. “Kinda heavy. Would you be ok hearing about it? I don’t want to bring your mood down.”

Wag gently bumped shoulders with her. “Of course. I’m all ears if you ever need it.”

Sonja opted for a smile, though it fell more towards a grimace. “Thanks.”

She went quiet again. Wag could see the thoughts churning in her head, gears clicking and turning along.

“I was.” She stopped. Started again. “I used to be.” Biting her lip, she took a breath. “There was a brief moment of time that I worked for the Shadows.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

She couldn't meet his eyes, which is probably a good thing because he didn’t know what to say. ‘Sorry that you used to work for the people who wanted to kill all the gods and take over the world, or some stupid thing like that’? ‘Yikes’?

‘Cause yikes.

“That’s, well, not what I was expecting.” He suppressed the urge to crack a joke. “And yeah, that’s pretty heavy.”

Sonja drooped a little beside him, and he had to rush in the rest of his words.

“But that’s not the end of the world. You aren’t working for them anymore, and even if you were you have been my friend and helped save so many people that I feel that it wouldn’t matter. Your actions say more about your character than who you follow does.” He hoped that curbed her fear and doubt, if only for a moment. And, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “Hey, look at Tom. He’s a little chaos rat who followed a real evil guy and we still love him. The standards can’t get lower than that.”

She huffed, and Wag counted that as a win.

She took a peek at him. “You took that a lot better than Tucker did.”

Suddenly, it clicks. She told Tucker, the ultimate devotee of Mianite, who had been willing to follow an evil version of his god just because he had the same name as his actual god. Tucker, who held strong to his beliefs and only turned on the Other Mianite when he went too far. Tucker, who’s devotion to Mianite came after little else, if after anything at all.

Tucker would not only have been appalled that she faltered in her devotion to Mianite, but felt down right betrayed that she would work for someone who wanted to kill his god.

Tucker wasn’t Tom. He wasn’t willing to work for a god that was near unanimously seen as chaotic, destructive, and evil. But he would also be easily blinded by the misdeeds of his god after seeing only the good in him for so long. He wouldn’t kill his god for his friends, he wouldn’t save his friends from his god. If Mianite told him to kill, he would.

He had killed the Ianitas under the Other Mianite’s command.

So Sonja, regardless of how much he loved her, telling him she had been part of the Shadows?

Wag could only imagine his reaction.

Instead of making much comment on Tucker, Wag offered her a smile. “The Shadows don’t mean as much to me.” That got her to look up. “I’m- I was a wizard, remember?”

Meeting her eyes, he saw the start of understanding. Then it struck him- he never told her how he became a wizard. “Sonja.” It was his turn to look away. “Do you know about the Cult of Athar?”

She mouthed the words, face scrunching up. Silently, she shook her head. “The Cult of Athar was formed in the name of Athar, who was a god. Or close to one. They weren’t sure of that, at the time they formed the Cult, but he was. Instead, they thought he was a godly power that existed and was given to those who were worthy. In a way, they weren’t wrong.”

“Was?” Already she was picking up on the ending.

“We’ll get to that.” Wag picked at the grass in front of him. “The Cult was made of four mortal people. They studied, they trained, they crafted, they worked their assess off to get a glimpse of the Athar. Nothing worked.”

Sonja nodded, eyes searching Wag’s face. Connecting dots. Her gaze lingered on his dark skin and endless tears of blood. It wouldn’t be long before she pieced it together.

“One day, they found an ancient scroll.” Sonja scoffed at this detail. “Look, I know it’s cliche but this is my story I’m telling and you will suffer through any cliche moments in it. I will add a magical girl transformation scene in here just to spite you.” They held each other’s gaze for a moment.

Then both burst out laughing. With a fond shake of her head, Sonja shoved him gently. “Who’s to say you won't anyway?”

With a mock offended gasp, Wag dramatically clutched his heart. “How could you. I guess you don’t want the story of this freaky, weird cult of absolute dorks.”

“No, no, I do. Please continue, Mr. Extravagant Storyteller.”

Holding back a smile, Wag started back up. “In this scroll was a ritual. According to the scroll, if you performed the ritual you could summon down the god that possessed the power of Athar- who was actually called Athar so really calling the ‘godly power’ Athar was redundant. By calling him down you could duel him for the right to hold that power and use it yourself.”

He trailed off now. It seemed, now of all times, that the reality of what he had lost sunk in. “By defeating Athar, who was a selfish, greedy god, they themselves could become gods among mortals. But they vowed to be benevolent, loving gods. Gods who would help humanity unlike that who came before them. They wanted to make a change in the world, to help build it up in the name of peace and prosperity.”

“So they killed him?”

Wag nodded.

“You were one of them, weren’t you?” Sonja pressed gently. “And the rest of the wizards, too?”

He nodded again.

When he made no further comment, she spoke again. “I always wondered how you guys became wizards. I just figured you guys were born from, I don’t know, dragons or something. Something badass like that. Or maybe just one day you guys popped into existence all like, ‘Golly gee, there’s an open plot of land here, and I sure do feel like making something. You guys want to build? I want to build.’”

Wag laughed despite himself. “I wish we were dragons. That’d be so much cooler than waltzing up to a god and telling him you’d be better at his job.”

“No, I think that’s still pretty badass.” She slowly leaned over to rest on his shoulder.

The sun was just starting to fall from its highest peak, making it just past noon. They still had a whole day ahead of them, if they pleased. But there was something settling about sitting here, with a friend, letting your secrets loose.

“The point is,” Wag rested his head on hers, “That I’ve actually killed a god. I formed a cult with the intent of becoming godlike. You joining the Shadows? For whatever reason? I’m not that phased. Sure, the Shadows wanted to kill all the gods, even the nice ones, but I’m not about to go cherry picking which gods can and cannot live. You guys didn’t kill Dianite until he almost killed Ianite. Eye for an eye, y’know?”

They were silent after that. Just sitting there, looking out into the mix and blend of savanna, plains, and desert. This didn’t fix anything for Sonja, he knew, but at the very least she knew she had an ally, a friend through all of this.

“Thank you,” Sonja blurted. “It’s. I feel better knowing someone won’t ostracise me for my past.”

“No one is going to ostracize you!” Rolling his eyes, Wag turned to look at her. “And if they do they’re a bitch and you didn’t need them in the first place.”

“I don’t know. Tucker was really upset. I think I’ve burned any relationship we had.” She pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around. “I’m afraid that he won’t even be able to look at me. What would Jordan think? What would Tom? Or Dec or Champ? What would the gods?”

Wag wrapped an arm around her. “It’s going to be a shock, for sure.”

But the thing was, she was still their friend.

“Jordan will take it with suspicion and unease, which is usual for him. But, for all that he will be wary, he will still be your friend. Honestly?” He squeezed her arm. “Your situation isn’t new to us, not exactly.”

An ear flicked against his cheek. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Wag blew on it and it flicked again, “There’s Tom’s whole thing.”

She lifted her head at this. A frown tugged at her lips. “What? What do you mean by that?”

Ah, Wag had a feeling that she hadn’t thought about this.

“Tom was the loyal champion of this world’s Dianite.” He was trying to lead her into the connection. It’d be easier for her to relate if she figured it out on her own.

“So?”

However, that meant she had to figure it out.

“I suppose it’s a little harder to see from your perspective. Tom, the friend you guys all love despite his love of chaos, stealing, and murder,” He stressed the murder part, “was the champion of the god you had to kill to stop from killing Ianite.”

Sonja blinked at him.

Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as he thought.

“Tom was loyal to Dianite above all else. He’d kill for him, he’d die for him, he was practically a lapdog at points, eagerly wanting to please him. Even when he failed him and was punished.” Wag shook his head fondly. “He would have killed Ianite if Dianite asked. He would have killed Ianite.”

Tom would have done a lot of things for Dianite. The Shadows wanted to recruit him for his burning loyalty to who he followed and his willingness to kill and destroy.

It was starting to click in Sonja’s head. Her frown became less confused and more thoughtful.

“Maybe it was hard to see, since you were much closer to him than I was at the time, but Tom was set against all of you. Yet he still wanted to be your friend. He still wanted the best for you- when it didn’t involve him stopping his own chaos and fun- because he cared about you guys. In fact, he repeatedly stole from you and killed you, and he’s still your friend.”

She was there. So, so close. Right on the edge of a breakthrough.

“But Tom was,” she waved a hand, “Tom.”

And there it was. The thing that she held her back. The thing that pulled at her conscious in this whole debacle.

“So?” Wag wasn’t going to pull any punches. “Why are you holding him to a different standard than yourself? If he gets a pass, if he can follow someone who’s intent was destruction and death, just like the Shadow’s was, in a way, why can’t you?”

Sonja was silent. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Her eyes went wide.

Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. “Jordan is still friends with Tom. Tucker is still friends with Tom. They both suffered at his hands, but they’re still friends. They still care about him. Just because you served, for some brief time, an entity that was just as evil as Dianite had been, at one point, doesn’t mean they’ll stop caring about you.”

“What about Tom, then?” She straightened up, something stirring in her eyes. “What would he think?”

Wag held back a laugh. “He wouldn’t care? Remember Nadeshot? Remember Cronus? He was friends with both.” Sonja gave him a look. “Oh come one, this one should have been obvious. Nadeshot told Tom he joined the Shadows, and what did Tom do? He had the us- the wizards- build him a fucking castle. The last person who would give a shit about you being part of the Shadows- having used to be part of- would be Tom!”

Sure, she looked like she was about to punch him, but it was a little ridiculous to think that Tom would give a shit about something like that.

Wag turned his head away. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing. This is a very serious situation and I should try my best to stay serious.”

“Yeah, you should.” Sonja gave him a light punch to the arm, “Asshole.”

“But the thing is, we’re still going to be here for you. We’ve been to a whole other world, we fell through the void together. You’ve had our backs from day one. We’ll always have yours.” He ended with a gentle smile.

Sonja settled back down, head on his shoulder once more. “That does make me feel a little better. But things won’t be the same. Nothing will, really.”

That was true. They would probably look at her different, in a new light. They’d reconsider some things, rethink what image they had of her. But at the end of the day, they’d still be together.

As Wag set his head back down atop hers, she whispered, “I guess things haven’t really been the same in a while.”

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buckyreaderrecs · 4 years

Text

A Toast to Whiskey: Chapter 2 / 2

CLICK TO READ PART ONE

Summary: You work in an old bar hidden away from the modern world. It’s almost charming, but not quite. That’s probably why Bucky likes it.

Part 2: Steve finds Buck, then you. Lush! Bucky and a cat! Christmas! Domestic bliss!

Words: 10,093 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, she/her pronouns, brief mention of Nazis, mention of suicide attempt (no scenes of it though), medium level discussion of Bucky’s past trauma, Peter is mentioned and has one line, v briefly mentioned: Sharon/Peggy/Sam/Wanda/Pepper, friendship with Steve, Lush Cosmetics, Steve/Bucky friendship

Dedicated to: all the people that helped brainstorm Christmas gifts - @browngirlmagic @megthemewlingquim @pinnedandneedled @cosmicbreathe @headmistressofbitchcraft @valkyriesryde

Note: When I thought of this fic, I split it into two parts that were meant to be equal. Part one was 2,325 words. This one is 10,093. I am sorry. Lol.

A Toast to Whiskey Chapter 2 / 2

To say you missed Bucky's presence was an understatement. It was kind of remarkable, actually. Considering how quiet he was, how he mostly just sat, it seemed strange to miss him so deeply, but that you did. He'd been in your life for months. To have him suddenly not there was a lesson in soft brutality. Others noticed too.

"Miss ya boyfriend there, missy?" the regulars teased.

"Where'd that mystery man get to then?" co-workers asked.

When two weeks Bucky-less came and went, you finally resigned to the fact that maybe you'd just have to let it go. You'd have to stop wondering if The Avengers had a phone number. You'd have to stop taking detours wherever you were going just to pass Stark Tower in the hopes you'd cross paths with Bucky. You'd just have to… stop.

Then the most surreal thing happened. Captain fucking America walked through the bar's door.

It was around midday on a Friday. You'd just opened up and were still pulling chairs from the tabletops from where they rested overnight. A few regulars were sat at the bar, waiting for their table to be set up over by the television screen. They paid no mind to Steve Rogers as he stepped into the dimly lit room, the streams of light he briefly let in highlighting the dust particles in the air.

When you saw him, your stomach dropped and your heart jumped out of your mouth. As Steve approached, you stumbled backwards, recollections of all bad news delivered before flashing in your mind.

Please, no.

"Hi. Are you Y/N?" he asked. When you managed to nod your head, he continued, his voice calm. "I'm-"

"I know. Is he okay?" you interrupted.

Steve had been interrupted many times. He was used to it. Another thing he was unfortunately accustomed to was giving people bad news.

"Yes. We’ve found him-"

"He was missing?!"

The volume of your voice drew attention from the people at the bar. "You right there, Y/N?" one of them asked.

"Yeah, yeah, Dave. Thanks. I'm alright."

Looking back to Steve, you caught the last split second of a smirk being willed off his face. "Y/N," Steve started. "Buck doesn't… doesn't know I know about you. But…"

"Where is he?"

"He's fine. He's at the Tower," he answered, his hands coming up in a defensive position. "Look, Y/N. I think he needs a friend…"

"What are you?" you snapped, suddenly blaming Steve for whatever had happened.

There was silence while you watched each other, working each other out.

Steve had not purposefully set out to spy on Bucky, or anything of that nature. In passing Peter Parker had said, "Mr. Rogers Captain Rogers Sir," and told him how he thought it was super cool that Bucky Barnes' local pub was across the road from a place Peter sometimes bought bubble tea from. It sparked curiosity that Steve ignored for as long as he could. But it got the better of him.

"I'm his best friend. But you've been given me a run for my money for a while. He spends more time in here than with the rest of us combined."

You thought about that for a second. Fuck, that was sad. "That means he spends a lot of time alone,"

"Yeah… Think that's been the problem…" Steve replied slowly.

Out of nowhere, Steve's composure changed. In a motion too fast for you to track, he pulled a chair off a table and sat. His elbows were pressed into his thighs and his head was in his hands. He groaned a little, then sat up straight, looking right at you.

"Buck… he… he does it sometimes. Disappears for a few days. No communication. He's always come back though. And it's only ever been a for a few days… This time, after a week we got worried…"

"You found him though," you pressed, annoyed at the pace of Steve's story.

"We found him. He wasn't in good shape, Y/N. I don't think…"

When Steve had walked in, you thought that something had happened to Bucky on a mission or something like that. The worst case scenario, of which you had only entertained for the shortest of times, was that Hydra had been lurking in the shadows, waiting.

Another possibility became painfully apparent at the end of Steve's trailed off sentence. Somehow, the thought of it hurt more than all the others.

Steve could see it on your face you knew what he was trying to say. You needed to hear it though. It was the only way it could be real.

"He wasn't planning on coming back."

Bucky wasn't planning on running away either. It was the metaphorical end of the line for him. Like so many times before, Bucky Barnes had forgotten to factor in Steve bloody Rogers. Saved by his best friend yet again, Bucky had woke up in a clinically clean room in Stark Tower. If he thought it was hard to get drunk, trying to kill himself was even harder.

You knew there was no comparing your friendship with Bucky to Steve's. There hadn't been a friendship in the history of humankind that could compare. Making Steve say it out loud wasn't kind, but it wasn't unnecessary cruelty either.

"Will you come see him?"

…

You thought you'd known weird. Turns out, nope. Being escorted into Stark Tower by Steve Rogers was weird. Being full body scanned by technology you couldn't begin to comprehend was weird. Feeling so, so much about someone you barely knew was weird.

All the weird became secondary to a rushing wave of relief at seeing Bucky Barnes. The wave met a tall, unmoveable wall very quickly. Bucky wasn't awake. Steve sat in a chair next to Bucky's bed and motioned for you to take the one on the other side.

Bucky was pale, lips chapped and hair stringy. Someone cared for him though. Although messy, the hair was tied back in a bun. There was a tube of chapstick sitting on the bedside table.

The sheet was pulled up under his arms. He was in a thin, white singlet. You'd never seen his vibranium arm; he'd always been in jackets in the bar. He'd always worn gloves, even after it was apparent you knew who he was. The scars on his body were confronting, but you had to file that away for a later day.

"Fuck," you finally said on a breath out.

Steve nodded in deep agreement.

"He's gonna wake up." You'd meant it as a statement but it definitely curved up too much at the end.

"He will," Steve confirmed. "He's lost a lot of blood… They tried blood transfusions but his body… The serum in him is too unstable. It made him worse. We just have to wait. He'll heal himself,"

"Okay," you said softly as you shuffled the chair closer to the bed.

As you took Bucky's hand in yours, you thought what all people do when they're bedside like that. Can they hear me? Do they know I'm here? You rubbed gentle circles across his skin with your thumb.

For a while, Steve was still, then he too dragged his chair across the floor. He got as close to the bed as he could, then folded an arm on the mattress and rested his head. You watched him look up at his best friend. Steve reached out with his free hand and gently stroked Bucky's cheek once, then settled in for the wait.

…

Sleep was uneasy, but it came. When you uncurled your body from the chair, you were alone with Bucky. He hadn't moved, hadn't dreamed. He wasn't really asleep but in some sort of super soldier serum limbo that you hoped to God wasn't a form of Hell.

It was only about ten minutes before Steve arrived back in the room. He came bearing gifts - coffee and a doughnut.

"Did you think he was going to wake up, like, when I got here?" you asked.

Steve shrugged. He'd changed clothes at some point while you slept. Grey track pants and a white t-shirt. Comfy. Casual. Not very Captain America but you guessed, pretty Steve Rogers.

"No. Yes. I don't know… We don't know when he'll wake up… I just thought he'd want to see you,"

"Do you think he comes and proper hangs out with me? Because he doesn't. He just kinda…"

"I know. Buck's never been that much of a talker. Even before. Doesn't stop him from being charming," Steve said.

"No… it doesn't. Guess he wouldn't come to see us if he didn't wanna," you reasoned, thinking about the awkward prospect of Bucky waking up and asking why the bartender was there.

"He wouldn't, no," Steve agreed.

Silence was comfortable with Steve, which was a blessing because you sat watching the television with him for a couple of hours. That's when you really took in the room beyond Bucky and the bed. It was a strange mix of hospital and home.

When you had arrived earlier, the elevator delivered you to a sweeping hallway. It didn't give much away in terms of what the function of the floor was. Stark Tower was multi-purpose. Very multi-purpose. It was head office to an ever-growing business. It was science and technology laboratories. It was home base for The Avengers. Those were the things the public knew the building did.

On the list of suspected functions included primary home of Tony Stark. Correct, although he had many other properties. Pepper was trying to sell some without Tony knowing. The Tower had to house weapons too, as the headquarters of The Avengers. Correct. Definitely in the upper limit of what was legal. Where did all The Avengers live? Where did the ones from space stay when on Earth? Theory was the Tower. Correct. Many, but not all, superheroes affiliated had very large, very beautiful private spaces in the Tower. I surely had to have its own medical wing. Incorrect. It wasn't a wing.

Stark Tower had its own dedicated floor for bio and med. Cutting edge research. Direct and tailored medical support. And that's where you had found yourself. A hospital room, spectacularly disguised as comfortable. Regardless of the armchairs by Bucky's bed and the huge flat screen, it wouldn't ever not smell like bleach.

By mid-morning, it became apparent that this wasn't Sleeping Beauty and Bucky wasn't going to wake up just because you were there with all your true... whatever.

"What's the plan?" you asked.

Steve sighed hard, stood from the chair and stretched. Your attention stayed on Bucky, but when Steve failed to answer, your eyes flicked to him. He seemed very agitated by not knowing what to do. He couldn't Captain America his way out of this one.

"You're welcome to stay. There's a room next door. We can take shifts… Or if you want to head home I can call when he wakes…"

"I'll stay," you decided quickly. Nothing else seemed as important.

…

Two days later, you'd gotten more sleep than you would have predicted. The room next door to Bucky's was another designed for the injured, but it doubled as a hotel room just as well. The bed was comfortable and nobody disturbed you when it was your turn to rest. You and Steve shared takeaway and swapped stories. It was nice to find a real human beneath the public image.

Steve could see why Bucky had continued to gravitate back towards you. You made him feel normal. And he almost came to enjoy the routine you and he had fallen into, keeping watch of Bucky. Then, as you were throwing grapes across the room, aiming for Steve's mouth, you both heard him.

Bucky mumbled a very groggy, "Fuck," as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Buck?" Steve called, appearing at the bedside in a second.

You walked over more slowly, carefully. What if he did think it was strange you were there?

Bucky tried to move, but Steve put his arm across him. "Nope, Pal. Stay right there,"

"Lemme up, Steve," Bucky said, still groggy.

Steve folded, moving away so Bucky could sit up. He rubbed his face, his unshaved jawline. You almost thought he hadn't noticed you, but then, "How long have ya been spying on me then?"

Bucky looked at Steve, raised his eyebrows.

Neither you nor Steve had ever been in this specific situation before. No script for what someone waking from a suicide attempt should do or say. But you were both shocked by Bucky's… normality. He'd just sat up like it was another day. Not like he'd run away, hurt himself, never said goodbye.

"What the absolute fuck!" Steve whispered. Was it to himself or to Bucky? You were unsure. Bucky just stared at him, expressionless. "That's not- How could- Jesus, Buck. What were you thinking?"

You cringed, knowing it was the wrong thing for Steve to say.

"What was I thinking?" Bucky repeated.

There was a second of silence. Two. Then Bucky just ripped the covers off, swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He looked down at himself, then up at you. It was the first eye contact you'd had since he woke, and it caught the breath in your lungs and swallowed it up.

"Hey, darlin'," he greeted softly. He'd never called you that before. Before you knew it, he'd closed the space between you and had pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Sorry for all the fuss,"

"Ahh…" you started to say, but he was already walking away.

"Bucky!" Steve yelled, following him through the door. "Where are you going? We need to talk," he urged.

Feeling very out of place, you just followed Steve, hoping sticking close to him would lead you back to comfort.

"Steve, look," Bucky said, spinning on his heels. "I know, alright… I know… But I need… I can't be here. This place is drivin' me crazy… And I'm already ten different types of that,"

"Where are you going to go?" Steve asked, his voice smaller and sadder than it had just been.

Bucky shrugged casually, almost comically.

"You scared the shit out of me,"

"Not the first, won't be the last," Bucky joked, deflected.

"It could have been."

That made Bucky shut up. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Steve.

"But it wasn't. Someone needs to stick around to look after your stupid ass," Bucky said.

"Then stick around."

If you felt out of place before… Watching the two men hug then step away from each other, you could feel the weight of their history in the air. It was oppressive and you were honestly in awe. Then, before you knew you were even speaking, you just squeaked out, "You can stay with me."

…

Bucky had taken you up on the offer like he wasn't an ex-prisoner of war with decades of trauma just sitting below the surface of his crumbling composure. He'd disappeared upstairs to change and grab a bag or two, leaving you and Steve standing in utter shock.

"Are you okay?" you asked as soon as Bucky was gone.

"I… Christ, I don't know, Y/N. That wasn't normal was it?"

You laughed then. "I don't fucking know. Do you mean for someone who just… or for him? 'Cause you're meant to the expert,"

"Not anymore apparently," Steve said, more hurt than bitter.

"I'll… try to…" You were going to say 'look after him' but the concept of looking after Bucky Barnes seemed ridiculous. Steve had kinda just proven that.

Steve looked defeated, so you did the only humanly right thing to do. You pulled him into a hug. He welcomed it.

"Thought when we brought him home he'd be alright," Steve mumbled into you. "Stupid,"

"Not stupid. Just hopeful. I… Look, I don't know what…"

"I know. Sorry. Sorry, Y/N. I've just pulled you into all this when you were just-"

"No, no. It's okay. I… I'm glad I'm here. He can come stay with me. Make a plan or something. Does he have a doctor or anything?"

The enormity of the situation dawned on you both then. The complexity of it stunning you into silence. Bucky had gone through abject horror and hell and he'd survived. His body had been stitched and sewn back together. His brain had been rewired, given back to him. But now what? Nobody had really thought of that.

…

Bucky was back to his cap-wearing, strong and silent type on the way over to your apartment. Through the doors, he dropped his bags and looked around.

"I'll make some tea," you said quietly, leaving him to introduce himself to the space.

Your apartment was on the third floor of a pretty old block of units. The space was small. Sometimes it was too small for just one bartender… And yet, Bucky didn't seem too big for the space. From the kitchenette you watched him walk from the front door across the open-plan space. He glanced at the bed, probably wondering where exactly you planned on keeping him. Bucky stood at the window, surveying the view.

"How do you take your tea?" you asked.

"However," he replied.

Frowning, you shook your head. "That's… not… What do you mean?"

Bucky turned, smiled, almost confused at your confusion. "Not picky,"

"Everyone has a preference."

He just shrugged.

"No… Come here. Sit down," you ordered.

Bucky smirked. He considered it for a second, then strode over to the kitchenette and sat at the small breakfast bar.

"Take your fucking cap off. This is your home now so you can drop the weird mysterious guy thing," you told him, putting four mugs out on the bar.

Bucky chuckled and obeyed. "Didn't Steve tell ya to be gentle with me or somethin'? Don't cha know I'm all messed up?"

You could hear it in his voice that he was taking the piss.

"There he is," you said, smiling. "Alright. I'm gonna make four teas, alright? You're gonna try them all and you'll know which you like best,"

"Don't think it matters, Y/N. It's just tea,"

"It's not. It's not just tea. It's… it's about preference. You can have things the way you want."

Bucky watched you pour the boiled water, brew the teas.

"I don't want someone else tryna fix me," he said seriously.

You pushed milk and sugar towards him. "If Captain America can't fix you, I don't think anybody can."

Bucky took the mug and held both palms to it. You wondered if he could feel the warmth in his left. (He could.)

"Then why am I here?" he asked, going to sip the tea.

You paused, trying to think of a good answer to that question.

Thinking.

"I… don't know… One minute you're sitting at my bar drinking whiskey. Next minute you're… in my house drinking tea… I have no fucking idea how this happened."

He made a face, pushing the mug back across the table. You swapped it for milk no sugar.

"It's a bad idea. Me being here."

Bucky tasted the tea and let you swap it again. No milk no sugar.

"Then why are you here?"

"Ain't that what I just asked you?" he quipped.

No milk sugar. And an unimpressed look that made him laugh.

"I'm here because since I've been stateside I've just wanted to… I don't know. Rest. Take a fuckin' second. Feel normal… First time I've felt normal was in your bar drinkin' your whiskey,"

"…What about my tea?"

"Also works… Milk and no sugar."

…

Bucky didn't make any jokes about how tiny your place was. After tea, small talk, you handed him the television remote, threw him a blanket and told him to make himself at home. You both went about your nights individually, but side by side. After all the tension of Stark Tower, it was overwhelmingly relaxing. There wasn't a moment where you asked yourself if it was stupid to let someone as dangerous as Bucky Barnes into your home. There wasn't a moment of reconsideration. It was just… easy from the first night.

"Buck, that sofa folds out bigger," you told him, climbing into your bed after showering and getting into P.J.s in the bathroom.

Bucky, who was still in the jeans and henley shirt he'd changed into at the Tower, glanced over. "You going to bed?" He sounded scandalised.

"Sorry, Jesus. Some of us haven't been asleep for days."

Bucky laughed. "Brave joke, darlin'."

There it was again, that nickname. Was it chosen or did it slip out when he wasn't watching his words?

In the morning, it was like you'd spoken in your sleep, conversed with each other and decided on a routine. Bucky was standing in the kitchenette when you woke. He'd clearly been for a run; his headphones hanging around his neck and his runners still on his feet. He was cooking.

"Hey," he greeted when you made your way over, sitting down. "Wow. Can see why you work at a bar. Not a morning person."

Your morning expression was one part deep confusion about not still being asleep, and one part anger about not still being asleep. Bucky kinda loved it.

As you ate bacon and eggs with him, you tried to process how you got to that point. It seemed like a fruitless task. Up until Bucky, your life was… well, it was easy to explain. Doing A resulted in B happening. A simple story. Then, Bucky. Doing A resulted in nothing, and suddenly Z was happening out of nowhere. Like, Jesus Christ, stuff like that just didn't happen. But the coffee was really truly being poured and Bucky was really truly just… there.

…

You went back to work quickly; you'd used up too many leave days sitting by Bucky's hospital bed. Picking up a couple of extra shifts in that first week Bucky was at yours, you hardly had time to really talk to him. He was a ghost in your home for all intents and purpose. It worried you. Each time you left the apartment, you'd try to find a new way of checking he was okay, that he'd be there when you got back.

"Are you doing anything today?"

"Seeing Steve later?"

"Not planning on trying to hurt yourself today?"

Bucky recognised the concern in your voice. It was the same tone he used to take with Steve before everything happened. It was the same tone Steve used on him now. Goddamn those turning tables. He did his best to be reassuring without lying to you. He felt he owed you that much, at the very least.

What else did he have to offer though?

That's when it started. Bucky Barnes turned into your bodyguard, personal chef, housekeeper, and handyman. When you realised it was part of him trying to cope, settle in, be okay, you just let him do it. You'd never won any fights to try to stop him. And, you kinda liked it.

He'd be lingering out the front of the bar when you locked up. Bucky would walk you the two streets home, mumbling "Can't believe you do this alone," the whole way. If he was early for pick up, he'd come in and put chairs on tables. He mopped once. The task was completed with frightening efficiency.

By the end of the week, the apartment was spotless. What did the Winter Soldier look like holding a feather duster? Had he read the spines of all the books on the shelves? Was the television on while he cleaned, or was he a music kind of guy? You could have sworn you saw him narrow your eyes when you left an empty dish on the coffee table.

"You went food shopping?" you asked stupidly one morning, waking up to the sound of Bucky unpacking groceries. He raised an eyebrow, went to provide sass, but you put a hand up. "Don't! Just… make me some coffee, please."

As he placed the mug on your bedside table, he gently ruffled your hair - the only part of you poking out from under the covers. "Got work?" he asked.

"Yeah. Closing. Don't start till 7," you answered, emerging into the daylight of the morning… Of the almost-afternoon, you learnt as you checked your phone. "What you got planned?"

"Same thing I've been doing all week, Y/N."

He was back in the kitchenette, folding plastic bags neatly into a pile.

"There's a bag under the sink full of other bags. Don't need to fold them," you told him. He looked up at you; when would you stop over-explaining things, he wondered. "It's like, a thing everyone has. The bag of other bags. And a messy Tupperware cupboard,"

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked, a little amused.

"No! I just woke up and it's too bright and you're folding plastic bags. Are you okay?"

Bucky shrugged. He did that a lot, sometimes accompanied by a twitch of a lip curl. Sassy bastard.

"So when you say 'same thing you've been doing all week,' you mean clean and watch T.V.?" you asked, sitting up and plumping a pillow to act as a headboard. Bucky waited until you'd picked up the coffee and were looking back at him before he nodded. "How about we just… hang out,"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I don't wanna move from here until I absolutely have to. So we can watch stuff on my laptop and stay in bed and Ubereats something fancy." When he failed to reply, you added, "You deserve a chill day."

Bucky crossed the space and dramatically flopped down on the bed. "Just exchanged one bossy boots for another, huh?"

"Really pretty, well-meaning bossy boots, yeah!"

…

Bucky was sitting in the window, patting a black cat you'd never seen in your entire life. He looked over when the front door closed behind you.

"Hey," he greeted, voice soft so not to startle the cat.

"Who's your friend?"

"Dunno… She was just out here when I got out the shower,"

"Right… Well, say goodbye and come inside. Got something for ya."

Bucky left the window open, and the cat remained out on the fire escape.

Inside, Bucky plonked himself on the sofa and watched you unpack things from the large paper bag you'd brought home. Bucky's bright eyes sparkled with curiosity and you could tell he could smell something unfamiliar.

When everything was unpacked, you looked at Bucky.

"This is gonna sound so dumb. I know that. But just bear with me, okay?" Checking to see if Bucky was taking you seriously, you saw his focus was on you entirely. "I… I cannot even begin to comprehend what it must be like being you. It's… It's fucked. It's fucked even in the context of superheroes and aliens and all of it… I don't know how you do it and I know it's hard and I have no idea if you're… Like, okay? Or getting better? Or if being here is helping at all but I wanna help. I want to do something for you but I know I can't do anything like, proper. I can't… I don't know… So I thought maybe I can help in a different way. In a kind of shallow… ah, superficial way? So that's what this is."

Bucky was trying to keep his expression neutral.

Bucky also didn't know how he continued to exist. Sometimes he thought it was because he felt he had to make up for what the Winter Soldier did. Save a life for each taken. Balance the books. Sometimes he thought maybe he was just superhumanly resilient. Maybe he was just more okay than made sense, and that was fine. And sometimes, like in those days he went missing, he thought he had no right being on Earth any more.

"I… I don't know what this is," Bucky started, motioning to the table of unidentifiable objects. "But you're already doin' more than enough. Me being here is helping. You give me space," and at that, you snorted, but he continued, not letting you redirect the conversation like he was so good at doing. "It's the only thing that I know helps. It helped in Wakanda. It's helping here."

In the quiet of three seconds or so, you and Bucky watched each other, testing each other's honesty. You had to trust each other, which was hard. But it was happening.

"Okay," you whispered when you grew too hot under his gaze.

"What's all this then?" Bucky asked, sitting up straight and putting his best version of 'excitement' on his face.

"This is… treat yo' self, self-care. You look after your insides, I'll look after your outsides,"

"My outsides?" he said, tone suggestive and eyebrow raised.

It made you blush.

"Skincare. Haircare. That kind of thing… It's from a store called Lush and I'm a bit obsessed. They invented the bath bomb!"

Bucky set his expression to 'I'm giving you nothing' and crossed his arms across his chest. "Bath bomb?"

"Yeah… They're these… things you put in the bath… It fizzes and makes it smell nice and look cool and is good for your skin and stuff. I didn't get one because we don't have a bath…"

You thought you were losing him, but that's just what he wanted you to think. He was wildly interested in whatever it was you were trying to sell him. He didn't hate the idea of skincare, haircare, and whatever else was going on in those little black pots. He'd looked after himself so well in the 40s. His hair was always perfect. Wasn't caught dead with too much stubble.

"I got like, a full routine for us to do together… If you want…"

Bucky liked the pronouns you were using. …we don't have a bath. …routine for us.

"You're beautiful. You know that?"

It caught you off guard. You hoped it was a rhetorical question. Blushing hard, you broke eye contact and looked at your Lush haul.

"So, you're in?" you asked quietly, pretending to read one of the labels.

"Yeah, doll. I'm in. Where's my fluffy robe?"

Squealing in happiness, you jumped up. "No robes, but pyjamas, yeah?"

Bucky took the bathroom and you took the… bedroom/loungeroom/kitchen/rest of the apartment. Once together, you put on old episodes of Golden Girls and sat Bucky on the couch. He watched as you run about finding all the perfect bowls and towels. When you had the random-under-the-sink bucket filled with hot water, you returned to him.

"Okay. First, we put on hair and face masks. I got this hair one 'cause it kinda smelt like chai latte." You opened the pot and let him smell it.

"Never had a chai latte…" Was his only response. He read the pot, "H'Suan Wen Hua… Chinese,"

"You know Chinese?"

"I know a lot of languages," he replied.

"Hmm… Okay, well, do ya want me to do this or do you want to?" you asked.

Bucky looked genuinely confused. "Do what?"

You hadn't wanted to assume Bucky would be cosmetic-clueless, but maybe it was better to just play spa. Let him sit back and relax and you do it all for him. The thought of that was both terrifying and exciting.

"Sit back. Watch T.V. Lemme do this."

And that's just what he did.

You could literally see him relax into the sofa as you saturated his hair with the treatment, massaging it into his scalp then pinning it all on top of his head in a curl, secured with a clip. If you had been able to see his face, you would've seen him biting his bottom lip, holding in a bigger reaction to the feeling of your fingers raking through his hair.

For the longest time, he'd only known touch to equal pain or death. After that, it was the tentative hands of doctors and Steve's sometimes suffocating arms. But you… you were a whole different kettle of fish. You, he could get used to.

When you jumped onto the couch next to him, it looked like you startled him out of a daze. Bucky seemed happy. It made you happy.

"Alright. Face mask. I got two different ones because the one I like kinda smells fucked but in a good one. Here, smell," you ordered, shoving an open pot of very garlicky Cosmetic Warrior under his nose.

He frowned like a child. "Smells like what Sarah made Steve eat when he was sick,"

"That's cute. But yeah. It's strong. Try this one."

Mask of Magnaminty was more his thing. Mint was a familiar smell. Bucky sat very still as you gently painted his face with the cool green goo.

"You can smile," you whispered as you watched him try to conceal a grin. "Feels nice, huh?"

"It's… different," he agreed.

It was quiet. Bucky watched the concentration on your face as you carefully finished the job. When you tapped his nose, complete with an audible "Boop!" he laughed.

Fuck, his laugh was spectacular. Maybe it seemed golden because it was a rare thing. Maybe because the action made the corner of his sparkly blue eyes crinkle. Maybe just because you liked him. A lot.

"'Kay. I'm just gonna go put mine on," you said motioning to the bathroom, "Then we can-"

"Do you want me to do yours?" Bucky interrupted. And holy fuck, how had you not thought of this as a possibility. Bucky had 1940s manners. Not even Hydra brainwashing could take that away from him. Of course he'd offer reciprocation.

"Ah… Sure. Yes."

He took the pot from your hands and dipped his fingers into the goo. "Stevie's the artist, not me. But I'll do my best," Bucky promised.

"I didn't know that,"

"Think all his best parts didn't make it into the history books," he continued. "Don't think some of them made it to 21st century…"

"If I say something based on knowing you for not long, promise not to get salty at me?"

"Salty a bad thing?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Okay…"

"Maybe it's because like, he went rogue for you or whatever. And we got sold this fairytale best friends since birth story… But I kinda expected you guys to be… Nicer to each other."

To his credit Bucky didn't stop painting your face. He was however, clearly unsettled by the statement. He thought for a second. "Yeah… It's… I don't know…" He shrugged. "We'll be alright. He knows I love him… Just handles things different. And he doesn't like being upset. Needs to fix everything. Fight the fight… I've never been like that. Not really… He was the one that wanted to go to war,"

"You didn't?"

"Nah… conscripted."

That fucked you up a little. Hydra wasn't the beginning of his lack of autonomy. He'd been owned by other people since he was basically a kid.

"It's alright," Bucky said.

"Is it?" You'd asked so quietly for a second you thought maybe no noise had emerged from your mouth. There was a twitch in Bucky's expression that reassured you it had.

He'd finished your face mask, putting the pot on the coffee table and wiping his hands on the same towel you had used. It was smeared with green and grey colours. Bucky's gaze focussed on it while he spoke.

"I don't want to keep fighting… But if I don't, I don't know how I'm meant to make up for what I've done."

Your nose began to tingle, the tell-tale warning sign of crying. Biting your lip and willing yourself to be calm you nodded, mostly to yourself. It would be a lie to say you understood, but you could genuinely see his sad logic.

It took so long for you to say something that Bucky had already picked up the next tissue paper wrapped product in your line of Lush. He was rotating it in his hands, trying to work out what could be inside.

"I.. I don't think you can… But not, not because… You just don't have to because it's not your fault. Like, you're not the… reason it all happened. So it doesn't make sense that you have to make up for it. That's not your responsibility. If anything someone has to make it up to you."

Bucky looked at you, a small smile on his lips. He was grateful that you weren't changing the subject, shying away from a hard conversation. It wasn't like you were saying anything brand new to him. But it was nice to hear you say it. He believed you more than when the others had said it. It was a sentiment they all had to believe, because there was red on all their ledgers. Not yours. You had no stake in the claim.

"If it's not my responsibilities, who gets that? It's on me, Y/N. I'm here. Capable. Gotta do it… Someone can make it up to me when I'm old."

There was finality in the statement. That was that. So, you did what any good bartender would do.

"Okay… Well… How about I pour you a whiskey and you tell me how you don't think 102 is old?"

There was that laugh again.

Two Foot Soak and Fancy Frees and whiskey fireballs later, Bucky was well and truly on his way to joining the Lush cult. He looked ridiculous, sitting there covered in product and trying to drink while not getting face mask on the glass. After picking Yog Nog shower gel over Snow Fairy, he disappeared into the bathroom to wash himself clean.

When you were both showered and back in pyjamas, you showed him how to do the towel-hair-twist things that he claimed only women knew how to do. "That's sexist," you teased. And when he did it first go, you suspected he had known all along.

"All that's left is body lotion,"

"Sleepy," he read, taking the pot from you. Opening it, he considered the scent. "Lavender,"

"You're good at this,"

"Everyone knows the smell of lavender,"

"Whatever," you said with a shrug, reaching out to scoop some of the lotion up.

Bucky watched you for a second, before snapping out of the moment. Probably not the coolest thing to do - watch a girl cover herself in lotion. Unless you wanted him to watch. If you did - he would have complied.

Watching Bucky out the corner of your eye, you tried not to laugh. He could tell.

"What?" he sighed. "What am I doing now?"

"Nothing. It's just… Winter Solider covering himself in lavender scented body lotion… It's a mood."

Bucky frowned, not sure exactly what you meant. He did know you were happy.

…

After the self-care session, you and Bucky had fallen asleep on the sofa. It wasn't like in the movies where bodies overlapped and comfortable sleep was found. Bucky was sat upright, head rolled back into an awkward position that would have almost definitely caused an ache by morning. Even for a super soldier. You were on the opposite end, curled up with your feet pressed into Bucky. A siren somewhere outside woke Bucky around three in the morning. He carried you to bed, tucking you in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You didn't stir at all.

Each night thereafter you let yourself drift off on the sofa, enjoying the proximity to Bucky and knowing you'd wake up in bed. It was on the cusp of being routine until one particularly stormy night. Wind had been howling for hours, catching somewhere in a drain or gutter just outside the windows. It caused a high pitched whistle that kept pulling you from sleep.

As Bucky laid you in bed, you woke, confused for only a moment.

"Is it like that every time there's a storm?" Bucky whispered through the darkness of the room. You made a grumbling sound, which Bucky correctly interpreted as a yes. "I'll fix it tomorrow,"

"Wait," you grumbled a little more clearly. "Stop sleepin' on th' couch. Come 'ere." You had your hand around Bucky's wrist and were pulling. There was no way you'd be strong enough to actually pull him onto the bed, but there was no way Bucky was going to say no either.

He crawled under the covers with you, trying to decode what it meant that he was in your bed. Meanwhile, you were wide awake trying to work out if he was buying your sleepy mumbling.

Which was worse, the tension of the want to wriggle back into him, let him curl his arms around you and keep you safe, or the anxiety produced by the thought of rejection? At what moment had Bucky turned from customer to friend? From friend to something else? Had those lines ever existed, or did Bucky's unreal history smash any chance of social normalities in his future? Did the carnage leave only constant unknowns and unmapped territory in its wake? Why did he always smell so goddamn good?

…

It was the start of June when Bucky Barnes had walked into a dusty bar seeking solace. It was the start of August when he disappeared into the night, not planning on returning. Alas, Captain America. So, it was almost four months ago he found refuge in the two-room apartment of one bartender. That brought him all the way up to December. Christmas.

"S'not what it used to be," Bucky grumbled from where he was sitting on the sofa, socked feet on the coffee table.

"But you didn't have my eggnog in the 40s," you countered.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and hid a smile with another sip from the mug in his hands. God, he loved your eggnog. He loved a lot of things about you, but he kept that to himself. He said nothing and continued to watch you decorate the small, plastic Christmas tree you'd set up in the corner of the room.

"You're not gonna help?" you asked.

"You're doing fine, darlin'. I'll tell you if you miss a spot,"

"You're a little fuck, you know that?"

"Mmm. Been told once or twice."

You snorted and got back to your tinsel.

Now, you weren't a psychologist and you didn't know shit about the deep trauma Bucky had experienced and still lived with, but you felt he was definitely in some early stage of recovery. The bed you occupied and the sofa bed he did were close enough that you could hear the whimpers of nightmares. Mornings after, you could pretend you hadn't heard. But, when he shared your bed, which he often did, there could be no ignoring the fact that you knew. However, the nightmares had lessened over the past two months. He made more jokes. He checked the windows less. He went over to Stark Tower a lot to keep training. You even suspected he'd made a friend in Sam Wilson.

"Would it be weird if I got Steve a Christmas present?" you asked, standing back from the tree and looking at your masterpiece.

"He'd probably cry,"

"What? Why?"

"Neither of us got much as kids… Everything's special. Don't think he's grown out of that," Bucky explained, trying to sound casual but the admiration for Steve was too thick in his words for that. "What are ya gonna get him?"

"Not telling you. You'll go snitch. You tell him everything," you accuse, spinning on your heels to point a finger. He made a face that said 'yeah, that's valid.' Smiling, you moved to plug the fairy lights into the electrical outlet. "Should we invite him over?"

By the time you'd stood, marvelled at your sparkling beautiful tree, taken a photo of it, then turned back to Bucky, you saw he had his deep-in-thought face on. It was his serious face, reserved for serious things. You put your phone down and sat next to him, nudging your way to curl up under his arm that hooked over the back of the sofa.

"Talk," you said softly.

"This is your house… so you should do what you want…"

"But?"

"I don't know… I… Nothing bad's happened here, you know? Nobody even knows where here is. It's… safe… from everything else," Bucky said, speaking slowly, carefully. There was a vulnerability in his words that made your heart ache.

"Yeah. It is. Okay. That's okay. We can keep it like that… Our little safe space, huh?"

Bucky nodded, then turned to look at you. God, he was so soft. He smiled, turning you into a pool of feelings.

"Thank you," he said, probably not meaning to whisper it.

You just nodded once and looked back at him. How could anyone have ever wanted to hurt him? How could they fucking touch him?

Before you could even work out who moved first, your foreheads were pressed softly to each other's and he'd wrapped you up in his arms. Bucky often smelt like Lush shampoo you'd bought him that he referred to as the "green jellybean" shampoo. And he always smelt like mint toothpaste because he brushed his teeth multiple times a day, citing a lack of access to such good oral hygiene supplies in the 40s as the cause. Under all that was his own scent, that unique humanness everyone has. Bucky's was sweet and warm and it contrasted against the mint much like the coolness of vibranium pressed to skin.

You knew him. You knew he wouldn't go where you'd not invited him.

As softly as you could control yourself, you tilted your head up and kissed your lips to Bucky's. A second. Two. He kissed back. His first kiss since 1945. And for the first time since coming out of Hydra brainwashing in 2014, Bucky Barnes was so fucking happy to be alive.

…

"I've just realised the best reason for this happening here instead of at ours," you said as you climbed the stairs to Steve's apartment. Bucky hummed a response from in front of you. "We don't have to do any dishes,"

"You don't do dishes anyway," he replied, not trying to be funny but simply stating a fact.

"Killin' my Christmas joy, Barnes,"

"Reckon I was the one bringing the joy," he said, reaching out to gently touch the dress you were in.

Bucky banished you to the small bathroom while he wrapped your Christmas gifts the day before, but as you emerged he seemed perplexed. "Feel like maybe you should have this one now," he'd said, then handed it over. The dress was beautiful, probably very expensive and new despite looking quite vintage in style. "Thought maybe you'd wanna wear it to Steve's tomorrow?" Yes. Yes, you fucking did.

When he saw you in it, saw how it fit you and how you glowed, Bucky felt validated and like all his insides were made of goo. Walking up the stairs to Steve's, he felt the same. Maybe worse. Oh, God, maybe like the first time he'd brought home a girl to meet his family. Bucky tried to distract himself from… you, by counting stairs and taking in his surroundings in detail.

Steve's apartment block was very unassuming. Nobody would guess Captain America lived there. Of course, the other residents had seen him around, shock eventually giving way to acceptance. As you arrived at his door, you could smell and hear all the other Christmas Eve parties happening on his floor.

"Door's unlocked!" Steve called from inside at the sound of your knocking.

Pointedly, Bucky locked the door behind him when he came inside, then put the brightly wrapped gifts on the small table beside the coat rack. Steve was far too busy hugging you tightly to notice that though.

"Y/N! You look beautiful!"

"Yeah? Thank you! Guess where this came from," you quizzed, spinning on the spot to make your dress twirl.

"Bucky?" Steve guessed too quickly.

You pouted, annoyed the game was over. Looking over at Bucky you asked, "Did you tell him?"

"He didn't tell me," Steve said. "That's just a very Bucky dress,"

"You're right. He does also look spectacular in it," you agreed, laughing.

The night went on, and it came as no surprise that Steve was an excellent cook. Although he dismissed compliments, citing Wanda Maximoff for recipes, he seemed to almost buzz at how much food you and Bucky consumed. When it was time for presents, you took a bowl of paprika mashed potato with you to the couch.

"Wait… I thought you were moving these to get to our gifts," you said confused, pointing to the pile on the coffee table.

"I like Christmas," Steve replied, shrugging.

Each carefully wrapped box had a sticker tag on it, the handwriting beautiful. Each one with your name on it looked like typed font it was so perfectly replicated. Bucky's, however, all had variations of his name. Bucky. Buck. Buckaroo. Jerk. Punk.

"I wanna go first," Bucky announced, clearly annoying the scene Steve had playing out in his head. "Here," he said, throwing a box at Steve. Obviously, he caught it.

Steve was immediately suspicious of Bucky's enthusiasm. He did his best not to give his best friend the satisfaction he so badly sought. Simply, Steve rolled his eyes when he unwrapped the ridiculous Captain America action figure.

"See, if you press here, he says things!" Bucky explained, reaching over the coffee table to press the button.

The action lit up and a recorded voice proudly announced, "Avengers, assemble!"

Bucky started to cackle. Steve held in a grin, sucking in his bottom lip to bite it between his teeth.

"That's not even your voice," you noted.

Steve pressed the button again. The toy said, "Freedom and justice for all!"

Bucky was absolutely beside himself.

"I… don't think I've ever said that," Steve said, composing himself. "Actually, Buck, before you get too proud, here." Steve handed Bucky a gift. It stopped Bucky in his tracks. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and began to slowly unwrap it. "If I'm a joke, buddy, so are you," Steve said in the best anti-Captain America tone he could.

Bucky held up the teddy bear. The Bucky bear. Unlike Steve and the action figure, Bucky didn't seem embarrassed by the toy.

"Didn't know they still make these," he said slyly. Bucky knew for a fact they did not make them. He'd gone looking out of interest. Unless Steve had found a mint condition, not at all aged bear, which was incredibly unlikely, it meant he had one especially made.

"If you don't want him, I'll have him," you said, reaching out for the teddy with grabby hands. Bucky (the human) smiled as you hugged Bucky (the bear) to your chest.

"That backfired, didn't it?" he grinned across to Steve.

Steve shook his head. "Here, punk. Got you these too."

Steve had bought Bucky three more gifts. One of the past, one of the present, and one of the future. The past was a vintage record player, which momentarily sent Bucky into a hazy daydream. To use in the here and now - a top of the range knife sharpener. The future was the box set of Gadget Man. You wondered if Steve knew how weird Richard Ayoade was.

He wasn't done; Bucky hadn't been kidding about the whole 'had nothing growing up = now overdoes gifting' thing. Steve presented you with what you could only assume was a very expensive fancy decanter, the most beautiful antique brooch, and a book about the women of WWII. "That's the only one Peg had ever approved of," Steve said.

"You remember everything, huh?" you replied. All those months ago, waiting for Bucky to wake, Steve had told you about Peggy Carter and all the other women he'd met in the war. He'd recalled how enraptured you were.

Lucky last was a pair of matching ugg boots for you and Bucky. Buck pulled his on immediately, loving the feeling of his wriggling toes in the softness.

"Okay, so you moonlight as Santa. Cool," you laughed when Steve was finally done.

Steve grinned with pride.

"Our turn. This one is from me," you said, handing two parcels to Steve. "Bucky told me about how you used to draw. Reckon you both need some… non-combat hobbies."

Steve unwrapped the illustrator's pencils and drawing pads. "Y/N, these are beautiful… It's really thoughtful. I'll draw you something,"

"Draw me," Bucky chimed in.

"She's already unlucky enough to see you every day, Buck. Doesn't need your face on her wall," Steve replied casually, nonchalantly.

You adored when Steve and Bucky were soft around each other, to each other, but fuck it was fun when they'd bicker like an old married couple. The swings they took at each other were always held back with love.

"Christ," Bucky laughed. "Anyway, you interrupted me. I wasn't finished. Here," he said, tossing Steve another gift.

A new leather jacket ("…faux leather, Steve, gotta get with it…"), some very specific thing for Steve's bike that you did not understand, and a fondue set. You also did not understand that.

"Apparently…" Bucky started, leaning back on the sofa looking smug as fuck. "…Peggy told Sharon. Funny stories from Aunt Peg's past and all that… Sharon told Sam. Sam told me. So, ah… fondue."

Steve said nothing.

"I don't get it,"

"Why are you like this?" Steve asked Bucky.

…

The mewing sounds of a black cat woke you early on Christmas morning. Bucky sometimes opened the window when he got up, left a little dish of milk out on the fire escape for the stray. It didn't seemed cagey, like it was used to being inside the apartment.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and smiling happily at you and the cat. "Mornin'," he greeted, reaching down to pat the cat's back, just where its tail began. The cat shimmed happily.

"Are you talking to her or me?"

"I mean… Both?"

You shook your head at him while he went about making coffee. The cat followed him, curling around his ankles like she'd been his best friend forever.

"What's her name?"

"Becca."

You nodded, watching the cat. "So, are you gonna come wish me a happy Christmas?" you asked Bucky when he remained focused on the cat, then on pulling bowls and pans from the kitchen cupboards.

"How 'bout you come here and wish me a happy Christmas. Since I'm about to make you special pancakes,"

"Special pancakes?!" you repeated, quickly getting out of bed and slipping your feet into closest pair of ugg boots. Not yours. Bucky snorted as he watched you cross the apartment walking like a little kid in their mother's high heels. When you got to him, he opened his arms and pulled you in close. "What makes them special?"

"If they work, they're gonna be eggnog flavoured… Maybe," he answered, leaving the hug to begin cooking.

After eggnog pancakes and The Grinch, you both pulled out your Christmas gifts.

"Did you actually go into a Lush store?!" you squeaked, quickly taking the lid off the Merry and Bright giftbox.

Bucky sighed. "Yeah… I did… Had to get something without the bath stuff in it," he told you.

The image of Bucky Barnes walking into a Lush store and asking for a giftbox for you was all a little too much. The signature smell of the store was in the air and Bucky looked relieved.

"I love it. It's perfect. Thank you," you said softly, hugging him.

It was his turn. Bucky opened the small box, held up the contents. You'd never seen confusion so perfectly executed in expression before. The pink cat collar looked especially tiny hanging from his finger.

"Notice anything different about Becca?" you asked then.

Bucky immediately started to look around for the cat. She came when he called, and he picked her up. Still confused.

"See that little tattoo in her ear? Means she's yours. Took her to the vet to see if she was microchipped or anything. But she wasn't. She was homeless, and now she's not. She's wormed and flead and registered to us. Turns out she's young too. Just a bit of a big boi, probably all that milk you've been giving her,"

"Y/N... I..." But he didn't know what to say, so he turned to the cat. "Did ya hear that, Bec? You don't have to sneak ya in anymore."

Bucky put her new collar on while you told him that he'd have to take her to her appointment the following week; she needed to be desexed. And, that you had to give her a name at the vet. "I don't know if we can change it now... Didn't want to ruin the surprise, so I just did it. But it's not like it says Bucky on your birth certificate, so…"

"What did you call her?"

"Whiskey,"

"Whiskey… Of course you did. How about I make us some tea then, before you get ready for work? Do a toast to Whiskey?"

…

"Most places are closed Christmas," Bucky stated like you didn't already know that fact.

"Yeah… But I don't know, we open every year and the regulars come. I don't know where they'd go if we weren't open," you explained, pulling your boots on.

"I'll come with you," he said then, quickly dragging himself off the sofa and looking around for something to wear. No real cleaning had taken place in a couple of days. The Christmas spirit was well and truly alive in the form of loose bits of tinsel and stray gift bows. Clothes were scattered about too, and empty shopping bags. You were surprised Bucky hadn't freaked out about the mess.

"You can if ya want, but you don't have to. Don't feel obligated or anything."

Bucky was dressed and at the door before you'd finished with your laces. His beauty was effortless.

"I don't," he reassured, tying his hair up in a bun.

As you and Bucky turned the corner onto the bar's street, you could see a couple of people leaning against the old building. Out of instinct, Bucky's grip on your hand tightened and he walked a little closer to you. Approaching the bar, you recognised Dave and another regular. "Hey, guys," you greeted them, hugging them before opening the bar and letting everyone in.

Like it was a normal day, the tables filled with people and the jukebox was set to bad 70s and 80s rock and country. You poured out a free round of beer and ordered a couple pizzas for the men that had only your bar to call home.

Once everyone was settled, you wandered back over to Bucky, who was residing in his usual place.

"What's a boy like you doing in a place like this?" you asked, grinning and resting on the bar.

"Oh, you know. Good service. Think I might ask the doll that works 'ere out," he replied, trademark Barnes.

It made you laugh. Bucky leaned across and kissed you gently.

"So what will it be? Whiskey? Oh, fireball! For Christmas?"

Bucky made a face he couldn't hide fast enough. "Don't take this the wrong way, darlin', but… prefer your eggnog,"

"I've made you fireballs before at home?"

He tried to hide a smile. "How 'bout that old bottle. Still floating around?"

The 1940 bottle of whiskey. In the wake of Bucky's abrupt disappearance all those months ago, you'd hidden the bottle behind stacks of till rolls and bags of straws. It did nothing but remind you of Bucky, which in turn caused nothing but heartache. In all honesty, you'd forgotten about it until the moment he'd asked for it.

"Not drinking with me?" he asked when you only poured one glass.

"Buck, you know I love you, but I'm just not drinking that shit ever again."

He watched you for a second, studied your face to see if you were going to take it back or laugh like it was a joke. But you didn't do either of those things. Rather, you just smiled. Gentle but sly. Knowing.

You kinda loved him from the get go.

"Think I've been waitin' eighty years for you," Bucky said, his voice shaky, like the words had slipped from the deep, pure recesses of his mind without filter.

"Merry Christmas, James Buchanan Barnes. Glad you're here," you replied, holding your can of Dr Pepper up to tap against his glass of whisky in a toast.

"Merry Christmas, darling."

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Please like, reblog, and comment if you’ve got any feels about this! It took ages to write and was a lot of work. I’d appreciate it a lot. xo Rhi

Tag list: @browngirlmagic @darlingtholland

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes/Reader #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes/You #Bucky Barnes/Y/N #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #mine #Bucky Barnes needs a hug #Recovering!Bucky

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thatqrfanblogger · 4 years

Text

Valentine’s Fic #3 — “Bad Habits”

Hamburr fic (mentions of Burrdosia throughout)

Obligatory PSA b/c this is goddamn tumblr: Smoking bad. Don’t do it. (But seriously, I don’t even do it, I just know people who do.)

He’s never cared for parties. He almost didn’t go to this one, except that one, he needs to schmooze Washington in a context where he’s more relaxed, and thus more likely to listen, and two, he’s been told by his supervisor that he needs to be more of a “team player.” The latter makes no sense to him, because he’s been nothing but agreeable with everyone despite how difficult they’re being and how determined they seem to be to dislike him, but perhaps he’s been playing the wrong game. Well, here he is, at a function that, given the paltry decorations, is apparently meant to be all play and no work, and he’s fucking game.

And yet he is still goddamn losing.

Washington spent their entire interaction distracted and subtly signaling to him that he’d rather be anywhere else, before conveniently being called away from Aaron mid-sentence, one of his teammates dubbed him “the worst” when he tried to make simple conversation, his supervisor told him, “Lighten up, it’s a party,” as if he isn’t aware of that, as if he didn’t show up here for the purpose of showing her that he could in the first place, and Theodosia—

Theodosia’s here with her husband. They’re getting along again. Which he supposes is good for her, even if he firmly believes the man isn’t. A belief he holds because of things she’s told him, not because of his personal relationship with her, he is perfectly capable of separating his feelings from his beliefs, and he told her so himself.

(“That’s part of the problem,” she’d responded, and refused to clarify when he asked her what that meant. Which means he has no means to fix whatever went wrong between them, and he wonders if perhaps that was the real point. Perhaps she’d rather fix things with her husband than with him. (Perhaps she’s right.))

He steps outside for a smoke. Bad habit, he knows, but so is Theodosia, and since she isn’t about to alleviate his stress levels tonight, this will have to do.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Good God. He’s out here to get away from stress; why is its human form choosing to accompany him out here of all places?

“Good evening, Alexander,” he says, not daring to look, “Shouldn’t you be out there? With your friends?” He tries to keep his voice friendly, but he can’t help the knife that slips out on the word friends. It’s one of many edges Alexander’s gained over him without even trying.

(Not that he doesn’t try. Good God does he try. He tries Aaron’s patience every day.)

“I needed a break,” he says simply, stepping right beside him, unnecessarily close, as he blows out a smoke cloud that mixes with Aaron’s.

“You needed a break,” Aaron repeats, “That’s it? No verbal essay? No six-hour speech? No long, tangent-filled rant about why you needed one and what asshole you happen to hate this hour?”

“Not tonight,” Alexander says, and there’s something strangely somber about his tone, almost pensive.

Hmm. That wasn’t the response Aaron was expecting. Normally he would’ve said something snarky about Aaron’s supposed inability to voice an opinion, as if ability were the same as action. Is there something wrong?

He dares a glance at Alexander, and it’s more transparent when he’s seeing him, seeing the dejected body language, far less energetic than usual, the deep sigh as he exhales more smoke, the distant look in his eyes, reflective, just as the stars reflect off his eyes in turn, the white starlight accentuating the deep brown and—

Aaron quickly looks forward again. As he brings his cigarette to his lips, he feels Alexander’s gaze on him, and tries to convince himself that the hot, uncomfortable feeling in his lungs is just his body rejecting the nicotine, reminding him not to do this again, but he feels trapped in this somehow, in more ways than one.

“I heard,” Alexander says, uncharacteristically slow, “you had a special someone on the side, Burr.”

“Had, yes. Past tense.”

“Ah.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“So I take it you didn’t bring her with you tonight, then.”

“No,” Aaron says, turning back to Alexander with a hard glare, “She brought her husband, actually.”

“Oh, shit!” Alexander laughs, more nervous than amused by the sound of it, his smile fading when he takes in Aaron’s expression. “Sorry. That… that can’t be easy for you.” His eyes are so sincere, as if he really does feel for him, almost as if he cares about Aaron.

Which is ridiculous. Of course he doesn’t. And Aaron does not owe him any more information. He turns away.

“So what about you? What are you doing out here?” he asks. Not because he wants to know, just because… because. It’s only fair that Alexander share, since he dragged it out of Aaron. And if he starts in on one of his long speeches again, perhaps Aaron can tune him out as usual and they can go back to normal, instead of… whatever’s going on right now.

“Aaron… do you think I deserve to be here?”

That was… more vulnerability than Aaron was prepared for. But well, he is the one who asked.

“Of course.”

“You don’t… you don’t think it’s just because of Washington?”

“Well,” Aaron says, “none of us would be here if Washington didn’t at least tolerate our presence, so he’s certainly got something to do with it.”

“No, I mean— Never mind. Forget it.”

Aaron’s cigarette is burning low, but he doesn’t want to leave, not just yet. He considers lighting another, but he’s not sure if that’s what he wants.

(Perhaps it’s better not to be sure; whenever he is sure what he wants, it evades him. Perhaps it’s better to never want at all.)

Fingers brush against his, and with a start, he realizes it’s Alexander’s hand, dangerously close to his own.

“Sorry,” Alexander says softly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He turns. Alexander is staring right at him, like he wants something. Aaron can’t be sure what it is, but his eyes, his eyes pin him with this questioning, curious, and almost desperate look. Alexander is searching for something Aaron isn’t sure if he can give, reassurance perhaps.

(Or perhaps something else entirely, but Aaron will keep that thought to himself, Aaron will get his nerves under control and treat Alexander like the nuisance he is, instead of giving into some bodily reaction that is probably just withdrawals from Theodosia, nothing more.)

“You work very hard, Alexander. Perhaps too hard sometimes, but I do not doubt your dedication. And anyone else who does is fooling themselves.” The words come out stiff and awkward and stilted, lacking his usual smoothness, but he’s doing his best to put verbal distance between them, everything feels too close and too fast, his heart is beating too fast, and his feet are rooted where he stands, gaze glued to Alexander’s beautiful, captivating eyes.

Perhaps he is fooling himself, when he tells himself that this is just about missing Theodosia, that what he’s feeling is nerves, that he hasn’t had the thoughts racing through his head right now, that he hasn’t wondered about this since the moment Alexander tapped him on the shoulder and asked him his name and stared at him with the utmost wonder and admiration, as if starstruck by Aaron’s very presence.

Alexander has long since gotten over his hero-worship, but he sees a glimpse of that look in his eyes tonight, and he can’t look away, can’t help but want to believe he hasn’t gotten over it entirely, can’t help but want.

Alexander looks down and smiles, almost bashful. His hand brushes Aaron’s again, but this time Alexander holds on, laces their fingers together, and steps closer. “Someone said I was sleeping my way to the top.”

“Ridiculous,” Aaron says, trying for a scoff but too breathless to fool anyone, even himself.

Alexander looks up at him again, eyes dark and wanting. “I’ve actually never slept with any of my coworkers before.” His eyes flit in the direction of the party for a moment, perhaps to indicate Theodosia, who’s probably more than enjoying herself with her husband right now, not even thinking about Aaron, but then his gaze returns to Aaron’s and he smiles at him, teasing. “Any advice?”

Breathe in, breathe out. “Don’t get caught.” In, out. “Wait until you’re somewhere far away, where they won’t see you.” Even as he says this, though, he squeezes Alexander’s hand tight, not wanting to let go of this, not wanting to let him go.

Alexander isn’t smiling anymore. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

His gaze is hard. Aaron swallows.

Fuck it. “Me neither,” Aaron says, and closes the distance between them.

When their lips touch, Aaron feels like he can breathe again, breathes in Alexander’s sweat and scent and cologne and whatever the hell he’s put in his hair, which he grabs and pulls with his free hand. Alexander moans and shudders against him, and when his own free hand touches the small of Aaron’s back, it feels like being struck by lightning. Alexander is a strike of lightning, more raw and electric than anything he’s ever touched, and it pulses through Aaron as he moves his hand up his spine, up, up, up, until at last he cups the back of Aaron’s neck.

They catch their breath for a moment, resting their foreheads against each other, when the door slides open.

“You know,” says his supervisor’s voice, sounding amused, “when I told you to lighten up, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, but whatever works.” She laughs, which in turn makes Alexander laugh, and Aaron joins in despite himself.

Aaron turns to her and quips, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had at a party.”

His supervisor laughs again. “Good to hear it. Well, don’t let me interrupt.” She goes back inside.

Alexander breathes in Aaron’s ear, and the electricity courses through him again. “Should we take this somewhere else?”

“My place or yours?”

Alexander beams, eyes wide and shining and smiling along with his reddened, wet mouth. Aaron remembers that they’re still holding hands when Alexander pulls him, and for tonight, Aaron lets him.

(Only for tonight, he tells himself. This is not going to become another habit.)

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 5 years

Text

Falling for the Holidays Ch. 28

Title: Falling for the Holidays Ch. 28

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 1629

Series Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children. However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Smidge of angst (like it’s barely there), and Fluff!

A/N: Holy smokes, I am so sorry it’s taken me five-ever to get the new chapter out! Please forgive me and please enjoy the chapter!! Happy Reading!! xx

The next day, you slowly swam to consciousness as Dean’s scent swarmed around you. There was no hint of Clorox or rubbing alcohol, just Dean entirely. It provided a type of calmness and safety that you’d never felt before other than when around the green-eyed man. You reached over to his side, needy for some physical contact, but instead was greeted with cold empty sheets. Groaning, you lazily pushed yourself up into a seated position, bleary eyes scanning the room. Seconds later, with clear vision, you noticed that everything looked the same as always, nothing out of the ordinary.

Getting up from bed, you shuffled your way to the bathroom, locking the door behind you and emptying your bladder, then brushing your teeth, followed by twirling your hair into a sloppy bun atop your head, disregarding brushing your sleep-tangled locks. As you placed the hair tie in place, your eyes caught glimpse of the beige bandage on your forehead. At that moment, everything that happened came flooding back to the forefront of your mind.

It wasn’t a dream!

Overcome with panic, you rushed out of the bathroom and into the hallway, spinning on your heels as you took in your surrounding. Your eyes widened once you realized that you weren’t at the hospital. You were back at the Winchester home! Why? How? Dean?!

From where you stood in the hallway, just outside of Dean’s childhood bedroom, you could see the blinking red numbers of his old alarm clock. It was a little past noon and your sanity could barely keep up with what was going on. This was definitely not dream! If it were, you wouldn’t have the bandage on your head. Or maybe it was, and you got the injury while you fainted… or something?

Without a care of what you looked like, drowning in one of Dean’s flannel shirt and short sleeping shorts that hid beneath your top, you dashed down stairs, preparing to brace yourself for whatever you were going to be greeted with.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, everything just kind of hit you all at once, as if your brain was finally able to function properly. The smell of cookies filled the house, the lights on the Christmas tree was on, but there was no one around except for one person sitting in John’s allocated armchair… but it wasn’t John. You knew who it was the instant you laid eyes on them. You could recognize the back of his head anywhere, and the shape of his broad shoulders. There was no doubt in your mind.

“Dean?”

Dean’s head turned slightly at the call of his name, a smile stretching across his cheeks. “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.”

Tears filled your eyes and quickly cascaded down your cheeks. You didn’t know where everyone was, but that didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that Dean was here. He was home. He wasn’t in that hospital; he was here with you.

“Y-You’re here…” you muttered, hastily stopping right in front of him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes following your movements. “The doctors said that I should stay at the hospital for another day, but said since it was Christmas, spending time with the family and my best girl would be a better environment for healing. I just gotta take it easy,” he smiled, “really easy,” he bit his bottom lip, eying you up and down, “so no sex for a while,” he grumbled with a pout, grabbing hold of your hand and tugging you a step closer, so that you were standing between his legs.

“I’m glad your feeling better,” you giggled, rolling your eyes at his joke. Leave it to him to make a sex joke during a serious moment.

Silence ensued and you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of being in the same room as him and not at the hospital. With an affectionate smile on your lips, you took the time to watch and observe him, making sure that this was all real. You reached out your hand, cupping his cheek as you used your thumb to brush over the stubble that had grown over the days. He was handsome. Always so handsome.

Dean leaned into your touch, relishing in the warmth your hand provided. He’d missed you. He wished he could hold you and love you properly, show you low much you mean to him. God, he was in love with you, and he couldn’t recall if it was a dream or not, but he could have sworn there was talk about marriage back at the hospital. He remembered someone saying that he needed to wake up if he wanted to marry you, and damn… not marrying you would be the biggest regret in his entire life. If waking up meant you’d spend the rest of your life with him, then he had no other choice… he had to wake up.

A smiled spread on your delicate features, admiration exuding in your expression for the man sitting in front of you. He was real. This was real. He was right there, nuzzling his scruffy face into your unscathed palm. Having Dean here with you, by you side, was the best Christmas gift you could have ever hoped for. He was the best gift in your entire life that you could have hoped for. You were convinced that God had made him for you and you for him. He brought the both of you through multiple trials of hell, only to prove that this thing between you and Dean was the real deal. He’s your soulmate.

“I love you,” you blurted, eyes still misty with adoration.

Dean’s green orbs locked with yours and he grinned. “I love you too.” He pulled at your hand again, pulling you even closer towards him, but you hastily and regretfully stopped, standing your ground as your shin hit the soft cushions of the armchair. “Baby…” he protested.

“The Doc said you had to take it easy.”

“Sitting on my lap isn’t going to kill me,” he dragged at your hand again.

“As much as I want to, I’m not taking that chance,” you jerked your hand away, “you’re still healing and I’m not looking to make things worse.”

“Please.” His voice was soft and his eyes even softer. “I just want to hold you. I need you in my arms. Please…”

How could you possibly resist him? There was no way you could say no, especially when he asked so tenderly. “Brat,” you hissed, the corner of your lips tipping upwards.

“You love me,” Dean cooed, happy to get his way.

Carefully, you sat on his lap, eyes scanning his every feature. His hair is mostly tamed, eyes greener than usual, nose a little red from the cold of winter, lips frosty pink, and the only freckles on his face that you can see are dusting across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The scruff clinging to his jaw only added to his handsomeness. If there was one word to describe the man that held your heart, it would be beautiful… inside and out.

“More than you can imagine,” you grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his lips.

Dean let out a content sigh, not realizing how much he needed that. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. This was his heaven.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the moment, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you pulled away from a disappointed Dean. “I thought the Doctor said to take it easy?” Sam teased, arms crossed and leaning on the entry way of the kitchen and common room.

“Sammy, you always have the worst timing,” Dean groaned.

“Well, mom is getting antsy—”

“Liar,” Jess popped out of no where. “Don’t blame your mother,” she chides, lightly slapping Sam on his arm. “This guy is the one getting antsy. He wants to open presents,” she reveals as Sam’s face grew red.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh Sammy?”

“Shut up. You’re lucky your injured, otherwise I’d have to show you up and kick your ass,” Sam groused.

“Alright you two, stop your bickering,” Mary appeared, a large tray of cookies in her hands. Behind her, came John with a few glasses of milk in his hands, and much to your surprise, everyone else started filtering into the living room from behind him.

“Everyone is still here!” You chirped, excitedly and heart filled with fluttering warmth.

“Well, duh. It’s Christmas,” Jo beamed. “Besides, we’re already here. And… Aunt Mary’s cookies are too good to resist!”

“She’s not wrong!” Benny appeared, shoving a cookie into his already stuffed mouth.

A chorus of laughs filled the room before Mary instructed everyone to take a seat in the living room. As time went by, and presents were opened, you couldn’t help but feel thoroughly content. If someone were to ask you what Christmas joy sounded and looked like, it would be everything in this moment. The laughter, chattering, and all the bright smiles surrounding you.

“Did you like your gifts?” You twisted in your seat on the floor, between Dean’s legs.

“Yeah, but none of them compares to the one sitting in front of me,” he admits with a smirk.

You roll your eyes in response, giggling at his cheesiness. “Wow, you’re such a sap.”

“Only for you Sweetheart.” He winks.

Hopping onto your feet, you carefully resume your seat on Dean’s lap. “I love you,” you say, leaning in and giving him a quick peck.

“I love you.”

A chorus of protests and moaning and groaning interrupts the moment once again, but this time you and Dean can’t help but laugh.

Like it? Please reblog and share with your friends. I would also really appreciate the feedback!

Say Something Nice Here!

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #reader insert #dean winchester AU #dean winchester series #falling for the holidays #ch. 28 #squirrel-moose-winchester

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donaldresslerfanfic · 4 years

Text

Anniversary.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3260

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Seventy-Eight

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Maggie.

"You don't need to do this, it upsets her" Don said, holding a struggling Alma in his arms.

"I only change her earings once a month"

"All the ones that you've put her are the same"

"It takes me literally two seconds to put them" I latched the last earring on her, watching her wail and begin to cry.

"It's okay we're ready" he said lifting Alma over his head, she instantly stoped crying because she loved to be lifted up high, she put on the biggest smile on her face, Don pulled her to his chest then lifted her up again, making her laugh.

"Let's head down" I said, taking the bag and placing my hand on his back.

We were at our all inclusive hotel in Miami, on our little anniversary/vacation week, and our hotel had a direct exit with the beach, so everyday after brunch, we would head downstairs to the beach for a while, and strolled around the city at night.

When we got down we picked a spot that was relatively empty and set the towels and a little beach umbrella to cover mostly alma, I loved being under the sunshine. I mostly laid face down and watched how Don made sand mountains for Alma, just because she loved to tear them down with her hand, she loved the sand, and she absolutely loved the beach.

Don was absorbed, filling up a bucket and placing it face down in front of Alma, she then lifted it up and saw the sand castle amazed. I moved from my spot and crawled to him, sprawling on top of his crossed legs, he gave me a little look and smiled at my very obvious attempt to attract his attention.

"Hi" he said, leading his hand to my waist.

"Hi" I said with a smile "so, I've got plans for tonight"

"Okay, I'm listening" he ran his hand over my waist to my sides, hanging lazily over my butt.

"I talked to the hotel management and they told me that they do have someone that gives them babysitting services that they have worked with before, so someone can come and take care of Alma for the night" he instantly gave me a face like he didn't like that idea at all "but-" I interrupted with my finger up "we're not leaving the hotel, we can have dinner here, it's show night so they have live music and we can get drunk and all that good stuff"

He meditated a little, giving Alma a few glances over my shoulder.

"Okay, that sounds fine"

"I don't want it to sound fine, I want it to sound fun. I want you to get drunk with me"

"We have a child to take care of"

"We can be functional adults with a little headache, and you know it doesn't take much effort to get me drunk" Don gave me a smile, then leaned in to kiss me on the lips.

I turned around over him and looked at Alma. She was busy trying to shovel sand into the bucket, looking very concentrated. I leaned back, landing on Don's chest and smiled. This moment right here was my little piece of heaven. The love of my life, my daughter, and that was it. I felt Don's lips on my shoulder, then go up on my neck.

"Now I understand what you mean when you tell me you missed me"

I smiled more, turning my head to the side and looking at him.

"I'm glad" he leaned in to kiss me again, giving me a tight hug.

"I love you" he said over my lips " and I'm very glad you married me" I turned to face him again, hugging him by the shoulders and kissing him longer.

We heard Alma begin to cry, and when I turned around to her voice, I bolted out of Don's lap and ran to catch her, in two seconds she'd stood up and walked over the beach towel towards the beach, but the sand was hot so she instantly regretted it.

"What in God's name are you doing" I said cleaning the soles of her feet and giving her a look, she had tears on her eyes and was pouting, on the verge of crying.

I soon felt the heat under my own feet so I dug them under the sand were it was colder, watching Don reach us and look at Alma's feet.

"Think she's okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine" Alma leaned and extended her arms to Donald, he caught her and held her to his chest. I swear this kid wasn't dumb, and I confirmed that when she gave me a smile.

"This was a whole thing to get me away from you I swear, look at her"

Don looked down at her, Alma wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. Don hugged her back and gave me a chuckle.

"Wanna go to the beach pumpkin?" I asked Alma, she led her eyes to me, "beach?" I asked again, she nodded and said 'ich' which was very close to beach, she usually said the end of a word or if you asked her something she would ask it back, babling words but adding the same tone you used.

I took her and motioned at Don.

"Ask Dad if he's coming with us"

She made the same motion I'd made with her hand, motioning at Don to come with us.

"Okay, let's go" I began walking to the beach, but I know Don probably trekked back and put all of our things together to make sure nothing got touched, though we didn't have our phones with us, or anything valuable, he had brought a few dollars because Alma would surely want some icecream as soon as she heard the whistle of the man who sold it.

I reached the shore and placed Alma down in the wet sand, and she instantly bolted towards the waves, I held her by the hand and walked with her, feeling the first rush of water hit us, I heard her gasp at how the cold water covered her to her waist, and retreated back. I looked down to make sure she was okay, she was looking out in the distance, moving her feet towards the water again.

I looked back, finding Don looking at us from the shore. I was 100 percent not carrying the baby into the sea by my own, I had Don carry her and walk with her until he was a bit submerged and could make her swim around, but the waves were a little stronger today and I wasn't sure we were going to be able to do that.

"The waves are stronger today" he said from behind me, bending over to the water as it reached us again and pooling a bit on his hand, leading it to Alma's head.

"I mean, we're not going to keep her away, we should head back to the hotel and try the pool instead"

"Yeah, I think that's better" he replied, lifting Alma and walking back to our things. Alma began crying as soon as he pulled her out of the water, she began to wiggle trying to get free, but obviously Don didn't let her go. I heard him tell her that they were going to the pool, but I doubt she understood that.

He headed straight back and I took my beach bag and the towel that was on the floor, shaking it a bit as I walked behind him. Alma was bawling as she looked back at the beach, but it wasn't long until we reached the pool and Don made her look at it.

"See?" She quieted down, looking at the pool "here, we're going in"

I sat at one of the lounge chairs and watched as Don rounded the pool and entered by the shallowest side, Alma instantly began flaying her arms and leaned forward, he held her face down and moved her around.

I walked to the side where they were at and crouched.

"Here" I motioned at him, he walked to me and I cupped some water to wet his shoulders. I had tried to make him get an even tan but he was so freaking white, it was pointless, the least I could do was to avoid him getting all red. I led some water to his face and his head, damping his hair.

"I'm going to ask for a drink, want some?" I asked, he gave me a look and moved Alma from side to side.

"A lemonade would be fine" i nodded and stood up, placing my hands on my hips.

"I'm going to ask for a Mojito" he gave me a look and a little chuckle, walking around in the pool.

"I'm getting a beer then"

"That's better" I said walking back to the lounge chair. I motioned at one of the waiters, and asked for our drinks. It didn't took a while to have them placed in a little table next to me. God bless all inclusive.

After maybe half an hour of Don in the pool with Alma, he finally stepped out when he saw she wasn't moving as much.

He walked to me as I was halfway done with my mojito, I extended a towel in front of me and caught Alma, holding her to my lap as I dried her. Don took the beer bottle and gave it a swig, sitting at the end of my chair.

"You're not going in?"

I shrugged and looked at Alma, cleaning her face and her hair, she mewled and complained.

"Wow, someone needs an urgent nap"

"I'm not that old" he said. I gave him a chuckle, leaning to my bag and pulling Alma's bottle already filled with her formula. He extended his hand for me to give him the bottle, but I stood up and held Alma to my chest.

"It's okay, I got it" I said rounding the chair and walking towards a little bar that was placed in the side of the pool, asked the girl that was tending if she could heat the bottle up for a few seconds then stood next to it as I waited. Alma had placed her head on my shoulder and was looking into the distance. Yeah, she was going to take a long nap after her bottle.

I returned to our spot, already giving Alma the bottle for her to start drinking. She could very well hold it with both her hands. When I reached the spot Don had laid back properly in the chair and had pulled one for me next to him. I laid Alma instead since she was seconds away from going to sleep. I sat next to her, feeling Don's hand land on my lap. I watched as her eyes began to drop little by little as she worked on finishing the whole bottle.

I had leaned to Don's chest and after she finished and fell asleep, I left the bottle in the bag and laid my cheek on his chest, looking up at him.

"Parenting is exhausting" I said with a little sigh, he placed his hand over my sides, rubbing my waist through my summer dress.

"I was seconds away from proposing you to go on vacations by ourselves"

"That's the worst idea you could've had, thank God you didn't ask me"

"Yeah, I was going to miss her too much" he looked to Alma and gave her a smile, leaning the beer bottle to his lips one more time.

"Hey" I called, his eyes landed on mine as I sat next to him. "We agreed that soon as she fell asleep, it goes from family vacation to anniversary" he laughed, a full long mocking laugh, leaning to me and trying to shut me up with a kiss. "I'm serious" I muffled over his lips.

"I know you're serious that's what's funny" he said with another chuckle and pulled me to lay on top of him as he leaned back on the chair. "It's funny how you're so jealous of your own baby"

I pouted and laid my head on my hand.

"I saw you first" I excused. He laughed again and rubbed my sides.

"And you'll probably see me last cupcake, she's leaving us in 18 years"

"But I don't want that either" I complained and rested my head on his chest.

"Well, looks like you also need a nap" he patted my head and rubbed my neck "you really can't hold your licor can you, you didn't even finish the mojito"

"I'm not drunk" I excused, sitting straight and looking at him, he gave me a twist of his eyes brows and finally nodded.

"Okay love" I leaned I again, kissing his lips, then extended my arm to grab the mojito and looked at him with a little smile as I worked on finishing it.

"Do you still love me even if you have to take care of drunk me?"

"You take care of injured me, that's even more of a pain in the ass than drunk you"

"That wasn't the question" I sat on the chair and pulled me in for another kiss, I smiled over them and led my hand to the back of his neck, running my fingers over his short hair. "Mm, that's a good answer" I said pulling back a little and giving him a little chuckle. "I'm going to-"

"You're not taking another one I can't carry the both of you, we're on the fifteenth floor" I twisted my eyebrows and left the glass in the table.

"To the pool" I finished, standing up and taking my dress in one swift move.

"Okay then" he said, relaxing back on the chair, I looked back and motioned at one of the waiters to get Don another beer.

Most of our days had been like this, brunch, pool, a little time alone as Alma slept, though the actual night of our anniversary we did spend it alone in the restaurant of the hotel, we saw the live band playing, we ate, and before I decided to get waisted I had caught myself looking at Donald for way too long, and I felt like it had been a while since I'd seen him in detail. I was very pleased to find that he was still as hot as always, or maybe more. His arm was propped against the back of my chair, and I'd leaned on the table, supporting my head on my fist, looking at him.

He looked at me quickly as he took his drink and led it to his lips, but stopped when he caught me staring, giving me an embarrassed smile.

"Stop" he said, takin a sip.

"No" I said leaning to him and placing my arm over his shoulder "you're like... The actual love of my life"

He gave me another smile, letting his arm drop to my waist and rubbing my side.

"And I'm not drunk" I excused, he chuckled and shook his head.

"I know you're not drunk" I saw eyes move between both of mine, staring me down "and you're also the actual love of my life"

I smiled dreamily at him, leading my hand to my glass, he did the same, we said our cheers, then we kissed, and I believe at some point we got moderately inebriated and I don't know how we managed to get to the room because I don't remember much after the live band stopped playing and they turned the dinning room into a dance floor. But we'd made it up and I was awakened by Alma yelling from the living space we had in the suite. I looked up at the side table and took my phone, giving the time a glance. I heard Alma yell at me again, being beconed by Don to yell 'mom' for me.

"I'm coming" I managed to get out as I sat on the bed and stretched my back, I smiled when I heard Alma shriek in excitement because I'd waken up.

I wrapped myself in a robe and walked to the other room, watching Alma peak from behind the couch, she saw me a smiled, bouncing and shrieking in excitement, I snuck my hands under her arms and pulled her to me, kissing her cheek.

"How are you princess?" I asked, looking at her and fixing her messy blond hair. I rounded the couch and sat next to Don, who gave me a welcoming smile. "Have you been up long?" I asked, looking at him.

"A good hour, it's weird she didn't wake you up, she's been yelling a lot" he placed his hand on my shoulder and rubbed it "want to head down for breakfast or are you waiting a bit for lunch?" I took his phone from the table and looked at the time, it was one hour until lunch.

"I'll just gave a coffee and wait"

The whole morning I had a slight headache and wasn't very in the mood for anything, but we still went out and still made most of our vacation time, we had to return the next day and I didn't wanted to spend it in the hotel room sleeping my hangover away.

We'd gone out to the mall, and had Alma play in one of the kid zones the mall had, we were sitting on the highchairs on one of the sides of the playroom, watching over her.

"I got a text from Liz" Don said out of nowhere, I turned my head to look at him "she asked how I was and things like that. Then she invited the taskforce to her place as soon as we had time, she said she needed to tell us something"

"And what do you think she's gonna say?" I asked, running my hand on his back. He shrugged and turned to look at me.

"I don't know, but I don't think she's coming back anytime soon. She's not like me"

He'd resumed his watch on Alma, and I pondered a little in his words.

"She'll come back at some point, I don't think anyone wants the taskforce to shut down, specially Raymond".

He nodded in agreement, but didn't say anything else. I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

"You'll be fine" he chuckled, turning his head to me.

"Of course I'll be fine, nothing happened to me"

I clicked my tongue and gave him an eye roll "you know what I mean"

"Yeah I know" he said with a smile of his own. I heard a faint "mom" coming from my side, and I looked down at Alma on the other side of the half wall, she was giving me a little pout and she was probably about to start bawling. I knew that little face, so I just hopped off the high chair and took my bag.

"I'll be right back" I said to Don, walking around to playground to the entrance and towards Alma, I picked her up and ushered her, she hated being dirty, and I didn't like leaving her with a dirty diaper for much time either, so I took her to bathroom and changed her.

We enjoyed our last day in Miami, and good thing we did, because what Liz had to say to Donald and the team didn't make him feel any better.

#donald ressler x oc #donald ressler #the blacklist #the bl fanfic #donald ressler fanfic

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leigh-kelly · 4 years

Text

On the Inside

Just sharing a little piece I did for my non-fiction class about my first time in a psychiatric hospital.

It’s probably a bad idea to go three nights without sleeping. It’s probably a worse idea to do so while withdrawing from two SSRIs and an antipsychotic. But anyone who has ever been in college knows that sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures and in my sophomore year of college, I had reached those desperate times. If you do either of the two things about, it’s probably a good idea to at least take a nap before you drive two-hundred-fifty miles, but as is apparent, I wasn’t exactly the queen of good ideas in those days.

I drove. It was four days before Christmas and the holiday lights blurred together outside of my window. I had had enough Starbucks double shots to drink that I wasn’t tired, not even in the slightest. I won’t lie to you and say I remember any more than that. The truth was, I shouldn’t have even been driving. As the drugs left my system, I was shaking, jittering, trying to stay afloat in the real world, even as circumstances tried to bring me somewhere else. It wasn’t until I was in my childhood bed at my parents’ house that I started to cry. There was nothing in particular to cry about, my mom had made my favorite dinner as a homecoming surprise and she kept talking about going to get a Christmas tree. But suddenly, after feeling like I was perfectly fine in the car—you know, minus all of the blurry Christmas lights—I couldn’t function in the slightest.

The last thing I remember before going up to the bedroom was my mother telling me that I was an idiot for going days without sleep and existing solely on espresso. In hindsight, she was right, but at the time, it made me extremely angry. I was twenty years old, I could make decisions about my body for myself. The last thing I needed was her meddling and trying to control me.

That’s another thing; control. While the primary reason I stopped taking all of my pills was because it was impossible for me to take them and still stay up for three consecutive nights, the secondary reason was control. From the time I was born, I wanted to be in control of everything. As a child, my grandfather called me Sammy Breakstone—from the cream cheese commercial, “the most demanding girl alive”—and it had only gotten worse as I got older. The problem was, as much as I wanted to control my body and not be reliant on medication to exist, it was the only thing that gave me some sense of control. With all of that lost, I could do nothing but cry.

I cried until everyone else went to sleep. I was thrashing and moaning in my bed and after hours of not knowing what was wrong with me, I finally came to recognize that what I was going through was withdrawal—made worse by lack of sleep. For a brief moment, I thought about waking up my mom, but that good old control thing reared her ugly head and I knew I had to deal with it myself. I didn’t even bother to put a bra on, I just crept down the stairs to my car, almost falling like I’d done so many times when I’d gone downstairs to smoke a cigarette after my family had fallen asleep. I was still crying as I got in the car and the Christmas lights were all still blurry, but somehow, miraculously, I made it to the hospital and found my way to the psychiatric emergency room.

Did you know that when you check into a psychiatric facility, they take away your shoes and your cellphone. I guess they don’t want you to hang yourself with your shoelaces or try to call anyone the moment you regret your decision. And trust me, the moment they took away my things, I regretted it. I screamed for a good twenty-minutes about my shoes, begging them to give me them back. I didn’t care as much about the cell-phone. I’d reached the point in my life where I had very few, if any, friends to turn to and I knew that my mom would have lost her mind if I called her at one-o’clock in the morning to tell her I’d checked myself into a hospital without telling her. But the shoes, the shoes were something that really got to me.

Have you ever seen Girl, Interrupted? I had, probably a hundred times, and read the book at least half as many as that. During that period of my life, I was obsessed with it. It seventeen, I’d been given the same diagnosis as Susanna Kaysen and I thought that watching her be healed would somehow heal me. Spoiler alert, it didn’t. But that being said, watching the movie almost every night did nothing to prepare me for what it was really like on the inside. It was both loud and quiet at the same time. The sound is almost impossible to explain, but that’s what it was. For a while, I was alone in a big room with a dozen stretchers, just sitting, waiting, waiting, waiting. I thought the loneliness was the worst. I was wrong.

If I thought I was making a racket about the shoes, I wasn’t prepared for the next patient they brought in. He was wailing and shrieking and I curled my legs to my chest, trying to shield myself from his presence. While I was alone in my corner, still crying, hours later, doctors surrounded the screamer and someone pulled out the biggest needle I had ever seen and shot him in the arm. What came next, I wasn’t prepared for, and honestly, I thought it was a myth from the movies, but a nurse came running in with a straight jacket and strapped him down to the stretcher that matched mine.

You’ve probably never seen anyone strapped down with a strait jacket. I’ll tell you this, it’s exactly what you’d think it would be like. As if I wasn’t already afraid before, I was terrified. I kept thinking about how I’d yelled about the shoes and how maybe I was close to being in the same situation. For a control freak, the thought of having my entire upper body restricted sounded like a total nightmare and even though I couldn’t stop crying, the impeding threat of that straight jacket put me on my best behavior.

As it turns out, being on your best behavior in a psychiatric hospital means you get ignored. Of course, I have no idea how long I was ignored for because without a cellphone and without clocks on the wall, I had absolutely no sense of time. All I can say is that with me and the man in the strait jacket trapped in a room with no windows, it felt like an eternity. At some point, my body started twitching and I knew that the detox I was going through was happening in full force, but still, I was left alone.

However many hours later, the doctor came for me. She took me out of the room and into an office, apparently presuming that I could be around pens and picture frames without threatening to off myself with something. I stared at the doctor, she stared at me. It was my turn to talk, I guess, but how do you open up to a stranger when you feel like the world is spinning out of control? I had absolutely no idea, so I took a second option.

They don’t tell you this in the movies, but the easiest person in the world to lie to is a strange doctor in a psychiatric hospital. It would have been easy enough to tell the truth, tell the kind-eyed doctor that I’d stopped taking my medication because I wanted to be in control of my own body for once in my life, that I didn’t want medication influence every single thing I thought and felt. But I didn’t. Instead, I told her that I had stopped taking my prescriptions because I was studying for finals and the pills made me tired. I told her that I was going to start taking them again, I just needed to come to the hospital because I was having a rough time until I started taking them again.

When you lie, they don’t commit you. After however many hours I was in that room, I knew that I didn’t want to spend days and weeks there. All I wanted to do was feel better, just for a minute, and go home to get a Christmas tree with my family. Even with the doctor in the room, the loneliness was suffocating and I just wanted my life to get back to normal. If it meant I had to take the pills again, if it meant I had to give up some of my own control to get some of the chemical control, I was willing to do it.

After I talked to the doctor, she brought me back into the big room. The man was still strait jacketed to his bed, but he was sleeping. The fear of having to spend the rest of the night there set me into a panic and I started crying again. The doctor didn’t say anything when she let me out, so what if that meant she was working on paperwork to make me stay as long as she wanted. I had no idea of the laws of involuntary commitment in New York State and didn’t even know if they applied to me, since I had brought myself there. What if the called my mom? What if she wouldn’t get me out?

I had worked myself into such a state by the time a nurse came in that it was probably more likely that they would have committed me. Instead, the nurse gave me a shot of Ativan and told me to sit back and relax. Easy for her to say, when she got to go home at the end of her shift. Easy for her to say, when she didn’t have to sit on a bed next to a guy who actually had to be restrained for whatever reason.

Once the shot worked its way into my system, I was calmer than I had been in as long as I could remember. I laid back on the stretcher and closed my eyes. Everything in the room faded away and I fell into a deep sleep. Before I knew it, I was being shaken awake and when I opened my eyes, the doctor was standing above me. I took a deep breath and pushed myself up, sitting at eye level with her. I looked down and noticed the papers in her hand and knew what time it was. I was going home.

Of course, in order to go home, I had to lie again. Looking back now, twelve years from the future, lying the second time was a bad idea. The nurse who did my discharge paperwork asked me if I had someone to drive me home. I figured since I’d already driven for four hours while withdrawing and on no sleep, a twenty minute drive with some Ativan in my system wouldn’t be a big deal. So I took back my shoes—finally, I had my shoes again—and I walked out to my car. The Christmas lights were there again, sparkling outside of the hospital, and in my drug induced calm, I took a deep breath. For the first time in days, I felt like everything was going to be okay.

I drove home, blinded by the lights on the side of the road and sinking into the deepest calm. If only I could actually feel calm like that, without a shot of a benzodiazepine running through my system, I would be great. But maybe I would never be normal, maybe my life would be punctuated by emergency trips to the psychiatric ward because I kept believing that I didn’t need to take my pills. The fact that this wouldn’t be my only time rushing to the emergency room—or in the case two years later, being rushed by my parents who drove into the city where I was living, pulled me from work and forced me into their car because they believed I was absolutely losing my mind—loomed heavily over me as I drove. I thought of Susanna Kaysen again, the book that shadowed me constantly; “Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is… Crazy isn’t being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever.”

It was five o’clock in the morning when I pulled into my parents’ driveway. It was night four without sleep and I tried to remember how long you were allowed to stay up without totally losing your mind. I guessed that I didn’t have to worry about that much, since I already had, but the Ativan had started to grow heavy in my blood stream, my bones felt like they were carrying the weight of a giant. I clumsily crept back up the stairs to my bedroom and stripped out of the clothes that were tainted by the hospital. I found clean pajamas, left on my dresser by my mom who must have done my laundry—the prodigal first born returns from college, if only she knew I wasn’t such a prodigy but an actual disaster. I crawled into bed and finally, the exhaustion that had creeped into every crevice of my body engulfed me. I fell into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, my mom came in to wake me up. When she left the room, I reached for my purse and listened for the rattle of pills given to me by the hospital. I wanted to fight, I didn’t want to take them, I wanted to be stronger than the need for something to control my psyche. I was a writer, writers needed to feel their feelings in order to express their vision to the world. But then, I thought about the man in the straight jacket, I thought of how I never wanted to go back there, and I swallowed four pills dry. A large part of me felt like I was giving up, but fear won, fear got me in the shower, fear helped me dress and walk back down the stairs.

We were going to get a Christmas tree. It was snowing outside and in any other set of circumstances, it would seem like the perfect day. My mother had her four kids together again. It was Saturday, my father didn’t have to work. We could pretend to be the picture perfect family, even if one of us was still falling apart inside. I went along with it, I got in the back seat of my mother’s SUV and I plastered a smile on my face. I was home, I was supposed to be happy. I had grown so accustomed to playing a part that it wasn’t a challenge for me.

As much as I had always wanted to cut down my own Christmas tree, we never did that. We selected from a bunch of pre-cut evergreens and my sister complained that every single one wasn’t perfect. But what was perfect? I was supposed to be the perfect child, the one my parents pinned their hopes and dreams on, but I wasn’t. I didn’t know then that my mental illness would become so severe that I would have to drop out of school. That I would try dozens of pills to make me better over the next decade before I finally found a combination that worked. All I knew then was that we had to pick out a Christmas tree and that I had to keep my late night visit to the hospital a secret. There was a part I had to play, and I was going to play it for as long as I possibly could. It was probably another one of my bad ideas, to suffer in silence, as you’ve probably guessed, I was never very good at ideas, was I?

#non-fiction #mental illness #writing

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