#pre-series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gumnut-logic · 5 months

Text

“Another boy?”

Jeff grinned. “Yeah. Another one.” He couldn’t help but stare at the photo that had landed on his screen as a good luck token from Earth.

He did of course, know about Lucille going into labour the night before and it was for that reason he hadn’t had the sleep he probably should have pre-history making Mars landing. But honestly, to get this signal from that little blue planet a good eight months away…his heart swelled…his beautiful baby boy had a shock of red hair that screamed their Irish ancestry down through the hundreds of years since their family had left the old world.

Lucille sat holding him, looking tired but ever so proud. Her dark hair was tied back and the sparkle in her eyes brought a lump into his throat. Her mother, pink hair and all, sat beside his wife holding his two eldest boys on her lap. Scott had his hand on Virgil’s arm as the now second youngest reached over towards his baby brother, a frown of concentration on his face.

“He’s beautiful.”

Jeff startled a little. Berry was breaking regs and leaning over the back of Jeff’s pilot couch, her straps unfastened. The cockpit was pretty snug in the lander, most of the room taken up with safety equipment and interfaces, leaving little for the padded personnel support.

He shot an eyebrow in her direction and she smiled a dare back at him. The astrogeologist wasn’t one for breaking the rules, she just liked to taunt him a little.

Ju, in contrast, was checking her harness was secure a second time. “Creating your own crew, Tracy?” Her auburn eyes smirked at him. “Aiming to replace us?”

He grinned. “Could be.” Dare he mention that his four-year-old eldest could already name all the controls in this cockpit? His grin widened. “But we can’t replace the first person to set foot on Mars, now can we?”

Berry snorted, a little abashed. But it was, after all, her part to play once they made touchdown. The words had been rehearsed, the order of exit decided. For very specific reasons, the first human on Mars was going to be Kate Berrenger.

Berry had worked her ass off to make this mission a reality. Her specialisation onboard was astrogeologist, but honestly it was far more. The woman was talent on legs. It was she who had designed much of the equipment they were deploying on the surface, she who had hunted and gathered the funding, she who had put in the sweat and tears to make this work. And Ju wasn’t far behind. The two of them were quite a powerhouse pair. Jeff considered himself and Lee lucky to have been chosen for this mission. Of course, he’d known Berry for a very long time, worked with her for most of it, but it wasn’t a given that the team that had helped populate the moon would also be the first on Mars.

“Given how many life support pods we’re dragging down there, I bet your boys could drop by in about thirty years or less.”

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Berry?” The thought was tantalising. Not to put pressure on any future careers – Lucy would kill him – but he would hope that at least one out of three might follow in his footsteps.

Maybe?

He turned around and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “Major Tracy, tell your team to secure. Two minutes to separation.” Sinclair was his usual grumpy, nervous self.

“Roger that, Orbiter Control.”

He glared at Berry and the redhead bit her lip with a smile, green eyes dancing, before sitting back and strapping herself in preparation for the sequence.

She didn’t stop smiling though.

“So watcha gonna name him?” Lee prodded him with his eyebrows from beside Jeff.

A last glance at the photo before he returned to separation prep, fingers tight in his gloves. “Are you going to remember this one?” An eye in the engineer’s direction.

“Sure.”

Running his fingers over the controls, Jeff ran through pre-flight. “Name my eldest.”

Lee grunted, his eyes darting away. “Not important right now.” A flick of a switch. “I’m green across the board.”

“A-ok.” Jeff ran through the last sequence of checks…and ran them again…for luck. “Orbiter Control, we are green for separation.”

“Roger that, Cornerstone. Separation in sixty seconds on my mark.” A breath. “Mark.” Another pause. “Good luck.”

And the countdown began.

Jeff ran his eyes over everything again. The great ship that had journeyed so far from home was preparing to split in half. The lander at the top of the vessel was to pull away from the orbiter and its massive propulsion engines to begin the historic descent to the Martian surface. Eight months in space, so much preparation time and so many sacrifices before that, had all led to this moment.

History in the making.

His eyes combed the readouts watching like a hawk. The computer had control, but computers could only do so much.

Still green across the board.

Quiet, his fingers touched the screen where the photo had been. “John Glenn Tracy.” A breath. “His name is John.”

Displays shifted as the countdown hit zero and machinery grunted. The Cornerstone drifted apart from its propulsion module and floated free far above the red of the Martian surface.

Jeff eyed his instrumentation and sent a prayer to his family back home.

Today was an important day.

-o-o-o-

Lee watched Jeff side-on as he clicked his helmet into place. Taylor was a realist and he knew he wouldn’t be here without the crazy pilot.

It was Jeff’s drive that had gotten them this far. It was like riding a rollercoaster of determination and outright luck. From the Airforce, through space training and their sojourns on Alfie, Lee had tied himself to the man’s coat tails and hadn’t looked back.

God, it had been fun.

Jeff Tracy was a tsunami that crashed through everything and took everyone with him.

And Lee went willingly.

When they had been chosen for this mission it was a dream come true.

The countdown dropped to zero and machinery clunked as the lander separated smoothly from the orbiter. She drifted momentarily before the computer engaged thrusters to push her gently out of orbital alignment.

“We are five by five for atmospheric entry.” The words he uttered were almost rote after so many practise simulations back on Earth.

Atmospheric entry on Mars was considerably different to entry on Earth. Terran atmosphere was more like soup in comparison to the barely-there Martian atmosphere. Still made for a warm entry though, friction was friction after all.

“Trajectory achieved.” Jeff’s voice was confident and firm. As always.

Lee eyed the computer readouts, mentally ticking off procedure as the lander dipped into the outer reaches of the atmosphere and shifted to its entry interface.

Forces wrapped themselves around Lee and his body responded. After so many months of weightlessness, this was going to be a challenge.

“Ready for deceleration burn.”

The landing module sported early entrance stage retro thrusters designed to slow the vehicle to reduce the friction on the spacecraft’s skin. A new innovation that had proven essential in many return trips to the moon in preparation for the creation of a habitable dome on the satellite.

And here they were attempting to do something similar on Mars.

Cornerstone shook as her thrusters engaged exactly on time.

The craft roared.

Lee revelled in it.

“Three minutes to subsonic.”

“I really hate this bit.” It was barely heard above the commotion.

Lee snorted to himself. Ju was an astronaut in every sense, but she had a thing regarding atmospheric entry and the microscopic bits they could be exploded into if something went wrong.

“We are on track, Ju. Not a thing to worry about.” His voice reassurance itself, Jeff could sell the moon cheese if he so felt like it.

“Orbiter to Cornerstone. Tracy, we have a problem.”

Lee blinked. Sinclair’s voice was ominous.

“Orbiter, detail?”

“Cornerstone, weather has kicked up on the landing site. We have a developing dust storm. Looks to be a big one.”

“Orbiter, we are fixed for descent. Please advise severity.” Jeff’s tone was frustrated and Lee couldn’t help but echo it.

Data landed in Lee’s console and while Jeff continued to monitor their descent, Lee examined the situation. “We have a category five dust storm developing over the landing site. Orbiter is right, she looks like she could actually do some damage.”

Mars dust storms were generally all gust and no guts. The air density and pressure forced storms that were dramatic to look at, but generally little more than a windy day on planet Earth. This one, however... “It’s an anomaly.”

Jeff’s eyes darted from his console to Lee’s, grey eyes assessing the data. “Ju, your opinion?” They had to make the decision fast. Altering their trajectory now was possible, but fuel was precious. Any extra used now narrowed their safety margin for later.

The meteorologist’s fingers darted over her board. “Unusual strength, I agree.” Lee glanced in her direction as she frowned. “But Cornerstone should be able to handle it.”

“‘Should’ is not a good enough assumption, Zhang.” Jeff was frowning. The lander’s retros cut out as they reached a safe enough velocity to manoeuvre and Jeff’s hands curled around the yoke.

Lee’s finger darted over his board and brought up the outside cameras.

The red planet stretched out before them, her slightly blue tinted atmosphere contrasting against the rust of her surface.

That surface was churning.

Ju was outraged. “How the hell did that develop in the time it took us to separate from Orbiter? She was as calm as a sleeping baby!”

“I don’t care about then, I need now. Zhang, recommendation!”

The woman grunted. “I say go. If you think you can handle it. It is well within Cornerstone’s specs. Your decision, Major.”

Jeff’s lips thinned, his eyes darting across the readouts. A moment and he hit the comms switch. “Orbiter, we are go for landing. We’ve come this far, might as well go all the way.”

“Tracy, are you sure?”

“Humanity never got anywhere taking it easy.” He glanced at Lee. “Hold onto something.”

Cornerstone began her turn, orientating her nose to the sky so her retros could lower her safely to the Martian surface.

Or in Jeff Tracy terms, ‘spinning so she could park her ass’.

As if reading Lee’s mind, the glint in Jeff’s eyes was something to both be wary of and to celebrate.

Out of the four of them, Jeff was the most reckless, the most daring. But as he was the pilot, it sometimes called for it. Jeff had already saved them from becoming just another crater on Earth’s moon by pulling the most unconventional manoeuvre ever seen on the satellite when a landing thruster misfired on approach. The craft had shot off on a completely unpredicted vector that would have ploughed them into moon dust...if Jeff hadn’t reacted as fast as he did. He flipped the craft with its remaining three thrusters and, shedding the majority of their velocity in an energy dump that had Lee’s stomach on the outside, planted their craft like a sack of potatoes.

They had landed roughly, but they had landed alive and Lee was still amazed his friend had been able to do that.

So, if they were going down in a cloud of red dust, Lee was quite happy to have Jeff at the controls.

Not to say that Lee himself wasn’t handy with a spacecraft. He had his own experience to be proud of. He flew, but his realm was more the mechanical. He was here as back up and maintenance.

For those times the Tracy fix wasn’t quite enough.

A sigh. He eyed the billowing clouds below as they rapidly approached. They were history in the making. Whatever happened here today would be taught in schools for decades to come.

He had faith in Jeff. They would land, Berry would take those first important steps on a new planet, say the rehearsed words, and join Neil Armstrong in the halls of fame.

But first they had to get there.

-o-o-o-

Jeff swallowed as the cloud of dust loomed beneath the lander. Numbers scrolled across his console. The computer should be able to handle most of it. Its programming was solid. Lucy had made sure of it.

The thought of his beautiful wife...little Johnny.

Dust swelled and wrapped around their craft and visibility became...bad.

Cornerstone shuddered.

Mars dust was a bastard of a thing. Ever so fine and carrying a tiny electric charge that on occasion interfered with instruments.

This was one of those occasions.

“We have blackout on three primary sensors.” Damn. Two others flickered, the screen fritzing a moment.

His fingers darted over controls in an attempt to compensate for the data loss.

Lee was muttering beside him and stabbing at his board. “Rerouting to back-ups.”

Their screens flickered and cleared somewhat.

Numbers plummeted.

Beyond the blinding dust the digital readout that marked the surface of the planet approached.

Far too fast.

Retros crucial to start the landing sequence did not fire.

Shit.

It took seconds for him to compensate and move to manual, but that was enough for the craft to fall many more metres so, when he did manually trigger the burn, they were lower than they should be.

Cornerstone roared as he pushed more energy into braking.

“Lee, we need primary thrust or we are so much pancake!” Her four landing thrusters were not slowing them enough. The math in his head was churning out a fatal result and their history-making attempt was fast turning into a shitfest. “I need that power now.”

“You have it.” Short and sharp as Lee’s hands darted over his console.

On Jeff’s board the main thruster icon lit up.

It wasn’t meant to be used this way. The main thruster was for launching. It was far more powerful than they needed to land. But if he didn’t slow Cornerstone, she was going to take on a big red rock and lose.

The computer ran calculations and spat numbers out at him.

“Firing main thruster.” The icon flashed, Cornerstone roared and g-forces wrapped around all of them and squeezed.

No one said anything for the second of burn that slowed their descent ever so rapidly. Everything shook, the ship’s superstructure groaning.

Jeff’s eyes tracked their velocity, counting down as the surface of the planet rushed towards them. Visually they couldn’t see it. Virtually it looked ready to slap them in the face.

But the main thruster compensated, slowing the craft just enough for the landing rockets to do their job.

Jeff killed the big one and concentrated on the landers to take the last of their speed.

Cornerstone slowed. Five hundred metres. Four hundred metres. Three hundred metres. Two hundred metres. One hundred metres. Landing struts deployed. Fifty. Thirty. Twe-

The whole ship slammed to a stop, its structure groaning and tilting for a second before righting itself. Alarms began shrieking, red lights flashing all over his board.

What the hell?!

The readout had them stalled nineteen metres ‘above’ the virtual surface. Virtual was obviously not lining up with actual.

Another metallic groan and the ship tilted slightly again. This time it stayed tilted. No doubt a landing strut had taken the brunt and folded.

One red light screamed at him more than the others.

Beside him, Lee confirmed his fears. “We have a fuel leak.”

Shit!

He was unstrapping himself even as the craft groaned again. Something sparked not far away. Lee was a split second behind, listing the reason for the malfunction. The exterior hull, and the mangled landing strut responsible.

A rupture in the external hull. Hell.

Jeff undocked a diagnostic pad and slapped it on his belt.

Martian gravity made itself known. So many months without its native pull, Jeff’s body protested the sudden movement, but they didn’t have time. Precious fuel was escaping.

He hit the ladder leading out of the cockpit at a run, feet locking around the struts and his hands pushing him down. The whole sensation of gravity, but only a third of Earth’s was baffling. His body caught between expectations and stumbling along the way. Ultimately, he partly fell his way down through the access ports, hands grabbing at the railings barely preventing him from colliding with each deck.

Cornerstone’s fuel tanks were attached to her four landers, with a fifth fueling her main launcher.

It was number three that was the problem.

His boots hit decking and he scrambled for the airlock. Beside him Lee had a toolkit and they both barrelled through the door sealing it behind them.

The pumps cycled and the pressure dropped, their suits shifting with the change, and then the elevator was lowering them to the ground.

As the doors opened, they were faced with a wall of swirling dust.

Jeff did his best to ignore it but it fast became a problem. The maintenance tab in his hand was directing him to climb ladders up the side of the vehicle, but he could barely see the tablet, much less the ladders themselves through the red dust.

“Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.”

“Right behind you, Jeff. Wouldna want to lose you either.”

It was simple, but reassuring nonetheless. Fumbling, he found the landing strut. It was skewed in a way that even in the thick swirling haze, he could see was far from the right angle for correct support.

Hooking a foot into the lowest rung, he snagged his friend and urged him up the ladder ahead. If anyone was going to save their asses in this situation, it was Lee.

If Jeff could land it, chances were Lee could fix it. The man could jimmy two sticks and a rubberband into whatever was needed. Hell, he’d done almost exactly that on the moon at least twice.

This was just another challenge. Jeff had landed them, no matter how roughly. Now Lee would be able to fix it.

Jeff clung to that maxim.

But the question wasn’t about skill, it was more about whether or not they were going to damn well be able to see what they needed to see in order to do what needed doing.

Red obscured everything. The speed it was all flying past spoke to his earth senses of gale force winds, but the pressure on his suit was little more than a windy day.

Not enough to affect the spacecraft.

Mars was obviously educating them early that this was not Earth. Not in any way shape or form.

Their clamber up the strut was partly a blind one, but they made it to the damaged side of the craft. Through a mixture of touch and virtual readout, it became clear that the outer hull had buckled, forcing the inner hull into the fuel tank. Most of it had held, but there was a small microfracture and the pressure differences were bubbling solid state fuel into gas at a rate that, if it didn’t deplete the tank, would likely cause an explosion that would solve all their problems with a history-making finality.

Jeff climbed up beside Lee as he fumbled at his tool kit. The tank was dislodged off its mounts, something they would need to remedy later, but it was still inset from the hull.

Jeff put his body in position to block the main flow of the dust and wind, jamming himself up against the still warm hull of his ship.

A little less dust swirled over the bubbling crack and Lee didn’t hesitate. Before Jeff could blink, gell bondtape landed smoothly over the area, the engineer sealing it with an electronic nudge from a set-wand. The electricity lined molecules up like soldiers and locked them in place bonding them to whatever the tape was adhered to. They had used the same stuff on Alfie two years ago when one of their habitats had tried to make one with the lack of lunar atmosphere.

An extremely simple solution for a very dangerous problem.

His heart, still adrenalin-fueled, refused to believe the danger was over.

As if reading Jeff’s thoughts, Lee smirked at him through the haze. “Never leave home without it.” A sigh as he ran a gloved hand over the seal. “This should hold for the short term. Once we are sure the strut is stabilised, I’ll give it a good going over. Hopefully, we can lose this storm in the process.”

Jeff would have liked to claim it couldn’t blow forever, but both of them knew Mars storms could be unpredictable and last for months if they so chose to.

Lee ran a scanner over the strut’s connection to the launcher. How the hell the engineer could see the readouts, Jeff didn’t know.

For all future excursions to the Red Planet, Jeff was going to recommend helmet based heads-up displays.

“She’s safe for now. A little bent, but she isn’t going to fall over. Hopefully, once we get out some of the heavy lifting equipment we can bend her back into shape if we need to.” Lee stood up. “Hull patching is going to be an ass, though.”

Jeff’s lips thinned and he dropped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “One thing at a time. We’ve got this, Lee.”

Lee grunted. “How the hell do you keep spinning the optimism, Jeff?”

A snort. “What? You’d prefer doom and gloom?” He shuffled back towards the ladder. “That’s it, Lee, we’re never leaving this god forsaken rock. Welcome to your new home.” He raised up his hands and as if the gods declared him some kind of Moses for that very moment, the dust clouds parted as if they were a red sea of sand. Sol, so much smaller this far away, poked its weak light through the hazy atmosphere and lit up the bare red rocks of their temporary home. While on one side, the billowing wall of dust storm swirled on its way, on the other red mountains rose up to a weak blue-red sky.

Lee shifted down beside him. “You know, I figured you had an agreement with the gods of physics, but isn’t this a little ridiculous?”

Jeff was too captivated with the view to respond.

Cornerstone was on the plateau they had been simulating for months on end. She stood tall and proud, if a little crooked and pinker than her promo shots.

“We made it.” The words fell from his lips.

Lee clung to the ladder beside him. “Yeah, that we did.”

Sunlight flickered weakly in the atmosphere and a gust of wind dragged more dust across the view.

Jeff shifted. “We better get inside before that mess starts up again. Take advantage of being able to see where we are going.”

Lee didn’t respond immediately, his eyes combing the jagged horizon. “Thanks, Jeff.”

A frown. “For what?”

“Getting us here.”

“It was a group effort, Lee, you know that. Couldn’t have done it without the team. Couldn’t have done it without you. Hell, you just patched a hole that could have blown us up.”

Lee grunted.

“Are you guys going to hang outside all day, or do we have to guess the sitrep?” Berry’s tone was tight.

“Roger, Berrenger. Situation secure. On our way back in.”

It wasn’t until they reached the elevator that he realised exactly what had happened.

And who he was.

By the doors, protected by the shadow of the lowered module was a single footprint that hadn’t been blown away by the wind.

“Aw, hell.”

Lee, as always, stepped up beside him. “Yeah. I guess that makes you the first man to walk on Mars.”

-o-o-o-

Ju was furious. “It was Kate’s right to be the first!”

The vacs in the airlock had sucked everything off their suits to the point Lee was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end despite the helmet.

As it was, his hackles were somewhere near orbit as they stood in the conference room that doubled as a mess. “And what exactly do you think we were supposed to do? The ship was going to explode.” It was simple to Lee. Sure, he was all for equality, it was a given, but they would’ve been all equally dead if he and Jeff hadn’t done what they did.

“You didn’t give us a chance!”

“I’m the engineer here, Zhang. There wasn’t time! The decision was made and we are alive because of it.”

“Then why weren’t you first, Taylor? Why the hell was Tracy even out there? He’s not the engineer!”

Beside Lee, Jeff straightened. “Standard procedure, Zhang. We work in pairs. If you think I was going to let Lee go out in that on his own, you’ve been serving while wearing a blindfold.”

The short, dark-haired woman stepped up to the Major, her eyes fiery. “It was Kate’s place in history and you stole it!”

Lee flared. “We did what was necessary! This was not a publicity grab, for Christ’s sake! It didn’t even occur to us until we were returning. It was about saving our lives, Zhang. How can you possibly think it was anything else?”

“Because it always is.” She waved a hand at Jeff. “Always the hotshot. Always the first. Always the hero. Do you ever think, Tracy? Do you ever think about those you barrel past?”

Jeff glared down at the meteorologist. “I will not apologise for my achievements, Zhang. This was an honest to god accident.”

“Due to decisions made by you.”

“What the hell, Zhang?!” Lee pushed forward. That was taking it too far.

“We should never have tried to land in that dust storm. We should have waited it out.”

“You said we could take it!”

“But it wasn’t my decision, was it?” Her tone was a positive hiss at Jeff.

“Screw you, Zhang-“

“Taylor!”

“Jeff-“

The man was still the damn tall walking wall when he wanted to be. “Lee, stop.” He glared at Ju. “I will not apologise for my command decisions either, Zhang. What was done, is done.” His stance softened as he turned to Berry.

She had been ominously quiet the entire time.

Jeff sighed. “I’m sorry, Kate.”

The red-haired astrogeologist straightened away from the bulkhead, her arms still folded across her chest. Lee had always liked Berry. She had her head on much straighter than Ju ever did.

Ju was like a terrier with a bone.

The bone variety today was definitely Jeff-flavoured.

But there was only kindness in Berry’s eyes as she looked up at the Major. “This sucks, Jeff, it really does.” She looked down a moment. “But it is what it is and I guess it was what it was meant to be.” A shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for third on Mars. Still pretty momentous, I think.”

“Kate, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Jeff took a step towards her. “It’s not official. It was a stupid repair. We can do the ceremonial step onto the planet anyway. No one has to know.”

Her head tilted to one side. “So, the ship miraculously healed itself?”

“Berry-“

She closed the gap between them, placing a hand on his arm. “Jeff, honestly, it’s not what is important here. You took the first step. We still have plenty of others that need to be taken. My ego can keep.”

Zhang flared again. “Kate, this was for women-“

“Ju, enough. It doesn’t matter! Humans have just landed on Mars, for god’s sake. I would have thought we would be a little less worried about the gender of the person taking the first step and more worried about the fact we did it without blowing up.”

“It was supposed to be you.” Ju wilted in defeat under Berry’s glare.

“Well, it was Jeff, and I think he is no less deserving than any of us.”

Jeff’s voice was quiet. “Are you sure, Kate?” The use of her first name was a rarity for the major, there was a friendship between those two almost as long as the one between Jeff and Lee. Hell, if Jeff hadn’t met Lee’s sister, Lucy, the engineer wondered what might have eventuated in that department.

Not that he had ever had to worry about that. Jeff was a complete sop for Lucy. His sis had the man wrapped around her little finger.

If that made Lee feel just that touch more protective of the crazy pilot, then so be it.

Kate straightened, her shoulders strong. “I’m sure.” Then her lips curled up a little. “Besides, my lines were so much more elegant than ‘Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.’”

Jeff snorted and shrugged. “If I’m going to make history gotta make sure my best friend is with me.”

Zhang made a disgusted sound and stormed out of the room.

Shoulders dropping, Jeff sighed. “Guess I need to work on my phrasing.”

But Lee was too wrapped in the moment, a little too proud and grateful to care. “She’ll live.”

The grunt from Jeff reminded Lee that they still had months to share living quarters with the fiery Ju.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” Berry squeezed Jeff’s arm before reaching out to Lee as well. “Thank you, both of you, for getting us down safely. We’re on Mars, guys. Let the party begin.”

The smile in her eyes was honest and ever so heartening.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #jeff tracy #pre-series #younger tracys #the mars mission #lee taylor #nuttyfic reblog

40 notes · View notes

highfunctioningflailgirl · 7 months

Text

In Good Hands

Dean is eighteen and bleeding out on the carpet of a seedy motel room when it happens. He’s going to blame it on his malfunctioning brain later on, on the concussion that accompanies the through-and-through in his thigh. On the drugs that will be coursing through his system when he comes to, many hours later, in a hospital bed, miraculously alive. But right here, right now, left for dead, with unconsciousness licking at his vision, it’s a remarkable moment, even with everything weird he’s already seen in his life.

Dean has no illusions about the severity of his injuries. If his father or even Sam were here, he’d stand a chance. But they’re on a food run and oblivious to the attack on Dean or the fact that his femoral artery has been severed and is pumping his life juice onto the smelly brown carpet.

He’s tried to use his belt as a tourniquet, and in spite of the blow to his head and the room spinning around him like crazy, he’s managed to get the belt around his thigh, but he’s too weak to pull it tight enough and keep it that way. Hell, he can barely see what he’s doing, and his fingers are slick with his own blood.

Dean’s phone is on the floor, screen smashed and as dead as he will be soon.

His heartbeat spikes in a brief burst of panic.

No chick flick moments.

The fear in his chest begins to flicker. It fades in and out, along with the room. He’s tired. So, so tired. The pain in his leg lessens. His hands are tingling. His eyes are slipping closed.

I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry, Dad.

Dean hears his heart thrum in his ears. Hears it flutter. No– there’s an actual flutter. He feels a gust of air. What…?

Dean forces his eyes back open. The room is bright. Too bright for Dean or his oxygen-starved brain to understand what he’s seeing: a shape, a being, haloed by light. Curved black shadows spread out behind it. Are those…?

Dean cannot finish the thought. It unravels, dissolves. Dean’s eyes close.

Something touches him on the shoulder. He senses heat. Brightness penetrates his eyelids. Warmth floods him. A feeling of safety. Of being caught and held.

The pain goes away.

Blackness comes.

XXX

“We found you just in time,” John Winchester tells his son the day after, sternly, as if the attack had somehow been Dean’s fault. “The doctor says it’s a miracle that you’re not dead. If you hadn’t tied that tourniquet…”

His father breaks off, and Dean, drowsy from the meds, doesn’t realize that his dad is fighting tears. Or that Sammy is standing by the side of his bed, lanky, timid and big-eyed.

Floating on morphine, Dean tries to hold on to the memory from last night, to the light, the presence, the touch, but it gets lost, erases itself to a flutter, a whisper…

“Some angel must’ve been watching over you,” he hears his father say as he slips back into sleep.

A/N: I am obsessed with the idea that Castiel had been assigned to watch over Dean long before he rescued him from hell.

#suptober23 #no.4 #nimbus #fanfiction #pre-series #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #john winchester #sam winchester #spn #blood cw #hurt/comfort #hurt dean

31 notes · View notes

samanddean76 · 6 months

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester Additional Tags: Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Pre-Series John Winchester, Kinktober Prompt: Cuddling, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Cuddling, Cuddling, Dean Being The Very Best Brother To His Sammy, Cuddling - Winchester Style, Protective Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester Series: Part 17 of SPN Kinktober 2023 Summary:

Dean needs to hold Sam close. But this isn't cuddling, or snuggling, or some chick-flick moment worth of tender emotion. No, this is Winchester style. The way it should be.

@spnkinkevents�� SPN Kinktober 2023

#wincest #@spnkinkevents #spnkinktober2023 #Kinktober Prompt: Cuddling #pre-series #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #Winchester Style Cuddling #spn #supernatural #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own

12 notes · View notes

lady-wallace · 6 months

Text

Whumptober Day 29 (Buddy Daddies)

Final Buddy Daddies fic for @whumptober More Rei angst today with some headcanons about his mother and why he sleeps in a bathtub.

~~~~~~~

Prompts Used: Scented Candles, Troubled Past Resurfacing, 'What happened to me?' Fandom: Buddy Baddies Character: Rei

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Kazuki was an enigma to Rei. He didn't understand his insistence on keeping the apartment clean, or on making three meals a day (and forcing Rei to eat them). Making sure Rei showered, cutting his hair, and buying furniture to fill up the empty spaces. Well, maybe that made a little sense to Rei because it meant there were more things to hide behind in the event of an attack.

But perhaps it was because Kazuki was so normal. Rei had never been around people like that. He'd watched them on the outside living their lives. It was that curiosity that had led him to heading off to live on his own before he realized that he wasn't good at fitting in with normal people.

Even now, Kazuki was humming happily to himself as he came back to the apartment after shopping, calling to Rei while he sat on the couch playing games.

"Hey, I'm back! Grabbed some stuff for dinner."

Rei didn't reply. He had figured out that Kazuki would talk no matter if he did or not. He seemed to have a need to fill a space and it was, a lot of time, a welcome distraction to Rei.

He glanced over toward the kitchen where Kazuki was putting stuff away and saw him setting out a couple expensive looking candles on the counter.

"Got some candles today—thought they might make the place smell better."

"Why?" Rei had to ask.

"Dude, it reeks in here," Kazuki replied as he rummaged around for a lighter. "Trust me, you'll be able to tell the difference."

Rei turned back to his games, not wanting to bother trying to figure out another weird—or perhaps normal?—thing his roommate was doing.

That was until he caught the scent of the candles wafting through the house, sugary, warm and—

Gentle hands caring for a scraped knee.

A smile hovering over him, surrounded by long black hair.

"Stay here, don't move!"

A bathroom, inside the tub—broken glass all around.

"I'll always love you."

"Stay here and cover your ears."

Two men carrying something under a blood-stained sheet.

A sharp sting on his cheek, falling to the floor. "Soft like your mother."

"I'll always love you."

Rei gasped aloud, staggering to his feet, his hand coming to his head, dizzy from the sudden assault of—what, memories? Definitely memories, but from where?

"Rei? Hey, you good, man?"

He had to stop this. He grabbed his pistol and shot the candle, exploding the glass and wax into a hundred pieces and leaving a bullet hole in the wall behind it as Kazuki dove away with a shriek.

"Wh-what the hell man?" Kazuki demanded. "The landlord's gonna kill us for that!"

Rei didn't reply, he couldn't. He had to get out of here, away from the scent.

He hurried out of the apartment, stopping once he was out of the street, breathing in fresh air and effectively clearing his head.

What happened to me? he wondered, looking down at his shaky hand. That kind of thing wasn't supposed to happen to him. His father had made sure he was trained better than that.

SLAP—Soft like your mother

"Mother," Rei whispered.

He didn't remember his mother…he thought. But, that must have been….

"Rei!"

He startled as Kazuki jogged up to him, slowing down as he realized Rei wasn't going to go anywhere.

"Hey, man, I hope I didn't offend you or anything," he said. "I just thought the candles would be nice. Are you allergic or something?"

Rei shook his head.

"Then why the hell did you shoot it, man—those are expensive, you know!"

"I don't know," Rei finally replied, hands clenching. "Can you shut up?!"

Kazuki looked like he had slapped him and Rei might as well have. He'd never addressed the other man like that before, barely paid him outward heed.

"Rei, are you all right?"

"Leave me alone," Rei replied as he pushed past the other man and headed back to the apartment, going directly to his room. He needed to clear his head. He sank onto the bed, trying to take deep breaths to steady himself.

The same images flashed through his mind: Soft hands, long black hair, warm sweet scent of sugar, bathtub, broken, shouting, broken glass…

Rei didn't realize he had been clenching his hands so hard until he looked down to see his nails had made red crescents in his palms. He let out a shuddering breath and loosened his hands, still finding dangerous tremors in them.

Why had this affected him so much? Why had he allowed it to? He couldn't understand why those memories he didn't even know he'd had just showed up all of a sudden, uninvited, just because he had smelled a damn candle.

He stretched out on the bed, lowering one arm over his eyes as he tried to clear his mind. But everything just felt like it was such a mess and he didn't know what he was going to do.

XXX

Rei slunk down the stairs later that evening when he heard Kazuki banging around in the kitchen. It wasn't a familiar feeling to him, but he felt somewhat awkward, almost…well, a little bad about yelling at Kazuki earlier. While it technically was his fault for buying the candle, he couldn't know what had happened in Rei's head because of it.

Rei took a seat at the counter, hunched slightly. He could see the candle that he hadn't shot sitting to one side and tried not to let it make him uncomfortable. He watched Kazuki cook for a few minutes. The man always seemed so sure of himself while he was in the kitchen, doing things Rei had never seen anyone do before. But then, he could barely make toast, so what did he know?

"You hungry?"

Kazuki's words startled him out of his strangely rambling mind. He shrugged.

Kazuki continued, moving on to crack eggs, tossing the shells over his shoulder into the sink.

One missed and spattered raw egg on the counter and Kazuki glanced back with a sheepish grin. "Aw, missed. Was sure I'd get it that time." He chuckled, then let out a sigh with a brief smile. "My wife always hated it when I would do that."

Rei watched him clean it up and toss the shells into the trash before going back to cooking.

"You know, the only reason I bought the candles is because they reminded me of my wife," Kazuki went on. "She always had a million of them around the house, I was afraid she'd light the place on fire." He smiled fondly. "

Rei furrowed his brow. Kazuki never talked about his wife. Rei knew she had died, that was all. He'd seen one picture of her before Kazuki had put it into a drawer, clearly stating that it was none of Rei's business. So it confused him that he was bringing her up now.

"That scent was her favorite," Kazuki added.

The memories flashed back through his mind again and he squeezed his eyes shut before another memory popped into his head.

"This one is my favorite, doesn't it smell good, Rei-chan?" Warm flame, lighting the dark room. A soft kiss on his forehead through a curtain of black hair. "Maybe it will help you sleep."

Something caught in his throat and before he knew it he said, "My mother's too."

It surprised him and apparently surprised Kazuki too because he paused briefly before resuming his work, pouring eggs into a pan.

Rei was still confused about why he had even spoken when Kazuki said, "Memories can hurt sometimes. I still get sad when I think of her. But, you know, I guess that's how you know someone had an impact on your life."

But what if you don't remember? Rei wondered.

XXX

Rei never usually slept well. He was too hyperaware of his surroundings to fall into more than a light sleep. Tonight was worse though, because on top of his usual trained anxiety, he could not stop the images flashing through his mind, a messy jumble that threatened to drive him mad.

Because he did vaguely remember his mother, and he knew that something bad had happened to her, so how the hell had he forgotten that? He wanted to remember, but he didn't know how…

Rei pushed himself up from the couch where he had been trying to sleep, and glanced to the corner of the kitchen counter where Kazuki had set the second candle.

Rei got up and padded over to grab it, staring at it warily. He hadn't liked the loss of control he'd felt earlier when it came to the memories, but…

He wanted to remember. Maybe if he could control the situation, it would help everything become clearer?

"Stay here, don't move"

The frantically whispered words echoed again and Rei suddenly started upstairs, slipping into the bathroom. The tub stood there like some kind of sanctuary, a promise of safety. Rei set the candle down on the side of it and pulled out his lighter.

Warm light emanated from the flame, and he eased himself down into the tub, sitting cross-legged with his hands clasped in front of him, head down. He closed his eyes as the sweet scent filtered in, setting off memories once more.

He took a deep breath and tried to stop the instant flow, plucking one out and trying to focus on it, breathing the scent in deeply:

"Can't sleep again?"

Rei lay curled under his blankets, shaking his head. He could hear the men in suits outside, slamming car doors and driving away. They scared him.

"Here, I have an idea."

His mother left the room for a moment before returning with a candle. She set it by his bedside and lit it silently. A comforting glow spread around the room, allowing Rei to breathe a little easier.

"This one is my favorite, doesn't it smell good, Rei-chan?" Her face was in shadows, but she leaned over the bed, silky black hair acting as a curtain for the world beyond as she bent to kiss his forehead. "Maybe it will help you sleep."

"But papa—"

"Your father doesn't need to know," his mother said softly, stroking his hair. "Everyone needs a little light in the dark. Now close your eyes, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

Rei blinked, inhaling sharply. He couldn't remember the last time he had thought of his mother with such clarity. He had completely forgotten being that young even. It seemed so long ago in more than just years.

He swallowed hard and tried to dig for the other memory, focusing on the bathtub.

A loud bang startled him awake, Rei had barely opened his eyes before his mother was scooping him out of bed, carrying him quickly out of the room, where the men in suits were rushing down the hall, guns in hand.

"Mama?"

"Shh, be quiet."

She threw open the bathroom door and placed Rei into the tub.

"Stay here, don't move," she said quickly, cupping his cheek. "Just stay here and cover your ears."

"What's happening?"

"Don't ask questions, darling," she pleaded. "Promise me you'll stay down and not come out until I come for you. You'll be safe here, I promise." She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I'll always love you, Rei."

Then she was gone and Rei was torn on following her, but the loud bangs sounded out and he was too scared so he curled up as small as he could in the tub and slammed his hands over his ears.

He didn't know how long he waited. Noises crashed around him, shards of glass and plaster sprinkling down as things exploded in the room. But Rei stayed still, knowing his mother wouldn't lie. That as long as he did he would be okay.

He stayed that way a long time after the sounds stopped. Someone opened the door and Rei finally looked up, hoping it was Mama but it was just one of the men in suits.

"I found him," the man said speaking into a crackling radio. "He seems to be okay."

The man reached into the tub and picked Rei up, shoes crunching over the glass on the floor.

"Mama," Rei murmured.

The man didn't say anything, but Rei wriggled free as soon as they got out and started running as the man swore.

"Mama!" he shouted.

He ran until he hit his father, staggering back as the man made no move to help him, staring at the milling men in the entryway of the house. Two men were picking up stretchers covered in red-stained white sheets, carrying them out the front door.

Rei saw a curtain of dark hair spilling from under one of them and started forward.

"M-Mama!"

His father caught his shoulder tightly, hauling him back.

"She won't be coming back, boy. You'd best get used to that. It's time to grow up and begin learning the duties of the Suwa heir."

He left, leaving Rei standing there, alone.

Rei came out of the memory, hands shaking, breaths coming quick and sharp. He looked around, half expecting to see that destroyed bathroom from before, but it was just the same as it always was, with the addition of the candle.

He let out a long breath, slowly laying down in the tub to stare up at the ceiling, allowing the warm scent of the burning wax to lull him. When he closed his eyes he could almost feel the touch of a hand on his cheek, soft lips on his forehead.

"I'll always love you."

"Mama," he whispered. An odd feeling came over him, not necessarily sadness—it had been so long ago now. But he felt glad to have remembered. Perhaps Kazuki was right. Maybe memories were worth the hurt they caused.

He curled up in the bottom of the tub, feeling safe with the candle glow and closed his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he was able to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

XXX

Kazuki got up to grab a drink of water, noticing that Rei's bedroom door was open. Not that he usually slept there anyway, but he was still feeling a little bad about the candle incident. He didn't know what the scent might have brought up, but he was sure it probably wasn't good considering Rei's reaction.

But his roommate wasn't on the couch either when Kazuki got downstairs, which was odd.

Frowning, Kazuki got his glass of water and returned upstairs.

That was when he saw a warm glow from under the bathroom door and caught the scent of brown sugar and vanilla.

"Rei?" he asked.

There was no reply, and, worried, Kazuki cautiously opened the door.

The first thing he saw was the candle sitting on the side of the tub, burning away with a warm glow.

Inside the tub was Rei, curled in the bottom, sleeping heavily, breathing even and slow. His face actually looked relaxed and Kazuki felt an almost brotherly affection toward the younger man at the sight.

He went to grab a blanket, draping it over the sleeping man, leaving the candle burning as he went to catch some sleep himself.

~~~~~~~

Check out my Whumptober Masterpost HERE for more stories!

If you want to follow me on other social media or ask about fic or art commissions, find my info on My Carrd

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #scented candle #troubled past resurfacing #what happened to me?#buddy daddies #fanfic #past death of a parent tw #returning memories #rei suwa #kazuki kurusu #pre-series #hurt/comfort #buddy daddies fanfic #rei's emotional support bathtub

11 notes · View notes

unicornondeck · 5 months

Text

@tatteredxsails (Ed)

After a swift pause, Izzy rejoined him on deck as they docked the ship at the Republic of Pirates. He allowed his arms to flow down to his sides as they watched some of the crew exit the ship, gaze turning back to Edward. "You going down to Spanish Jackie's? Fucking hate going down there but at least the drinks are good."

#pre-series #tatteredxsails #the fucking queue ;#sorry it's so short it'll get longer

8 notes · View notes

gillotto · 2 years

Photo

#ranma #ranma 1/2 #my art #Jade draws a thing #ranma saotome #genma saotome #pre-series #pre-jusenkyo #training days #ranma comic #comic #ranma art #boy ranma

202 notes · View notes

akariarda · 6 months

Text

Bitter scars

Garmadon shows his scars to Misako. Some of them are related to bitter memories that Garmadon blames himself for. Attempting to write Garmadon angst. I hope it's good!

"There is something I have always wanted to ask you," Misako said as she sat next to Garmadon, who raised an eyebrow curiously.

"How did you get this scar?" She pointed to the faded white line that stretched from the bottom of his upper arm to halfway down his forearm.

"Oh, that," Garmadon replied in a quiet voice. "It's a scar from my childhood. I got it..." He paused for a moment to gather himself.

"You don't have to tell me if it's difficult for you," Misako gently touched his shoulder.

"I think it will be better if I share it with someone," Garmadon replied as he took a deep breath to begin his story. "It happened when I was just a few years old. Father took Wu and me to the park to play. I wanted to climb the slide."

~Flashback starts:~

"Look, Father!" young Garmadon exclaimed, pointing at slide. "I want to climb to the top."

"Don't, son," the First Spinjitzu Master said worriedly. "It's high. You could get hurt."

"But I have to climb," Garmadon shouted again and started climbing.

"I made it, Father, I did it!" Garmadon exclaimed when he reached the top, feeling satisfied and starry-eyed.

"Garmadon, please come down," his father pleaded.

"Argh!" Garmadon grumbled irritably, but he still listened to his father and started descending.

"Father, look what I can do!" Garmadon exclaimed once again and continued jumping down the stairs despite his father's concerned calls.

"Aaaa!" he yelled and burst into tears when he fell to the ground, accidentally scratching himself on something sharp along the way.

"You should have listened to me," the First Spinjitzu Master said worriedly, taking the tearful Garmadon in his arms.

"You'll be fine, son, you'll be fine," he repeated while tightly clutching the hand that was bleeding.

~Flashback ends~

"It's all my fault," Garmadon said when he finished recounting the story. "I should have listened to my father."

"You should have," Misako gently replied, rubbing his back. "But don't blame yourself so much. After all, you were just a mischievous child."

"It's not about that. Look," Garmadon said, pointing to the white scar that ran from his shoulder to his stomach. "I also got this because I didn't want to listen to my father."

~Flashback starts:~

"Garmadon, be careful with that." The First Spinjitzu Master said to Garmadon, handing him the katana.

"This is a new trick, which is very difficult to perform. You can get hurt."

"Ha," Garmadon scoffed, looking like he was in his teens. "Don't worry."

"Be cautious, don't go so fast!" The First Spinjitzu Master shouted, while their eldest son ignored him.

"You're being silly." Garmadon retorted. "I can, AAA!" He yelled as he cut himself.

"You got hurt." The First Spinjitzu Master shouted and moved towards his son. "Let me help you."

"No." Young Garmadon shouted, moving away.

"I can do it myself." He grabbed his chest, feeling the blood trickle down.

"I'm f-fine."

Suddenly, he started shaking, but he didn't want his father to touch him.

"I-I'll do it alone. I don't need you! I don't need you!"

~Flasback ends~

"How did you wrap that?" Misako exclaimed in surprise, looking at her husband as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"That must have been a nasty wound if you now have such a big scar."

"I didn't wrap it," Garmadon began but paused to sigh. "I passed out within two seconds. My father picked me up and took care of me. I never even said sorry to him."

"You were upset," Misako told him, sitting down again. "But you should have at least told him that. It wasn't his fault. But I'm sure he understands."

"I don't exactly." Garmadon said curtly. "Out of everyone, you're the only person I've met who understands me."

"Don't say that," Misako told him. "And what about your friends?"

"This happened when I was with them in the Serpentine War." He pointed to a relatively fresh scar that ran across his leg.

~Flashback starts:~

"Just a little further," Ray said as they moved forward. "The Serpentine camp is close."

Ray, Maya, Wu, and Garmadon walked forward in silence. Suddenly, something slithered across the floor.

"Watch out!" Maya exclaimed, assuming a fighting stance.

"It's a Serpentine!" Wu said. "It's trying to attack us."

"Go towards the camp, I'll take care of this!" Garmadon bravely said, gesturing to his friends to leave.

"Are you sure, brother?" Wu asked him.

"It's just one Serpentine. You'll have to face many more. Go!"

Garmadon took a defensive position and attacked the Serpentine with his katana.

It eluded him for some time, but he managed to strike it on the head. It retreated, but not before slashing Garmadon's leg.

"AGG!" he shouted, quickly grabbing his calf. He felt warm blood trickling down his leg and could only hope the wound wasn't deep.

Every sense in his body screamed, and he could only fight to hold back tears. He wouldn't cry; the wound wasn't that deep.

"Garmadon!" Ray exclaimed in surprise when he saw his friend. The three of them headed towards him.

"Are you okay?" Maya asked him. "Let us help you."

"Please, go," Garmadon groaned.

"We can't leave you, brother," Wu insisted.

"Please." Garmadon weakly said, causing the three of them to step back.

"If you're not at the camp in two minutes, we're coming for you." Wu told him as they walked away.

~Flashback ends:~

"Ray asked me why I was angry. They never understood that I wasn't actually angry, just irritated because I got hurt. "Garmadon finished,

"I do love my friends, I just always push people away."

"You didn't push them away like you didn't push away your father," gently said Misako.

"But I did push them away with my behavior."

"There's no point in dwelling on the past now," Misako said, not knowing exactly how to comfort him.

"You're right. How did we even get on this topic?"

"I asked you how you got that scar from the slide," Misako replied.

"Ah, that," Garmadon remembered. "I have more scars, they're just not as bad as these three."

"Now I'm curious," Misako said, looking at him. Garmadon thought that her curiosity knew no bounds and smiled to himself.

"Do you want me to tell you?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"If it won't upset you like those stories before," Misako agreed, still looking at him with worried eyes.

"Alright then," Garmadon began. "I got this one on my finger from cutting myself with a knife. This one on my ear is from falling down the stairs."

"Ouch, that sounds bad," Misako said.

"Yeah, and it seems that's it, at least for now," Garmadon replied and smiled. Misako didn't share that laughter with him.

"Don't speak like that."

"I won't," he said and kissed her forehead.

"And remember, there's no point in dwelling on the past. It's important to focus on the present. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know I'm here."

"I know," Garmadon cheerfully said, happy that he could at least share the burden with someone.

"I promise I'll keep that in mind," she looked at him as if verifying the truth of his words.

He held her chin and pressed it into a kiss, not wanting the feeling of regret to return.

He knew that Misako helped him a lot, but he also knew that the feeling would come back sooner or later.

It warmed his heart to know that it would be at least a little easier.

Tell me what you think. I HOPE you have more requests, because I'm seriously running out of them🙃

I also started watching ninjago after the seventh season! I'm currently on Marc of the Oni. So now I'll be able to write much better about some of the things that happened to me, so feel free to re-request if you think it can be fixed.

#Ninjago #Fanfiction #Lord Garmadon #Young Garmadon #misako montgomery garmadon #Young misako #Wu #Master wu #Young wu #ray ninjago #maya ninjago #Garsako #Garmasako #Garmadon x misako #Misako x Garmadon #Pre-series #first spinjitzu master

15 notes · View notes

white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 2 years

Text

Marbles

Summary: Ellen isn't the only person who knew Neal Caffrey before he became Neal Caffrey.

Word Count: 7,333

Requested by anonymous; photo credit is Jeff Eastin's Twitter

St. Louis, 1984

Kids at school called you Marbles because you always had a little bag of them with you. You knew even then that the nickname was supposed to be mean, but it had never gotten under your skin. You just laughed along, because, yeah, it was kinda weird that you carried marbles, but you played with them all the time and loved it. And before long, they were calling you Marbles because it stuck, not because they were laughing at you.

Marbles were just great fun. And in second grade, whenever you had extra time, your teacher would let you play with them and a classmate or two so long as your other work was already done. After a couple of weeks into the school year, you had a few people you would regularly play with. Danny was one of them. His bright blue eyes made him stand out from the boys at his table. He was cute, but at seven, you still preferred puppies to boys.

The first day he talked to you, you’d been bouncing some marbles on the carpeted floor to stay quiet, staring at them intently and trying to devise a new game in your head. Danny sat cross-legged and asked if he could play. Abandoning your half-baked game, you reached up to your desk and grabbed a piece of paper from your class folder, quickly drew the circles to represent a mancala board, and divided the marbles. Danny beat you on his first try. That was when you knew you liked him. You gave him a bag of your marbles so he could make new games, too.

From then on, you played together whenever you could, but scarcely stuck with one game for very long. You were both easily bored by the simple games that marbles allowed, so you fiddled with the rules, tampering with the game play to see what would happen. Sometimes you created entirely new games, sometimes incorporating other tools that were easy to carry in school or to the park, like a set of dice or an origami fortune teller.

By Christmas that same year, you’d started to exhaust your options and branched out into other ways of entertaining yourselves. Cards were good for quick games, and the randomness of a good shuffle kept games interesting for longer. Puzzles were great for you both, but they took too long to do at school and you could only play them when you had a playdate or sleepover. Eventually, you settled on codes and ciphers as your mutual favorite activity. You could create them when you were together and have secret communications, or you could create them separately and challenge each other to solve them. You liked to base yours on symbols and books. Danny liked incorporating math. By the end of the school year, you had a collection of codes of varying complexity.

St. Louis, 1986

After nearly two years of friendship, you and Danny snuck downstairs to his aunt Ellen’s TV to watch a new movie. It was called The Color of Money. With a shelf of adult movies in front of you, you were way more interested in the popular titles you recognized, like Ferris Bueller and Top Gun, but Danny convinced you to give Scorsese a try and you never regretted it. That movie introduced you two to the world of gambling. As cynical nine-year-olds, you weren’t really interested in the idea of gambling so much as the behavior of people who did it – and the methods behind milking out the most rewards for the least risks.

It took some needling and permission from your parents, but Ellen finally agreed to teach you both how to play poker. One Friday, she picked you both up from school, took you to the store to pick out a box of your favorite candies, and used the chocolates in place of money. With bowls of candy at stake, you learned what cards you wanted, when to fold, and how to count the multicolored plastic poker chips. Initially, Ellen hadn’t wanted to teach you to bluff on principle of not encouraging children to lie, but they had bluffed in all the movies, so you and Danny both tried it without her suggestion. She was exasperated, but amused by your complete failure. Danny had much better results, and when Ellen went to bed and left you to either play cards or watch a movie, he told you that when you lied, you always lifted your chin, like you were daring someone to call you on it.

You both had detention the next week for trying to use poker to win your classmates’ brownies at lunch.

St. Louis, 1989

When you were twelve, Nintendo came out with the Game Boy. Neither of your families had the kind of money to spend on a game system like that, so you and Danny decided you could team up to buy one for yourselves to trade back and forth. It was better to have the hot new thing sooner than later, even if it meant taking turns. You took out a sheet of paper to figure out how long it would take if you pooled your money together; even with the little bit of spare allowances you had socked away, you both still needed to save over thirty dollars each.

In hindsight, what happened next was probably your parents’ first red flag.

Sixty-four bucks, for a couple of kids in the late eighties, was a lot of money, and you were both too young to legally get jobs. Divide and conquer, however, had already demonstrated merit when it came to convincing your parents of letting you go to the fair or the movies, so why not divide and conquer to raise cash? All you needed was enough people contributing. But then came the problem that if they contributed, they’d feel entitled to your Game Boy. It was for the two of you, not anyone else. So they would need to be paid back by money you got from somewhere else.

To summarize a long story, and explain many angry phone calls from your peers’ parents, you and Danny essentially ran a pyramid scheme to raise the money for a Game Boy, enticing kids in your old elementary school to pay forward their allowance to your first- and second-round financiers in your middle school. When you were caught, you were grounded for months – but by this point, you were both well-practiced at sneaking between each other’s houses and hiding things in your rooms, and you had a Game Boy.

Your parents’ anger and the way your little sister’s friends’ parents treated you made you realize you’d done something morally wrong. It was humiliating and shameful to be looked at that way. Danny didn’t take it as hard as you did. It rolled off his back once Ellen was back to treating him the way she always had. Danny needed to be liked, and he was liked a lot, because he was cute, and smart, and didn’t bully girls at school, and now he had a Game Boy, so he didn’t mind that kids in a different school and their parents he never saw thought badly of him. It didn’t affect him day to day the way that the guilt started to carve into your self-esteem.

In hindsight, that was your first red flag that there was something a little bit off about Danny. When you brought it up to him, he genuinely didn’t see why you felt so bad. You hadn’t lied to those little kids, and after all, each one only sacrified a couple of dollars. You couldn’t articulate just why, but you needed to make it right. In the end, Danny helped you make it up to the kids by handing back out a portion of your allowances for a few weeks and helping out with their homework, but you knew he’d only done it because he was sad to see you so upset.

You couldn’t deny how great it had felt to accomplish something so quickly, and Danny had boasted for weeks about how persuasive he’d been, but you made an agreement that from then on you wouldn’t hustle kids anymore. Danny pouted about it a little because they were such easy marks, but he agreed to keep you happy. When your wrongs were righted, you felt restored, and you got back to your regular mischief – but you were much more cautious of whether you were being clever or just unethical.

St. Louis, 1992

High school was an entirely different beast from middle school. You and Danny kept sending each other coded letters and hanging out on the weekends, but he was the one who got caught up in how girls looked twice at him and how guys wanted to be his friend. Danny joined the cross-country team, partly to spend more time with those friends and partly to keep in shape to apply for the police academy after high school, and started to pursue girls. He had a new girlfriend every other month. And it meant, altogether, that there was less time for you – so you followed his lead and joined your own clubs, made your own friends.

In freshman year, there had been a rumor that you were dating. You’d loudly opposed it. You had eyes and could see that he was hot, and you didn’t think you’d ever be happy with anyone less smart, or less kind to you, but the idea of kissing Danny just made your stomach turn. There was one time when he started dating a cheerleader who made the mistake of threatening to “ruin” you if you didn’t back off of “her” Danny – he dumped her as soon as you told him what happened. So, although you didn’t have as much time to spend with each other, there was never any doubt that you were still best friends.

You still liked friendly competitions, and found ways to work together to make quick money or convince your parents that what you wanted to do or see was a good idea. But something about high school flipped a switch in Danny. Maybe it was all the teachers saying now was the time to shape up. Suddenly, everything he did was in light of being like his father. Danny had always idolized his dead dad, and you couldn’t bring yourself to criticize him for that, even when it made him sort of a buzzkill. Did he really think that none of the city cops had ever snuck some liquor from their mom’s freezer? And goodbye to any manipulative schemes – even if your conscience hadn’t stopped you, Danny’s ambitions would have. He still had no moral compunctions about taking from people who didn’t need what they had, but for the fact that it was illegal and could jeopardize his future as a cop.

“Cop this, cop that,” you complained once, playfully shoving at his arm. “Am I gonna have to become a criminal to force you to loosen up?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Danny responded with absolute confidence. “You wouldn’t like prison.”

You’d scoffed. “You’d turn in your best friend?!”

He gave you a cheeky grin. “If my best friend’s not smart enough to get away with crimes, she shouldn’t be committing them.”

St. Louis, 1995

You weren’t sure what you wanted to do after high school. Your parents were supportive of whatever you wanted to do, but they hoped you’d at least give college a try; but without any idea what you wanted to actually do, you couldn’t justify spending that much money on it to yourself. The more you thought about what you really loved to do, you kept coming back to games and puzzles. It had been years since anyone called you Marbles, but the passion that bonded you and Danny had persisted.

It was when you were watching the new Will Smith detective movie that you realized maybe you and Danny had this in common, too. He wasn’t just going to be a great cop because of his father; it was because he had a knack for solving puzzles. Maybe investigating was your great calling in life. How cool would it be to be detectives together??

You sat on it for a few weeks, thinking it over before telling Danny you were going to apply, too. That way he wouldn’t know to be disappointed if you changed your mind. In the end, you never did get to tell him. You were still thinking about in by his eighteenth birthday.

You’d already agreed to go to the mall together so you could buy him dinner, but he never came to get you like he’d said he would. You called his home, but no one picked up, so you called his aunt’s neighboring house instead. Ellen had answered and tiredly said that it wasn’t a good time. Assuming they’d had a fight, you let it be and minded your business, changing your plans when it became clear that the mall was off.

The next morning, you left to go get him before walking to school, just to make sure he was feeling okay. He and Ellen rarely fought; Danny tried so hard to be on his best behavior for her, even before he’d straightened up to make sure he got into the police force. You noticed the post on your mailbox was up and detoured, and took out a piece of folded paper. No envelope and no stamp – just your name on one of the trifolds.

Assuming it was another coded letter, you eagerly unfolded it to see what kind of patterns you were working with and mull it over on the way to school. To your disappointment, it was plain English. And, to your horror, it was an apologetic goodbye note.

You sprinted several streets away to the Brooks house and pounded on the door. No one answered. You were almost panicking, considering grabbing the extra key Danny had told you about, before Ellen next door caught your eye, waving for you to come over. You jumped off the porch and ran in, dumping your backpack by the doorway to show her the note. The blonde woman barely glanced at it before saying, “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

It was surprising how clearly you could remember that moment all these years later, especially when what came next felt like a blur of colors and motions melting together. You think Ellen sat you on her couch and poured you some tea. She made you sit and breathe before she explained to you that she’d caught Danny – Neal – signing an application for the police. He was so eager to do it the moment he’d turned eighteen, that Ellen hadn’t had a choice. She’d had to tell him he couldn’t, because Danny Brooks wasn’t his real name; and even if it were, he needed to know that his motivation, the story he’d been telling himself for years, was a lie.

Ellen told you that the Brooks family were actually in Wit-Sec. That Danny’s real name was Neal Bennett, and that his father had been a cop, but a dirty one. That Ellen wasn’t really his aunt, but his corrupt dad’s police partner, who had testified against him and asked to be relocated near Neal, just to make sure the little boy grew up safely. That Neal had been too young to remember. That he had run away, and she didn’t think he was coming back.

Ellen – you still didn’t know if that was even her real name – let you sit on her couch for hours, staring at the floor, drinking the tea she poured mindlessly after it had gone cold, and crying with grief. It was the one and only time she’d ever condoned playing hooky from school. She rubbed your back for a little while, and then let you sit in silent shock while she went about cleaning. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that she wasn’t just cleaning, she was packing. Packing to leave. Because people were going to wonder why Neal had disappeared, and maybe the cops would get involved, and maybe her and Neal’s mother would both be in jeopardy.

Ellen gave you a small box of Neal’s belongings that she thought you’d want. In the bottom was the bag of marbles you’d given him in second grade.

Life was never the same after Neal left. Your best friend was gone. You figured, hey, he’d always been street-smart, the odds were pretty good that he was still alive; but the way he disappeared, the odds were also pretty good that you would never see him again, so to you, he may as well be dead. You thought of him sometimes (often) and hoped he was okay, when you weren’t wishing he would come home or cursing his fake name for making you care and then abandoning you without the decency to say goodbye to your face.

You had so many questions in the coming weeks, but the day after Neal had vanished, so had Neal’s not-aunt, along with any opportunities for closure. Once, a few days later, you scraped up the guts to use that hidden key he’d showed you and let yourself into his and his mom’s house. It was completely empty, but left in disarray, with scraped paint, peeling wallpaper, dust settled deep in the rug corners. It had been a long time since you’d spent time together there, rather than in Ellen’s, and now you knew why. With hindsight, and a psychology degree, you were reasonably sure that Neal’s mother had been fighting depression his whole life, and most of the house felt the same.

To make it worse, Danny had been such a beloved part of the school community that in the two months between his disappearance and your graduation, everything under the sun passed under the rumor mill. At first the cops investigated. They talked to you, interrogated you. One of them made you cry by insinuating you were secretly in love with him, and killed him because he’d been dating some chick on the track team. Another rubbed your shoulder and offered you cocoa because he “couldn’t possibly imagine how cofused you’re feeling”. And the whole time, you felt compelled to lie, choking on your tongue and stumbling through how he missed your plans on his birthday and left a note the next morning. You left out the part where you’d talked to Ellen, because what the hell were you supposed to do? Out her as a witness? Admit that Danny Brooks was such a deep lie that even he hadn’t known about it?

Whatever the correct procedure was, no one had bothered to tell you about it. But you were reasonably certain that whoever was in charge of securing the Bennetts, and Ellen, they had caught wind of the investigation, because rather suddenly, all the police activity stopped. You were left alone, and so was his girlfriend, and the guys he played soccer with. The only way they would drop a missing persons case that hard and that quick was if the feds stepped in and told them to back off.

Your parents, and even your little sister, knew that something was off about you. You’re reasonably sure that your entire family knew you knew something you weren’t sharing. But after weeks of trying to comfort you and get you to open up, they started to let go, trusting that if you knew anything actionable, you would have shared to protect your friend.

The police letting it go didn’t end the nightmare for you, though, because the talk at school continued. The US Marshals couldn’t tell everyone to shut up and mind their business. Some people thought Danny had run away from his mother, others thought he’d been kidnapped and trafficked. Some thought he’d knocked up a girl and they ran away, but that one ended when the girl came back to school, and it turned out she’d had the flu. Some people thought you must have had something to do with it, because you’d been so close for so many years. Those people really got to you, because in truth, you could hardly believe you’d known the boy for most of your lives and never suspected he was anything else.

March trudged into April and April slipped into May, and your graduation crawled closer. You were announced as valedictorian. When you went to get the honors sash to wear over your gown, the administrator compassionately told you that Neal would have been valedictorian, had he been there, so though they knew it must be hard, you should keep your head up and be proud enough for the both of you. That just made it even harder to get through. What was supposed to be one of the best days of your life was one of the darkest. A huge shared milestone was lonely. Neal had run away, left you picking up the pieces in a shattered social circle, and now you were taking his place, and somehow someone else had figured out he had that tiny edge over your GPA, and a picture of you in your cap and gown giving your speech was put on a blog along with an accusation that you killed him or threatened him away so you could be valedictorian.

You had to get the hell away. Every unnecessary second you spent in your neighborhood, in your school, in the city you used to share felt like it was scratching at your skin. The application cycle for colleges was long closed, but you took your savings, promised to call your parents every day, and moved to California, as far away as you could get. There, you got a job, found a shitty apartment to share with a girl who minded her own business, and scraped by until you could apply to college.

Palo Alto, 1999

High school valedictorian had felt like a hollow and bitter loss more than anything, rubbing salt in the wound that Neal was gone. In the four years of college since, you’d made plenty of friendly acquaintances, and even some good friends, but none as good as Neal.

You’d visited the school counselor a few times. Told her, minus what you knew about Neal and Wit-Sec, what had happened to drive you all the way from St. Louis to Palo Alto for school. She’d been incredibly sympathetic, even as she suggested that perhaps there had been some trauma mixed in with the grief. Looking back, you could accept it for what it was. You lost your best friend, on multiple levels, and then members of your community turned on you, accusing you of the worst. And, though you were still the only one who knew, the whole time you’d been holding onto a secret boring through your soul that you couldn’t share with anyone.

College graduation felt… much different. Like a success. You were proud of yourself. Sad to see it go but happy you’d made it out the other side, not just of a program but of the grief that had clenched you so tightly. This was what graduation was supposed to feel like. You weren’t valedictorian – or whatever the university equivalent was – this time, but you were graduating with honors, and had an acceptance to a graduate program in hand, so there was that.

Your whole family made the trip to see you graduate. As you walked across that stage, receiving a piece of paper bound in ribbon, you wished once again that Neal would’ve been there to celebrate with you, and hoped that he was okay, then found your family in the crowd and beamed at them brightly, tears pricking in your eyes with joy. Your sister was doing her best to be both supportive and embarrassing by wearing an obnoxiously neon shirt with your name on it.

You faltered in your steps across the stage, just for a second, when you saw the face in the crowd grinning from behind your father. They were so far away, it was kind of hard to see, but for just a second, you could’ve sworn…

You got nudged from behind and had to look down to safely get off of the stage steps. When you were out of the way of the procession, you looked for your family again and stood on your toes to see around your parents. The face you thought you’d seen was gone. You looked down to the rolled paper in your hand, proclaiming you’d earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology, and shook your head; you, of all people, should know the power of wishful thinking.

Your parents took you back by your apartment to change out of your regalia before going for a celebratory meal. You hurried up the steps in your dress heels, eager to get out of the heavy robe, but stopped cold just on entering the front door. Sitting on the cheap kitchen table was a bouquet of flowers and a little bag of marbles.

Your gut response was to clear the apartment like they did in the cop movies, but you didn’t have a gun or a taser or even pepper spray, so if you searched and found someone, you were really just putting yourself in more danger. Cautiously, you inched towards the table, along the way recognizing the flowers as the kind that you used to admire while walking to school. When no one jumped, and you didn’t feel unsafe getting closer to the table, you slowly picked up the bag of marbles. The little beads clinked together. You held them up for inspection and realized that they were color tinted, but still mostly translucent, and inside each was a clay creature. Your favorite animal, sculpted and suspended in resin.

No one had given you marbles, or called you by that name, in years. You hadn’t carried them anywhere since middle school. And you certainly couldn’t have told anyone what your favorite flowers were when you didn’t even remember what they were called.

The marbles, the flowers, and the face you thought you’d seen at the ceremony all added up to mean one thing to you, and instead of changing your clothes, you sat at the table with the marbles in your hand and had a good, solid cry for a few minutes. Then you stored your new marbles with shaking hands in your so-called Neal Box and put the flowers in some water. You couldn’t decide if you were happy, sad, or furious, but it all boiled down to one thing: he was alive. And still thought about you, just like you still thought of him. And that was something to celebrate, even if your family didn’t know it wasn’t just your graduation that you were happily crying over.

Quantico, 2001

Completing your Master’s degree was your new proudest achievement, but though there wasn’t anything bad about that graduation, when you walked the stage, you’d hoped to catch another glimpse of a familiar face. No such luck. You still weren’t too worried. Ever since getting those beautiful marbles, you’d gotten an anonymous postcard every once in a while. There was usually a little note on them in one of your oldest, simplest ciphers. Nothing complex, but enough to let you know that he was okay, and he was thinking of you.

Sometimes you wondered why he didn’t ever just come say hello if he missed you. Yes, you were a part of Danny Brooks’ history. But if Neal Bennett had had to reinvent himself out of a lie, did that have to mean shunning everything about who he’d been?

Still, a note once in a while was better than the four-plus years you spent with radio silence, hoping he was alive, knowing it was even probable, but with no proof and no way of verifying.

Shortly out of your Master’s program, you were accepted into the FBI. A couple of internships during school had showed you that you weren’t interested in clinical practice, nor did you think you really had the drive to push through a doctorate program, so you looked for ways you could use your degrees to solve puzzles, returning to that lifelong passion for an intelligent challenge. You found the bureau, and other members of the alphabet soup, but especially the bureau. It was probationary, but you were in, and it was time to head to Quantico.

The physical exercises were draining. You’d never been so active in your life. Still, the mental exercises were more entertaining than not, so long as they didn’t get so repetitive. Your very favorite instructor took the class of recruits through prolific cases that hadn’t quite become public knowledge, or cold cases that still had yet to be solved. Unlike a documentary, instead of telling you step-by-step what had happened, he prompted and prodded at the agents in training to work their way through themselves. You excelled at this exercise and it proved to you that, although you’d have to work hard to secure a role where you could choose to work on these types of cases, the opportunity was there. That was what you wanted to work towards.

At least, it was your favorite class. Your emotions changed the day that you were shown pictures of inductees into the FBI’s Most Wanted ranks. Because, to your horror, you recognized one of those faces. He was six years older, but there was no chance you wouldn’t have recognized him. Not him.

“Not him,” you nearly whispered out loud, barely catching yourself before your tongue moved in your mouth. You drank in all the information they had on him – suspected of bond forgery, along with a litany of other crimes, and dubbed James Bonds, because they had no clue what his real name was.

You had a split second choice to make, and you felt the pressure beating down on you. Either betray your best friend and turn him in to the FBI, or betray the moral conscience you’d long since sworn to live by – along with the bureau you were about to swear to serve.

It was an easier choice than it should have been. It would haunt you, but you couldn’t fathom for a second turning your back on him. For as long as you stared at the list of things he was wanted for, there was nothing in that list that could make you hate the man he’d become.

The instructor had noticed you stopped at Neal’s image. “Is there a problem?” He asked you expectantly.

Shit. Every game of poker with Neal came to mind and you controlled all the tells he had ever warned you of, making your decision and committing to it. “No,” you said, looking up and putting on your best amused face. “Sorry, Sir. It’s just… James Bonds?”

You sold it so well that you should’ve been ashamed. The senior agent chuckled and shook his head a bit. “I guess the opportunity felt too good to pass on,” he said, picking up the flyers from your row to share with the next group.

Quantico, 2003

You weren’t capable of turning on Neal, but you also couldn’t bring yourself to follow his case. The conflict of interest was too strong in your gut, so you just turned a blind eye to any flyer you saw, or a deaf ear to any curious chatter about James Bonds and his globetrotting stunts.

You kept an eye out for postcards and anonymous letters, but they’d become less frequent. Either Neal had been keeping tabs and learned you joined the bureau, or he’d realized sending mail was becoming more hazardous. In either case, you still got some once in a while, so if it were the former, he was trusting you.

Over the years, the more you heard about him, the more impressed you were. But also the more… saddened you became. Neal had strayed so far from the man he had wanted to be when you’d spent so much time together. You had to wonder if he were truly happy. At this point, his face was plastered anywhere law enforcement could be assed to look, and you had to hope that he was, because you feared it was too late for him to change course, even if he wanted to.

At some point, you’d begun to realize that you were technically aiding him just by keeping in touch. You didn’t have a way to send messages to him, but however he’d found your address repeatedly, he really was trusting you – it took over a year, but between bits you overheard and images on postcards, you realized that he was actively sending you clues as to where he was. Now, you doubted that he was doing so with that actual intention. More likely, he was just sending you the postcards because he knew you’d always liked their pictures and wanted to travel. But there was an additional professional boundary being crossed when you knew that the agent in charge of his case was searching for him in Germany or Iceland when you’d just gotten a card from Cape Town or Tehran.

It also occurred to you that he wouldn’t be an anonymous James Bonds forever. Sooner or later they would figure out who he was. They’d trace him back to either Neal Bennett or Danny Brooks. Both names would flag with the Marshals, and the FBI would learn all about how he disappeared overnight from St. Louis. The FBI would also learn all about how the police had questioned his best friend, Y/N Y/L/N, for days. And then they would have a lot of uncomfortable questions for you that you still had no idea how you were going to answer.

Then, one day, James Bonds had a name. Neal Caffrey. You didn’t recognize his last name, but it was instantly committed to your memory. Now you knew what he was going by. It was another hit to your heart. He didn’t keep either of his last names. But he had kept his birth name – which had been foreign to him when he learned what it was. It was hard to tell what was going on in his head. You hoped he knew what he was doing. And you hoped that whatever he was choosing, he was happy and safe.

From the moment he’d been named, you kept waiting for the agents you worked with to turn on you, ask you those awkward questions, but the time never seemed to come. For a second, you had considered running, but you didn’t have the knowledge or connections to get very far or hide for very long. No, the best option for you would be to bow your head and accept the consequences. But those consequences didn’t come for you, and when you saw the updated flyer, you saw why. They had him listed as born in Texas during February. The bureau had a whole fake identity that they fully believed; they had no idea who he really was.

“You astound me every time,” you’d muttered to yourself, closing the browser window.

Ossining, 2005

If you ask someone where Sing Sing is, they’ll probably just say “New York”. If pressed, they might even say “New York City”. Very rarely do they actually realize it’s about thirty miles upstate in a little town called Ossining. You’d never been, and had no reason to go, but when you saw the email memo that Neal Caffrey had been apprehended and was awaiting arraignment, you didn’t think you had much of a choice in the matter. You filed for a transfer, ostensibly for a change in scenery, and fortunately, it was granted. Your new home was New York City.

Your shoes and your conscience itched to guide you upstate straight away, but as much as it pained you, you forced yourself to stay away until after he was convicted. Neal was considered an extreme flight risk; any interactions he had were extremely closely monitored. No matter how loyal you were, you were still afraid of being in trouble for failing to give up his name and whereabouts. And while that made you feel quite selfish, there was also the detail that he’d been “caught” by voluntarily walking into a trap to protect his girlfriend from taking the fall for him. It comforted you that he was still the same softhearted man you’d always known and loved – but, since he’d always been fiercely protective, you weren’t sure if he’d welcome you jeopardizing your good standing to see him.

Well, too bad. You winced. Okay, maybe a little more sympathy for the guy in prison.

You signed in a civilian, not an agent, in the hopes that the bureau was less likely to be notified. You weren’t sure what you’d say, but you couldn’t just leave Neal to rot alone in here. The place looked like the place of nightmares, and you were free to just turn around and walk out the door. Your heart ached. God, Neal…

They searched you quite invasively, but that bit of your dignity was a small price to pay. Once satisfied you weren’t using your body to smuggle a nail file or the like, the guards had you wait while they fetched Neal for visitation and put him in a small monitored cell, then allowed you to be led back the same way. The moment you realized he had to have visitors in a cell with him, it felt like your heart skipped a beat. You knew his containment orders were serious, but to not even be permitted to use the visitation room? This was the kind of restriction that was usually placed on quite dangerous felons.

There was already one guard standing inside with Neal, close to the door but warily watching. You could tell from his profile, in the ugly orange jumpsuit, that his wrists and ankles were manacled together and locked to the metal table. As the guard who’d led you back let you enter, the guard already inside gruffly barked the rules: fifteen minutes, follow the tape on the floor to your seat (rather than take a shortcut which passed closer to Neal), and absolutely no touching.

You ventured in as Neal turned around as well as he was able to see you. The surprise in his eyes was quickly taken over by delight and he started to stand, only to get yanked down by the links around his wrists. That sight alone nearly killed your excitement to see him, but he remained undeterred. “Marbles!” he cheerfully chirped your old name.

You forced a little laugh, loosely sticking to the tape and hurrying to your side of the table, swinging your legs in comfortably to sit across from him. “You are such an ass, Neal,” you complained with a small smile.

There was almost a little look of shock when his chosen name came out of your mouth so casually, but before you could respond to it, it had melted into a soft smile that lit up his eyes. He looked at you like you’d put the sun in the sky for a long minute. “I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you risked answering, not daring to look to the guard. Hopefully he wouldn’t remember this bit. “When you… well, I thought for years that was it.”

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Neal admitted. It was easy to say that now that it was in the past and you’d gotten back in touch, but you couldn’t help but trust him. Neal had never told you an outright lie before, not for any reason. “Things just… is it too cliché to say I needed to find myself?”

You hesitated, but shook your head. “No,” you said haltingly, “But there were better ways to do it than becoming a milk box picture.” You’d imagined screaming in his face for it, giving him a real what-for over the way he left you to pick up the pieces he left behind. But now that you were here, in a prison where he’d be spending the next half decade of his life – well, it was hard to hold onto any anger. Neal was paying for his mistakes. You didn’t need to pile on with trauma you’d already processed. “Did you?” You gently prompted, sensing that if you didn’t, he was going to wait for you to say what you’d thought about.

His smile tightened into something wistful. Your heart sank a little for him. “I think I got close at times,” he allowed. You didn’t quite buy it, but thought if he needed to believe it, it wouldn’t hurt to let him tell himself that all of this was worth it. Like he’d always done when he was unhappy, he turned the subject around back to yourself. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. I knew you’d make something good for yourself.”

We could’ve done it together. You thought back to his eighteenth birthday. You’d been so close to telling him you were going to take that next step with him. Maybe if he’d known it wasn’t just his journey… well, it didn’t matter now. It was ten years in the past.

“Stop talking like we’re in retirement,” you accused lightly. If it weren’t for the guard who felt very strongly about touching, you’d have nudged his foot under the table. “We’ve got ages to make more out of ourselves yet still.”

“You do,” Neal disagreed graciously.

“No, we do,” you argued, saying it so firmly that he wasn’t allowed to disagree again. Then you softened your tone, because you knew he already knew how bad this was going to be. “Four years… it’s gonna be hard. But one day it’ll be done and you’ll have a whole life in front of you to do something new.” It was the twenty-first century. When he got through his sentence, he’d still have more than half his life expectancy ahead. “And we’re gonna make it good. Got it?”

Neal’s expression had hardened a bit, for a moment showing his anger. When he was Danny, he’d been good at concealing anger, but when it did come out, it was volatile. Ellen wanted to put him in therapy to better manage it, but his mother had never gone through with it, so Neal had been left learning to self-soothe and manipulate his own emotions until he could explode in private. It wasn’t pretty. And, unfortunately, based on that familiar expression he’d made, that habit hadn’t changed. But when you were done, he seemed to assess what you were saying and judge it on the merits of your own belief in it, because he studied your face as he slowly nodded, and the anger slipped away, either unwinding from his joints or being masked by something else. You hoped for the former, but truthfully, it had been ten years. You’d once known him better than anyone. While you still suspected that that was largely true, you couldn’t be sure this hadn’t changed.

“We will,” he echoed after you. “You’ll be here?”

You nodded with certainty. If nothing he’d done so far had gotten you fed up with him, there was probably nothing he could manage from inside a prison to change that. “I will.”

You put a hand down on the table. The guard locked his eyes on it and you barely refrained from rolling your eyes. Symbolically, you were offering Neal a hand to hold. Judging by how exasperatedly he glanced at the guard, he understood as he made an exaggeratedly slow motion, mirroring your hand but not reaching across to you.

“It’s gonna be a long four years,” Neal grumbled under his breath, shooting an irritable glare in the guard’s direction.

~~~ ~~~

A/N: Wow! This ended up twice as long as I planned because I got really into it and carried away a bit. I might even be open to a continuation... Anyway, if you liked it and want to get announcements about stories and chat about what's coming up, leave a comment asking to join the Discord and I'll send you a link!

#white collar lawmen and conmen #white collar #white collar x reader #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader #platonic #x reader #friends #reader insert #oneshot #fic #requested #anonymous #james bonds #neal bennett #danny brooks #pre-series #marbles #fbi reader

123 notes · View notes