#trying not to beat myself up over my last two comms i gotta do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 3

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 3 - The Return

Words: 4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical descriptions and procedures, some sexual themes - mainly in the form of OC being thirsty AF

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

On the way back from the East village, filled with the Gossams, humans and other alien species who had similarly escaped to a simpler life, I couldn’t help but curse at myself for giving in so easily to the pleas of a good-looking stranger.

Aiding someone merely for their physical appearance? How horribly unprofessional.

The voice in the back of my mind was loud. And curiously judgemental.

It had been over a full day cycle since I’d departed the clinic, making Poe vow to remain within the confines of his bed until I had returned. I’d left him with enough food for two days of my travelling, hygiene supplies, a drip running slowly for some pain relief and range of tools for him to attempt getting BB-8 up and running, hoping he wouldn’t have any reason to struggle getting out of bed.

The thought of his still fragile femur bone breaking and splitting the artery I’d spent all my energy on mending was beyond frightening. I worried about him every minute I was awake, imagining any number of complications that would leave me a corpse to find when I arrived back.

Bleeding, clots, stroke, infection, sepsis.

It wasn’t easy to slip those thoughts from my mind in the lone starkness of the Raxus countryside. There wasn’t really anything to look at except grass and sky, nothing to distract me from the worst case scenarios.

I’d convinced some of my old patients to join my cause, promising them better medicine and equipment if I was only able to have a comm-tower to order everything I needed. It didn’t seem like lying. The comm-tower really was my only link to the rest of the galaxy, and I would have needed it fixed anyway. Only now, time seemed to be more of the essence.

After spending the night amongst the locals I had grown to be familiar with over the last few years, I’d begun the trek back with the knowledge at least one problem had been solved. Some promised spare parts, others were going to follow my path within the next day cycle to get my comm-link back online. I hadn’t divulged all the story, at least not the part about this repair job apparently being a determining factor in the fate of the galaxy.

I hadn’t pressed Poe about what that meant exactly. I was used to the Resistance and their soldiers having somewhat of a flair for the dramatic when it came to war, after healing many of their battle wounds in years past. I knew how fervently they believed in their cause - that they were the only thing standing between galaxy wide harmony and First Order dictatorship.

I understood their hope of peace in our lifetime, but I’d lost mine a long time ago. Good, bad, they were just two sides of a coin that would flip for eternity, desperately chasing power for their own reasons.

In truth, I didn’t particularly care. I just hoped to live my life somewhat free from the burden of picking a side.

Before unlocking the clinic door, my feet aching from hiking for 6 straight hours, I drew in a long breath with a silent prayer I wouldn’t be walking in to find a dead body. With a fluid motion I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my head popping in first around the entryway to where Poe’s hospital bed stood. He immediately heard the latch clicking and shot his head up to meet with my eyes.

“You’re back,” he smiled, as I noted how much colour had returned to his face during my absence.

He looked so much better.

For the first time, I found myself studying his face, my stare tracing from his strong angular jawline to his high cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the whiskey colour of his large cheerful eyes, his tousled deep brown hair. Then I took in his wide grin, shapely pink lips curled upwards to show perfectly set white teeth.

Stars, he’s so handsome.

In the muddle of memories I’d conceived from the night of his crash I’d not recognised, at least not during the time I was struggling to keep him alive, how attractive he was. And now with his health a far better picture than the last time I’d seen him, it was all I could notice. My heart quivered through a beat as he beamed at me, soon realising his smile was more a reflection of the prospective good news I brought with my return, making it settle back into a normal rhythm.

“Hi,” I breathed, walking closer and setting my pack down at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, “The smaller burns are almost gone, and my chest wound is closed, look!” He pulled up the grey hospital shirt I’d managed to change him into before I had to leave. This time when I saw the nakedness of his chest and abdomen I couldn’t help but stare at his softly defined muscles, all tensing during his movement. He was right, the hole below his rib now sealed, a newly-formed, pink scar in its place. The chest tube was still secured above it, now redundant.

“Gotta love bacta,” I hummed. “I can take that drain out now if you like.”

He looked at me incredulously. “You’ve just done a 30 hour round trip for me, not even sat down, and you want to dive head first into more treatment?”

“I... uh... I mean... I just wanted to help you feel better,” I stammered.

Poe shook his head, smirking. “It’s okay, I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m alright, the tube can wait. How about you rest for a second and tell me how the mission- I mean, trip, went?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two days ago you were begging me to get going so I couldn’t waste any time, now you’re telling me I can take a load off?”

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Having some time to think while you were gone... It made me realise everything you’d done and were doing for me - a stranger you had no reason to help." Poe took a long exhale before speaking again, his tone serious. "I was in a lot of pain, just woken up in a strange place. It’s still imperative to get a message back to the Resistance as soon as possible but... that’s not your burden to bear. I can't thank you enough for your help, but I'll try not to ask too much more of you.”

It seemed not only had his physical health improved, but logical thought and patience had returned.

I took my cue to sit on one of the opposite hospital beds, letting my feet dangle over the edge to kick my shoes off, feet pulsing with gratitude at their release. “There’s some villagers coming tomorrow,” I started. “They will hopefully have a new comm-tower up and running within the next couple of days. I told them about your droid too. There’s some spare parts in that bag.” I pointed my hand out to the satchel at Poe’s feet, glancing at the L shaped table beside his bed I’d set up. BB-8 was sitting on top of it, head and body still separated and now unbolted at separate points, wires haphazardly sticking out in different directions. Falling back into the mattress, I let out an exhausted sigh, relishing the feel of the squeaky mattress under my body.

“I really owe you. The Resistance owes you,” Poe praised after a few moments of silence, as I heard him begin to rummage through the satchel. I held back a frown, even when I knew he wouldn’t be able to catch sight of my face.

I didn’t do any of this for the Resistance.

It occurred to me then I wasn’t really sure why I’d done it at all. I had always been a sucker for those in poor predicaments, hence why I became a doctor in the first place. But the trek had nothing to do with treatment or medicine. It was purely at the behest of this pilot, who’s charming appearance in the dimmed orange light of the evening made my skin feel hot.

“So, how did a girl like you find herself in the middle of nowhere on the Outer Rim?” Poe questioned, fiddling with some of the parts.

I sat back up. “I’m not a girl. I’m 28. That’s a little too old to be called girl anymore.”

Poe chuckled, the sound of his laugh both warming and positively thrilling. “I apologise. How did a woman like you end up here?”

“I used to work on Coruscant, that’s where I started my medical training,” I explained, remembering the glittering planet I’d spent much of my young life on. “Then moved into the war relief efforts on medical frigates scattered throughout the galaxy. Treating wounded soldiers day in day out took its toll, having people constantly injured and almost dying for a war they didn’t start.” I glanced to Poe's expression, seeing a glow of understanding behind his eyes before I continued. “Plus, there were more than a few times I felt a little redundant. The medical droids they have kind of... made my treatment obsolete. I wanted to practice medicine in a place where adequate health care was rare or non-existent. I wanted to help those who were most desperate, who otherwise couldn’t afford it, those who would actually value the care of a live human doctor. So I picked a planet at random, and settled here."

The random part was an utter lie. No one had cared about Raxus since the Clone Wars, and the First Order wouldn’t make it their priority to conquer Outer Rim worlds for a while yet. It was a quiet, calm planet with countless refugees fleeing here to make peaceful new lives. They wouldn’t be concerned about old, rusty equipment, lower quality bacta or no medical droids. They would simply be happy at having a doctor within a day’s trek.

And no one would think of looking here for a Force user.

Poe studied me in quiet thought for a moment, taking in what I’d divulged. “Well, they're damn lucky, with how nicely you patched me up. You’d run circles around some of the doctors and medical droids at the Resistance base.” He grinned at me again, earnestly, another attempt to thank me for my work. I felt the pit of my stomach tense, and it wouldn’t retreat, the thought of his smile lingering in my mind even after he’d gone back to his tinkering.

It had to be because I’d been in isolation for so long, why I was reacting so strongly to the innocent smiles and compliments of a man I barely knew. I definitely wasn’t used to conversing with men so close in age to my own. Most of the local humans were older, married with children, and I rarely made conversation around any other topic than their illnesses.

“What... uh... Why were you flying over Raxus?” I asked awkwardly.

His eyebrows creased together as he looked back at me. “Raxus wasn’t my destination, but I... can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he urged. “It’s just, you know, highly confidential.” He seemed apologetic, like he owed me more of an explanation.

I nodded, agreeing the less I knew about the Resistance and their missions the better. “Well, you’ll be able to get back to it in a couple of days,” I insisted, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered. “Some time and a little bit more bacta and you’ll be like new again.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” he started, an uneasy expression now settling in his features. “I was wondering when you were thinking of letting me get out of this bed.”

“Depends on the reason Poe. I’d recommend starting your formal rehab tomorrow at the absolute earliest, otherwise we can get you up and walking if you need to do something… uh… specific.” There was no hiding the waver in my voice.

He laughed, louder than he had before, the sound making it difficult for me not to blush. “Aren’t you a doctor? Why are you embarrassed for me to use the bathroom?”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I was trying to save you from being embarrassed.”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m alright on that front for now. I was actually hoping to use your refresher. It’s been a few days…”

“Oh of course!” I’d cleaned him up as much as I could before I’d left, getting rid of his obliterated flight suit and helping change into the bland hospital outfit I reserved for overnighters, but even to myself the idea of a shower was enticing.

A thought flashed into my mind of steaming water hitting Poe’s sun darkened skin, trickling down his toned body as he lathered himself in soap suds.

Woah.

Okay.

That was new.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt the fire of blood rushing to the lower portion of my abdomen, insides clenching at the heat so suddenly ignited.

Poe was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I internally shook away the incriminating thoughts before they could be conveyed on my face. “How about I get that chest tube out first? Then I can help you to the ‘fresher?”

He breathed out in relief. “That would be fantastic.”

I stepped lightly off the hospital bed, walking shoe-less over to my medical trolley to drag it back to Poe’s side. And immediately, without me asking, he sat up and began a haphazard attempt to pull off his shirt, left arm bandaged and stiff, right arm enveloped in the cast I’d made and evidently still painful to move.

In a wordless reply, I helped him pull the fabric over his head, confronted with the image of a half-naked, strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised any of his raw allure when he’d been almost stripped completely bare by my own hands on the night of his crash. It seemed bizarre I wouldn’t have noted the strong, broadness of his shoulders, his armoured chest littered deliciously with dark hair, carved abdominal muscles tensed in waiting.

I swallowed hard, hoping Poe wouldn’t register my shaking hands as I prepared the tube removal kit. Snipping the sutures around the plastic, unsteady gloved fingers pulled out the tube as smoothly as I could manage, Poe flinching slightly at the sensation. He continued to look away as I injected some bacta gel into the wound, sealing it closed with a few new sutures and placing a waterproof dressing over the site.

“All done,” I settled. “Like nothing happened at all.”

Poe looked back to me and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he remained troubled by the memories of his crash, and understandably so. I’d seen the same look in many other military personnel, the attempt to put on a brave face when images of fire, blood and terror pierced their thoughts. I desperately wanted to take his mind to a brighter place. “So, ready to try walking?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way doc.”

Ugh. Eventually I would have to correct him on that.

I stepped back from the side of the bed, arms stretched in readiness for when he inevitably stumbled. “Please take it slowly. Your muscles aren’t going to be pleased with what you’re doing after over two days of bed rest.”

“Sure thing,” Poe scoffed.

Typical male.

Initially he seemed to take my direction, moving his legs slowly from under the blanket, pain now registering on his features. He swivelled himself sluggishly to let his legs fall over the side of the mattress, breathing slightly heavier to push through the discomfort.

He was leaning more on his left side, right arm hovering over his thigh. Tentatively, he slipped his left foot onto the floor and shifted his weight onto it, pushing his hand into the mattress to help himself up.

Soon he was standing in front of me for the first time since we’d met, and even amongst all the burns, bruises, dressings and bandages, he looked impossibly strong, toned muscles wrapping his form.

He noticed the timid smile form on my lips.

“Hey don’t start laughing at me. I don’t think I could handle my ego being bruised along with the rest of me.”

“Oh... I wasn’t-,” I stumbled, quietly relieved he’d misread the reason behind my smirk.

He held his hand up in protest, grinning. “I was kidding. You’re welcome to laugh at the adult sized toddler learning to walk again.”

It was difficult not to snicker at his words. “Come on,” I encouraged. “Just think of how nice that hot water will feel.”

He sighed in agreement and moved, taking a hesitant step onto the previously fractured leg. I swiftly froze with anxiety, even when the logical side of my brain told me both the break and the artery would have stabilised exponentially by now. But the emotional side, the part that remembered the rush of blood that had exploded from the wound site, nagged incessantly at me, insisting that this was a very bad idea.

My eyes were glued to Poe’s figure as he shifted his weight deliberately, muscles tensing at the trigger of pain he was likely feeling, before he made a delicate hop to move back onto his left leg.

Even that one haggard step appeared to take a lot out of him, but he seemed determined, eyebrows already wrinkled in concentration. He continued the process a few times over, my arms still poised in waiting for the foreseeable stumble as I walked backwards. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he limped, following me out of the clinic room into the hallway that lead to my office, the ‘fresher, and my living quarters all the way at the end.

His steps became faster, more confident, when all of a sudden, his balance wavered.

Reacting quickly, I stepped forward to catch him, arms circling under his own and around his torso, hands now gripping the muscles on his back as he crashed into me. I would have stayed there for a moment, my fingertips registering the warmth radiating off his skin, until I became fully aware where his face had fallen into.

I felt Poe’s heated exhale through the cotton of my white shirt after his face had collided into my chest, directly between my breasts. The twinge in my lower abdomen occurred again, breath hitching in my throat.

He scrambled to push himself back into a standing position, my arms releasing from around him, his hands clamping around my biceps as he fought to reclaim his steadiness again.

“I am so sorry!” he blurted, his face dangerously close to mine, only a small touch of redness visible under his caramel skinned cheeks. I knew my blushing would be much more pronounced.

“It’s okay,” I breathed. “I was waiting for that to happen.”

His eyes widened.

“Not that!” I yelped. “I meant you falling! I was waiting for you to fall!”

Poe’s face illuminated into a beaming grin. “Sure you did.”

I frowned in protest, but couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping. I shifted to face the same way as him, an arm curling around his torso, angling my body under his own. “How about I help you the rest of the way?”

His hand gripped onto my shoulder, the hardened squeeze making the tensing inside me ripple even faster.

Focus Alex.

Poe let me support him as he limped down the hallway, and I desperately tried to distance myself from the thoughts that swirled in my mind at being connected so closely.

Eventually we made it into the ‘fresher, a white and grey tiled room with the large, frameless shower enclosure taking up most of the space, the only privacy a plastic curtain that could be pulled across the entire spans of the room. I’d designed it with the idea there would be enough space to assist overnighter patient’s in washing themselves, since I didn’t have a nurse to do it for me. Yet, it still gave me the ability to provide some discretion by stepping out past the other side of the curtain, ready to swoop in if I was needed.

And that’s what I’d planned for Poe, knowing he was hardly the type of patient that was going to let me do anything for him if he could help it. Guiding him to the backless shower chair, I released him to his own devices and quickly pulled the curtain across. It was more for my own concealment at this point, needing to take a moment to settle myself down, the memory of his hold still lingering on my skin.

“I’ll be right here if you need any help okay? Everything you need will be on the shelf under the shower start button.”

“Thanks Alex,” he answered, his voice huffing out as I could hear he’d already started to shimmy down his pants.

Stop imagining it Alex. Stop thinking about him naked, a metre away, behind that thin curtain.

The sound of water rushing into the tile floor pulled me back into some impression of reality. I busied myself with organising my own hygienic supplies in the mirrored cupboard, desperately trying to think of anything other than the man hidden from my view, steam swirling around his figure, water dribbling down his bare skin. From behind the screen I heard a pleasant moan leave him, obviously enjoying the hot water battering into his aching muscles for the first time in days.

And with that sound I felt a twinge between my legs, heat swelling and rippling outwards through my body.

Stars, that was... hot.

It felt so unprofessional, to be tantalized by the thought of a man, a patient, in the middle of such a basic act of human hygiene. But I couldn’t deny he was more attractive than any patient I’d ever had in my life, and the thought of ripping open the curtain so I could join him was suddenly the most tempting thing in the galaxy.

I locked my hands onto the basin that stood in front of me, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sound of Poe lathering soap between his hands, then sliding over an unseen portion of his body.

It was then I started to pace, hoping the repetitive movement would stop me ruminating over the indecent notions my mind was conjuring. Minutes ticked by too slowly as I waited for him to finish his routine, begging for the irresistible pull of craving to be released from me.

“Hey Alex?” Poe suddenly called.

“What's wrong?” I squeaked, cursing at myself for sounding so startled.

“I actually need some help.”

Oh maker, why do you do this to me?

I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Sure. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he began, voice sounding a little forced. “It’s just... with my left arm still bandaged, and my right arm still in the cast, I can’t wash my hair. I know it’s a little strange, but could you help me out?”

My heart ricocheted inside my rib cage, frolicking at the thought of seeing him soaked in water, fingers raking through his dampened hair.

Come on Alex, try to keep at least one shred of professionalism.

“Sure,” I agreed, a more competent tone saturating my voice as I withheld my internal fluttering. “Make yourself… uh… decent, and I’ll open the curtain.”

I heard Poe’s movement as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rail nearby and wrapped it around his lower body. The flowing water soon came to a stop, the sudden silence making me feel uneasy.

“Ready.”

I placed myself in front of the curtain between us, his stature only barely visible through the clouded screen. My jaw was locked as I took a deep breath through my nose, meditating in thought, frantically clawing at a sense of calm.

Then I reached towards the plastic, clenched my hand around it, and pulled.

Next Chapter

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

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Old Friends 5

Chapter 5!! Sorry I was busy today and didn’t get a chance to post it

Spencer Reid x Reader

Spencer helps Reader deal with nightmares.

Chapter 5:

Coffee was an everyday thing for me. But recently it has become a necessity.

The nightmares started after the case in my hometown, and I’ve barely slept since. Not for lack of trying.

I had my second cup of coffee before noon, and Morgan gave me a face. “Did the pretty girl get laid last night?”

I laughed bitterly. “Far from it I’m afraid.”

“Are you sure? Those bags under your eyes tell a different story.” Morgan continued to pester me all until I sat at my desk. He just chuckled and walked away.

JJ came by to drop a stack of files on my desk, and she gave me a look too. “Did you get laid last night?”

I dropped the pen I was holding. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Did you?” JJ persisted.

“Sorry to disappoint you JJ, but no I didn’t.” I faked a sad face. “Just a late night, that’s all.” Or a couple weeks worth of late nights.

In the desk next to me, Spencer gave me a look but didn’t say anything.

Hotch suddenly ran out of his office and knocked on Rossi’s door. They spoke a few words, and turned to look at us. “Everyone, grab your go bag. We’ll brief on the jet. Wheels up in 10.”

---

“Holden Baxley, a friend of mine from the Boston field office called me an hour ago. He couldn’t go into details, but long story short, a suicide bomber that hasn’t been identified walked into Boston PD with a bomb strapped to his chest.”

“Oh god,” JJ breathed. “What happened then?”

Hotch closed his eyes. “The bomb went off, and half of the Boston police department blew out with it.”

The jet was silent.

“How many casualties?” Morgan asked.

“17 and counting, 23 wounded.”

“Do they think it’s a one time explosion?” I could only imagine the kind of panic this would have in the city.

“No, because a note was left at the press two minutes before the bomber even walked into the station. The note read ‘God’s wrath will be unleashed on all who disrespect the word of the Lord.’”

“Old Testament much?” Rossi looked around the jet. “The fact that the news station is across town from Boston PD makes me think there’s more than one or two unsubs.”

“Guys,” I started. “What if it’s a cult turned terrorist cell?”

“That is possible, especially if the leader is a psychopath that suffered a loss and blames Boston PD.” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “The leader could’ve involved others that feel the same and want revenge against law enforcement. By taking on the persona of the wrath of God, they likely aren’t going to stop until they wreak ultimate havoc on the city in the name of religion.”

“We have to find them before they strike again. YLN, Reid, go to the explosion site. Prentiss, Morgan, set up in the Boston Field Office. JJ, Rossi and I will interview families of the victims and witnesses of the explosion. Try and work quickly. Something tells me we don’t have a lot of time.” Hotch didn’t miss a beat. “The wrath of God is about to be unleashed upon Boston.”

---

The entire right side of Boston PD was blown out into the street beside it. Crowds of citizens and TV news channels flooded the streets, barely being kept back by the lines of yellow tape.

“Spencer, how are we going to respond to the press?” I asked as we pulled up in the SUV.

“No comment, for now.”

As soon as we stepped out of the SUV, reporters and citizens alike screamed and shouted questions.

“Is this the work of terrorists?” “How do we know if we’re safe?” “What do you have to say to the victim’s families?”

“No comment.” Spencer and I held up our badges and ducked under the yellow tape.

“The psycho that blew the place up was blown to smithereens as well. We didn’t find any kind of ID on him.” A Boston FBI agent approached us. “Larry Dillman, Boston FBI.” He offered his hand to Spencer and I took it before it got too awkward when Spencer didn’t shake it.

“I’m SSA Dr. YFN YLN and this is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid. Where was the approximate location of the original blast?”

Dillman walked us through what was left of the front door. “About right there, when he walked into the main hall. It was noon, so there were more people busying about. That’s partly why the body count is so high.”

“Do you know if he said anything when he walked in?” Spencer asked.

“Witnesses have said he just yelled ‘Matthew 10:34’ and boom.”

“‘Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.’” Spencer recited.

“He is literally using the Bible as his scapegoat to commit terrorism.” I looked up at Spencer. “We need to get to the station.”

---

After checking out the explosion we hurried back to the station. “Hotch!” I called out. “He’s using God as a scapegoat to terrorize Boston. The massive rage confirms that they aren’t going to stop.”

“Excuse me, Agents,” a woman stood up from her desk. “There’s someone on line 1 wanting to talk to an agent from the BAU.”

Hotch pulled Rossi up to the phone and gestured to Morgan. “Call Garcia to track the call.”

Rossi slowly picked up the phone. “Hello, this is SSA David Rossi with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?”

“Is it too pretentious to say your worst nightmare?” The voice said. Obviously using a voice modulator, classic paranoid narcissist by building himself up to be some almighty being.

“Are you responsible for the attack on Boston PD?” Rossi asked. “Michael Devons incited massive panic with a small IED.”

“Boston PD? You mean that building full of liars, cheaters, and sinners?”

“God speaks of forgiveness, but you seem to carry a lot of hatred.” Rossi looked over all of us. “Are your friends listening to this phone call as well?”

The caller was silent for a while. “You may think we see this as a game, but we don’t. God plays no games with the people he creates.” The line goes dead and I release a breath I’ve been holding since he called.

“Garcia couldn’t track it, probably using a disposable cell phone,” Morgan pointed to the crime scene photos. “These guys are smart, using voice modulators, ensuring their members die for the cause, so why would they call us for no apparent reason?”

“A game...” I mumbled. “You make think we see this as a game...”

“What is it, YLN?” Prentiss asked me.

I gasped. “What if they’re testing us? That’s why they called, to see if we could figure out their next target... Fenway Park. Are there any baseball games today?”

“Slow down, brainy lady,” Morgan said slowly. “What are you thinking?”

“He said, ‘You may think we see this as a game, but we don’t.’ What if he wasn’t talking about the bombings but the baseball games? That’s all about choosing sides and that’s something God forbids. They would see every person in that stadium as a sinner.” I looked Hotch in the eyes. “The next target is Fenway Park, it has to be.”

Hotch pointed to the head of the field office. “Are there any baseball games at Fenway Park today?”

“Yeah, Sox versus Yankees.”

“We gotta get over there,” Hotch said and we all ran out the doors. “Swat will meet us there.”

---

“We can’t evacuate the stadium, that would set the bomber off early if they see people leaving,” Hotch explained as we got on our tactical gear. “Search the stadium, most likely they’re under the stands.”

“What do we do if we find the bomber?” JJ asked.

“Try to talk them down, if you can’t... shoot straight. Let’s go.”

The nearly empty corridors of Fenway Park were eerie as I walked by myself. Every now and then I would hear noise from the fans, and the smell of cheap nachos filled the air.

As I approached concessions, I looked at all the people in line. A young couple giggling at each other, a man probably in his 70s, a pregnant woman pushing a stroller.

And an isolated young man with a giant overcoat. As soon as he caught sight of me, the guy bolted.

“FBI! Out of the way!” I yelled. “Stop right there and put your hands up!”

To my surprise, he actually stopped.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly. Everyone else, clear out of here.”

The man turned around, a smug smile on his face. “Romans 1:18!”

He started to unbuckle his overcoat.

He didn’t get the chance when I shot him between the eyes.

I took a shaky breath and called into my comm. “Suspect is down. Get bomb squad in here to take care of the explosive. Fifty feet away from concessions.”

The smile was still frozen on his face, even though half of his head was blown out.

---

I was quiet on the jet ride back. He wasn’t my first kill, but my first one with the BAU, and that was sure to ensue even more sleepless nights.

Spencer sat across from me. “You were even more impressive than usual with this case. Somehow you always raise the bar.”

“No kidding,” Rossi said in passing.

“So are you going to tell me about this nightmare you’re having or...” Spencer gave me a look. “You know talking about it will help.”

“Spencer-“

“Talk to me.” I could see in his eyes he wasn’t going to give up.

“Well, it starts out with me sitting with a teenage girl. She’s a patient, and she was talking about how her teacher was... messing with her. Slowly she disappears, and the room transforms into... my mom’s bedroom. She’s standing there, yelling at me. Except the louder she yells, the more blood comes out of her mouth.” I shake my head. “I try and help her, but no sound would come out. She wraps her hand around my throat, screaming at me and spitting blood in my face. I wake up before she brings her fist down on my jaw.

Spencer was quiet for a while. “...Could it be the apartment making the nightmares worse? Sometimes a change of scenery helps distract the subconscious from the nightmares.” Spencer twirled a pen through his fingers, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe, whenever I’m lying awake in my bed I’m looking around my bedroom instead of relaxing.”

Spencer thought about something. “Well... you could stay the night at my place if you want. I could sleep on the couch and you can take the bed.” I could see his nervousness in his darting eyes and twitchy hands.

I smile. “Spencer, that’s really nice but you don’t have to-“

“No, no. I want to help.” And I could tell he was serious.

“Okay sure, but on one condition- I take the couch and you sleep in your own bed.”

Spencer huffed a laugh. “Fine.”

---

The plane landed at 10:12 at night. Not super late, but after this case, everyone wanted to go to bed.

Hotch had made an announcement on the jet that we could take a half day tomorrow and come in at noon.

“Can’t wait to sleep in until 11:45,” Morgan joked on the elevator.

Since Spencer takes the train to work everyday, he hopped in my passengers seat and immediately made a face.

“What is it?” I asked, confused.

“Your car is disgusting,” Spencer said. “I’ve seen shantytowns cleaner than this.”

“Oh, shut up Mr. Cleanliness. A couple food wrappers does not make me a slob,” I lightly punched him in the shoulder as I pulled out of the parking garage.

“It’s more than a couple,” Spencer muttered.

“I’ve starting to regret agreeing to a sleepover, pretty boy.”

---

Sitting on Spencer’s couch eating popcorn and watching Doctor Who felt so much like college that I completely forgot about the fact that I could’ve been blown up today.

We were still watching Doctor Who on the couch when my eyes fell heavy. Slowly, my head rested on Spencer’s shoulder and started to doze off.

I was barely awake when I felt Spencer press a light kiss on my forehead.

His lips felt the same as they did in college.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff

217 notes · View notes

wutroows · 4 years

Text

taking him home (general hux x reader)

pairing: general hux x reader (romantic) a/n: threepio is your best friend in this, i don’t make the rules. also thinking of an alternative ending where hux stays behind and dies as he did in the movies but i know that just causes pain and suffering and this fandom has had way too much of that so i probably won’t do it unless people really want it. this has almost 3.5k words too so that’s pretty cool, hux is one of my favorite characters and it ruined me when he died so i hope you enjoy this, i really loved writing it

“chewie..?”

rey’s voice is shaky as she stares up at ren’s star destroyer, which now took over the sky of kijimi. you stand next to finn, who had been visibly tense ever since ren’s destroyer was mentioned moments before. you look between him and poe, and then back at C-3PO, who now had no memory of any of you. the thought did twinge a bit. you really did like threepio, and now, you had to have him relearn everything he’d been through.

“what about him?” finn asks, without missing a beat. “he’s on ren’s ship,” rey says, “he’s alive.” she turns back to look at the group, a now hopeful smile appearing across her lips. “what? how?” you hear poe say, “he’s alive! he must’ve been on a different transport.” you look between the group of people standing before you, all suddenly looking incredibly happy. “we gotta go get him.” finn concludes, “your friend’s on that sky trash?” zorii says, “guess he is!” poe shrugs. threepio suddenly becomes alive again, his eyes lighting up that familiar golden glow. “might i introduce myself. i am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations, and you are?”

“okay, that’s gonna be a problem.”

“threepio, move your metal ass, we’re almost there!” poe pushes past the protocol droid, who sounds offended when he speaks, “how dare you! we’ve only just met!” you roll your eyes and pat the droid on his shoulder, “i promise i’ll give you a nice story-time, later, threepio.”

“poe!” you hear zorii say. she holds up something you can’t quite recognize from where you stand next to rey and finn, "go help your friend.” she sounds determined, and he shakes his head. “zorii, i don’t think i can take this.” he tries to deny it, pushing her hands away, but she refuses. you hear the roar of a ship from behind you, and as you peek around the corner, you tug at finn’s sleeve, “we need to leave, now.” you tell poe, and you turn and follow after rey.

poe steps up beside you and you look over at him, “are you nervous?” he asks you after a minute, trying to keep up with rey, who has been setting the pace as you walk towards ochi’s ship, you shrug. “a little. i just want to get chewie out of here and then leave.” you tell him. you knew full well hux would be here.

you hadn’t told anyone who the spy was. he was the one who told you palpatine was alive, and you relayed that information back to the resistance yourself each time. hux had gifted you a tie fighter to fly back and forth between your rendezvous point and the resistance base. you’d inspected it in and out, making sure the tie hadn’t been tracking your location. he’d promised you multiple times, he’d taken out a few things to make the tie as rogue as it could be, but your comms still worked, so sometimes for entertainment you’d listen to different frequencies and see what you found. hux was the only member of the first order you could say that you liked. he’d given you a first order officer uniform, making sure you wouldn’t be recognized at all by anyone. you could only hope he wouldn’t be involved. you knew he would pull something stupid to get you out of here if he had to.

“i get it.” poe’s voice cuts you out of your thoughts and the door to ochi’s ship opens, and the group piles in. you silently thanked zorii for the medallion, as you were given the okay to enter ren’s destroyer. “whoever this chewie person is, this is madness!” 3PO says, and you look over at him. you missed his nagging, even if he wasn’t shut off for a while, you knew he’d never be the same again.

the ship lands in hangar 12, and as soon as the door opens stormtroopers begin to walk up the ramp. finn shoots his blaster and poe follows suit, shooting the two down. the four of you turn back to back, shooting at every stormtrooper that comes in sight. you were definitely known about now. “you three, stay there!” rey says, and you hear threepio say, “happily!”

“threepio!” you call out his name as you start to turn away, jogging backwards. his head turns upwards as he hears you call his name, “yes, mistress y/n?” you roll your eyes, he would always be the same droid when it came to never dropping formalities, “stay safe, please!” you say firmly, and with that, you turn to your friends.

“which way?”

“uh, no idea, follow me!”

***

your eyes watch a squadron of stormtroopers pass. their armor is loud, clanking with each step they take. finn peaks his head out after they’re gone, and finally steps out of his hiding space. he turns and moves his hand, letting everyone else know it was okay to come out. the four of you hold your blasters and check down every single hallway, making sure no more members of the first order were in the area. finn leads you down a hallway, and you jump as two stormtroopers, clad in their signature armor, with their blasters pointed at your heads.

“drop your weapons!” one of them says, and rey steps forwards, waving her hand, “it’s okay that we’re here.” you and poe give each other a look, but turn your attention back to rey and the troopers in front of you. the two of them lower their blasters, “it’s okay that you’re here,” the one who spoke originally says, “it’s good.”

“you’re relieved that we’re here.”

“thank goodness you’re here.”

“welcome guys.”

“did she do that to us?” you hear poe say and you elbow him in the side, earning a small “ow” before rey speaks again. “we’re looking for a prisoner and his belongings.”

***

you shot the last camera that was in the hallway, “they said chewie’s this way.” finn says, and as he enters a passcode to get the door to unlock, rey turns around, walking in a different direction. “rey, come on.” finn says from behind you and she turns around, “the dagger is on this ship. we need it.” she says and a confused look appears on poe’s face, “rey, why?” you ask her and she looks into your eyes, “ a feeling. i’ll meet you back at the hangar.”

“rey, you can’t just-” finn says, but he’s too late, as she’s already gone down a different hallway. rey did a lot of things based off of intuition and feelings. hopefully she was right about needing that dagger, but if you had it, threepio wouldn’t have needed to get his memory wiped. you sighed audibly and poe gave you a pat on your shoulder, “chewie.” poe says as finn had took a few steps as if he were wanting to go after her. he nods, and the three of you go down the door that had just opened.

ren’s destroyer was practically a maze, but the door to chewie’s cell was easy to find as the troopers rey had mind-tricked had given you exact directions to get there. the door to his cell slid open and you heard his roars as soon as it did. “of course we came for you. chewie.” poe sits his hands on the wookiee’s shoulders for a moment and you gave him a quick hug.

you were incredibly close to the wookiee. after han’s passing, he needed someone to lean on. he lost luke, recently as well, and now the only person he had left was leia. when the lightning shot out of rey’s fingertips, you thought that he was in there, and you broke down in front of poe. you couldn’t help it. you’d lost too much already. you had been close to han, and luke had told you that he liked you the one time that he met you, saying that he knew you would do great things. you could only wish he was there to see them.

“yeah, rey’s here, she’s gonna get the dagger.” finn’s voice drags you back to reality, and you uncuff chewie’s paws. the three of you help him stand up.

now it was time to make your way back to the ship.

***

“wrong way!”

“well, there’s not really a right way, is there?” poe retorts and he peeks his head around the door, shooting one of the stormtroopers. you slide out of the door and shoot the remaining ones, sliding one of their blasters back to the currently weaponless chewbacca, who takes out the troopers approaching you from behind. “thanks chewie!” you laugh breathlessly and he roars in response. you missed him.

the four of you continue making your way down the hallway, jumping over stormtroopers and shooting at any of them who cross your path. “we close?” poe asks, “straight ahead!”

poe runs into the crossroads of a few hallways, and a blaster shot collides with his arm. “poe!” finn screams, and he slides on his knees, “are you okay?”

footsteps, and a lot of them. you back up next to them, chewie following suit.

“nope.”

***

handcuffs are uncomfortable.

you notice that as you’re manhandled by a group of stormtroopers. they confinscate your blaster and before you know it you’re being dragged down a hallway. your eyes landed on hux, and you silently pleaded with him to let you go. he made eye contact with you before quickly looking away, and you grit your teeth. he’d do something, you knew that. well, not exactly. you were just hoping incredibly hard that he would.

you’re standing between poe and chewbacca, and you bit on the inside of your lip. hux was standing right there. he was about to watch you be executed. at least you’d die with your friends. “actually, i’d like to do this myself.” hux’s accented voice speaks out, and you feel your heart leap out of your chest. was he really going to save you? you hear a trooper hand him their blaster and you let out a sigh.

“what were you gonna tell rey before?” you roll your eyes hearing poe’s words. the person he was talking to was finn, who had said he wanted to tell rey something while the group was sinking in quicksand on pasaana. he’d brushed it off multiple times and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was talking about. “you still on that?” finn replies. “oh, i’m sorry, is this a bad time?” he says back sarcastically. chewbacca grunts next to you and you mumble out, “i agree. they sound like a married couple.” you whisper to him.

“yeah, sort of is a bad time, poe.”

“well, 'cause later doesn't really look like an option. if you're gonna let something off your chest, maybe now's not the worst time to...”

the two of them start bickering, and you begin wondering what hux was doing behind you. was he contemplating killing you himself? at much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was. he hadn’t done anything except hold the blaster.

one. two. three. four.

your eyes shut and you prepare for impact, thinking you’ll see the bodies of your friends fall forwards and that he saved you for last. you don’t.

“i’m the spy.” hux says, and you smile widely. he pulled through. you had your doubts, but you know that deep down, hux had morals.

“what?!”

“you?!”

“y/n!” finn and poe say at the same time, and you look at them. “i promised him i’d tell no one who he was.” he gives you a look of gratitude, “i can at least do that, right?”

“we don’t have much time.” hux says, looking across the four of you.

“i knew it!” poe exclaims. if your hands weren’t cuffed, you’d be facepalming. “no, you did not.” finn says and you roll your eyes. you were the only person in the resistance who knew who the spy was. hux said he’d only make face to face deals, and since then, you’d met up with him a lot of times.

hux comes forwards and uncuffs you first, and you look up at him happily.

as much as you hate to admit it, he was incredibly pretty. his eyes were a bright blue and his hair a fiery red. he looked focused as he unlocked the handcuffs, and they fall to the floor with a clang. you massage your wrists and he looks at you. “thank you.” he doesn’t say anything, but he gives you a nod. he moves on to the wookiee standing next to you.

after all four of you are uncuffed, he leads you through the destroyer and back to the hangar. you see threepio, bb8 and the new droid rey found on ochi’s ship coming from the hallway. “bb8, come on!”

“i’ll shut down the impeders. you’ve got seconds.” you clench your jaw and furrow your brow. he had seconds. you knew no one would believe his story that the four of you just escaped. you hated the first order, but they weren’t all dumb. “hux.” you utter. you turn to him and look him straight in the eyes. “there she is, she’s a survivor.” you assume poe’s talking about rey, but your eyes remain firmly on the general standing in front of you.

“blast me in the arm, quick.”

finn looks confused, “or they’ll know.”

“no!” you exclaim, “they’ll know either way. you can’t stay here. you need to come with us, now. you’ll die if you stay here.” you tell him. he looks over at you, and you know that he realizes that. he’d die if he stays there. he shakes his head, and you become desperate.

your hands reach out to his face, and you cup his jawline. the tip of your nose is touching his and for once you don’t care if your friends see. you really liked him. “i can’t.” he says. his voice is shaky and his eyes are looking anywhere but your face. “please.” you beg him. you feel your eyes begin to fill with tears. you’d really gotten attached to him.

you remembered the first time you met him.

“it’s you?” you say as you hop down from your x-wing and onto the landing platform. his hands are behind his back and he’s looking straight at you. you take your helmet off and hold it underneath your arm. “really? i was expecting a stormtrooper, not a general.” you laugh slightly. you see him roll his eyes, but he beckons you to a more secretive part of the platform. “i chose this spot for a reason.” you nod, following after him.

“you shouldn’t take an x-wing here.”

“well it’s not like we have tie fighters lying around.” you tell him and he makes a mental note to himself. he couldn’t get kylo ren to lose if you were dead. he pulls out a few pieces of paper and he hands them to you. your hands move to open them, but his sharp voice stops you. “not here.”

“riiiight. sorry.” you apologize, chuckling softly.

“i’ll be on my way then. stay safe, general.” you mock salute, and with that, you’re turned back towards your x-wing and you’re flying away. he keeps his eyes on your ship until he can’t anymore.

“listen to me, hux.” you say to him, “come with us. come with me.” your words hit him hard, and he hates it. he knew he likes you. he remembered the exact moment he realized it.

“you really think i’ll wear this?”

hux holds in his hands an officer uniform. you look up at him and shake your head. “you need to. if i’m caught with you in that outfit you wear now,” you look down at your uniform. it’s bright orange and covered in rebel alliance symbols, “you’ll be captured and taken prisoner, tortured for information by ren.” he tells you and you inhale deeply, but you take the uniform from him and throw it into the x-wing. “fine, but i’m only wearing it here to ease your nerves.” you say sarcastically, nudging him with your elbow.

he rolls his eyes, but he feels his cheeks warm.

“please.” he finally looks into your eyes, and he notices the fact that you’re crying. hux looks confused, “we need to go, y/n!” poe’s voice says from behind you. “shut up, poe!” your voice is coarse, and the rest of the group looks shocked from your words. you’d never once yelled at any of them. “please, i’m begging you. you’ll die if you stay here and you know that.”

“i..” he starts. your forehead leans against his own and your eyes are closed.

you were in love with him.

he sent you different coordinates.

the spot you met him in was usually the same, but now it was some planet out in the outer rim. the first order was active there, but your officer’s uniform would easily let you slip past stormtroopers. you land your x-wing where your meeting spot was, and there he stood.

he’s with a tie fighter.

you stare at him, eyes wide. “did you get that for me?” you ask him, hopping down from your x-wing. he nods. he looks cute. his hair isn’t perfect, some strands falling out of place and resting on his forehead. his eyes are still that same beautiful blue you find yourself staring at way too often. “is this because you care about me? how cute.” you gush playfully, and you see his jaw clench.

“thank you, hux.” you laugh, “just.. don’t mention it.”

you’re shocked. of course you are. you swore he was a ruthless man, with no empathy or care for others, but this clearly proved otherwise. he managed to get you an x-wing just to fly to your rendevous point and back. “everything the first order would use to track you has been removed.” he reassures you after noticing you opened your mouth.

“did you remove it yourself?”

he adjusts the lapel of his jacket, and he nods. he looks flustered, and it looked adorable. “i couldn’t risk anyone else doing it. i learned how to for this.” his voice is quiet, and his eyes and looking down towards his feet.

“thank you, really.”

he doesn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. the blush on his cheeks said everything for you.

he hates seeing you cry for someone like him. “hux, listen to me. okay? just listen.” you mumble out, “i’ve liked you for a long time.” you admit to him, quiet enough to where no one else but the two of you could hear. you see his face flush, and the blush on his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears and nose. you feel yourself melt at that. he was so beautiful without even trying.

at this point, the two of you are on your knees on the floor and you’re desperately holding onto him. you couldn’t give up that easily and just let him run off to his death you knew was coming. you didn’t even realize that you sunk to your knees and took him with you until you felt the cold of the floor through your pants and on your legs.

“a really long time, ever since you gave me that stupid tie fighter to make sure i didn’t die trying to get to you. i was so shocked that you cared so much about some rebel, i was supposed to be someone you hated, but instead you took care of me and.. you didn’t want me dying. i knew that, you don’t have to tell me.” he opens his mouth to respond, but you put your finger over his lips. “i’m not done.”

“i just.. i don’t want you dying here. i could save you. i could take you home..” you sniffle, and your thumbs are running over his cheeks. “y/n..” he says your name, and you look into his eyes. “please, let me save you, armitage.”

something in him changes as you say his name.

“okay. okay, i’ll go.”

a smile appears across your lips, and you couldn’t help yourself. one of your hands travel to the back of his head, and you lean forwards. his eyes stay open for as long as they could, but as soon as your lips press against his, they’re closed. he melts into your touch, and you stand up off the floor, taking him with you.

he never wants to let you go.

“come on, let’s go.”

he nods.

your fingers entwine with his.

you’re taking him home.

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nev3rfound · 4 years

Text

beyond belief : part nine - s.r

brief summary: it’s been a year since you said goodbye to steve rogers, but you’re needed by the avengers now more than ever

word count: 2.7k requested: yes - by a series of people so thank you! (and I know it’s been many months since I last posted about this series, but here we are the end at last!) warnings: none that i’m aware of?

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six / part seven / part eight / part nine (final)

* masterlistin

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it isn’t me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

permanent taglist

An entire year had passed by since Steve had been given the video of your goodbye to him. And despite it all, the pain still felt fresh whenever your name was mentioned.

All Steve wanted was to see you, speak to you face to face. But with your whereabouts left as classified information, he was left just to wonder about you and hope you were alright.

Truth be told, you were. You were healing, working on yourself with the occasional visit from old friends, Carol included to your surprise. Yet, with every visit you could tell they were holding something back, there was something they weren’t telling you, but you could simply see it in the looks they exchanged with one another.

Opening your eyes, you rolled over in the bed, once more woken up in a cold sweat with memories of what the Teacher inflicted on you.

A pair of hands rest on your shoulders as you blink rapidly, looking up to see Wanda smiling softly. “It’s only me, I’m real.” She assures you, glancing down to see your hands burning energy and it slowly dissipates.

“Sorry,” You mutter quietly as you sit upright, ignoring the cold sweat lining your back. “I forgot you were here.”

Wanda shrugs her shoulder in response. “It’s okay, was it about?” She doesn’t have to finish her question to see you scrunching up the duvet with your palms, the apparent fear in your gaze.

“I’ve not had a nightmare about it in a while.” You sigh, bringing your legs close to your chest, just how you did in the experiment when you were scared. “It just felt, felt so real.” You focus on Wanda as tears fill your eyes, but you blink them away.

“It’s okay to feel defeated sometimes, Y/n.” She mutters, reaching out but you flinch away, retreating to the corner of the bed as you huddle by the window. “It happens to us all.”

Keeping your eyes fixated on the wind blowing through the leaves you take a deep breath in an attempt to ease your rapid heart beat. “It just feels like I’m making progress and then I have a nightmare and suddenly I’m back to square one all over again.” You admit, watching as two squirrels spiral around a tree and a smile ghosts your lips.

“Is this about what Tony said the other day?” Wanda questions to you, noting your smile dropping as you glance back over to her, nodding. “It’s only if your ready, Y/n. It’s a training mission, but he doesn’t want to force you out if you’re not sure.” She reminds you, having sat beside you as Tony explained the mission to you.

“I would’ve been ready yesterday.” You remark. “But now, now I just don’t know, Wanda.”

Wanda can tell there’s something you’re not admitting, but throughout all of this, she’s learnt better than to try and prise information out of you. The last time that happened, she was thrown through the window in the kitchen.

“Well, you know how to reach us, okay?” She pats the bedding, leaving the burner phone that you’ve not used since you arrived at the cabin. “I’m only a phone call away, you know that.” She quietly adds before rising to her feet and heading toward the door.

“Thank you, Wanda.” You call out as she reaches the front door.

She hesitates before turning back, seeing you now sat upright with the phone in your hand. “Anytime, Y/n.” She tells you before walking out and boarding the Quinjet, seeing Tony rising to his feet.

“Well?” He questions, watching as Wanda shakes her head. “You tried, kid.” He mutters as they fly off, leaving you in solitude once more.

“Agent Rogers, Tony and Wanda have returned.” FRIDAY announces and Steve lifts his head up from his desk.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” He responds before rising to his feet, wandering through the compound to see if there’s a small chance that this time you’ll be alongside them.

Once again, Steve allows his heart to sink as Wanda and Tony walk off unaccompanied. Wanda frowns to herself upon seeing Steve waiting in anticipation and walks over to him. “I’m sorry, Steve.” She brings him into a tight hug. “We tried.”

Steve half heartedly hugs Wanda back. “It’s okay, Wan.” He mutters, unable to hide his disappointment. “She’ll come back eventually.” He thinks aloud, trying to convince himself more than anyone else at this point.

“She is getting better though.” Wanda tells Steve, hoping to ignite some hope in him as he begins to walk off, back toward his room. “Don’t give up, Steve.” Wanda calls out as she listens to a door closing, causing her to jump slightly.

“All we can do, Wanda.” Tony tells her as he walks past with a sad look in his eyes. “Just gotta keep trying and at some point, we might get through to her.”

Standing in his room, Steve walks over to his laptop with clenched fists. He sits down and opens up the video once again, something he can’t help but do.

He leans in, watching as your face appears on the screen, but you’re too scared to look at the lens. “Steve, I,” You pause and Steve can feel his heart stopping, just like the first time he watched the video. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. But I’m not safe, I, I’m not secure in myself so I’ve left the compound.” He watches as you look around the place you’re staying, still wondering where you could be.

Steve will never forget when Tony delivered him the small envelope, your neat hand writing on the front. He tried to remain composed as he rushed to his room to see what it was, but felt like a broken man as the footage came to an end.

“I don’t know if or when I’ll return, but please, do not blame yourself for any of it.” Tears line your eyes as you sniff. “This wasn’t your fault, or mine. There are people out there who torture for their own gain, as you know all too well.” A flash of fear crosses your eyes and Steve can feel his heart breaking, all he wants to do is hold you close and apologise.

Reaching his hand up to the screen, Steve sighs as tears fall down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He mutters watching as you finally look directly at him, right into the lens.

“Until I see you again, Captain America. Take care.” A genuine smile crosses your lips before the video ends, and Steve is left looking back at his own reflection, seeing a figure behind him.

“I know what you’re going to say, Buck.” Steve speaks up, focusing on his notes surrounding him. “But I’m not giving up, not yet.”

Bucky steps back as Steve turns around, seeing the hardened expression on his friends face. “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” Bucky states, crossing his arms. “but there’s something you should see.”

Following Bucky into the conference room, Steve notes everyone is already there, including Carol. “Take a seat, Cap.” Tony advises.

“What’s happened?” Steve questions as Tony brings up a video for everyone to watch.

“Earlier today, there was another attack from someone involved in Y/n’s kidnapping.” Tony explains and Steve shudders. “We know that Y/n killed this Teacher guy, but there are some others still out there.”

“They’re looking to find more like Y/n, but ones who might be more vulnerable.” Natasha speaks up as she passes over the file to Steve who looks through, noting the three teenagers they’ve discovered.

“So we need to find them before they do?” Steve looks up, seeing Tony nod.

“We don’t know the extent of their capabilities, but if they’re anything like Y/n, they’re powerful.” Tony paces around the room, pulling up old footage of you on the field, something Steve turns his gaze away from.

“Where do we start?” Sam asks as he takes the file from Steve, looking at the various locations.

Tony slides away your training footage and replaces it with a map. “Right there,” He points, zooming in and dots a small farm just outside of Texas. “that’s where we’ll find Aria, number one if you will.”

Walking out from the Quinjet, Steve is closely followed by Carol, Wanda, Natasha and Tony. “Comms in check?” Steve questions, hearing responses from everyone as they slowly make their way toward the barn.

“Aria should be inside, but be cautious.” Wanda warns as everyone splits up, taking different angles.

Glancing over her shoulder, Wanda waits for the signal before opening the door to find Aria sat on a haystack, playing with farming tools in the air.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Aria coldly states as she directs the tools toward Wanda with red filling her eyes.

Wanda lifts her hands up in defence. “Yeah, she’s definitely not wanting company.” Wanda mutters into the comms as everyone slows down, taking caution.

“Who are you?” Aria asks as she rises to her feet, dropping a few of the tools with her left hand, but keeps the pitchfork up with her right as it hovers closer toward Wanda’s neck.

“I’m a friend,” Wanda states. “and I’m here to help.” She keeps her eyes fixated on Aria. “There are people who want to hurt you, Aria. But I don’t want that to happen so, you’ve got to trust me, okay?”

“Why should I trust you, how do I know you aren’t here to hurt me?” She raises an eyebrow and Wanda sighs.

“I need backup.” Wanda speaks quietly into her comms and listens out for her team. “Because I know people like you, I have a friend like you.” Wanda begins to explain, stepping closer toward the pitchfork. “And she was hurt because of her powers, given false promises.”

Aria steps back, taking the pitchfork with her. “I’ve been promised everything.” Aria admits and Wanda freezes.

“Guys?” Wanda calls out as the doors behind Aria open up as three figures stand. “We’re too late.” She backs away, ducking as a series of objects are directed toward her.

Wanda does her best to block them off, and for the most part, it works. “Wanda!” Steve yells as he takes a hold of her, backing away from the barn as Aria walks out, her whole body glowing red as three men stand around her.

“You’re too late, Wanda.” Aria laughs. “No one can stop me, they want to make me more powerful, help me grow.” She explains with a bright smile on her face. “I won’t be some dumb kid anymore, my parents were wrong about me.”

“Aria, this isn’t you!” Steve yells as Wanda keeps them both protected with her powers, but Steve can see Wanda struggling to keep the field up.

“But this is my destiny.” Aria yells as she rises from the ground, leaving burnt grass beneath her feet as the men guarding her back away. “And no one is getting in the way of it, not anymore.” She tells them with a sinister smile, and Steve covers Wanda, waiting for the impact.

But it doesn’t follow. Instead, silence falls.

“Don’t believe everything they tell you, kid.”

Steve lifts his head up and tenses up as you stand beside him and Wanda.

You keep your eyes fixated on Aria, but you’re glowing white. “Whatever they promised you, it’s all a lie.” You warn Aria, but she shakes her head. “Let them help you, let us help you before they hurt you.” You step forward, hovering off the ground and Steve remains in disbelief.

After all this time, here you are. And you’ve never looked happier, healthier or more yourself.

“Why should I trust you? You’re with them!” Aria coldly looks down at the Avengers, but you reach out, resting your hand on her shoulder.

Everyone watches as your white glow spreads across Aria, her red pupils dulling back to brown. “Believe me now?” You mutter to her as you both fall back down to the ground, the red encapsulating Aria is gone.

“What, what happened?” Aria questions, looking around as the three men pull out guns and direct them to Aria.

You step in front of her, using your powers to disassemble their guns. “I know who sent you.” You tell the three men as the white glow in your palms flickers, growing. “And if I were you, I’d leave now with a warning to them.”

One man steps forward, watching as Steve rises to his feet, stepping closer toward you as Aria trembles behind you.

“Don’t mess with kids.” You tell them before sending a blast through his chest, watching as he is fired back into the barn, tearing part of it down with him. The other men look at one another. “You two have something to say?” You raise an eyebrow, and watch as they start to run.

Turning on your heels, you look over to Tony with a small smile who nods, running after the two men with Carol hot on his tail.

“You’re safe now, okay?” You tell Aria as she hugs you tightly. “Whatever happened, whatever they made you do, it’ll be alright. I promise.” You assure her, knowing that was the only thing that helped you heal.

Lifting your head up, you see Wanda smile to you as she holds her hand out. “Come on, Aria. I’ll get you patched up.” Wanda speaks up and Aria looks to you hesitantly, watching as you nod.

“That was certainly something,” Steve states, watching as the glow surrounding you dies down.

A small laugh leaves your lips as you face Steve after all this time. “Sorry if I got in the way of your moment.” You joke, and Steve smiles genuinely to you. “But, I kinda saved your ass.” You remind him, and Steve nods, still in shock that you’re here in front of him.

“I, I just can’t believe you’re here.” He admits as you look around the farm site, seeing Natasha picking up the guard you threw earlier and dragging him toward the Quinjet in handcuffs.

“Well, there’s only so many calls you can ignore from Tony.” You shrug a shoulder. “But when he told me there were more like me at risk,” You trail off and Steve remains quiet. “and I guess it’s about time.”

“So, how are you, really?” Steve asks you quietly, watching as you focus on him instead of avoiding his gaze.

You sigh to yourself before nodding, looking away from him. “I’m better.” You state. “I, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so in control of myself, but there’s still some things I can’t fix or change.”

Steve steps closer toward you, focusing closely for any sign of discomfort in you, but you remain still. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He whispers as he reaches out for your hand, feeling his heart rise as you accept it in yours.

“Please, don’t,” You mutter in response. “no more apologies. I can’t hear anymore sympathy.”

“Okay,” Steve smiles to you. “then all I want to say is thank you for coming back. And I shouldn’t have underestimated you or anything because of your age.”

Rolling your eyes, a small laugh follows suit. “We really back to the age thing, Steve?” You joke and Steve chuckles under his breath. “I couldn’t leave the Avengers forever, you’re all my family at the end of the day.”

“Does that mean you’ll come home?” He questions, nerves evident in his tone as he rests his hand on your cheek, feeling you lean into it.

Closing your eyes, you hum contently as you rest your hand on top of Steve’s. “I think it’s about time.” You smile and open your eyes, seeing Steve smiling back at you. “But there are more kids out there that need saving first, more people like me.” You explain as you look behind Steve, seeing Aria sat with Wanda.

“We’ll find them, Y/n.” Steve assures you. “Together.”

“Together. Just like we’re meant to.” You lean up, kissing Steve’s cheek as you walk back toward the Quinjet with a smile on your face, knowing it’s about time to make a difference and save those like you.

taglist for this mini series (feel free to ask if you’d like to be on this!) if you’re name is crossed through it means I couldn’t tag you

@jeanily3000 @satellitespidey @night-girls-world @lunamathias@savagittariuspy@capstopavenger@isabella212@marvelousmendess@assemble-avengers-blog @chljmntgy @leilei-draws@cazreadsstuff@keepyourdreamsalive @oais-sis @softbabypowder@disfoqia @denzmallows@beyariri@theseuscmander @a-hopeless-and-imaginative-girl@boxofteenageideas @yeeterbenjaminparker@littlewhiterose@songforhema @hawkxyes @tearsforhan @tomhardy41@capsiclesdoll @fayefayefn @aikaterrina @millenialpoems @animegirlgeeky @bucky-blogs @littledaph @17ves @mummy-woves-you @didsomeonesaybucky

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lovinlikeloki · 3 years

Text

The Lone Wolf

Masterlist // 02

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4k

The door slides open and I shift back, startled.

I hear a man's voice as I sit up, "Had to put a little coffee in him...," the door slams and Scott wakes up, "but he should be good."

"You got coffee without me Wanda?" I growl, standing up, my eyes burning at the sudden light, "You really are a witch."

Scott gets out of the van and I follow behind him.

"What time zone is this?" he groans.

"Come on," the blond man I heard speak before says before lightly pushing us both away from the van, "Come on."

Scott then steps forward, realizing that standing before him is Captain Steve Rogers. Which is cool I guess, I mean he's an avenger, he fought in world war two, he fought aliens, he fought robots. He fought leis.

(With him)

He begins shaking Rogers's hand vigorously, before speaking in disbelief, "Captain America."

"Mr. Lang," Rogers replies, making Scott begin to fanboy a bit.

"It's an honor. I'm shaking your hand too long," he realizes, before dropping him hand to look at everyone. "Wow! This is awesome!"

He points at Rogers, smiling, "Captain America," he says, realizing he's looking at Wanda, "I know you, too. You're great!"

He then looks back at the Captain with a grin on his face, choosing to then, for some reason, grope his biceps, "Jeez."

The captain looks over his should to the Falcon for a second, possibly regretting his decisions. Scott then continues his rambles.

"Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so...thinks for thanking of me."

Really? Wow- really? He's on the team? I'm glad I decided to come because no offense to Scott, but he's a bit of a plonker.

Scott then looks to who I assume is Falcon, pointing, "Hey, man!"

"What's up, Tic Tac?" Falcon quips, they must know each other already.

Scott seems a bit more hesitant now, "Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I..."

Wilson interrupts, "It was a great audition, but it'll," he laughs, "it'll never happen again."

Someone seems to finally notice me when Rogers nods to me, "Hey Wanda, who's this?"

"Fianna MacBhfloscaidh at your service," I smirk, holding my hand out for him to shake. He gets a simple up down before I let go, not wanting to be even close to a repeat of Lang.

"And what do you do?" Falcon asks.

"I'm a hyper sentient lycanthrope with the ability to transfigure from a homo sapien to a canis lupus," I reply.

"You what?" Scott asks, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"I'm basically a werewolf with complete control over when I shift and how I act," I explain.

"Okay..." Rogers says, probably still a bit confused. But he moves on nonetheless, "They tell you what we're up against?"

"Something about some psycho-assassins?" Scott says, saying it more as a question.

"And possibly some of your own team," I add on.

Rogers nods, "We're outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you're wanted people."

Scott shrugs, "Yeah, well, what else is new?"

When Rogers looks at me I simply grin, "Yeah, well it's always nice to be wanted."

"Fianna, not by police," Wanda scolds and I smirk at her.

The Captain shakes his head at me, though I can tell he's amused.

"We should get moving," a long-haired guy in the back pipes up. I didn't even realize he was there.

"'Got a chopper lined up," the blond who let us out the van chimes in.

Before anyone can respond the airport PA begins to sound some sirens before a man speaks through it in German. I'm just able to make out what he's saying.

"They're evacuating the airport," long haired man informs those who don't speak German.

"Stark," Falcon says, but we all been knew.

"Stark?" Scott questions, well maybe not all.

Rogers pauses for a second before telling us to suit up.

Wanda takes my hand and pulls me to her, "This is going to be a rough fight, Volchitsa, but not the one we're preparing for. Don't waste your energy, and don't get knocked around too much."

(She-wolf)

"I can't handle myself Wanda, it's you I'm worried about," I say as she loosens her grip.

"You know that I have this, right?" she asks sarcastically, allowing a red orb of magic dance along her fingers.

"And you know I have this, right?" I mock back, turning my nails to claws.

"I guess we can both hold our own," Wanda says.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have each other's backs," I say, turning my claws back to nail.

"Of course, I watch your back, you watch mine."

"Good, because I can't lose you. We already lost him, we can't lose each other. ...We're gonna stay in contact after this, right? Because I need you in my life."

"We'll definitely stay in contact malen'kiy. I need you just as much as you need me."

(Little)

With that I put on my green face mask and prepare to kick Avenger Ass.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

I'm in the terminal with Falcon and the long-haired dude, who turns out to have a metal arm, which is pretty cool.

"So," I begin, "Do you guys have names or am I gonny be calling yous metal arm and falcon?"

"Sam," Falcon divulges.

"Bucky," long-haired dude discloses.

"Okay, cool. I'm Fianna, but you already know that..." I trail off, "Where are we at with the Quinjet?"

"Still looking," Sam says, still scrolling on the little iPad on his arm, I don't really know what it is.

"We found it," Sam then announces over the comms, "Their Quinjet's in hangar five, north runway."

After that announcement the three of us start sprinting down the terminal. Well I say sprinting, Sam and I were sprinting, Bucky was going about it as if it's a light jog. That would make sense if he's somehow Bucky Barnes, super soldier from WWII which is what I've pieced together. But what do I know? I'm a kid who's just along for the ride.

We're running along when there's a thud on the glass roof above us. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something red and blue crawling along it.

"What the hell is that?" Bucky asks.

"No clue," I retort.

"Everyone's got a gimmick now," Sam grumbles.

We keep running until this guy smashes through the glass and kicks Sam to the side, I throw a couple punches at him before he pushes me away. I slide for a second before stopping myself and standing up, by this point Bucky is already handling it, he throws a punch that the guy stops.

He pulls it to the side a bit before saying, "You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude."

Wow, clearly he's just a kid. A nerdy kid.

Sam takes his surprise as a chance to grab him and fly away.

"You good?" Bucky asks me.

"I'm fine," I assure, "You?"

"Gonna take more than a kid in tights for me."

With that we start running after Sam and the guy, who is putting his hand on Sam's mouth saying, "You have the right to remain silent!"

Sam lets go of him and flies away but the kid thwips out some kind of string to keep himself in the air. He keeps chasing Sam while Bucky and I tail them both.

The kid is thwipping this string all over the place as he goes after Sam, Sam shooting behind him every few seconds to try and get rid of him. He lands for a second and Bucky takes this as an opportunity to throw a big sign at him and we then hide behind a pillar.

I brave a look and Bucky is just quick enough to pull me back as the kid throws the sign back, quipping, "Hey buddy, I think you lost this!"

Sam does a flying kick to knock the kid off his perch which works. For about two seconds, then the kid thwips out his string and then throws some of it on Sam's wings, causing them to fail and Sam to go crashing through a kiosk-like thing.

The kid immediately has Sam... I think webbed would be the right word, to a railing while he sticks to the side of a pillar. Bucky and I begin to catch up with them when I hear the kid begin to geek out again.

"Those wings carbon fiber?" he asks.

"Is this stuff coming out of you?" Sam retorts, which is a fair question, if not a gross one.

Instead of answering the kid continues his rambling, "That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio which, gotta say, that's awesome, man."

This kid is super inexperienced, judging by his conversations, rambling, and just sitting on his ass during a fight.

"I don't know if you've been in a fight before but there's usually not this much talking," Sam puts an end to his tangent.

"All right, sorry. My bad," the kid says, swinging himself at Sam as Bucky and I try to shield Sam. This leads to us crashing through the glass railing and falling to the floor.

"Ahh, you prick!" I complain as he webs my arms to the floor.

He then, annoyingly, begins monologuing again, "Guys, look, I'd love to keep this up, but I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, I'm really sorry."

Just as he's about to web us up even more Redwing, Sam's little drone, latches onto him and pulls him through a window and far from us.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" Bucky askes, annoyed.

After a beat, Sam responds, "I hate you."

"God, are all the Avengers kids?" I sigh, turning my nails to claws and getting the stupid webbing off of my arms before turning to the other two.

"No, just him. And he's not even an Avenger, god knows where Stark picked him up," Sam tells me.

"Wait, how'd you get out of this shit?" Bucky asks me.

"These," I reply, showing my claws before tearing the webs from him and Sam. "Now let's get back to the others."

We keep running and link up with the others, all running towards the Quinjet.

"Come on!" Steve yells, we're almost there when a yellow laser makes a large crack in the ground in front of us. We look up and see a maroon person, I believe his name is Vision.

"Captain Rogers, I know you believe what you're doing is right. But for the collective good, you must surrender now." He announces.

Does he think that Steve's just gonna say, 'Oh, well the red guy said it, so that's what I'm gonna do!' or something? Because that is crazy.

And, with the help of Vision's stalling the whole Iron gang gets together opposite us. Stark and Romanoff already there, Vision slowly descending, Iron Patriot flying in with someone in some gothic Hello Kitty getup, and finally the Spider-Child swings in.

"What do we do, Cap?" Sam asks.

"We fight," Steve says monotone. Clearly these guys don't want to fight their friends, but me? I've got no ties to the other team, I'm not gonna go easy on anyone.

We start walking towards them and Romanoff seems hesitant, "This is gonna end well," she says sarcastically before the other team starts towards us too.

We start to pick up the pace a bit and the other team mirrors, but the Spider-Kid isn't confident in himself, pointing out the obvious, "They're not stopping."

Stark lays it out to him simply, "Neither are we."

Everyone kind of pairs off, fighting a single person and I seem to be a bit out of place. Because of this I decide to team up with Scott, who's briefly fighting Black Widow... yeah, he'll need the help.

Scott is trying to dodge and throw punches and so while she's distracted I try to go for a kick to her side. She sees this and counters, grabbing my leg and throwing me sideways. I land on all fours and quickly scramble to my feet as Clint begins to fight Romanoff which is clearly a better match.

Not knowing where to go I choose to follow Cap and fight the Spiderling and I'm just in time to see Cap slice a web with his shield. The kid decides to throw in his 2 cents when Cap puts his shield back on his arm.

"That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all," he laments.

"Look, kid, there's a lot going on here that you don't understand," Cap tries to reason.

"What and she does?" he points to me.

"That's not the point, a pháiste," I roll my eyes, "Stark has you confused about the stakes here."

(Child)

"Mr. Stark said you'd say that," the kid reveals before shooting webbing at Steve's shield and leg, pulling him so that he falls, then showing at Steve's arms to pull him closer before kicking him in the face.

I run to the shield, picking it up as the Spider continues, "He also said to go for your legs."

Before I can hand the shield to Steve, the kid webs up his hands, pulling back and they both strain in the tug-of-war. Steve uses this to his advantage as he turns around and pulls him away. I hand Steve the shield and he hides behind it for a second as the boy tries to grab it again with his webs. Instead, I grab the webbing and pull him towards us and Steve hits him bang on the head with his shield. The kid scampers away, again trying to get the high ground as he gets on top of a boarding tunnel.

"Stark tell you anything else?" Steve teases.

"That you're wrong. You think you're right. That makes you dangerous," the teen shrugs before attaching a web to the top of the boarding tunnel and swings down, trying to web us up again. The Captain kicks him back into a pillar with a wheel under, part of the boarding tunnel, and the kid falls.

"Guess he has a point," Cap shrugs, throwing his shield at the pillar and it breaks, making the tunnel fall and nearly crush the kid before he catches it.

The kids struggles with the tunnel as Steve says, "You got heart, kid. Where you from?"

"Queens," is what the breathless teen gasps out.

Steve smirks at the kid, "Brooklyn," he shares before running off. I look at the struggling kid for a second, about to run off too before my morals get the better of me. Stupid morals.

I go to the edge of the tunnel and hold it up for the kid to get out, he look at me and the eyes of his mask widen a bit. I roll my eyes at him.

"Come on, I don't have all day," I sigh, and his hesitance disappears. He scrambles out and I drop the tunnel.

He gives me a quick once over before blurting, "Wow you're really strong."

"Yeah, guess I am."

"Why are you helping them?" he takes me by surprise.

"Why are you helping them?" I counter.

"I got an identity to keep secret. Besides, I needed an upgrade," he tells me, no hesitation.

I look at him for a second, "Family takes care of family."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks.

"Means this isn't my fight, but I'm gonna fight it anyway," I then walk up to him, my face a foot away from his. "And I'm real helpful in this fight."

"Why's that?"

"I know your weakness."

"Oh yeah? And what is it?" he asks confidently, even though I can see through his tough guy façade.

"It's something your precious 'Mr. Stark' forgot," I say, batting my eyelashes, "You're a teenage boy, Spider-kid."

I lower my face mask and kiss the cheek of his mask. I smirk at him, walking away backwards, winking before turning around and sprinting towards the fight. I pull up my face mask over my nose and when I get to there I hide with Steve and Bucky.

"We gotta go, that guy's probably in Siberia by now," Bucky tells Steve, finally cluing me in on where our final destination is.

"We gotta draw out the flyers," Steve automatically takes charge, "I'll take Vision, you get to the jet."

"No," Sam protests, "you get to the jet!" he demands Steve, "Both of you! The rest of us aren't getting out of here."

"As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it," Clint agrees.

"This isn't the real fight, Steve," Sam continues.

Steve looks at me expectantly, but I shake my head, "Steve, this isn't the fight we have to win, only you do. We'll be fine."

"All right, Sam. What's the play?" he gives in to out pleas.

"We need a diversion. Something big," Sam says. So turns out we don't have a plan. We have a concept. Could be worse, I guess.

"I got something kinda big," Scott tells us, "But I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half, don't come back for me."

Bucky looks at us in bafflement, "He's gonna tear himself in half?"

"You sure about this, Scott?" Steve ignores his friend.

"I do it all the time," Scott says, before immediately backpedaling, "I mean, once. In a lab. Then I passed out."

I'm really starting to doubt this plan but there's no time because I hear Scott chanting and then a loud grunting noise. When I look for the source I'm in shock.

"Holy shit!" I yell because Ant-Man just turned into Giant-Man.

Or as Iron Patriot says is, "Okay, tiny dude is big now. He's big now."

Everyone kinda slowly comes out of their hiding place to watch this craziness.

"Guess that's the signal," Steve says.

"Way to go Tic Tac!" Sam praises and Scott waves around War Machine as he attempts to distract the Team Iron.

"Give me back my Rhodey," Stark says sternly before Sam sends a flying kick his way and Scott throws Rhodes away without a second thought.

I run with Steve and Bucky, if only so that I can offer them a few seconds more of time in case someone chases them. While I'm running with them Scott breaks off the wing of a plane, throwing it at Stark.

"Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they'd like to disclose? I'm open to suggestions," Stark quips, clearly on edge about Ant-man's ability to grow that big.

I look to Steve and Bucky before deciding that this was the moment I needed to give them cover, because what distraction isn't complete without another distraction to make sure it's completely working.

"Not exactly on your side Stark, but I'll volunteer as tribute," I snark, shifting to a wolf.

'Let me handle this one Lu. But any useful advice will be appreciated,' I think.

'You've got it, Boss,' Lu responds.

"Okay, uh, can someone handle the wolf girl? Vision? Underoos? Anyone?" Stark asks in desperation, hoping there was a free hand available to take me on.

T'Challa begins to make his way to Bucky when Scott stands in his way, "You wanna get to them? You gotta go through me," Scott says.

Scott then kicks and completely destroys the massive wooden crates that T'Challa was standing on. He falls to the ground and Scott begins to grab at him when he starts getting shot at by War Machine's blaster things, the Spider-boy swinging behind him attached with a web.

The spider hero snaps his webbing before latching another onto Scott, wrapping it around the giant's arm and kicking him in the face. I'm unsure of how to help so I become Scott's defense on the ground, anyone slips by him or attacks from below, I'll handle them.

Rhodes is hit and drops onto a piece of equipment, causing him to start shooting at Scott again. I take this as a chance to run towards him, tackling him away as Scott decides to crush the thing he was perched on.

Rhodes flies away and the spider thing just acts as a complete pest, climbing around Scott's helmet distracting him until Vision pushes into him, making Scott lean on the plane behind him for support. I shift back as he steadies himself and tries to snatch Vision when he just becomes intangible and floats through Scott.

"Something just flew in me!" Scott yells.

Vision uses his laser beam to make a support tower collapse, thus trying to seal the entrance to the hangar, but Wanda uses her powers to hold it up for as long as he can.

"You got this Wanda!" I encourage, but War Machine shoots a sonar beam towards her, making her overlook her powers and clutch her ears.

"You prick!" I yell at him, running to her aid, but she ushers me away, urging me to continue to fight.

I dash back to the fight where three flyers circle Scott.

"Hey, guys, you ever see that really old movie, Empire Strikes Back?" The Spider-Teen asks as he avoids Ant-Man's attempts to grab him.

"Jesus, Tony, how old is this guy?" Rhodes asks.

"I don't know I didn't carbon-date him," Stark admits, "He's on the young side."

Well if that isn't the understatement of the year.

I try to swipe at the arachnid superhero as he swings low, but he evades my claws.

"You know the part where they're on the snow planet," he means Hoth, "with the walking thingies?" he means the AT-ATs. What? I know my Star Wars. Shut up!

I catch his drift seconds too late as he's already tangled Scott's legs. Shit, I don't usually deal with this shit.

"Maybe the kid's onto something," Stark ponders.

"High now, Tony. Go high," Rhodes yells. They go through with the plan and all I can do is run back, I can't stop it from working but I can stop myself from getting crushed.

They're plan works but the Teenage Mutant Nerdy Spider gets whacked by Scott's hand which sends him flying. In another moment of moral transparency I rush to where he's falling and catch him.

Damn... guess he's falling for me already.

I run a little further away from the fight and lay him down as Scott transforms back into regular size man, asking if anyone has any orange slices. I look at the boy I saved, shaking my head before rushing aside a bit so that I can deal with the wave of pain I feel coming on.

Stark flies down to the spider, turning him before catching the hands the the boy tries to throw.

"Same side. Guess who. Hi. It's me," Stark snarks as the kid calms himself.

"Aw, hey man," the kid gasps. "That was scary. Yeah."

"You're done, all right?" Stark confirms, "You did a good job. Stay down."

"What? I'm good, I'm fine," the boy assures at the same time.

"Stay down," Stark repeats.

"No, it's good I gotta get him back," the teen complains.

"You're going home, or I'll call Aunt May!" Stark threatens, "You're done."

"Wait," the teen doesn't give up as the armored man flies away, "Mr. Stark, wait," he groans, trying to stand, "I'm not done. I'm not...," he stumbles, "Okay, I'm done. I'm done."

#peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x reader #peter parker #fianna macbhfloscaidh #the lone wolf #the lupine saga #nyx writes #jynx writes #pyre writes

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sumu-samu · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

next masterlist

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x OC

Genre: Fluff, angst, and everything in between

Warnings: curse words, death, blood, killing, gore, and some good old chaos

Summary: Xephyr Kane, Marcus’ adopted daughter, grew up on the Ark, but begged the council to lock her up in solitary after a traumatic experience involving her birth parents. Now, she’s being sent to the ground, on her own terms unlike the other 99 kids, in hopes to start new. But what happens when she gets down there, and nothing goes as planned? Throw in a hot headed “leader” that wasn’t supposed to be there and thing get... difficult.

A/N: Here’s the first chapter.... I hope it's okay. This thing has been sitting in my Google Drive for months, almost a year, now and it’s causing serious glitches so I need to get rid of it, but I don’t want to delete it. So, here you go. Also, if anything gets really confusing, just let me know and I’ll go through and revise it

It’s been 97 years since the nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on earth, leaving the planet covered in radiation. Now, I say everyone, but I don’t actually mean everyone, there were a few people who were able to survive. 12 nations had operational space stations that came together to form one, the Ark. It’s been estimated that Earth needs another hundred years before life is sustainable. But, the Ark just couldn’t wait that long.

“We’re sending them down to the earth,” Kane spoke to me. I sighed knowing that no matter how many people they sent down I couldn’t help. Kane would update me on status of the Ark, mainly because he knew I couldn’t tell anyone anything anyways, and because he was my mother’s best friend, he was the closest to a family I had

“How many?” I asked. I needed to go down, I may have chosen to be put in here but I can’t just sit by and do nothing.

“99, but there’s room for another-”

“I’ll go!” I cut him off.

“Xeph, you don’t have to.” He looked at me with worried eyes.

“ I can’t, I go down, and I live and do as much as I can to get the rest of you down, and not end up like Him or… I go down… and I die-”

“And don’t end up like him” this time Kane cut me off. “Okay, but you do know that this will only give us a month, engineering needs 6. And you refuse to be let out.”

“Well, you won’t float me.”

“You’re not even 18 yet, besides there’s no stopping it. It’s either earth or a mass culling”

“Don’t think like that, you know how it makes me feel” I gave him a disgusted look, “When do we go down?”

“Tomorrow.” He gave me another look. “You look so much like your mother.”

“Well, we all know that’s not how I’m turning out,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster.

*next day*

Kane walked into the cell holding a silver wristband. “It’ll read your vitals, tell us whether or not the earth is livable.” He put it on my arm and it stung but I held it in. “Be careful, you’re not like them, they could hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Two guards led me out of the cell, a bunch of kids thrashed around trying to get out of the guards hold, I walked peacefully.

They lined us up and put us on the ship one by one. Lots of people were worried, some were excited, I didn’t know what I was feeling. I mean I wasn’t really feeling anything. I couldn’t feel anything.

They got us all settled in and then It was time to launch. “Welcome back.” I heard a familiar voice say from in front of me.

“Wells what the hell are you doing here?” I heard another familiar voice, but this one more feminine.

“When I found out they were sending prisoners down to the ground I got myself arrested I came for you guys.” Wells said.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I said bitterly before we heard a loud crash and some people screamed.

“What was that?” Clarke asked.

“That was the atmosphere.” Wells said unamused. We all heard a high pitched screech and then static.

“Prisoners of the ark hear me now,” Jaha’s voice rang out. “You’ve been given a second chance. As your chancellor I hope you see this as not only a chance for you but a chance for all of us.” I rolled my eyes

“Indeed for mankind itself, We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better we would have sent others. Frankly we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

“Your dad's dick Wells!” A boy yelled out.

“Those crimes will be forgiven, your record wiped clean.” Jaha continued. I just stood there emotionless. I didn’t care, hell I wanted to die, but Kane wouldn’t let me without a real reason. 4 years ago when my mother was killed and father floated I put up steel walls that no one had broken down. If anyone does, it ends badly. Love is weakness, love is feelings, feelings are weakness. That’s what I’ve been told, what I’ve been telling myself for these past years, and what I will continue telling myself until I die.

“Your drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mt Weather was a military base built inside a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough nonperishables to sustain-”

“Check it out!” People started cutting Jaha off. “Go, Finn!” “Spacewalk bandit strikes again.”

“Check it out your dad did float me after all” “Finn,” said to Wells

“You should strap in before the parachutes deploy,” I warned him.

“Hey, you two, stay put if you want to live!” Clarke said to two other boys who started to cut their seatbelts.

“Mount Weather is life.” Jaha continued. “You must locate those supplies immediately”

“You’re the traitor who's been in solitary for a year.” Finn said to Clarke.

“You’re the idiot who wasted a month of oxygen on an illegal spacewalk.” She said coldly back.

“But it was fun,” Finn commented. “I’m Finn.” Just then the parachutes deployed sending the two boys and Finn tumbling around the ship.

“Finn are you okay?” I called out.

“The retrorockets should have fired by now!” I yelled out in panic.

“Everything on this ship is 100 years old, right? Just give it a second”

“Clarke there’s something I have to tell you!” Wells turned to her. “I’m sorry I got your father arrested.”

“Don’t you talk about my Father!” She cut him off.

“Please I can’t die knowing that you hate me!”

“They didn’t arrest my father Wells, They executed him! I do hate you!” As she said that the rockets fired, better late than never right? Ish… There was a crash and then the rocket's machine humm died.

“Listen… no machine hum.” A black-haired boy said from the other side of the ship.

“That’s a first.” The boy next to him said. All of our belts clocked and everyone unstrapped themselves.

“The doors are on the lower level.” One of the kids said.

“No, we can’t just open those doors!” Clarke said. I climbed down after some of the kids with Clarke following me.

“Hey, just back it up, guys.” A tall, dark-haired boy, with freckles, in a guard uniform said.

“Stop!” Clarke called out to him before he hit the button to open the door. “The air could be toxic.” we both made our way to the front.

“Clarke, if the air’s toxic we’re all dead anyway.” I said coldly.

“Bellamy?” A girl called from behind us. He turned around with something in his eyes I couldn’t quite explain. He started to smile as the girl made her way to the front.

“My God, look how big you are.” He smiled and she gave him a hug.

“What the hell are you wearing? A guards uniform?” She asked him.

“I borrowed it. To get on the dropship. Some one’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Where's your wristband?” Clarke asked.

“”Do you mind? I haven't seen my brother in over a year.” The girl said. Then it hit me, he didn’t have a wrist band because he wasn't a delinquent. This was Bellamy Blake, and his sister Octavia. His sister was locked up for literally being born, his mother was floated for having a second child and he went the rest of the year with no one.

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor.” Octavia lunged at the crowd but Bellamy held her back.

“Octavia, Octavia, no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

“Yeah like what?”

“Like being the first person on the ground in 100 years.” Bellamy opened the door. Wind pushed my hair back, sunlight shined on my face. We were really here. Octavia cautiously stepped out, then she jumped on to the ground. There was a pause then she screamed “We’re back bitches!” Everyone ran out of the dropship.

We were all excited but there was no military base anywhere to be found. There was no way we were on Mt. Weather. I went back into the dropship to see just how much damage to the ship was done.

“Shit.” I sighed.

“What?” Wells questioned picking up one of the boys who had died when the parachutes activated.

“Comms, it’s dead. We have to communicate with the Ark.” I rubbed my head.

“Hey, I’m sure you can get it back up, you’re great at these things.” He put his hand on my shoulder. I pushed it off with a little more force than I meant to.

“I can try but it all looks really beat up to me.” I sat down and started looking at everything.

“Nothing a star engineer can’t do. Now, I’m going to go and bury the dead.” he said somberly.

A minute later I heard a deep voice from behind me. “What are you doing?” It asked.

“Comms is dead, I’m trying to see if anything is salvageable.” I sighed.

“And?” The boy pushed.

“Fried, completely dead. No way in hell I can get it back up. There's a few wires that survived but everything essential… is ruined… meaning-”

“No contact with the Ark?” He asked. I finally turned around to see none other than Bellamy Blake.

“None, but not like you mind.” I said.

“What? What are you talking about?” He gave me a stern look.

“1, not scared of you, don't test me. And 2, I know everyone's story here, everyone but yours. Meaning you did something just to get onto the dropship. I was also told only 100 kids were sent down, counting you there is 101, meaning there's a stowaway, the ark wouldn’t have sent a guard let alone one so young, so.... Connecting the dots I assume you came down just to get off the Ark?”

“I came down for my sister.” He said bitterly as we walked away.

I gave up on the wires and decided to get outside. When I went out I saw Clarke with a map. “we‘ve got a problem. The communication system is dead, There's a dozen panels missing, wires are fried. I can’t fix it.” I shook my head.

“Well all that matters right now is getting to mount weather.See? Look.This is us.” She pointed to a circle on the map, “This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.” She drew a line across it to where Mount Weather was marked.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells came up behind us. She gave me a saddened look, I gave one back to her. “You’re father.” He nodded sadly.

“Ah cool a map.” A scrawny kid with goggles came up behind us. I recognized him from Farm station but I couldn’t remember who he was. I kinda wanted to forget everything about Farm Station. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.” Wells pushed him away.

“You mind?” He said in a threatening tone.

“Hey,hey,hey! Hands off him, he's with us.” I turned my head to see the one person I really wish I hadn’t. John Murphy, the asshole of the century. The ex who decided he wanted nothing to do with me after what had happened with my parents. Recon he didn’t know what exactly happened just that they are now dead. The idiot who decided to set part of the Ark ablaze for the thrill. Can I get a break please! I gave him a look of pure hatred, and he gave me one back. He hated that Marcus had taken me in, that I could look at the guy who got his father floated as a father. Well I really couldn’t, I was pretty pissed at him, we don’t have the best father daughter relationship.

“Relax.” Wells put his hands up in surrender. “We’re just trying to figure out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?” Bellamy sassed.

“We need to find Mount Weather.” Wells started to walk towards him, “You heard my fathers message, that needs to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father.” Octavia cut him off. “What, you think you're in charge here? You and your little princesses?”

“Don’t call me that.” I lunged for her and Bellamy almost came after me if Clarke hadn’t held me back.

“Do you think we care who’s in charge? We need to get to Mount weather, not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this will be.” She said to all of the kids around her.

“How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies?” I asked. “The human body can go one month with out food as long as you’re properly hydrated, and only 2 weeks without water before we start dying of dehydration and starvation, and in between that you start to feel as if you wish you were dead because the starvation is too much.” I explained.

“We’re looking at a 20 mile trek, okay? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I got a better idea,” Bellamy said to her, “you three go, find it for us, let the privileged do the hard work for a change.” If Clarke wasn’t still holding me back I would have ripped his face off.

Damn it! Stop! Don’t think like that! You think like that you become him, you can’t you can’t you can't.

I tried to calm myself down, the more violent I become the worse I get.

“You’re not listening!” Wells shouted. “We all need to go.” Murphy came up and shoved him.

“Look at this everybody, the Chancellor of earth.” Everyone laughed.

“Murphey!” I yelled. He ignored me.

“You think that’s funny?” Wells asked. And then in one movement murphey swept Wells off his feet sending him to the ground with a crunch.

“Murphey!” I screamed louder, he still ignored me.

“No but that was.” Murphy stated. “Alright.” They both stood in a defensive position ready to fight. The other kids started to shout fight, I was yelling at them to stop. No one was listening, but no punches were thrown as finn came and stood in front of Wells blocking him from Murphy.

“Kid’s got one leg, how about you wait till it's a fair fight.” He told Murphy. And with that John backed down.

“Hey spacewalker!” Octavia walked towards him, “Rescue me next.”

Clarke and I walked away trying to figure out how to get to Mount Weather, while helping Wells with his leg.

“So Mount Weather, when do we leave?” Finn asked.

“Right now.” Clarke said. “We’ll be back tomorrow with food.” She said to Wells

“How are the three of you going to be able to carry enough for 100?” He asked, Finn turned around and grabbed the two closest people he could.

“five of us, can we go now?” Clarke nodded her head.

“Sounds like a party, make it six.” Octavia walked up to us. It was kinda obvious she was only coming along for Finn but hey, we need as many people as we can get.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Bellamy walked up to her.

“Going on a walk.” she shrugged him off her.

“Hey,” I noticed a crack in Finn's bracelet. “Were you trying to take this off?”

“Yeah so?” He shrugged.

“So this wristband transmits your vital signs to the ark, take it off and they’ll think you're dead.”

“Should i care?” Finn rolled his eyes.

“Well I don’t know, do you want the people you love to think you’re dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months cause they won't if they think we’re dying.”

We walked off into the woods, “So, what happened with you? Why’d you get sent down here Council Girl?” Finn asked. I gave him a cold stare for multiple reasons. 1 being that name he gave me, 2 being that he referenced the fact that Kane is my technically adopted father, and 3 because it was none of his business. I just ignored him and walked faster.

“Hey, guys would you try to keep up?” I called back, Clarke was the only one who was keeping up with me.

“Come on girls, how can you block all this out?” Finn smiled

“Well its simple, I wonder why haven't we seen any animals? Maybe it’s because there are none, maybe we’ve already been exposed to enough radiation to kill us. Sure is pretty though, come on.” Clarke continued forward

“Guys wait up!” one of the two boys called out

Who are you two?” I asked.

“Oh… I-I’m Jasper this is-”

“Wait… Jordan? Jasper… Jordan?”

“Uhhh… yeah…?” He was confused as to how I knew him.

“M-Monty?” I faced the other boy who too became confused. It took him a minute but then his face lit up with realization.

“Xephyr?” Monty smiled at me.

“Xephyr!” Jasper shouted and ran to me and gave me a hug. “You left the farm station so long ago… where… where did you go?”

“Let’s just say i’m not Xephyr Cole any more-”

“Yeah, now it’s Xephyr Kane isn’t it?” Finn said.

“Shut up you ass.” I rolled my eyes.

“Clarke motioned for us to come over to her quietly and then pointed at some animal, it was a deer. It was amazing… until it turned towards us. The thing had one and a half heads. Freaked out we kept walking.

“So, bellamy?” Finn asked me with a smirk.

“What?”

“Oh, like you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.” He chuckled.

“He’s… there’s something bad about him, he's a pain in the ass and I can already tell.”

“And how do you know what someone is like just by one conversation?” He asked me.

I stopped dead in my tracks, “Cause I dated John Murphy.” I continued walking, eventually taking the lead.

“You know what I’d like to know,” Finn started. It seemed very obvious out of the six of us he was the most vocal. “Why send us down today? After 97 years? What changed?”

“Who cares, I’m just glad they did. I woke up rotting in a cell and now… i'm spinning in a forest.” Octavia said.

“Maybe they found something on a satellite.” Monty suggested. “You know, like an old weather satellite.”

“It wasn’t a satellite. The Ark is dying.” When Clarke said that everyone paused “With the current population level there's 3 months left of life support, maybe 4 now that we’re gone.”

“So that was the big secret they kept you locked up to keep? Locked you up in solitary, floated your old man?” Finn asked her

“Her father was the engineer who discovered the flaw. He thought people had a right to know.” I said

“Council disagreed, my mother disagreed, they were afraid that it would cause panic. We were gonna go public when wells-”

“What? Turned in your dad?” Finn jumped in when she went silent for a while.

“Anyway, the guard showed up before we could. That’s why today. That’s why it was worth the risk, even if we all die, at least they bought themselves more time.”

“But it’s still not enough. Engineering needs six months and they now have only four. The council pushed it off forever and then people started getting symptoms.” I said.

“They’re gonna kill more people aren’t they?” Monty asked. No one responded.

“Good after what they did to me I say, float them all.” Octavia walked in front of all of us. She started taking her clothes off.

“Oh damn, I love earth.” Jasper chuckled. She walked to the edge.

“Octavia what the hell are you doing?” Clarke yelled. She just looked back with a smile then jumped. We all ran to the edge to see a river.

“Octavia, we can’t swim.” Monty called out.

“No but we can stand.” She stood up.

“There's not supposed to be a river here.” Clarke said with confusion.

“Well there is.” I laughed and followed Octavia. Everyone else started taking their clothes off.

“Octavia, Xephyr, get out of the water.” Jasper warned us. We looked behind us to see something moving. It grabbed Octavia, she screamed as she went under the water. The tail end had hit me right in the abdomen knocking me down underwater, my head had hit a rock, I tried to stand back up but for some reason I couldn't. I could feel my leg split open on a rock. After what felt like forever I felt someone pull me out.

“Xephyr!” Clarke called out. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I opened my eyes and groaned.

“Octavia?” I looked over to see Jasper holding her, the only other one who was wet was Finn, meaning he was probably the one who pulled me out.

“Xephyr. She’s fine can you hear me alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Night had fallen not too long after. I stayed awake as long as I could but I eventually gave in.

I stood there, over her dead body, my best friend, Clarke dead, gutted, and I was covered. Covered in blood, her blood, a knife in my hands. I couldn't feel anything. I didn’t care. But for a moment there I felt a small amount of joy.

I woke up in a sweat and screaming. Everyone was looking at me. “Xephyr? Was it?” Clarke asked. I just nodded.

“What was it?” Finn asked.

“No, nothing lets just, lets go” We went back to the river where finn found some vine we could use to swing ourselves over.

“You wanted to go first now stop stalling.” I rolled my eyes.

Fin was just about to go when Jasper stopped him and said he wanted to go. He waited a while before he went, as he tumbled to the ground we held our breath.

“We are appogee!” We all started cheering. “Come on clarke you’ve got this!” He shouted. Then he held up a sign that said Mount Weather.

“We did it! Mount Weather!” I screamed. We all cheered again… until… a spear was launched into Jaspers chest “J-J-Jasper! Jasper!” I screamed.”Jasper! NO!” Octavia pulled me down. “We’re not alone.” I said with fear.

#bellamy #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy x oc #bellamyblake #The 100 #the100 #x oc

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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snarkwrites · 4 years

Text

FFT: bachlorette party gone wrong or right; ray palmer

Notes

This was sent to the main ask by @vonschweetz and I gotta say... I truly enjoyed writing it it turned into something fun and fluffy, for a character there’s just not a lot of fanfic love for on the internets. So duh, it was going on here. Maybe one day I’ll make something with my lance!original female character and ray or cisco, who knows..

Summary

Sara and Alex are getting married. Ray and Alyssa, Sara’s sister, wind up meeting / commiserating during the bachlorette party. A heated dance makeout ensues.

Pairing

Ray Palmer x Lance!OFC, Alyssa.

Warnings

alcohol tw, shenanigans.

“ Why are we doing this again?” Ray fidgeted and Mick smirked as he did so. Scoping out the party, Ray cringed at the varying levels of drunk that all of Sara’s friends seemed to be. Mick nudged him and then leaned in and whispered, “We’re doin it, haircut, because Sara is a friend.. And she specifically said she was not interested in any shenanigans tonight.. But what’s a bachlorette party without ‘em, huh? A tragedy, that’s what. So suck it up, buttercup. We’re goin out in a few minutes.”

“I’m gonna… go find some alcohol.” Ray told Mick over the music. He turned to walk away from the noise and the dancing and the whole thing in general because he wasn’t exactly in a party frame of mind, and just as he wandered up the stairs of Sara’s childhood home, intending to find a quiet room to kind of.. Gather himself..

He collided with a blonde. A blonde he’d seen in pictures all around Sara’s house. A blonde he’d seen wandering past the comm screen on a video call in a towel just one too many times. He tugged at his tie and she tilted her head to the side a little, staring up at him intently.

“I bet you came up to escape, didn’t ya? I was goin down to sneak up a bottle of rum. Makes studying infinitely more fun if the words are all blurry and I find myself bursting into spontaneous fits of giggles or singing “Where has the rum gone?”

Ray chuckled and leaned in a little. He could barely hear himself think over the noise in the little two story townhouse right now. Truth be told, he’d never really been that into crowds or parties. Then again, he thought to himself, to be fair, he’d never been invited to many.

… He is.. Even more handsome in person. And I’m willing to bet he thinks I’m just some dumb bimbo right now…

“Your name is Alyssa right?”

“Yeah.. My sister is one of the brides.. Kind of planned this entire thing and then totally forgot to plan myself an convenient escape, so I’ve been hiding in my room. Tonight is abou Sara and Alex… I don’t wanna.. Be in the way. Wouldn’t be much of a party guest as I’m not feeling very festive at the moment.” Alyssa shrugged it off. Ray’s collar was crooked and it bugged her, so she rose to tiptoe and straightened it, nearly toppling into him as Felicity and Thea and Kaitlyn all raced upstairs, probably trying to beat one another to the bathroom. The end result was Alyssa, pressed against Ray and Ray’s back against the wall. She gave a sheepish little giggle and he shrugged, letting her know it was alright and he wasn’t bothered, his hands on her hips to keep her steady.

The mention of studying perked his interest and he asked about it.

“Yeah.. I picked one hell of a career path. I had no clue I’d have to go through so much school to get a teaching degree.. Especially considering I wanna work with at risk kids or kids with disabilities.. There’s just.. So much that goes into it all and I want to be the teacher that makes a difference.” she shuffled her feet, twisted a blonde curl around her fingertip as she stared up at him.

Ray grinned and then nodded to the party in full swing down below. “Doesn’t all the noise make it hard to study?”

“It’s no noisier than my dorm used to be.” Alyssa shrugged and then sighed and admitted with a nod, “Okay, yeah.. It does, but my sister is.. She’s the happiest I’ve seen her.”

“I get it. If you want to take a break, maybe we could talk or something? I mean, if you want to.”

“I’d love that, actually.. Do you drink, Dr. Palmer? Because I bartended and I’ve been told I make a pretty mean mixed drink.. If you wanna venture down and into the kitchen? I need to check the batch of jello shots I made earlier anyway.”

Before he could stop himself, he was nodding and following along.

The kitchen was empty and Alyssa set to opening the refrigerator and pulling out the shots, sitting them on a counter. When she turned back around, she found herself body to body with Ray, who towered over her. She nodded to a higher cabinet.

“If you want.. There’s some bourbon in that cabinet. I just can’t quite reach. Short girl problems.” Alyssa shrugged and Ray laughed, reaching over her to grab the bottle. Alyssa took it, grabbed for a two liter of Dr. Pepper sitting nearby and poured the two into a glass, putting a cube of ice into it, holding it out to him.

“That’s actually not that bad.”

“You should be here on the Fourth of July. Did a drunk watermelon last year and.. My sister passed out on the stairs because she ate like half.”

“Oh wow..”

“Yeah.” Alyssa found herself fidgeting, not sure what to do with her hands. Once she had her own drink poured, she took a long sip and then eyed the laughing and dancing crowd in the living room before looking back at Ray. “So.. What’s Mick’s big plan? Sara knows he’s up to something…”

“Magic Mike.. that is.. All I’m allowed to say. I’m not even gonna attempt to figure out how he and Snart talked me into it.”

“Oh my god.. They roped you into doing it too? Interesting.” Alyssa felt her cheeks heating up at the mental images in her head. Ray rubbed his hand over the back of his head and he shrugged. “I tried telling them I literally cannot.. Dance like that. Snart insists that we all have to do it. It’s tradition, Mick said. I say, if Sara wanted us all to shake our asses like that…” Ray trailed off, taking a bigger sip of the drink. Alyssa did the same, but it didn’t take her mind out of where her mind had went, and as a result, she choked and started coughing.

Ray patted her on the back and eyed her with concern. “Are you okay?”

“It went down wrong.” Alyssa giggled and when she found herself pressed right against Ray, she stared up at him a few seconds. Every part of her was beyond tempted to raise to tiptoe and fluff his hair or play with his tie, to touch him in some way.

“Yeah, well.. Be careful.” Ray chuckled as he said it. Her body brushed completely against his and she muttered quietly, “I fucking love this song.” as some older power ballad song he didn’t really recognize came on. She met his gaze and bit her lip, almost as if she wanted to ask something. Ray cleared his throat.

“If you wanna dance..” he suggested, trying to be casual about it.

“Yeah, I was kind of hinting… at that..” Alyssa admitted, giving that soft laugh again as she let him pull her closer.

From behind them, Sara cleared her throat. “So you did come down from your room, huh? And I see you finally met Ray face to face.” Sara flashed a grin at both of them and Ray looked from Sara to Alyssa, noting the blush and the way she gave her sister a slightly dirty look in teasing. He chuckled and spoke up. “Yeah, Alyssa and I were just talking.”

“It looked like you two were dancing to me. Come into the room with the actual party, you two are my family and I do want you here tonight.”

Alyssa and Ray shared a look and Ray slipped his arm around Alyssa, the two of them making their way to the next room. Mick gave him a smirk and Ray mouthed, “You and Snart and Nate can dance.”

“Wasn’t gonna make ya, haircut.. Just wanted to get ya livened up again. Been kinda down lately. Thought you could use tonight.” Mick muttered as he moved to stand next to Ray. Ray nodded and answered quietly, “Yeah. I think I did need it.” as he stole a glance at Alyssa, who was standing opposite her sister Sara, the two of them about to take a shot at the same time and he smiled to himself.

It felt good to smile again. It felt really good.

#ray palmer fanfiction #ray palmer fanfic #ray palmer fic #ray palmer oneshot #ray palmer imagine #// this is cute af. of course it was going on here #//lance!ofc #// alcohol tw #// shenanigans.

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

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Prompt: Missing scene from No Love Like Your Love. I'd love a scene of one of Malex's phone calls during the 3 yrs away. I know we got the one when Michael first got there. But I'd love to get another one in the middle when they're just missing each other and maybe wanting to talk about their future. I just imagine how sweet they are on these phone calls. (Another idea if you don't like this one is Michael receiving the video from Alex of him dancing. I imagine that would give him...feelings!)

(I will always write more of this! There’s also a oneshot coming post-fic, so keep an eye out for that whenever I find the time to finish)*It’s Michael’s birthday in two days, which normally is an exciting time for him.This year, he’s been feeling despondent and a little quiet about it. For the last few years, he’s had his Mom and Alex to really make the day feel special in ways that he’d never felt on Antar. He knows there’s a feast prepared for him and a grand dance that he’ll be attending later on tonight, but it’s not milkshakes at the Crashdown and it’s definitely not Alex curled up around him, singing him happy birthday in his ear like the world’s sexiest thing.God, Michael misses him. Still, it’s not all terrible. He’d received a text relay from his mother with instructions to beef up the comms device on the night before his birthday as there would be an extremely large data packet coming through prior to their talk, so Michael’s been distracted with the work. It’s just what he needs, and he has to wonder if that isn’t part of his Mom’s gift to him, with her knowing that this year would be hard, being the first year back from Earth. Michael’s begun to think of it as being away from home, but he genuinely believes that to be true. Once he has everything ready to go, he turns on the device and sits cross-legged in front of the comms broadcast patiently, hands in his lap as he waits excitedly to see his Mom and Alex for the first time in months (their last call had been eight weeks ago and it could be eight hours and Michael would think it too long). He’s beginning to honestly wonder how the hell he’s going to survive three years apart.The feed starts to spur to life, images beginning to appear in blurry form, but Michael hears the tinny sound of music before he sees anyone. Background noise filters in, more than there’d be for the garage, and as the image begins to clear up, Michael can tell that it’s a recorded video and it’s at the Pony.“Oh, he’s gonna love this,” he hears Maria’s voice behind the recording device.Michael shifts in his seat, moving to the edge of it as he tries to make out the image as it focuses and becomes less pixelated. The strains of music become a lot clearer, heavy bass thumping as the camera focuses on the bar area.Suddenly, Michael is understanding who the he is as he watches Alex haul himself onto the bar with straining forearm muscles helping him do it smoothly. That’s Closer by Nine Inch Nails playing, even though Michael can barely hear it over the eager screams of women — what looks like a bachelorette party.Michael locks eyes with Alex in the video, even though he knows he can’t see him back. Alex squats, tight jeans straining at the thighs, the tank top he’s wearing along with a long necklace showing gleaming, sweaty skin as he slowly starts to wind his way to his feet, strolling along the bar before he strikes a pose, hands hitting hip bones as he grinds and sways, making a crooking ‘come here’ motion with his fingers the instant the lyrics sing, I wanna fuck you like an animal.“Oh, fuck,” Michael lets out a ragged cry, the moan drawn out of him. Alex must know the audience he has, but what’s incredible is that in even under a year, the way Alex moves is so free and fluid, like he doesn’t give a damn what anyone in Roswell thinks. He hears a few slurs being flung at him, but the bachelorette party is clearly in his corner, from the vicious way they defend him.And given the way he hears Hank yowl with pain, Michael thinks smugly that he definitely got hit.He watches as one of the girls drapes a feather boa around Alex’s neck (which he ducks to accommodate), before Alex moves along with the music, sliding to his knees so he can lean back until his shoulders are almost pressed to the wooden bar, starting to inch his way back up to the beat. Michael can see the sweat dripping down his temple, and he watches as Alex turns, eyeing the camera again.He mouths the words, “You get me closer to God,” right at him, and Michael feels shivers go down his spine, knowing those are meant for him.Alex leans over to take a shot that one of the girls has left out for him, licking his lower lip, rubbing two fingers along the bottom one and sucking them in his mouth before he hops down mid-song, wandering through the bar. Michael can hear Maria laughing on the video, but Michael’s not in a laughing mood right now. Suddenly, the noise from the video dims, which Michael is about to protest and fiddle with the device, but he sees why when suddenly the three-dimensional image fades out and is replaced by Alex sitting in the garage back at home. His heart swells as he looks at him, beating faster as he stares at his handsome boyfriend. It’s only a shame he’s so far away, because after that video, Michael has things he wants to do to him.“You know, that’s gotta be classed as some kind of torture,” Michael ekes out, exhausted and mildly upset as he presses the heel of his palm against his cock to try and calm down. “You send me that knowing I’m so far away? At least tell me the bachelorettes behaved with you.”“It took me days to wash off the glitter, but they let me escape with my dignity,” Alex promises. He looks like he’s just woken up, his hair not styled and swept over his forehead, making him look wildly handsome even though Michael can see the sleep in his eyes. He yearns to reach through the connection and rub it away, but he can’t.For all that he can talk to Alex, he can’t touch him or be with him the way he wants to — at least, not yet. He’s got plans on how to fix that.“Happy birthday, Michael,” Alex says, softly and with great tenderness. “I know it’s not the best of gifts…”“Alex,” Michael cuts him off. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m gonna download this whole conversation off the server so no one else gets to see it, but so I can watch it on a daily basis. At least once a day.” He might even get to three or four times, thinking about the way Alex’s tongue had touched his lower lip during the video. “I miss you so much,” he tells him. “I wanna be there, so we can go get milkshakes and you can kiss every inch of my body and worship me.”“Oh, is that what the birthday boy gets?” is Alex’s smug little reply, clearly amused. Michael isn’t planning to back down. “I mean, it’s what the birthday boy wants.” He goes serious, then, staring at Alex as his face falls. “He only wants you.”Alex doesn’t say anything, but he holds up his hand. Michael knows he must be missing him just as much and Michael does the same, getting as close as he can without touching (because he thinks it’ll break his heart to push through and only get air instead of the warmth of Alex’s palm).“You gotta not say those things,” Alex replies, sounding choked up.Michael understands all too well. He doesn’t want the big lavish banquet or whatever expensive gift Isobel has planned for him. He wants one specific thing and that’s Alex, but he’s not going to get him in his bed or be able to hold Alex flush against his body, sliding his palm over his heart. Maybe it’s better to stop cruelly teasing himself.“Is that what you’ve been doing now?” Michael asks. “Dancing on the bar at the Pony?”“I wanna hear about you,” Alex protests.“We’ll get there,” Michael promises, staring at Alex fondly. “We’ve got at least an hour for this call,” he says, grabbing a full body sized pillow to hug to his chest like it can somehow act as a replacement for Alex (even though that’s impossible). “Tell me about Roswell.”Alex does, for the better part of their hour. He tells Michael about what’s happening at home with him and Mara, he talks about his career both writing music for other artists, his shifts at the music store, and how he’s been picking up more work at the Pony because the tips pay better (though usually not with the locals, which Alex scowls at to say). Michael hears about the letters from Liz and news from Maria.It all aches in a new way for Michael, who’s never loved anyone like this before. He knows it’ll make them stronger in the end to have this time apart, but right now, he kind of wants to curl up in a ball and cry for how much he misses him. Michael doesn’t say much about Antar, other than telling Alex about the plans for the night, showing him his suit, and talking about the gifts that he’ll get. By the time he’s rushed through that, the power starts to drain from his room and Michael can’t even begin to imagine what’s happening on the other end.“When will we get to talk again?” Alex asks, his voice small as the reality sinks in that they won’t get to talk again for a while.Judging by the schedule of power on Antar, Michael thinks that it’ll be two months, at best. “Eight weeks?” he judges, feeling miserable to say it. “Too long, no matter when it is. I’m gonna bury myself in my projects,” he admits. “It’s still not good enough.” Just like the pillow he’s holding onto isn’t good enough either.Alex stares at him, like he’s trying to memorize his face, and he sighs when the power over the relay dims again. “I better go, before someone gets suspicious. Happy birthday Michael. I love you, with all of me.”“I love you too. Take care of Mom, okay? And thank her,” he adds, suspecting that her present to him had been giving him all this time with Alex without intruding. “She’ll know why.”“I’ll talk to you in eight weeks,” Alex promises, as he leans forward, fingers hovering over the disconnect button. “And I’m gonna love you just as much then as I do now,” he vows, with a fond smile on his face. “Good,” Michael replies. “Remember that when you’re dancing on bartops.”He gets one last beautiful, sweet, perfect smile from Alex and then the feed goes dark. Michael’s left alone in his bedroom clutching onto his pillow. He buries his face in it, trying to stem the grief of being away from Alex, but knowing that he doesn’t have to let it hurt him. Instead, he can let it be the main driver for why he needs to wrap things up, abdicate, and get back home.He’s a genius. If anyone’s going to figure this out, it’ll be him.

#tumblr #800 follower fill #malex #no love like your love #outtake #snippet #michael/alex #rnm #tumblr fill #fic #Anonymous

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fantabulousfunnelweb · 5 years

Text

Chonky Spider-Tober Prompt dump (12-19)

200+ Words per Prompt, Feedback appreciated.

(Be prepped for a lot of Lore for Funnels Earth, don’t be afraid to send Asks seeking an explanation of things though, I’ll explain gladly)\

Minor Warning:

Mention of Gunshot Wounds

Minor Profanity use

Scars

Day 12: Cold

Beanies over full-face masks look rather stupid, a token reason Funnel had forgone such a thing in exchange for a cotton-lined Pauper hat. The only problem was that with no receivers for the bioelectric seaming, this piece of headgear was sailing off his head almost every second swing. The Winter streets below echoed with the frantic shouting of the Spider, his once elegant travel turned into a display most akin to a cat in heat, darting across the air to retrieve his hat in every instance it joined the snow in their act of falling. Kyles never wholly disliked the cold, but his perspective changed after swinging around so much. “Gotcha!” he cried as they scooped their hat up from midair once more, posture going lax with relief upon his landing upon an old billboard. “This hats more trouble than it's worth, but I’d really rather not risk getting a literal brain freeze...” “Do you really like hats that much? You seriously could’ve just worn a scarf or something.” The ever investigative tones of their partner Kamala breaking the silence of the thought-to-be inactive comm line, catching the Spider off-guard and nearly causing him to drop the hat again. “Jesus Kamala, were you listening to all that?” “You bet, it's amazing how often you keep forgetting to disconnect all the time.”

Day 13: Sidekick

“Just a minute asshole, since when did I become your sidekick?”

“What? We’ve worked together a few times now, besides you’re… clearly younger.” Kyles clenched at the fists, mask furrowing quite visibly to mimic a low, angered brow. “Seriously!? You’ve been at this for how long compared to me and you think I’m just gonna happily be your sidekick?” The Defender fell silent. Funnel could see the moment of unsureness cross his face before they let out a response, “Okay well... But I’ve saved your life! That's gotta be worth something, huh kid?” “Nighthawk, look, I’m thankful for what you’ve done for me, I truly am. All I’m saying maybe you’re taking this a bit too far, I’ve got no interest playing Sidekick to anyone.” Even if he didn’t want to admit it, the Defenders were certainly right to call this guy rather self-centred, another one in the shortlist of things they agreed on. Nighthawk could see his chances slipping, and went to grasp for some kind of bribe, “But I can pay you! I can get you a better suit! Better Webs!. '' Kyles had certainly heard it all now, expression unchanged as the only thing left to do was walk out, “Get yourself a better attitude, then we’ll talk.” disappearing out the closest skylight without so much as a noise.

Day 14: Winter Suit

The dust pile coating the old closet interior kicked up into Jonathan's face, causing the unfortunate soul to become blasted with a hail of months old dust. “When the hell did you guys last clean this thing!?” Kyles sputtered through his sleeve as he shook the old hairs & dirt off of him. Darcy’s voice echoed from the bathroom down the hall in response, “Beats me, I asked Phil to clean that last month! Remind him if you see him, ‘kay Kyles?” “Yes Miss Marko!” With only minimal dust to complicate things, Jonathan began sifting through the bulging racks of downright ancient jackets, humming to himself as they inspected whatever caught their eye. Whilst he had claimed his want for a different jacket was just to mix things up, he was desperately on the search for whatever he could assemble as part of his more ‘lower-temperature’ suits. His past 2 weeks braving a New York Winter for the first time had left him barely wanting to even get out of bed. But he knew eventually Mayday would kill him if he kept the suit stuck underneath his bed for more than a week. “Do we have any fur jackets?” “Fur Jackets?! What are we, rich?” an unfortunate eavesdropper on Kyle’s own ramblings, Miss Marko barked from her porcelain palace, “Come on Johnny! It's not like you’re in the cold that long, man up!”

Day 15: Scars

“This? Bullpup Slug clipped my thigh.”

Her pale skin exposed to the harsh, crude old lighting, the interested Teens could see the splotches of raw skin faintly, like accidental paint dots blemishing an otherwise perfect canvas. Leaned in from their seats at the table, the young heroes marvelled silently at Chetz’s aging wounds, seeing it as something of a mark of dedication than a past injury. “Alright, someone else’s turn.” Silence struck the dilapidated warehouse room before someone stepped up to the plate. “Alright, Let me see what I got.” Raising a gloved band to his tightly affixed Vest, Patriot popped a button or two, “Funnel, remember the mob front we took down a month or two back in Upper Harlem?”

Eyes darted towards the Spider. His telescopic lenses shooting wide in surprise, his agape mouth shielded by the mask. “So you DID get shot?” He blurted out, curled fingers rapping against the rusted metal bench they all resided, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Patriot shook his head in return, gripping his thick undershirt and pulling it up to reveal. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You got shot!”

“I got better.”

Funnel arched himself over his chair, head staring up into the dingy, grime coated ceiling lights. “Christ Patey, If all our adventures don’t kill you, I will myself someday.

Day 16: Movie

“Snacks too? I don’t want to take too much of your money...”

Chetznakova didn’t listen, shoving the note into his arms and strutting past him towards the snack booth, followed quickly by Kamala & Elijah. Kyles had no other choice but to follow, kicking off his heel to catch up with them once more, “I’ll try not to get too much, I’d-“

“Jonathan. Seriously, It’s fine.” It hardly felt that way for him, spider-senses rendering them alert to the prying eyes of public onlookers. Compared to his friends, he didn’t look like the sort to be hanging around this part of town. “I-... Okay.” The harsh lighting of the tiled snack booth bathed the quartet of teens in light, reflecting off the weathered plastic candy containers that they began to pick at with the aid of equally small shovels. “I’ve been waiting to see this movie for a while, you guys?” Looking to change the subject to another topic, he gazed towards his compatriots, waiting to see who would receive & answer.

“Saw the first movie last month, didn’t look like a bad idea to see the sequel when you guys offered.” Chetz relayed, scooping a handful of sour gummy-bears into her snack bag. “It reminds me though, we hitting any more places after this?”

Day 17: Town

KA-CHING

A momentary transaction brought the fresh paper bag into his grasp, weighed down by its cargo as it dangled lightly in the air. “Thanks Sir!”The Spiders eyes fell onto the Umbrakenite to his right, staring her featureless costume in its face. The Shadow-being met his gaze with the void of her own, almost motionless as light ceased around her. “What.”“Say Thank you.”Her head noticeably twitched in confusion, “Sorry, What?”Funnel gestured to the employee at the register, clearly too deep into his graveyard shift to emote to any substantial degree. “He let us buy snacks”“So? That’s his job.”Knocking his head back, the Funnel-Web pulled the shopping bag to his side, “Y-... Whatever Let's go.” Turning on his heel to brush past the counter and onto the short path outside, Dusk followed without a moment's hesitation, taking to his side in an instant. “Did we get those Chips Patriot wanted?”

“Yes.” Parting the bag open with a thumb to double-check its contents before scrunching it back closed in a fist. “...Do you want your thing yet?” choosing to look past her lack of gratitude for the team being, he awaited her answer.

“...Yes, Thank You.” A surge of momentary anger dashed through his system, snapping in & out of gaze with the Unregistered as they frustratingly reach into their bag and snatch a carton of Orange Juice from within, thrusting it into her grasp in their attempt to avoid doing anything overly aggressive

Day 18: Luck

The moments between the bullet graze & the ensuing pain certainly made top-list of worst moments Kyles ever had this week. An almost deadly High-caliber round piercing the dense mesh of his suit as the albeit minor impact still sent him flailing through the sky, buckling the reinforced steel of a car roof upon touchdown with the street. The aches of a bruised back paled in comparison to the torn flesh & muscle of his left arm, a holeshot clean through the Spiders tricep and leaving him to bleed across his side and the dented metal of some unfortunate person car.

Sensations dulled as the world around him began to fade, the blinking lenses of his mask informing its hazy user of the blood they’ve lost before coming to reap the consequences of such loss, vision going dark as the disturbing bliss of silence washed over them…

“Jonathan...”

The word prodded at his subconscious like a fly, persisting as the world around the Spider began slowly, yet surely creeping back into conscious. Shapes formed, colours came into sight, and the fuzzy blob in the near-distance was saying something.

“Woah Woah, stay still there Kyles, We-... You’re still hurt.”

Without so much as thinking, the wounded youth shifted his feet, unable to feel them underneath the electric blanket coating them, inciting a tired groan of partial panic & frustration.

“The hell did I just say?! Just… Lay down okay? You’re lucky to even be awake right now after that.”

Day 19: Freestyle

Kyles always considered himself to have a weird relationship with pets, minor allergies aside, he enjoyed their presence, yet whenever one got close, strings of panic never failed to dart his mind, feeling as if at any point they would grow hostile and attack him, and now? His latent fears had paid off after so long. His soles met the intricate ceiling with a hard thud, curling up with his hat firmly within hold as Miss Hardy's ravenous cats hissed and leapt in an attempt to claw & maim the intruder, their wild scampering rousing the attention of their owner from their slumber.

“Castel!?! What’s all the noise about-”

“Uh… Hello Miss Hardy!”

Her snow-white hair frayed and her night-gown creased, Felicia Hardy gazed upwards to the unexpected entry, currently cowering in fear on the ceiling to escape her… aggressive family.

Furrowing her wrinkled brow, she reached the cat bell from the high-shelf and jostled it, the piercing brass-on-brass echoing across the room and bringing the ravenous feline herd to a stop. “Run along now children, Mommy has business.” a dismissive gesture scattering them in flocks back to their mundane cat lives.

“Th-Thank you Miss Hardy.”

“Save it Little Spider, Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

The affectionate nicknames never failed to irk Kyles the wrong way, feeling the hair stand up on his arms as he fumbled for his purpose of coming here.

“Its Barracuda, I think he's sent someone after you.”

#spidertober #spidersona #spiderverseoc #spider sona #writing #feedback appreciated

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ravynnwritestrash · 5 years

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I Know You

This is part two for I Know Who You Are so if you haven’t read that I recommend you start there first.

I Know Who You Are(p.1)

Summary- This is just Civil War, my guys.

Warnings- angst, fluff, swearing, angst again cuz that’s basically all this is.

A/N: I know this took a while to get out but I just wasn’t in the right headspace to write all of this sweet sweet angst. I’ve decided to make this four parts. Part one- CAWS (you knew that), Part two- CACW (You also knew that), Part three- Infinity War, and part four- End Game (which I’m sure you guessed already). I will have a tag list for this so if you want to be tagged let me know. We also have a tag list for people who want to be tagged in all of our fics so let us know if you want on that.

Lagos-

“Standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target.” Wanda’s voice was calm and quiet through my earpiece. I sat not far from her, just close enough where I could see her.

“There’s an ATM on the south corner, which means?” Steve asked

“Cameras.”

“Both cross streets are one-way.”

“So compromised escape route.”

“Means our guy doesn’t care about being seen. He isn’t afraid to make a mess on the way out. You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?”

“The red one? It’s cute.” I let out a small laugh at her remark careful not to draw any attention to myself.

“It’s also bulletproof,” Nat spoke up.

“Meaning private security.” I finished for her.

“Which means more guns,” Nat added with a little extra sass than she had before. “Which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.”

“When is it not our headache?” I sarcastically added picking at the napkin in front of me.

“Eyes on target, folks.” Steve interrupted keeping us on track. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.” Sam laughed at him through the comms.

“If he sees us coming, that won’t be a problem. He kinda hates us” he added.

“Sam, you see that garbage truck? Tag it.”

“That trucks loaded for max weight and the drivers armed.” my heart rate quickened as I got ready for the fight ahead of us.

“It’s a battering ram,” Nat said.

“Go now!” Steve slipped into his captain voice instantly and the rest of the conversation slipped from my mind as I stood and casually made my way around the corner from the cafe. Hopping on to my motorcycle and waiting for Nat to make her way around the corner as well. When I heard her coming I started up the bike.

“You going my way,” she asked into the comms as she passed me. I let out a small laugh before driving off after her.

“Only if you can keep up,” I joked as I pulled passed her, both of us racing in the direction of the gunfire. I leapt from my bike shortly after Nat throwing punches at the first guard I saw, trying to make my way towards Rumlow.

“I got him!” Nat yelled to me and I focused on keeping the rest of the guards off of her while she fought Rumlow. The vehicle behind me exploded distracting me long enough to get knocked down by one of the guards. My vision went black as my head bounced off the pavement and for a second I was falling from the helicarrier again. Falling from Bucky. Bucky. My vision flooded with white as I opened my eyes just in time to roll away from the kick one of the guards was about to hit me with. I quickly jumped up and slammed his head into the vehicle effectively knocking him out. Jumping on our bikes me and Natasha raced in the direction that Sam was flying.

“I got four their splitting up!” Sam said into the comms.

“I got the two on the left. (Y/N), keep civilians out of harm,” Nat said.

“ On it.” I started ushering people away from the scene. It became increasingly more difficult as the gunfire started. People were scattered everywhere and I moved to keep them away from the individual fights. I spotted Steve and ran over to where he was fighting Rumlow.

“Whos your buyer?” I heard him ask.

“You know he knew you?” Rumlow asked before glancing over at me and back at Steve. “ Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.” he spit out. I wanted to punch him for saying his name.

“What did you say?” Steve asked dragging Rumlow closer to him.

“He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. Till they put his brain back in a blender. He wanted you to know something. He said to me.”My heart was racing in my chest and I felt like I was going to throw up. I wanted to go to Steve but I couldn’t force myself to move. I wanted to shut Rumlow up but I needed to hear what he had to say. I needed to. “‘Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go you gotta go.’…and you’re coming with me.” he glanced back at me with a wicked look in his eyes. “ You and your girlfriend. ” before either of us could make a move he pushed the trigger and begun to explode. It felt like time slowed down and my heart stopped until Rumlow let out a scream. I realized Wanda was containing the explosion. Relief flooded through me and Wanda threw him into the air. I wanted to cry in relief. Steve was okay. Thank god Steve was okay. My relief was cut short as Rumlow exploded my gaze lifting up to where he was. Horror flooding through me as the explosion envelops part of the building.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Nat, I can’t sign them,” I said after Steve had left.

“Maybe it’s the right thing to do.” We were both staring out into the city from the window in the compound. “Maybe it’s something we all have to do. To stay together. You know that’s all Tony wants right.” I glanced back at Tony who had returned to his chair and then around the room before sighing.

“You heard the way Ross talked about us. We’re not going to be working for the U.N. We are going to be their weapons. I know why Tony wants this. I really do. I just… I just can’t back this one.” she let out a sigh as she took in my words.

“So, you’re retired then?”

“I mean. I am one hundred years old. I think it’s about time.” I joked with her masking the sadness in my voice.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The news was filled with reports of the Winter Soldiers attack on the U.N. I quickly pulled up my hood and made my way towards the building, keeping an eye out for Sam or Steve. If they were going to do something stupid, which they definitely were, then I was coming with them. I spotted Sam sitting in a crowded cafe and made my way towards him.

“Sam,” I greeted finding him sitting at the counter and I sat next to him.

“Oh no! I am not getting involved in whatever fight is going to happen between you and Steve.”

“Sam! Look, I need to be there. I need to come with. I can’t just sit around being.. Retired.” he let out a small laugh at my words. “Besides, you two idiots couldn’t last a day without me.” Sam faked offense before bumping shoulders with me. I was thankful for Sam. He was loyal to Steve and I had grown to trust him with my life. More than that I had grown to trust him with Steves. Not that I would ever tell Sam this but I was glad he was our friend.

“Fine. Fine, you have my vote.” I shook my head at him and stole his coffee.

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t make me take that vote back.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this” Steve said to me as we snuck into Bucky’s apartment building.

“I can’t believe you think you could stop me.”

“Just watch the stairs, please.”

“You got it.” I gave him a soft nod enough so he knows that I’m okay. Enough so he knows that I have his back and I trust him with whatever he is about to do.

Everything was quiet as I stood in the corner of the stairs, hoping that anyone who might see me would think that I was waiting for someone.

“They’ve set the perimeter” Sams voice came through the comms. My heart started to pound as they started to make their way up the stairs.

“Fuck it.” I grumbled and silently dashed up the stairs to where I knew Steve was. To where Bucky was. I opened the door as quietly as possible and shut it behind me. My eyes focusing on Bucky before I tore them away. ”Steve,” I spoke causing both men to turn to me.

“I told you to wait,” he growled.

“Yeah, well you didn’t say for how long and it was either here or draw a lot of attention.” my eyes flicked back to Bucky before I spoke again. “We’re out of time. We have to go.” the words had barely left my mouth when we were under attack. Quickly the three of us began taking down German police. Someone started to shoot and Bucky pulled me behind him using his arm to shield us from the bullets, only for Steve to step in front of him a moment later guarding the three of us with his shield. I followed bucky out the door helping him taking down anyone who was trying to stop us. Bucky made a jump for the window barely making it to the opposite rooftop only to be taken down by a man in a black suit. “Steve, opposite roof.” was all the warning I gave before taking a running jump for it. My chest slammed into the edge of the wall and I pulled myself up the rest of the way thanking the gods for kevlar. I ran to where Bucky and the stranger were fighting and quickly tackled the man away from him, only for him to throw me off and make a b-line back towards him. Bucky made a run for it making his way down the building the man not far behind him as I got up and followed shortly behind this time with Steve directly behind me. We made our way to an underpass my sole focus on keeping Bucky alive.

“(y/n), stay on Bucky. I have an idea.”

“On it, Cap” I didn’t need to be told twice I pushed myself a little more to slightly close the gap between us and ran where ever he did. Just when we had made our way out of the underpass Bucky pushed a man from his motorcycle spinning it in the air and climbing on. Damn. I shook my head of the image and spoke “He’s on a motorcycle heading your way. Mind giving me a lift?” I asked no one in particular.

“On my way” Sam spoke. I didn’t have to wait long before Falcon scooped me up carrying me towards the fight. “Where too, sweetheart.” he joked.

“Call me sweetheart again and I’m breaking your wings.” I sassed back. Just when we were caught up the roof caved above us causing sam to involuntarily drop me and I rolled across the pavement. I quickly got up and ran to where Steve was only to quickly be surrounded by cops… and Rhodey.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I stood next to Steve watching Bucky getting his evaluation. Anxiety filling my chest. Tony walked past me with a question in his eyes he already knew the answer to and I shook my head. I let the conversation Steve was having flow to the background as I focused on the screen. Suddenly everything went black. I quickly turned to Steve the small amount of fear in his eyes telling me everything I needed to know. He grabbed my arm and took off running keeping me close behind him. After a while, he let go and I followed behind Sam. the first thing I noticed is the cage, for lack of a better word, that they were keeping bucky in was empty. Steve ran into the room.

Sam had barely entered the room when Bucky took a swing at him. At first, I thought it was a mistake. It had to be right?. Once the fight drug on I knew it was no longer Bucky. Sam was thrown against the cage and Steve focused his attention on Bucky. I quickly made my way to where Sam had landed to make sure he was alright. When I moved to check his pulse and he let out a grown.

“I’m starting to hate that guy.” I didn’t have time to focus on what he was saying my eyes snapped up to Steve and Bucky in time to see Steve thrown down an elevator shaft. I followed Sam through the sea of people being evacuated cursing when we found the abandoned sweater of the doctor who had been in charge of evaluating Bucky.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Hey guys, your boys up,” Sam spoke breaking the silence. Steve and I quickly made our way to where Bucky was.

“Steve?” Bucky spoke and I had to fight to keep my feet where they were.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?”

“Your mom’s name was Sarah. You used to were newspapers in your shoes “ he let out a soft laugh and I couldnt help the smile that grew on my face as I looked to Steve.

“That’s not in a museum is it, Stevie?” Steve rolled his eyes at me jokingly

“I told you not to call me Stevie.” He joked back causing Sam and me to let out small laughs. Steve didn’t let the moment last too long before he was asking questions. Questions about the doctor and what he wanted. I allowed myself to slide down the wall so I was sitting on the floor as Bucky told his story. I listened, of course, but for most of it, I was trying not to slip back down my own memory lane.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Bucky and I sat in the back of an old bug with Sam in the front.

“Can you move your seat up?” Bucky spoke.

“No.” I rolled my eyes at sams tone and place my feet on the back of the seat ‘accidentally” kicking him.

“Whoops” I joked as I looked out the side window.

“I’m not doing it.”

“I just said whoops.” I could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes and he was true to his word he didn’t move his seat up but I was able to get a small smile from Bucky so I counted it as a win. Moving my feet back down to the floor I leaned forward, “Is he actually going to get our stuff or is he just going to flirt?” I joked. Sam let out a soft laugh before responding.

“Give the man a break. He needs a little love.” Sam joked back.

“All I’m saying is while we are all wanted it might not be the time.”

“Or it’s the best time.” the car fell silent for a moment. Until Steve and Sharon began to kiss. Causing Me and Sam to laugh. “Told you so. Best. time.” I rolled my eyes going back to my seat. With a small laugh. I risked a glance over to Bucky smiled giving him a light shrug trying to hold back the heat rising to my cheeks when he smiled back. I looked away in time to see Steve pulling away from Sharon. Once he glanced towards I could tell by the look on his face we were all giving him the same look.

“So, I have a question,” Sam said turning slightly to face me while grinning.

“I’m not kissing you.” I sassed.

“That wasn’t it.”

“Bucky’s not going to kiss you either.”

“No. Does kissing Captain America-”

“Oh god” I groaned trying to hold back a laugh.

“Count as service to our country.”

“Please stop talking.” I laughed.

“Because I mean she served him… some tongue” he added through laughter and I let my head hit the window of the car as I groaned at his joke.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I was running behind Sam and Bucky. I just had to get bucky out safe. Bucky out safe and then protect Steve… from our friends.

“What the hell is that?” Buckys voice broke me from my concentration.

“Everybodys gotta have a gimmick.” the man in the red and blue suit quickly threw Sam to the side before moving to Bucky. I stopped dead in my tracks when he easily stopped one of Bucky hits.

“Wow, cool you have a metal arm?” before I could process the voice sam flew back around taking the kid with him.

“I’m sorry. Stark brought a child?” I asked partially into my comms and partially to no one.

“Apparently he’s called Spiderman,” Steve answered.

I leaned over the rails look at the two men currently webbed to the ground trying to hold back my laughter.

“Don’t even start. Just get me out.” Sam barked at me. I ran down the stairs cutting Bucky free and then moving over to Sam.

“For the record, I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, you didn’t help much either.” I rolled my eyes and flipped him off before we started in the direction fo the Quinjet. We wall stood in a line looking across at our friends. I looked over to Steve as Sam spoke.

“What are we doing cap?”

“We fight”

After throwing a few punches with Nat I made my way over to Bucky and Steve in time to see Antman turning huge. The three of us mad our way to the qinjet barely making passed falling rubble. Once inside we were stopped in our tracks by Nat.

“You’re not going to stop” she spoke

“You know I can’t”

“I’m going to regret this.” Instantly I put up my guards for a fight only for her to hit T’challa. Quickly the three of us ran to the quinjet leaving Nat behind to fight off T’challa.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest as we watched the video. The video of Tony’s parents getting killed by the Winter Soldier. A tear fell down my cheek. I couldnt imagine what Tony was going through right now. I placed myself between tony and bucky hoping it wouldn’t come to this. It all happened so fast after Tony hit Steve. I placed a kick behind his knee and he took me down with him.

“You’re going to fight for him? For a monster?” Tony asked holding me to the ground. “I saw you like family. “ his voice was broken as he spoke his mask coming down over his face. “I loved you like you were my own child.” He spoke through his mask. I kicked against his chest pushing him off of me and he instantly turned to Bucky and they began to fight. No matter what we said to him Tony couldn’t see past his grief. Not that I could blame him. I wished he could but I saw all of the reasons why he couldn’t. Reliving the pain of your parents passing had to be a new kind of suffering. Learning that everything you thought you knew about their death was a lie. Learning that a man you considered a friend knew all along an never said a word. I knew why Tony had to fight. I just hoped when the dust settled that he would see why we had to as well. The building began to crumble around us as we fought. Each punch to Tony broke my heart, he was like a father to me, but I couldnt let him kill Bucky not when I was so close to getting him back.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

On the way to Wakanda Bucky and I caught up, in a I’ll talk to you later kinda way. With stories, half finished and half-truths that the other caught but doesn’t say anything. I knew what was going to happen when we got to Wakanda. I understood why he needed to do it so I held back my tears and replaced them with cheese jokes I knew would get a smile. A smile I wanted to memorize. Once there Steve left us on the jet for a moment alone.

“This is what’s best,” he spoke after a moment of silence.

“I know, Buck.” I kept my gaze focused on my hands. Slowly I watched his feet come into view as if he was unsure of what he was going to do one he reached me. His hand found its way under my shin and he lifted my gaze so that our eyes would meet. I wanted to apologize. Apologize for the sadness I knew he saw there. I watched him fight for the right words to say for a moment before speaking.

“This won’t be the last time you’re seeing me, doll.” I wasn’t sure if he used the old nickname for my benefit or because it felt right but I was thankful that he did it. I gave him a soft smile and felt my cheeks flush slightly under his gaze.

“We’ve met under less likely circumstances already.” I joked. He just nodded in response. He leaned in and placed a soft fleeting kiss on my lips before turning and leaving in the direction that Steve went. As I watched him walk away I gently placed my fingers on my lips as if trying to convince myself that it truly happened and let myself cry.

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@avengemepercy

#buck #bucky x reader #bucky barns #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes xyou #steve rogers #avengers #winter solider #angst

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giggleandtears · 5 years

Text

Crimson Renegade, Part 1

Enter me, (s)he says in parentheses

Summary: It’s not even her first day and she’s already getting the Enterprise out of trouble

Pairings: OC/Jim Kirk(Platonic), OC/Leonard McCoy(Eventual Romance)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

My journey to Gamma quadrant has been wholly uneventful. Thank the gods. I had a few gas giants and nebula to befriend but other than that, I had only my thoughts to keep me company. It has been pure bliss but I know it will be swiftly ending in a matter of days. Well, if I'm lucky, I'll get days. The USS Enterprise is not known for its tranquil environment.

Speak of the devil-

As I exit warp, at my assigned rendezvous coordinates, my view is littered with debris. Shards of metal and tempered glass glitter around me in the vast expanse. Small chunks bounce off my shield and wings, but it's nothing my ship can’t handle.

"Battle on my first day. Of course," I mutter to myself.

I trigger a quick scan to follow the trajectory of the debris and any lasting remnants of the Enterprise's unique energy signature. Oh, this is bad. Looking at the projected course the Enterprise took, it spans roughly 3.7 parsecs. On any other day my pulse engines would suffice in traversing such a distance. You never know what new wonders might be tucked away, but by the sheer magnitude of this scrap heap rotating around me, the Enterprise may be in need of immediate assistance.

What the crap, Kirk?

I set my course and engage my warp drive. In a matter of moments, I exit. My proximity alert sounds as a wing of some kind careens towards me.

"Shields to max," I shout, then roll right only to have the debris lightly skim the stern. "Gotta love voice commands. Engage cloak and lock onto Enterprise coms."

"Cloak engaged and locking onto Enterprise coms." Making the onboard computer's accent a deep Scottish brogue was the best decision I ever made. I smile while engaging thrusters to find a better vantage point.

The coms are silent for a beat then the familiar voice of my new Captain sounds in my cockpit.

"Chekov, I need to know what came out of that warp window," Jim orders in his own polite way, controlled concern lacing his voice.

"I am sorry sir, but the window closed with no discernable trace of a ship."

"Great. Just what we need. Invisible ships."

I start to hail the Enterprise to alert them of my presence when their flank is bombarded with phasers, erupting in lightning like sparks.

"Oh no. Today is not the day."

I double back smoothly with a half loop into a spin to right myself and shoot any foreign ships in my path.

"God, these things are sturdy."

I inflict a significant amount of damage to the closest ship on my way back to the Enterprise but not enough to completely disable them. They themselves look like piles of scrap, perfect for an ambushing any unsuspecting ship that meanders by.

"Mirror Enterprise targeting system," I command.

One of my secondary screens flicks from the continuous diagnostic readings of my ship's system to the Enterprise's view of the battle field. An analysis of the enemy ship's unique variants begins to stream in, surely from Spock's order as protocol dictates. This is one disadvantage to being the lone pilot of a ship. Though the solitude matchless, multitasking can become cumbersome. Vigorously defending your future crew whilst sifting through scrolling logs, with the intent of finding one useful piece of intel, is quite a hassle.

"Idiosyncratic element detected. State: volatile," My on-board computer informs me. "Hmm, I forgot I built that alert. Isolate element and target any vulnerabilities."

The Enterprise and I both target the element, used the in foreign ship's power coils, and watch the inky expanse erupt in reds and oranges. A ring of explosions cascade from the Enterprise badly damaging two of the larger ships. The vast battle field is quiet for several steady beats until a swarm of guided missiles head straight for the Enterprise warp engines. Federation ships are made for explorations, not all out battles. If the missiles reach the engines, the Enterprise will be left stranded and completely at the mercy of the enemy ships.

I push my thrusters to the max and reach the Enterprise before the torpedoes do. I loop back, hovering right above the Federation vessel. Facing the incoming barrage, I fire at will. I gun down each missile, one by one, and the Enterprise is left mystified as to why the torpedoes are exploding before they reach them.

"Sulu?" Kirk asks, his mono-syllabic question loaded.

"Not us sir."

Two missiles skirt my defenses, but the Enterprise picks them off. Broadcasting the comm, I finally hail the Enterprise.

"Artemis to Enterprise. Artemis to Enterprise."

"We hear you loud and clear Artemis. Thanks for the save." Kirk replies, relief emanating from his voice.

"You're not safe yet. We have incoming!"

Kirk calls for evasive maneuvers as two more torpedoes hit the right side of the Enterprise.

"Shields at 83 percent." Sulu informs.

"Enterprise, I'm going back into the fray. Sending data packet now, so you can track me."

Because it would really suck if you shot me down after all this.

"Receiving data packet. Tracking location." Sulu announces.

"Enterprise, if you target the ships, I'll run interference on the torpedoes."

"Copy that Artemis."

The Enterprise rights itself, and I float above the bridge once again. Using my phasers, I push back the incoming projectiles until there is sufficient space between the Enterprise and the rival ships, four in total.

Diving back into the battle, I sweep left, dropping small cloaked devices as a wall of defense for the Enterprise. Hopefully I won’t have to use all my prototypes in this one skirmish. With the Enterprise focusing on the ships themselves, I press on into the raging battle.

Swiftly flicking a sequence of switches and key strokes, my back phasers are trained onto the enemy weapon’s distinctive energy variants. A steady stream of soft vibrations ripple through my chair as the rear weapons system fires without prejudice. I maneuver in and out of the impeding projectiles in a whimsical dance, touching nothing. Upon my order, I release a string of rudimentary instruments in my misshapen path. My back phasers stop and start intermittently as to not shoot the Enterprise when it veers into its sights.

Various torpedoes and rail weapons hurdling towards the Enterprise trail behind me. With a tap of a single key they halt as if suspended in an invisible dragnet. The second load of devices I planted begin to spin, glowing a pale violet. With each rapid rotation, the stagnant weaponry shakes and swirl in a mechanical tornado. When the revolutions seem to reach a fever pitch, adding more and more trapped shrapnel, the twisting conglomerate is sucked into a jagged mass. A wide-spanning quake emanates from within my magnetized EMP bombs, rendering the expended weapons inert.

A sly smile ghosts onto my lips as Sulu utters an astonished, 'wow'.

Time stands still in the continuous volley of weapons fire. The Enterprise and I work in unison to vanquish the incoming threat. Coming out of a tailspin, I survey the wreckage surrounding me. I initiate an updated scan for remaining energy variants as I chart my way back to the Enterprise. The unhealthy pace of my rocketing heart finally begins to slow. I manage a labored swipe of my arm against my damp forehead. I haven’t experienced such a rush in far too many moons, but I wished it was under better circumstances of course.

Swerving in and out of the wreckage, my readings remain nominal and steady. It’s a testament of my skilled crew that each oscillating piece of debris cluttering my view is from the enemy ships, not the Enterprise. Jerking to attention from reading the Enterprise’s running damage log, my ship alarm blares, signaling an incoming alert. Reacting a fraction of a second too late, a torpedo careens over my bow.

“Where the bilgesnipe’s tail did that come from?” I grind out.

The portable shields I dropped in front of the Enterprise activate as the expelled torpedo collides with an invisible wall. The proceeding explosions curve around the Enterprise in a fiery swell. The Enterprise and I are left scrambling as the incoming bombardment breaks through my defenses. We have no visible target to fire upon. The Enterprise is pushed back a great distance but remains intact. Compressed air or some type of coolant spews into the atmosphere from a possible hull breach on the lower deck.

Sulu apprises us that shields have dropped to 63 percent, his voice tight.

Running a series of more in-depth scans, the results reveal nothing that indicates any active ships in our vicinity. The onslaught has seemingly come from nowhere.

“How is that poss…oh crap,” the realization dawning on me. “I don’t think I'm the only cloaked ship.”

Trying to buy the Enterprise, as well as myself, more time, I turn sharply away from the battle, haphazardly dropping more EMPs.

“Artemis to Enterprise, there are other cloaked ships. I repeat, there are cloaked ships in our vicinity.”

Shooting at full speed towards the outskirts of the battle, I triangulate the probable max missile range according to the size and type of these particular ships.

“Artemis, what are you doing?” Kirk asks, no doubt tracking my locator along its seemingly nonsensical route.

Ending this

“We can’t fight what we can’t see and my EMPs can only do so much. I'm sending 2 sets of coordinates. Once you move aft to the first set, on my mark, put auxiliary systems on standby. You’ll find cover out of the blast radius.”

Kirk commands Sulu to reverse thrusters without question. A swell of pride blooms in my chest, his confidence in me unwavering.

Reaching the edge of the target zone, I face the battle once more. Reverberations of my charging cannon thrum as it nears full power.

“When the blast dissipates,” I continue, “you should have enough time to fire her back up and skip bail. I'll meet you at the second set of coordinates.”

Almost instinctively, Sulu plots a course to the coordinates, likely in response to Kirk’s commanding nod.

"Artemis, is this course of action wise?” The measured voice of Spock asks. “Firing an energy weapon of that magnitude while your cloak is active, will no doubt render it unstable. In all probability, there is an 87% chance of complete failure. You will be vulnerable to attack."

An audible whirl sings in my cockpit as streams of energy cascade along the edge of my wings, forming small balls on the tips. With each passing second, the swirling spheres grow and before long they shoot forward, unifying into an even larger expanding concentration of blue brilliance. In all my test fires, the sight of my weapon is truly something to behold. The base was always left at a standstill until its blinding radiance had diminished. However, the neighboring combatants haven’t a clue as to what is brewing underneath my cloak.

"Don’t worry Spock. I have every intention of giving you a run for all your Energy Credits.”

“I am not concerned with my energy credits but your...”

Before Spock can finish voicing his unease, I waste no time informing the Enterprise my energy weapon has reached full power.

“And mark!”

In the distance, the Enterprise maneuvers around two missiles before its faint glow is temporarily extinguished.

Releasing the energy burst, a bright pulse emanates from my ship, breaking through the confines of the cloak. A silent wave rolls lazily into the dark blanket of space. Azure, edged in a startling chrome, the Plasma shockwave advances forward, igniting each ship it touches. The corners of my vision begin to spark and fizzle, finally revealing the fleet of vessels that were completely surrounding us.

The muted radiance of the Enterprise returns as her systems come back online. The space encircling the craft begins to warp, defining the warp cores very namesake. The Enterprise catapults forward, into safe harbor. I allow myself a moment to rest my head and expel a sigh of relief. The Enterprise would have been decimated in short order without my canon’s successful reprieve. First battle down, likely many more to come.

I start another fly-by and scan for life and power sources. The varying ships are still mostly intact. The blast only managed to disable their cloaks and short circuit their systems. My own cloak is barely holding at 6 %. Using my tractor beam, I manage to get a sizable piece of the only ship we managed to completely destroy. Hopefully it’ll help me determine where they originated from.

My radar beeps as the surrounding energy readings begin to climb. Red indicator beacon after beacon blinks and solidifies on my screen. The legion of ships will be back on line shortly.

Resilient little buggers

My cloak slips down to 4% and I hastily set my coordinates to the rally point. Engaging my FTL system, I escape toward safety, before a battle begins anew. Exiting warp, I pick up the Enterprise’s comms. Chekov’s distinctive accent notifies the Captain that a warp window has been detected.

The Enterprise hails me but I’m entranced by the amalgam of colors enveloping me. It’s as if I've nestled myself in a cloud that has been dipped in the ink of a sunset. Moseying forward, the Enterprise is exactly where it should be, tucked away in the heart of a nebula. The visceral urge to reach out and touch the intangible is still the most fantastical yet unnerving feeling I’ve ever experienced in the black. The radioactive nature of the gases concealing us leaves me wondering if I’m witnessing the death of a star or its birth.

Jim calls to me again. “Enterprise to Artemis. Artemis, do you read?”

Snapping to attention, I guide my ship to the Enterprise and loiter in front of the Bridge. As if my cloak senses the danger has passed, it dissipates like fine silk rippling to the ground.

Leaning lazily over my console, the Bridge crew is clearly in view. “You rang?”

A cocky grin alights my face and Jim can only shake his head and smile. He instructs me, knowing full well the reason for my delay in answering his hail. “Once you finish star gazing, you’re welcome to board.”

“Copy that,” I chuckle and make my way to the shuttle area.

Settling in the shuttle bay, I'm acutely aware of the grandeur of the Enterprise. I’ve been assigned to multiple ships, but never one of this magnitude. Artemis is a respectable size, far better than the average federation shuttle. But against the backdrop of the massive shuttle area, I feel all the more minuscule.

Artemis is a 4th generation Stealth Fighter, equipped with warp and cloaking capabilities. Both were installed under my care, among other rare accoutrements. Her dark hue blends into the pitch of space, even without her cloak. In those rare moments I desire to be seen, illuminators are strategically placed along the wings and cockpit. On all accounts, she handles with a viperous grace. Beginning the power down sequence, a low hiss sounds as my wings retract inward. The outer wings smoothly lift vertically at their hinges, fully compact.

Leaving the cockpit, I disconnect the emptied power cell belonging to the cloak. Adding four controlled isotope pellets, the canister begins to warm before the top spirals shut. With a gentle shake, the inert embers reignite, blossoming in blues and yellows. The tiny explosions build and expand into a thick congealed mass. Clear observation panels on the sides display the chemical reaction shifting from a vibrant green to a blinding white. Replacing it snugly back in the panel, the power cell will need about an hour to reach full power. I’m not expecting to use Artemis for more than the occasional joy ride and practical simulations but it never hurts to be prepared.

Stepping off my ship, bag slung over my shoulder, I take in the hustle and bustle of the scampering crew. Breathing in the familiar scent of recycled air, an innate sense of ownership washes over me. This is not a temporary post. This ship, these people, now belong to me.

Jim leans casually against a stack of crates. Anyone else would have surely fallen. “That’s definitely not regulation.”

“My ship or me?” I ask, meeting him where he stands. Jim takes a thoughtful pause to fully take in the sight of me and my ship. We stand in stark contrast to the other docked ships and scurrying crewman. My lack of federation issued jumpsuit and unruly curls are a testament to my lax attitude while traversing the galaxy to meet the Enterprise.

He replies with a cheeky grin. “Both.”

A knowing smile sweeps across my face as I step into his arms. Jim radiates a warmth that is synonymous with our long friendship. There could have been a palpable sting of jealousy as I watched Jim being handed his own command ahead of me. But I have never desired the captain’s chair. It's a privilege to be back under the command of someone I respect so greatly, and a treasured friend no less.

Squeezing me a little tighter, Jim chuckles into my ear. “And I thought I knew how to make an entrance.”

I laugh at the thought of Jim’s many memorable arrivals and daring escapes. Immersing myself in every detail of the Enterprise’s mission’ reports has been one of my secret obsessions for many years.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you somehow found trouble in an uninhabited area.”

He concedes the point with a shrug but Jim’s cheerful demeanor has slipped away. His posture has grown taut, his grip tight, as he holds me at arm's length. He studies me with an intense gaze under a deeply furrowed brow. When he speaks, his voice is quieted in concern.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Jim-bo," I say, patting his hand in reassurance, “not a scratch on me.”

Jim would have known if I had been hit during our scuffle with the Scrap-yardigans. I would have voiced it, as would Sulu. But he doesn’t look convinced. Even with my assured answer, his scrutiny continues. I think he knows I felt the concussive aftershocks of the explosions, even though I wasn’t expressly hit.

“Well, we’ll be taking a trip to Medbay just to make sure.”

I’ve been on board all of 10 minutes and I’ve already resigned myself to using my patented pout. That definitely has to be a record. “Come on Jim, I just got here and isn’t there a hull breach I can help with?” Hopefully it will still have the desired effect. Jim was never immune to its power but that was before he was my Captain.

Strolling up to Jim and I, Spock interjects before Jim can answer. “There is indeed a hull breach on decks 16 and 17.” He says.

Taking a deep breath, my eyes plead with Jim to let me help. The faster we’re done with repairs, the quicker we can leave this sector. Those nearly impenetrable ships left a bad taste in my mouth.

“As you have only just boarded Commander, your mandatory physical has yet to be completed. Until such time, it is against regulation to assist in any repairs unless under direct threat, in which we are not.”

Jim smirks in agreement. With that, I deflate in defeat but still greet my fellow Commander with a genuine smile. "Spock, you always were a stickler for protocol but it is good to see you.”

Bowing at the waist, Spock welcomes me in return. “You as well, Commander.” Shifting attention back to the Captain, Spock hands Jim the PADD resting at his side, and readies himself for his report. Gathering my bag, we make our way toward the Turbo lift.

“So, how’s our girl? Injuries?” Jim asks his Second in Command.

“We are currently reporting 11 injuries, all minor in nature.”

“And the hull breach repairs are underway?”

“Yes Captain. They should be completed within the hour.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock. Eloquent and informative as always.” Jim says offhandedly, all the while sending me a pointed look. Translation, the crew has everything under control without your helping hands. “Do we have any idea who they are? Where they came from?”

“Not as of yet. The database inquiries thus far have been inconclusive. Without a piece of the enemy ship I believe we are at a loss.”

“I may be able to help with that.” I say, stepping into the lift in front of Spock and Jim. “I was able to retract a sizable piece of ship debris.”

“That will be most useful. When will-”

Spock stops short when a familiar Scottish lilt rings out into the bay. ‘Until next time lassie’, reaches into the lift before the doors close. Artemis has fully powered down and is awaiting her next mission.

Both turning to me, Jim and Spock wear the same incredulous expression, complete with matching arched brows.

Jim is the first to speak, low and deliberate. “Was that Scotty?”

Staring holes into the floor, I nod yes.

“Does Scotty know you use his voice for your on-board computer?” Jim’s voice is alight with mischief. A looming dread slowly creeps into my stomach.

This lift is taking much too long. It’ll be the first thing I inspect tomorrow.

“No, and there’s no reason to tell him.” In all honesty, I forgot to switch it back to the standard voice setting. I’ve always found Scotty’s excitable voice infectious and soothing. But in the wrong hands that knowledge will only be used to torment me, i.e. my astute captain.

Jim crosses his arms and levels a knowing smirk. “That was before you tried to use your pout against me.”

Well, that was a massive miscalculation on my part.

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seeaddywrite · 5 years

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stars, hide your fires: chapter five

this chapter is a lot more schmoop than plot, but still important to the overall story. as usual, thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for motivation & listening to me whine & stopping me from repeating myself every other sentence.

chapter warnings: this doesn’t quite hit explicit territory, i don’t think, but it does come close, so please proceed with caution.

AO3 LINK

chapter index: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5

Michael’s up to his shoulders in the guts of an ancient Volkswagen when Alex pulls into the gravel drive of the junkyard. He’s either so engrossed in his repairs that he doesn’t hear Alex’s approach, or he’s just ignoring it under the assumption that Alex is just another customer trying to get repairs done even though business hours are over. Guerin’s the best mechanic in town, and though the people of Roswell are quick to dismiss him as the town drunk, they’re just as fast to forget that when their cars start acting up. It’s the sort of double standard Roswell loves: those people will beat a man until he bleeds and come back for a second round, but as soon as they need something, they’ll still expect their victim to bend over backwards for them.

It’s easier to relax now that Alex has Michael in his line of sight, and he exhales slowly as he slides out of the driver’s side of his of his SUV. His eyes linger for a moment on the way Michael’s body fills out the worn denim of his oil-streaked jeans, because he’d have to be dead before he stopped appreciating Guerin’s physique, but he’s not only looking for that, tonight. Sex is fucking fantastic, but he needs to fill a need more basic than that. He needs to feel settled in his skin, to be reminded of the man that he is now, rather than the kid he used to be.

Guerin can’t give him those things; Alex needs to do it himself, and he knows that. But for ten years, Michael’s arms have been the only place Alex has felt safe. While enlisted, he’d been afraid to replay those memories too often for fear he’d wear them out and forget completely, so he’d only allowed himself to think of Michael on the worst days, when he couldn’t pull himself together on his own, and even Michael’s imaginary presence was better the inescapable sense of isolation that came from being the only one who seemed to realize that military action was just another name for evil.

“Alex?” Michael’s in front of him, frowning in a way that suggests he’s been trying to get Alex’s attention for a while. “What’s wrong?” He wipes his palms on the bottom of his t-shirt, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to reach out, but his hands find their way into the pockets of his jeans instead. “The meeting with your brother go bad?” The question is calm, but Alex is too good at reading the other man to miss the way his eyes immediately scan the horizon, as if expecting an army of MPs to descend upon them at any moment.

Alex shakes his head quickly, not wanting to cause any unnecessary fear. “No, no. It went --” He grapples for the right word, and gives up. “Charlie bought the story. He’s reaching out to Flint and Hunter as we speak, so I should have access to the Project within a week, as long as Hunter’s on base and not off comms.” The information comes quick and succinct, a post-op briefing, and Alex looks away afterward. Michael’s not his commanding officer, and Alex knows that, but asking for what he actually wants is harder than it should be now that he’s standing so close to it.

“Okay,” Guerin drawls, batting a rogue curl away from his forehead. “You wanna come inside? I need to change. And probably shower.” He glances down at himself, as if just noticing the mess of oil and sweat masquerading as clothing. “Or you can head to Max’s, and I’ll meet you in an hour -- Isobel’s staying there until all this blows over, and Liz has basically been living there since we brought him back, so dinner’s pretty much an open invitation for a while. You can fill us in, and we can keep planning, maybe come up with some contingencies in case shit goes sideways.”

Normally, the promise of sitting down to dinner with their friends would be a good way to end a shitty day, but right now, Alex wants to have Michael to himself for a while. “Do you think we could go over later?” he asks, squinting into the sun in an effort to meet the other man’s eyes. “I want to go, I just -”

Guerin looks at Alex for a long moment after the sentence trails off, then takes a slow, uncertain step forward. “It seems like you’re asking me for something,” he says finally, his voice quiet and eyes searching. Beneath his gaze, Alex feels like his every insecurity and anxiety is written on his face; no one’s ever seen him like Guerin has, and it used to terrify him that someone could look at him and see the man he is beneath the surface. It’s taken Alex a long, long time to accept himself for the man he is, rather than constantly judging himself against others -- in fact, it’s still a work in progress. But he knows he’s made some, because now, Alex looks at Michael and revels in the fact that someone can know him like that and want to stick around anyway.

“But I don’t know what it is, Alex. You gotta tell me what you want. I’m not the mind-reader, remember?”

It’s fair. Alex is pretty sure Michael has a pretty good idea of what he wants, or at least a reasonable guess, but they said that they’d talk about the two of them after the mission was complete. Right now, the mission’s barely started, no one is really safe, and they haven’t talked about anything. It’s probably wrong for Alex to do this, to show up here looking for refuge without any explanation or attempt to ask permission, but he can’t bring himself to leave, either. So instead, he swallows, and closes the short distance remaining between their bodies.

His palms land on either side of Michael’s face, and Alex tilts his head to rest their foreheads together. Guerin’s skin is tacky against his own, damp with sweat, but Alex barely notices. He just holds Michael there for a minute, wishing, for once, that he could just reach into Alex’s mind and take the explanation from his thoughts. Michael turns to granite against him, still and rigid, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s all the permission Alex needs.

“I spent all day pretending to be someone I’m not,” Alex says with Michael’s breath against his cheek. “And Charlie -- I think he was trying to protect me, and I was manipulating him. And I have to work out how I feel about that, and what comes next, and I just wanted to be somewhere safe to figure all of that out.” The explanation is disjointed, and the emotions connected to it are too, even for Alex; he can feel, but everything is separate, confusing, like images twisted in a kaleidoscope.

“You wanted to be somewhere safe,” Michael repeats, a strange vulnerability in the words that Alex doesn’t understand. “And you came to me?”

Alex blinks, and steps back enough that he can see Michael’s face, but his hands linger on broad shoulders that have suddenly gone tense beneath his touch. “Should I -- not have?” he asks warily, trying to figure out what he’d said to cause this reaction. He’s fairly sure it wasn’t the touching. Guerin seemed fine with that. But how is admitting that he’s always been Alex’s safe place to land a bad thing? Surely he already knew that? “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No! No, I --” Alex watches as Guerin’s throat works, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists in uncertainty. “I just meant that I haven’t given you any reason to feel safe around me, lately,” Michael says finally, the words blunt and forceful. Again, Alex is left floundering, trying to figure out how the hell they got here when only moments ago, Michael had seemed calm. But now, his expression is shuttered, closing Alex out of his thoughts and leaving him guessing. This isn’t what he’d been expecting when he came here, and part of him wants to shove his fingers in his ears and tell Guerin to stop talking, to leave it until after the mission like they’d agreed, but he knows he can’t. Not unless he’s prepared to turn around and leave, and Alex knows he won’t be able to do that. Walking away from Michael has always been too damn hard, and now, with no good reason, Alex knows it’ll be all but impossible.

“Fuck, Alex, the last time you wanted to talk, I stood you up and went to Maria,” Michael continues, his voice a raw strain of vocal cords. “I lost my shit after Caulfield, and what happened to Max, and you kept bailing me out, and got dragged into all of it -- and now you’re lying to your brother and feeling shitty about it because of me. Don’t you ever think about how much easier your life would be if you just told me to fuck off for good?”

Alex can’t look at Michael anymore, not when he’s talking like that. This day has already worn on him more than he wants to think about, and this conversation is fraught with pitfalls and potential missteps, and Alex knows that he’s not going to be able to navigate it safely. But there’s no way to avoid it now, not without allowing Michael to believe the things he’s saying, and he’s literally sick to his stomach at the thought of it.

“No,” he says bluntly, his fingers digging into Guerin’s shoulders in a pathetic effort to keep the other man close. They’ve talked about Maria and the thought processes that led to Michael in her bed, and Alex doesn’t think they need to discuss it further -- certainly not today, when the thought of the other man with someone would sound far too much like another rejection. So he skips over that, choosing to focus instead on the rest of it.

“I don’t, because easy doesn’t mean shit to me, Michael. Nothing in my life has ever been easy. So if I have to fight for the things that make me happy, then fine. I’ve been fighting other people’s wars for what feels like my entire life. At least I chose to fight for you. And I’m going to keep choosing this fight, whether it makes me feel like I’m losing myself or not, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Alex’s hands slide down Michael’s shoulders to his hands, and he squeezes tightly as he tries to explain himself. “With them, with Charlie and Flint and everyone on base, I have to play a part. I have to act like a Manes, take orders, and keep my head down, and I’m going to have to do things that I hate. That’s what I signed up for. No one made me do that, and I’m not changing my mind.” He forces a fierce decisiveness into that statement, though it’s not clear whether he’s directing it toward himself or Michael. “I was just really hoping you’d be willing to help remind me who I really am, afterward.”

Allowing himself to be vulnerable isn’t something Alex is particularly good at, but there’s a waver in his voice that he can’t hide, and there’s no uniform or mission talk to hide behind, now. All of his cards are on the table -- what he wants, what he’s going to have to do, why he’s here -- and it’s up to Michael to call or draw.

There’s an achingly long moment in which Alex is sure Michael’s going to brush him off, to pull that damned devil-may-care smirk out of his back pocket and secure it over the naked longing on his face, but he doesn’t. Alex’s eyes slide closed in relief as Michael just nods, and curls a possessive hand around the back of his neck to pull him in. “Sorry,” he mutters, as Alex presses his face into the damp skin of his neck, relief like a cool breeze down his spine. “Max kicked me out of his place earlier because I couldn’t relax and was putting everyone else on edge. I kept thinking about you alone with someone who might hurt you, and --” he shrugs, trailing off with a bitter twist of his lips.

Alex sighs, and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin beneath his lips. “I’m okay,” he promises quietly.

Michael’s explanation puts his earlier reaction into new perspective, and Alex feels guilty for not understanding sooner. The other man had been against the plan from the beginning, and had only ever agreed because Alex made it clear that no one could stop him. He’s been worried for Alex’s well-being from the start; Max and Liz and the others might know that his family was messed up and hurt him, but Michael knows the details. He understands exactly what this mission could do to Alex, and he wasn’t even allowed to come provide back-up from a distance for the meeting this morning, though he’d lobbied to do so. Of course he’s anxious today, just as Alex would be in his place.

“If we can go inside, I’ll let you check for yourself, if you want,” Alex offers, and wonders how long they’ll last before their clothes are scattered across the small floor of the trailer and their bodies are tangled together. They’ve never been good at spending time alone together in confined spaces without something escalating; the electricity between them is hard to ignore in a room full of people, but once the only eyes on them are that of the walls surrounding them, it’s all but impossible. Sometimes that energy manifests in wandering hands and slick skin-on-skin, and sometimes, on bad days, it turns into shouting matches and barbed words aimed where they hurt most.

Michael huffs an amused sound against the top of Alex’s head and pulls back, just to join their hands and lead them back toward the trailer. Alex follows easily, and as soon as the door has closed behind them, allows himself to be drawn back into a heated kiss. He gasps into Michael’s mouth in surprise, then finds himself shoved back against the door with hands rucking his shirt up past his stomach before he can get his hands on the other man at all. When he catches up, they land in Michael’s hair, using the grip to angle his mouth better against his own.

Warm, calloused palms move from his abdomen up his chest, and when Alex’s shirt disappears over his head, he tries to follow suit with Michael’s -- but he stops him with a gentle grip on his wrists. It takes him a moment to realize in the fever of the moment that Michael is taking him at his word, checking every inch of exposed skin with his free hand for injury. Alex tips his head back against the wall with a hollow thud and gives himself over to the inspection, trying to catch his breath.

“I told you,” he manages, biting back a moan when Michael’s searching touch slips below the waistband of his pants. “He didn't hurt me, Guerin. I’m okay. I’m here with you, and I’m okay.” Alex’s eyelids slam shut as the fly of his pants is undone, and despite his best effort to calm himself down, he knows exactly what Michael looks like on his knees, and he can’t help but picture it when he hears limbs hit the tin floor. The low-lidded, heavy look in his eyes, the flush that spreads across his cheeks when Alex is naked in front of him, the enthusiasm with which he leans in--

“You’re not gonna stop me?” Michael asks roughly, his breath hot and humid against Alex’s skin.

Alex draws a shuddering breath and opens his eyes, then dips his chin to look at Michael. The image is exactly like he’d pictured it, and lust hits him hard in the stomach. He tamps down on it immediately, and forces himself to ask, “Do you want me to?”

Guerin shakes his head forcefully enough that his curls fall in his eyes, fingers curling into Alex’s thighs for balance. “I want this,” he says raggedly, pressing a kiss against one exposed hipbone. “I want you, and I’m tired of waiting.”

This isn’t what they had planned, but Alex doesn’t give a shit anymore. Maria and all of the reasons they hadn’t managed to make this work before seem small and far away in comparison to the threat of what they face now -- Alex wants things solidified with Michael, wants to move them from the amorphous something they’d been for the last year to partners in every sense of the word, and if it’s selfish, he’s not sure he cares anymore. If he’s going to survive running with his brothers for any length of time and involving himself in their dirty work with his soul intact, then he needs Michael’s anchoring presence. And maybe it’s hubris, but he’d like to think that need goes both ways.

“No more waiting,” Alex promises, and they lose themselves in the refuge of one another.

It’s hours later, as they’re getting dressed to head to Max’s for dinner, that Alex has to destroy the contented silence between them with painful, gory reality. “Charlie told me I needed to think of a way to prove myself to Flint and Hunter,” he says quietly, pausing in the middle of securing his prosthetic over the stump of his leg. “It’s going to have to be something big, if I want to convince Flint. He told Charlie about Caulfield, that I blew it up on purpose to fuck Dad over or something.”

Michael’s foggy, post-sex look disappears as soon Alex starts talking, and the sharp, intelligent expression that replaces it reminds Alex that while Guerin is usually happy to let others talk over him and consider him the town drunk, there isn’t anyone in Roswell that can match his IQ. “Sounds like you already have a plan,” he says, sliding a clean button-up shirt on over his bare chest. As usual, Michael leaves way too many of the buttons undone, revealing a wide swath of skin.

Alex bites at his lower lip and finishes with his leg before answering. “You’re not going to like it, and Isobel is probably really going to hate me for suggesting it, but I can’t see any other way. Obviously I’m not giving them any of you, and I have to be careful what information I let on that I have, in case it leads back to you.”

A calloused hand cups his chin, forcing Alex to look up at Michael. “Alex. Just tell me what you’re thinking, and we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly, and there’s not an inch of give in the words. Like it’s just that easy. Like it isn’t going to dredge up all sorts of painful memories for everyone involved, like it isn’t disgusting and disrespectful and in direct conflict with every moral that Alex has left.

But Alex has already committed to moving forward with this operation, and unless Michael or one of the others has a better idea, this is all they’ve got. So he drags in a deep breath, rests his palm over the back of Michael’s hand, and asks, “Do you remember where you buried Noah’s body?”

#stars hide your fires #multi-chap #my fic #malex fic

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