#(morgan voice in the distance) PUT HIM IN THE TRASH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scripts4dreamers · 4 years

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I literally JUST sat down, pt. 1

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: Nuh uh, nope. Not this again. You did not sign up for this. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol, eventual NSFW content

Prompt: After watching 7x07 “This episode is so scary man... Imagine just doing your job which is pretty morbid at times but oh well and then suddenly you have to go to this place where there's a lot of tornadoes and you're like well at least I'm inside and safe and then your boss is like "we gotta go right to these tornado places lol" and then you think "well that's scary but at least we have this handy dandy live map showing us exactly in real time where the tornadoes are so we'll be fine and then the internet is like "haha nope have fun dying in a tornado"

- @pirateismywayofspeaking who is a literal genius.

This will be a multichapter piece! So lemme know if you want to be tagged in subsequent chapters.

—————————-

Usually, when terrible things happen, people say the same few things: “I never thought it would happen to me! You never think something like this will happen to you until it does!”. You’d never really been that type of person. You were naturally cautious, and an ex FBI agent, you saw danger pretty much everywhere. You’d seen some of the worst things human beings could ever do to one another and, if you’d learned anything at all, it was that bad things happened everywhere and to pretty much everyone. There was nowhere that you could definitively say was safe from violent crime, but this was just ridiculous.

You looked around the ruined bookshop you’d poured the last year of your life into with a kind of detached sadness. Even before you opened the door, you could see the carnage. The shelves were upended, tables flipped, every vase in the building was smashed...except one. You sighed, stepping into the store, your eyes scanning the wreck with a practiced efficiency. No broken windows, the door was still locked when you’d arrived and your security cameras were blacked out, there were no signs of forced entry. If anything that made you more uneasy and, not for the first time since you’d left the bureau, you missed the weight of your gun against your hip. You crinkled your nose against the smell, the copper-iron of fresh blood that you were all too familiar with as you crept through your store.

“Son of a-fuck!” You swore loudly, cursing your luck as you took in the scene.

There was a body laid out in the middle of the Fiction aisle: face covered with a burlap sack, wrists and ankles bound with rope and blood seeping into the carpets you’d just had cleaned. Your training kicked in and you noticed, without meaning to, that the rest of the aisle was untouched. The shelves were upright, books in order, even the vase of white roses you’d put there the night before were all completely the way you’d left them. It was like he’d just completely bypassed the entire section.

Huh.

You looked up at the sky, “Really? Right now? You throw this at me, now? Unbelievable.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, along with a nervousness that you were telling yourself was irritation as you pulled out your phone. It had been a long while since you’d done this, but you still knew the number by heart.

“This is agent Jareau with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“JJ, it’s me,” you said, “you’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————

You sat in the ruins of your store until the cops arrived, wondering who exactly you had murdered in a past life to end up with this kind of luck. You gave your statement without much incident, directing CSU to the body and alerting the detective to the abnormalities you’d spotted.

JJ had promised to get the team on the case as quickly as she could, and you knew JJ tended to get exactly what she wanted in that regard, you just didn’t know how you felt about that. It had been over a year since you’d left the BAU, since you’d done one case too many and just got fed all the way up. It really wasn’t any deeper than that. One day you’d come home and found that you couldn’t sleep. It had all just become too much, so you packed up your stuff, tendered your resignation, and started over.

It had been hard at first, but now you owned a fairly successful bookstore with a little coffee shop where you sold good coffee, and homemade biscuits. And it was nice. You felt good, kinda. You definitely slept better at night. Your life was finally starting to feel normal and now this? A dead body just happens to appear in the center of your bookstore in just weird enough a way to warrant a call to the BAU? No, you’d seen too much to consider this a coincidence. Whether you liked it or not, you were about to get thrown back into your old life head first, the life you’d worked so hard to get some distance from. So why weren’t you more...upset?

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice called.

“In here,” you answered, your voice raspy from disuse. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself up onto your feet, “I’m in here.” You tried again.

The figures who stepped in were painfully familiar and you couldn’t help the tired smile that slid onto your face, your eyes going directly to the blonde woman walking at the very front.

“Y/N!” She greeted, her voice dripping with relief as she pulled you into a hug, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, JJ,” you assured her as you broke apart, the rest of your old team filing in behind her.

She eyed you like she wasn’t sure, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked around the trashed store. Derek Morgan swooped in behind her, giving you a second hug.

“Long time, Y/L/N,” he smiled.

You sighed, “Wish it was under better circumstances, Morgs, but I’m glad you guys are here.”

“Y/L/N,” Aaron Hotchner greeted, giving you a firm handshake.

“Thanks for coming, Hotch, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” You admitted.

“No, you made the right call. The BAU has officially taken on the case. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are coordinating with the local PD from our headquarters, the rest of us are here to help,” he said, pausing and meeting your eye, silently asking the question you’d been waiting all morning for.

“No sign of forced entry,” you started, “the front door was still locked from the outside when I arrived.” You walked him through the crime scene, glass crunching beneath your feet as you went, “It looks like someone sprayed black paint over the security cameras I had installed, everything’s been smashed but there’s no cash missing from the register. In fact, they barely touched the front desk at all.” You explained, “And this,” you gestured at the Fiction aisle, “is where I found the body.”

Morgan stepped forward and, just like that, the team moved like a well oiled machine.

“White male, looks like he’s between the ages of 19 and 27.” Morgan started.

“His wrists and ankles are bound, but it doesn’t look like he struggled against his restraints at all,” you cut in, without meaning to, crouching down beside the body, “it could mean he was tied up postmortem.”

“We’ll have to wait on the M.E’s report to know for sure,” Hotch agreed, “Y/L/N, can I talk to you?” You nodded and let him pull you aside. He glanced over your shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you’re out and we can do this investigation without you-“

“But?” You probed.

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, “But, I would also welcome your help if you’re willing to give it. The team is still a man down and, something about this scene has me thinking-“

“That whoever did this isn’t finished,” you agreed, sighing as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Everything was so messed up in your head. You just wanted to go back to bed and start this day all over again. Hotch looked at you and you recognized his brand of quiet concern. It was familiar and comforting, and it helped you process your thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you frowned, “yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Hotch smiled and you wagged a finger at him, “But just for this one case! After that I’m straight back to my boring normal person life, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed, something almost mocking in his tone.

“I’m serious, Hotch, just one more case.”

“I’m agreeing with you!” He insisted, already walking back to the rest of the group.

But he wasn’t and, much to your chagrin, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you turned back to the scene of the crime.

“Hotch, Y/L/N,” Morgan called, holding something in his gloved hand, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

“Here we go again,” you sighed.

————————-

Walking back into the BAU had felt like stepping back in time. After you’d gotten everything you could from the crime scene there was nothing to do but brainstorm, but walking through those doors again...well, let’s say you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel being back. For the most part, everyone had been glad to see you, especially Garcia, but you could tell that there were still some resentments bubbling under the surface. It made sense, the BAU survived by relying on one another, by acting like a family, and you’d left that family.

Still, there was a rhythm to this kind of work, a flow that was almost painfully easy to fall back into. You’d worked together for years after all, bouncing ideas off of one another like it was nothing and that kind of bond didn’t just go away.

“Admit it,” Derek teased, bumping your shoulder with his as you studied the evidence board, “you missed this.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh you so did,” Spencer agreed, leaning against the table next to you and giving you a fond smile, “I’m sorry about the bookstore though, it was the only store in town with a proper selection of classics in their original languages.”

You shrugged, “I’ll get it up and running again soon enough, just as soon as we catch whoever did this.”

“Speaking of our UnSub, what do you think the relevance of him leaving the body in the fiction section is?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to say that this is some kind of fairytale?” Prentiss suggested, “Like he’s trying to draw us into his story?”

“Maybe, but this has gotta be more personal than that, right?” Morgan said, “I mean, this isn’t some body in an alley, it was dumped in an FBI agent’s coffee shop.”

“Ex agent,” you corrected.

“Sure thing, Princess,” Morgan teased.

“Why does everyone keep talking like that?” You asked.

“Because you leaving is ridiculous. You love this job,” He replied simply, “you’ve always loved this job.”

You opened your mouth to respond but, before you could, you heard the clacking of heels against the marble floor.

“Um, guys?” Garcia said, coming into the bullpen with a stormy look on her face, “we just got word from the officer who went to Y/N’s apartment.”

“And?” You asked nervously.

“They found something,”

“Another body?” Prentiss asked.

“No, weirder, a letter and what looks like a smiley face drawn on the wall in blood.” She said, pressing a button to display the new crime scene photos on the big screen.

Your heart froze in your chest.

There it was; a crude smiley face drawn right above your headboard and a crisp white envelope resting against your pillow. He’d made your bed too, some small part of your mind noted. How polite. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest as you were hit with a mixture of panic and disgust.

“Of course,” you sighed, “of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s been that kind of day.”

“Do we know what the letter says?” Morgan asked.

Garcia nodded, “And it’s a doozy. The letter contains a poem written with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. It reads:

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain …”

You could feel your friends staring and you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you thought of a murderer setting foot in your space; him touching your bed, running his hands over the photos on your nightstand, defiling your possessions with his presence. You’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, and bile rose up in your stomach like your body was physically rejecting the whole thing. Distantly you heard Prentiss and Morgan discussing theories, and you felt one pair of warm brown eyes staring into the side of your head.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like joking around anymore.

“Sorry,” you muttered, standing up and striding out of the room without looking back, “I need some air.”

You were so angry by the time you made it out into the courtyard that you’d balled your hands into fists and your breath was coming out in short little bursts. Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your chest felt painfully tight.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer ask.

You sniffed, wiping your face quickly, “Reid, hi. Sorry, I just-“ you let out a slow breath, “I needed a break.”

He nodded like he understood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stepped towards you. You wanted to tell him to go away, to head back inside and leave you the hell alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

It had always been like this with Spencer. No matter how hard you tried to be tough and brave and put together, he saw right through you and broke down your defenses. At one point, he’d been the closest thing to family you’d ever had, in fact you thought you might…..

Well, it didn’t matter now. Over the last year things had changed, you’d grown apart. It happened, but the fondness was still there, and the trust, and those damn eyes.

“I get it, Y/N, I can't even imagine what this whole thing must be like for you,” he said, “having your home be violated like that….and the store?” He shook his head, “I know how hard you worked setting that place up.”

Your bottom lip trembled and, for the first time that day, you let yourself feel afraid as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You shook your head, “You know, when I saw the glass all over the floor, and all the books….I just felt tired, like bone tired. I wasn’t scared of that, but now?” You paused, glancing up at Spencer, as a tear slid down your cheek, “He was in my home, Spencer. He made my bed before he left, he wrote me a letter.”

Spencer worked his jaw and hesitantly reached out, touching your shoulder gently.

“We’ll catch him, Y/N/N, we always do.” He promised.

“And until then?” You asked, “Do I just pretend it never happened? Go home and act like it’s all okay?”

“No,” another voice cut in from behind you, “you rely on us. We’ll take care of you,” Morgan explained.

“Yeah,” Garcia agreed, her big blue eyes clinging to yours, “We’ve talked about it already. You’ll take turns staying with each of us a few nights a week and then, on the weekends, we’ll all stay with Rossi to go over the case. And we’ll spend every free moment tracking this son of a bitch down for you.”

Emily nodded and, for the first time since you had opened your store that morning, you felt your chest swell with something a little like hope. You knew the BAU was special, you knew that the bonds you’d formed over the years were damn near unbreakable, but this? This was too much. Seeing your friends rally around you when you needed them most just reminded you how much you loved them, and how much they still loved you. Even now. Spencer gave your shoulder a squeeze and you smiled back at him.

“I really missed you guys,” you said with a watery laugh.

Penelope crooned and threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a familiarly bone-crushing hug.

“We missed you too, Sugar Plum,” she promised.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Morgan smiled, joining Penelope’s hug.

“You know we did,” Emily agreed, ruffling your hair and pulling herself in close.

Your eyes found Spencer where he was standing just outside of the group hug, both hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. You pressed your lips together and, in response, he nodded.

“We missed you,” he said softly and then, as the hug broke up and you allude your way back inside, even softer, “we still do.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes

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hufflautia · 3 years

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The Boyfriend

Dedicated to the anon who came up w this idea and to @eatacrackerandstop <3. There's a small Shadow and Bone reference; if you find it, you get a high five✨

Summary: Slytherin and Hufflepuff meet their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time, and Slytherin has a few concerns.

Hufflepuff closes the door behind her daughter, who stepped out to privately wish her boyfriend goodbye on the front stoop, and turns to Slytherin.

“He seems like a sweet kid,” she smiles. Slytherin follows her into the kitchen with a disgruntled expression. He leans against the countertop as she begins washing the dishes.

“What’s taking her so long,” he eyes the door. “It only takes a couple of seconds to say goodbye to someone.”

“They spent the entire night with us. They probably just want a little alone time,” Hufflepuff replies. She glances at him when he sighs and crosses his arms. “Do I sense a little disdain for our daughter’s boyfriend?”

Slytherin scowls.

“I don’t like him,” he states plainly. “He gives me...bad boy vibes.” His scowl deepens when she laughs incredulously.

“Bad boy vibes?”

“Yes,” he says indignantly. “Bad boy vibes! Did you see his smirk when she laughed at his joke?"

"You smirk a lot,” she points out, to which he grudgingly admits. “Besides, is it bad that he can make her laugh?"

"'Course not," he huffs. "But did you see how he put his arms around her?”

"I'm pretty sure that's called a hug, honey."

Slytherin steps between her and the sink. She shoots him a look as water drips on the floor.

“Please get out of my way, Slytherin. You’re acting like a child.”

He takes her hands into his own, not caring that they’re wet. “Honey, you’re not listening to me.”

“I am! I just don’t agree with you.” She continues before Slytherin can object. “You’re worrying over nothing. Our daughter is old enough to make her own decisions on who she hangs out with and what she does with her time."

“She’s only in her seventh year—”

“Slytherin," she says sternly. “Our baby is grown now, believe it or not. I trust her judgment. You should too.”

His brows furrow, and he doesn’t respond right away.

"It's not that I don't trust her," he finally says. "I just don't want her to get hurt."

Hufflepuff softens in this rare moment of vulnerability—his grumpiness and frustration often mask his fears.

"We can't control what happens," she says gently. "We can't control who does what or who hurts who. But what we can control is what we do and how we act." Slytherin remains silent as he considers her words. "I think the best thing we can do is support our daughter. And if things don't end well in their relationship, she will know who to come to: the people who have always been there for her."

Her words sink in, and Slytherin nods.

"You're right."

"'Course I'm right."

He smiles somberly. "I’ve only ever wanted to protect her."

"You will," she assures, pulling him into an embrace. "But you will do so at a healthy and reasonable distance. No threatening the boy."

Slytherin snorts and says, "I'm not that type of dad." He rests his chin on top of her head. "But if he breaks her heart, I keep no promises."

"Good," she murmurs into his shirt. “I'll be right behind you.”

Their moment of peace is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. They see their daughter, Giselle, standing by the doorway with a flushed grin.

"Hey kiddo," Slytherin smiles.

She makes a face. “I'm 18, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Alright." Hufflepuff notices a familiar gleam in his eye and tries not to smile as he continues. "Do you prefer muffin? Sweet pea? Or perhaps cupcake—"

Giselle covers her ears. "Dad!" she groans. "Eat a cracker and stop."

He holds his hands up in defeat as he chuckles. "Okay, okay."

"So," Hufflepuff says once things settle down. "What did Dorian think? Did he like us? What about the food? Was my cooking okay?" A look of horror washes over her face. "Oh shoot, should we have given him some leftovers to take back to his family? He probably didn't get too far, I'll go get the food from the fridge and—"

"Honey," Slytherin laughs, resting his hand on the small of her back before she can scurry off in search of tin foil and plastic containers. "It's fine."

"Yeah," Giselle assures. "The food was great, and he loved meeting you guys."

"And we loved meeting him,” Hufflepuff says warmly. “Tell Dorian he's welcome to come back at any time."

"Okay," she grins. "Can we start our movie night now?"

Slytherin nods. "I believe it's Mom's turn to choose the movie."

"I know exactly what we should watch tonight," Hufflepuff beams. They pile onto the couch, and when she puts the disc into the DVD player, everyone but Hufflepuff's face falls when they see the title.

"Aw, not this movie," Giselle complains. "We watched the trailer last week, and you said it yourself that it looked like trash."

"Wha—I didn't say trash!"

"I think you did," Slytherin interjects. He stifles a laugh when she shoots him a look.

Hufflepuff purses her lips. "Ravenclaw and I watched it at the movie theaters a few days ago, and it was a cinematic masterpiece!"

He arches an eyebrow. "So you're gonna watch it again?"

"Yes! Because it’s that good. And I want you guys to watch it with me. The movie has adventure and plot twists and romance—I mean, what hurts more than a broken heart?"

"A severed head," Giselle replies, to which Slytherin snorts a laugh.

Hufflepuff scoffs and shakes her head, but a smile tugs at her lips. “You’ll see what I’m talking about after we watch it, but I need to use the bathroom first. I’ll bring back some popcorn.”

“Can you also get some Sprite?” Giselle calls after her.

“Okay.” Hufflepuff lingers by the doorway. “Do you want anything, sweetie pie?” she says to Slytherin.

“No thanks, snuggle bunny.” He snickers when Giselle visibly cringes. He and Hufflepuff liked to call each other outrageously sweet pet names in front of their daughter for the sole purpose of grossing her out.

“Yes,” Giselle says in a deadpan voice. “This is the exact spot I want to be in right now.”

Hufflepuff laughs and winks at Slytherin before leaving. He watches her walk away before whispering to Giselle, “How likely is it that she’ll accidentally trap herself in the bathroom and we get to pick another movie?”

“Extremely likely,” she replies. “If we put a rubber item underneath the door to act as a door stopper, she won’t be able to open it from the inside…” Slytherin is looking at her weirdly, and she swallows her words. “...I mean, I don’t know.”

Slytherin smiles but doesn’t say anything. Giselle may have inherited her mother’s looks, but she has her father’s mischief.

While they wait for Hufflepuff, Slytherin speaks. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure,” she says cautiously.

“Do you love him?”

Her eyebrows rise—she didn’t expect this question. She takes a moment to think.

"Not yet.”

He nods. "But you're happy?"

"I am," she smiles.

His eyes crinkle. If she was happy…well, that was good enough for him.

“I’m glad, kiddo.”

This time, Giselle doesn’t roll her eyes at the term of endearment. Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes it three times. Slytherin, who taught her the gesture, squeezes her hand four times in response.

“Who’s ready to start the movie?” Hufflepuff walks in with popcorn and sprite, unaware of the father-daughter moment she just missed.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Slytherin sighs, scooting over to make space for her. She plops down beside him and settles the bowl between them.

“Oh,” she perks up. “Before I forget. Accio tissue boxes!”

Slytherin looks bewildered as tissue boxes come flying their way. “Do we really need tissues?”

“Absolutely,” she scatters the boxes over their laps. Slytherin raises an eyebrow and glances over at Giselle, who also looks perplexed.

“My teen angst bullshit is about to have a body count,” she whispers as the movie begins playing.

A/N: This fic is somewhat connected to Different Love Languages, another one of my fics. Is the slytherpuff couple in that fic the same couple in this one? That's up to you, dear reader😌

I lowkey hate the title, but I couldn't come up w a better one. Also, this fic was longer than I planned. I originally decided to write something like this:

“Why don’t you like him?”

“Because I used to be a bad boy, which is exactly why I don’t trust him.”

Basic dialogue, plain and simple. But the darling anon who told me their idea deserves a full-length story <3

Let me know what you thought of this one-shot. Feedback makes me happy <3 If you prefer to stay anonymous, the anon option for asks is available! Be safe and well, everyone.

Tag lists are open✨ Let me know via ask/messages/comments if you want to be added or removed.

@slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @just--another--bean @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw @arianatorpotterhead @eatacrackerandstop @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy @royalelusts

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eunoiaflow3r · 4 years

Text

Actions Speak Louder

A/N: the beginning hurt my heart to write lol, but I promise it gets better.

Warning: mistakes, angst, fluff... fem!reader.

Word Count: 2.41k

Request: Can you do a story where the reader x Spencer are in a heated argument and out of anger she slaps him?

Summary: Spencer becomes addicted to Dilaudid, and Y/N does what she can to help him - even if it takes him longer to realize how good she’s been to him.

~~~~~

Things with Spencer have been...rough lately.

It was the little - subtle - changes you noticed in him everyday that just made everything worse for the both of you.

First, it was him coming home later than usual. The usual was already pretty late considering what he did for a living, but lately when he came home, he was at least two hours late. He told you whenever you asked that he was just working later, and you believed him. Why wouldn’t you?

Next came the distance. Even when he was home, he barely spoke to you. Barely even acknowledged your presence. At first you just thought he needed space as one does, but the more it happened, the more you felt like something was wrong. When you asked him, he’d get freaked out, and say something like, “Nothing! Leave me alone.”

And you did.

It was when he started coming home with headaches, nausea, and dizziness that you really began to worry.

“Spencer are you okay? Let me help you.”

“I said I’m fine Y/N! Just give me some space?”

After this, you gave him his space. So much so that you didn’t talk to him unless you spoke to you first - which he barely did. You didn’t cook him dinner, you didn’t check and make sure he had everything ready for work like you usually do, and you didn’t even kiss him goodnight. When he got into bed with you, he didn’t even come close to you which hurt so much that you started sleeping on the couch.

Living like this was tiring, and you didn’t want to live like that anymore. Spencer barely acknowledged your existence, and when he did, he'd say something rude, or just roll his eyes at you.

When and if he was ever home, you spent most of your time in the bedroom because he’d be in the living room or bathroom, doing God-knows-what.

Since you did spend most of your time in the bedroom apart from sleeping, you decided to do a deep clean. You brought in the trash can and recycling ben and recycled all the excess paper and water bottles laying around. You threw away all his candy wrappers, and made sure the bed was made so that he could sleep well whenever he did sleep.

You went to check if anything was under the bed, and as you were reaching your hand wrapped around what felt like a medication bottle.

You brought it out, but there was no label.

Didn’t matter anyway, you recognized it - it was Dilaudid. Thing was, you were sure that Spencer had not been injured recently therefore it had meant that he had gotten them from somewhere, and had been taking them just to take them.

You shook your head painfully. You should have known. You should have realized sooner that he was addicted. How had you not noticed?

His behavior, the sickness...why didn’t it add up?

“What are you doing?” You nearly jumped, and turned around to a scowling Spencer with his arms crossed.

“What are you doing?” You held up the bottle, and his eyes went wide. “You’re a profiler Reid, if you were going to be a pill-popper you should have known to hide it better.”

“Yeah, well, what are you doing going through my stuff anyway? You don’t even sleep in here.”

“Yeah, well, sorry it’s just not comfortable to sleep next to you at the moment.”

He shakes his head, and looks at the bottle in your hands. “Whatever, can I have it back?”

“No Spencer. I think it’s time you stopped.”

“I don’t have time for these games Y/N, give me the bottle back.” He tried to take the bottle from your hands, but you pushed him away.

“Son of a bitch, just give me the damn bottle Y/N, I need them!”

“You don’t need them Spence -”

“I need them a hell of a lot more than I need you.” He spat spitefully. This made your heart hurt, and you were fighting to hold back tears.

He tried to reach for them again, but you slapped him. Straight across the face. It was so hard and fast, for a second you both had hardly realized what you had done. He held his cheek with one of his hands and stepped away from you.

You didn’t say anything and instead grabbed a backpack from the closet. You put the bottle in, and then as many clothes of yours that could fit. “You may not need me Spencer,” you began, willing your voice not to shake, “but you need help.”

You grabbed a couple of things from your nightstand and shoved it inside the bag.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks, watching you gather some more of your things.

He followed you into the living room, and watched as you grabbed your jacket from the closet by the door.

“Where are you going?” He asks clearly hurt.

“I’m staying with a friend, you obviously -”

“Oh, so you’re leaving me? Like everyone else in my life, you’re leaving me too?’

You sighed. “I’m not leaving you Spencer. You just need -”

“Stop telling me what I need, you obviously don’t know what the hell I need.” He was upset now.

“That’s right Spencer, I don’t know what you need. But you keep telling me to give you space, so that’s what I’m going to do.” You closed your eyes for a second. “There’s dinner in the fridge. I love you.”

And with that, you left.

Spencer was cold. His stomach hurt, and he was tired. How had he let this happen to him? How had he let himself get this way? He promised he would never hurt you, and now he’s scared that that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Hurting you.

Hell, he’s been hurting himself. He knew he shouldn’t have started taking them again but with all the things going on, he was tempted. The only thing going good in his life was you, and now he had fucked that up too.

The next day, you paid a little visit to the BAU. You didn’t see Spencer right away, which was a good thing since if you saw him, you’d probably end up crying. When JJ saw you, she got excited and wrapped her arms around you.

“Y/N, where have you been?”

“Busy.” You smiled. You and her made small talk until you saw Morgan. You promised JJ you would be right back, and went straight to Morgan.

Morgan was your best friend, and the entire reason you had even met Spencer in the first place.

“Y/N! Hey!” His smile gets wide but dims once he really takes a look at you. “Woah woah woah, what’s the matter?”

You saw Spencer walk by with his head down, and you tried to avoid his eyes, but he had already seen you, and was walking over.

“Y/N?” he said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled at him but turned to Morgan and asked if you could speak with him privately. Spencer was confused, and wasn’t sure what to do. You were here to see Derek and not him? What were you going to talk to him about?

Morgan pulled you into Garcia’s office and she was beyond ecstatic to see you. After the hugs and catching up, Morgan asked what brought you here, “lookin’ all sad.”

You went into your purse and brought out the bottle of Dilaudid, and handed it to Morgan.

“Is this?”

You nodded.

“I don’t know if you guys noticed, but he’s been acting -”

“Oh we know.” Penelope exclaimed. “He’s been kind of an asshole lately.”

“I’m not sure what to do. He’s not listening to me, and I don’t - I don’t know how to help him when he’s like this.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Morgan told you. “We’ll get pretty boy back.”

Spencer has been going crazy. There were broken glasses on the kitchen floor, dirty clothes strewn everywhere, and couch cushions flipped and thrown across the room. His hair was messy from pulling at his curls, and his eyes were red from crying.

He couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t eat, and he was shaking. He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted to do was call you, but he wasn’t even sure if you were going to answer him.

He had a headache, and all he’s been doing these past few days is going to work, and coming home to a dark, dirty, and depressing apartment.

He had had countless panic attacks, and he was driving himself mad.

His team members have all tried to help him, and they've spent time with him, but all he really wanted to see was you.

He found his address book and tried to think about who you might be staying with. He knew it probably wasn’t Morgan because you hated where he lived. He knew it wasn’t any of your sister because she would have called him and told him he was a dick. He thought really hard and finally figured out you were probably with your friend from grade school that you always talked about missing.

He grabbed his car keys not caring how he looked, and drove to Y/F/N’s house.

When he got there he swore for a second that his heart stopped beating. He took a few breaths and knocked on the front door.

You answered.

He noticed that you looked just as bad as he was. This made him feel worse. How could he do this to you?

“Spencer?” You were almost happy to see him. “I thought - well - I thought you needed space?”

He shook his head and tears fell down his face. You wanted to wipe them away, but you weren’t quite sure where the boundaries were at the moment.

“I don’t need space Y/N, that’s never what I needed.” He’s almost sobbing now, and you allow him to walk closer towards you. “I need you. I need you Y/N. That’s all I ever needed.”

This was your Spencer.

The Spencer yelling at you and ignoring you...that wasn’t him.

The Spencer in front of you now? This is him.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he rests his head on your shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist - squeezing tightly almost like he was afraid you’d leave.

He cries into your shoulder, and you run your fingers through his tangled hair. “I’m so so sorry Y/N. That wasn’t me Y/N.” he cried, “That wasn’t me. I was a dick, I’m- I’m so so sorry.”

“Shhhh, I know it wasn’t Spence. I know it wasn’t. Let’s go home okay?” He brings his head up and you wipe away his tears, unaware that you had shed a few of your own. “Let’s go home.”

The next few days Spencer spent right by your side. He wasn’t letting you go anywhere. You helped him clean the apartment back up, and you made sure he ate and took showers. You made sure he slept, and slowly Spencer went back to how he was before the Dilaudid.

Adorable, dorky, and fun.

You made sure to take him to meetings too. Sometimes Morgan went with you guys too, but you just wanted to remind Spencer that he wasn’t the only one out there dealing with what he was dealing with. You wanted to show him that he wasn’t alone, and that he should be proud of himself for what he has overcome and accomplished.

Still the way he treated you that month tore apart his soul and he made sure that with every breathing, waking moment he was making it up to you. You didn’t deserve that. You’ve always been right there, always by his side, always there for him, and the way he treated you was unacceptable.

“I love you Y/N.” He told you one night after he got home from work. You had both had busy days, but he had made sure to always, always make sure he had time for you. “I love you with everything I’ve got.” he kissed your temple. “And everything more.”

~~~~~

feedback appreciated, thanks for reading!!

~~~~~~

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ms-rampage · 3 years

Text

Eden’s Gate: Left Behind Chapter 19 - Jackson

Warnings: Angst

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: In the series finale Kate and Morgan leave Hope County, Montana and move back to Jackson, Wyoming. John and Kate say their final goodbyes.

Guest OCs: Joel Winchester [mentioned]

Guest characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Gabriel [mentioned], Lilith [mentioned].

Note+UPDATE: The Mother will continue to be posted, then Aftermath, then the New Dawn series will finish off the entire series. Thank you to those who shared, and read my Lucifer forsaken writings!!.

************************************

Ever since Kate told John about her leaving Hope County, he spent every second of every day with her.

Wanting to be by her side all day, everyday. When that day came, November 2nd. It was tough for him, the love of his life leaving him.

Kate constantly reassured him. Telling him that she’ll come back, and they can talk on the phone all day, every day. Video calling, all of it.

Her and Paige finally settled their differences, after uncle Brent gave Paige an hour long lecture on the phone, talking about family and shit. They were to leave that afternoon. John never, not once left Kate’s side.

He spent the night at her house, sleeping in the same bed as her. Cuddling with her the whole night, never letting her go. Had a little sex here, and there. He even let her do all the work, let her go on top, and ride him.

“I love you” he says in her ear, playing with her hair.

She chuckles softly, “I love you too”.

Kate and Morgan were gonna leave around 1pm, the 7 hour drive that will be ahead of them from Hope County to Jackson.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving” John tells her.

She sighs, “Yeah me too. It’s gonna be hard, leaving all of my friends and you behind”. She signs again, resting her head on his chest, “It’s gonna be a tough one, but I’ve dealt with worse. I think I can manage”.

John chuckles, “What about me? I’m gonna need you. I need you here. How are we gonna keep us alive?!”.

She lifts her head up, and looks up at him, “I may have a few ideas”.

Kisses him on the lips before getting up off the bed, and over to her shelf. She grabs a bluetooth earbud.

“What is that?!” he asks, sitting up.

“A bluetooth earpiece. You hook it up to your phone, and we can talk on the phone for hours. Well it works up to 12 hours. We can talk on the phone without even holding them” she explains to him.

The whole day passed by so slow yet so fast. Going from Montana to Wyoming, then Wyoming to Pennsylvania. Who knows how long this demon shit is gonna be. Demon deals can only last for so long, 10 years usually.

Kate knew this would be a long trip. A long and painful one. That afternoon before they left, she had an angst worthy conversation with John. well actually she had two. One with John, and another with a feathery boy. He left that morning to work on some Cult stuff, and he returned that afternoon before Kate and Morgan left.

They both had a heart to heart conversation. Kate and Morgan were packing up the trailer, and the car with their stuff. They planned on leaving some furniture behind, donating it or leaving for the trash collector to pick it up.

“Katie?!” John singfully calls out for her as she packs up the trailer.

“Hey!” she replies, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

They smile at each other, they step away from the vehicle. Away from where Morgan can hear them. John looks down at her, his eyes glossy. She knows he’s gonna cry, and he knows it as well.

He clears his throat and says with his voice cracking, “You know I love you, and I would do anything for you. You changed me. I never loved anyone like how I do with you. I never cared for anyone the way I do, other than my brothers. I never thought I would be able to have these feelings for someone. You changed me, you made me feel”.

Tears start to form in his eyes, his breathing goes shaky.

“I don’t want to lose you” he continues, “I don’t want anyone else to have you”.

Kate shakes her head, “You won’t lose me” she says softly.

“I know I won’t, I’m just scared you’ll find someone else” he tells her.

Tears streaming down both of their faces, “You don’t have to leave” he pleads with her.

“I’m sorry” she mutters, “But I have to”.

He nods his head, “I know”.

They stand in silence for a few moments, time seemingly seemed to freeze in place.

Kate looks around, and sees that time is going at its normal Earth pace.

“I love you” he tells her.

“I love you too” she responds back.

They pull each other in for an embrace, Kate rests her head against John’s shoulder.

A few hours later, Kate and Morgan packed up the car, and trailer. All set to go back to Wyoming. Resting on the floor inside the somewhat empty house.

“So are you gonna do anything else before we leave?” Morgan asks Kate.

“Yeah, Yeah I have a few things I have to do before we leave” she tells her.

She gets up off the floor and goes outside to the backyard. Going behind the fence, Haley follows her outside. Kate sits down underneath a tree. She takes a deep breath, slowly petting Haley.

She closes her eyes, and prays to Castiel.

“Hey Cas” she starts, “It’s me Kate Winchester. If you can show yourself that will be great”.

A few moments of silence followed by a whooshing sound, and a slight breeze to her left.

“You prayed?” the Angel in the beige trenchcoat asks in his monotone, hoarse voice.

“Yeah” she responds standing up, “I never got to properly thank you for bringing me back”.

He looks at her in slight confusion which is normal for him. He never really understood human emotions to begin with.

“Of course” he says.

“I just wanted to say thank you for bringing me back from The Other Side, and letting me see my dad for the first time” she tells him with a smile on her face.

“It’s my job. It wasn’t your time, and I had to bring you back to Earth” he says to her.

“Yeah I know” she says, staring off into the distance, “What do you know about dreams?”.

Once again he looks at her confused, “Dreams? They’re images, visions and stories that one’s subconscious manifests when in slumber. It can be in many different forms”.

Slightly shaking her head, “No, no I mean. What does it mean when you have the same dream over, and over again. Everytime it happens it never progressives. It always ends the same way, nothing else happens”.

“What is this dream you’re having?!?” he asks, head slightly tilted.

“It’s with Lilith, she threatens me that if I don’t say yes to her. She’ll hurt Paige, and then Gabriel shows up, and banishes her. It’s the same thing over, and over, and over. It never goes any further”.

Castiel narrows his eyes at her, eyebrows furrowed, “I could mean that Lilith is somehow manipulating you into saying yes, and harvesting your soul”.

Kate nods her head, “Yeah I assume, but she won’t get the answer she’s looking for”.

“Now the part with Gabriel, well that means because he’s your guardian angel, and he has to protect you”.

“Yeah I figured that” she responds, nodding. Exhaling.

Cas sighs, “You know he’s proud of you. He talks about you whenever I go up to Heaven”.

Kate smiles, “Gabriel talks about me?”.

He awkwardly clears his throat, “Well actually. Your father. Joel, he talks about you and Paige a lot. He’s proud of both of you”.

Kate gasps softly, smiling through her tears, “Oh, he um, he talks about us?!?”.

Nodding his head, “Yes”.

She wipes her tears away, her breath shaky. “I’m leaving Hope County”.

He nods his head, “I know. I heard about the deal Flora made, and the 10 years ends soon”.

“And that’s why I’m leaving” she says, “Again thank you for everything”.

“I know, I’m glad I can help. See you soon” he tells her with a smile.

Before Cas could disappear. She stops him.

“Cas wait!!” she exclaims. He turns to face the young Winchester, “Why didn’t you come to my save when I prayed to you all those months ago?!?”.

He sighs, looking at the ground, “I can’t tell you much, but I will tell you this. I was told by God, Chuck not to get involved because of his plan for you, and your family”.

She stares at him in utter disbelief, “I-I don’t get it!?!”.

Nodding his head, “I know. I know, I didn’t understand it at first. I still don’t, I just want to leave it at that”.

With that said Castiel disappears, leaving Kate by herself outside by the trees with Haley sitting at her side.

She goes back inside the house. “Are you ready to go?” Morgan asks as she walks in.

“Yeah all set” she responds, nodding her head.

They put the remaining of their stuff in the car, Haley jumps in the back seat, Morgan in the passenger seat and Kate drives. Starting up the car, and Carry on Wayward Son plays on the radio.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion. Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion.

I was soaring ever higher. But I flew too high.

They drive off down the road as the song plays.

Driving out of Holland Valley, driving past the fields, and small businesses. Over the bridge, passing the University and the diner. Entering the Henbane River.

Though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man. Though my mind could think, I still was a mad man. I hear the voices when I’m dreaming. I can hear them say.

Carry on my wayward son. There’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don’t you cry no more.

The Henbane River, the toxic bliss flowers, drugged up angels and blissed out animals.

“Not gonna miss this place” Morgan mutters to herself as she looks out the car window.

Joseph’s Word, the eye sore of a statue. Someone should destroy that shit, blow it up. Destroy it into teeny tiny unfixable pieces.

Masquerading as a man with a reason. My charade is the event of the season, and if I claim to be a wise man, well. It surely means that I don't know. On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean, I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say.

Carry on my wayward son. There’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest don’t you cry more, no.

Halfway out of the Henbane River, only a few miles away from the Ancient Bison Tunnel, one of the two exits leading out of Hope County.

Kate stops the car in the middle of the road, putting the car in park. Pausing for a brief moment.

Lowering the volume on the radio, Morgan looks at her in confusion.

“What is it?!?” she asks.

Kate sighs, and says “I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’re leaving this inescapable town, only because of John, and I have this feeling that. That once we leave, we won’t be welcomed back”.

Morgan tilts her head in confusion, “What makes you say that?!?”.

“It's just a feeling I have. Like if we were to come back for our friends. It’ll be ugly, bloody and violent. Bad shit will happen, I just- I just feel it, and it won’t be good. Chaos will happen”.

“You’re just feeling guilty about leaving John, and all of our friends here. They know, they understand. They get that family is important to us. We told them we’ll be back, not sure when, but we’ll be back. John will see you again”.

She reassures her friend, and to continue their exit out of Montana.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right” she says before taking a deep breath and an exhale, “Let’s go”.

Kate turns the volume on the radio back up, and Kansas finishes playing.

Now, Turn The Page - Metallica plays.

She lets out a soft chuckle, putting the car back in drive and they drive up the road towards the tunnel guiding them out of Hope County.

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha

You can listen to the engines moanin', out this one-note song

You'd think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before

“Here we go” Kate says with a hint of relief in her voice. Morgan looks over at her friend with a smile on her face.

But your thoughts will soon be wandering

The way they always do, when you're riding 16 hours

There's nothing' much to do, and you don't feel much like riding

We just wish the trip was through

They go through the tunnel, on the other side, they see a sign that says “Next stop Missoula - 5 miles. Jackson, Wyoming 386 miles”.

Kate sighs, “Jackson, here we come” they drive down the long, and lonesome road of Montana. Going back home.

THE END

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rocket-remmy · 3 years

Text

Dead Weight || Morgan and Remmy

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: Remmy comes to see Lydia. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mention

Staying at the clinic wasn’t really viable after a spriggan healing up from a pickpocket scheme gone wrong kept referring to Morgan as Deirdre’s pet bottom feeder, so by the time evening fell, they were both installed back in their house on the East End. Deirdre was asleep, or trying to relive some memory by staring at the wall, Morgan couldn’t tell which. But Deirdre wasn’t cognizant enough to hold a five minute conversation, so bringing her down for Remmy’s visit seemed like a bad idea. Morgan was worried about bringing the ashes down with her as it was.

Staring at the vase, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder if this had been made by one of her captives. And what about the art restoration? The rest of her work? The good Lydia had done was as real as anything, but what was left? It felt like with each conversation she had, more of it crumbled away. She’d had this whole elaborate life, so elaborate Morgan didn’t even know half of it existed, and yet what remained felt like no more than the ash in this stupid, creepy vase.

She recognized Remmy’s quiet knock at once, but her limbs moved clumsily to the door. She fumbled with the lock, even though she’d turned it with just a flick of her wrist hundreds of times before. “Hey,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, from before.” I just keep fucking up with you, don’t I? “Come in, I put her vase in the Great Room.”

Lydia was dead. Lydia, who apparently kidnapped people and held them hostage and abused them. Lydia, who fed off humans and called them cattle and barely batted an eye at their pain. And Lydia, who was soft and gentle when Remmy needed someone most. Lydia, who had come to love them even though they were a zombie and she was a fae. Lydia, who had sold out her own species’ secrets to save them, who had let them kill another fae, and never loved them less for it. Lydia, who was so horribly good to Remmy, that the pain of her truth still tore at their unbeating heart every second of every day. They had decided, when they’d left, that they needed to stand their ground with her. They needed to figure themself out, first, before coming back to try and work something out with her. But now...she was gone. That eternity that they were supposed to have was cut short. And now, not only did Remmy have to decide how to confront the reality of their own immortality, but the reality that now they had to live that length with their decision. With the last words they’d ever said to Lydia being that they would never forgive her. They were written in digital stone and no amount of crying would ever erase them.

Morgan’s door was oddly painful to look at. Remmy screwed up their face in any attempt to seem put together before knocking, but found it wholly unsuccessful, folding the second they saw Morgan’s face appear behind the door. “Vase?” was all they managed to say, following her in. They meandered in the direction that she pointed, turning the corner and-- stopping. It was just a heart shaped vase. Whatever was left of her was inside of that, and...that was it. That was all that was left of Lydia. After everything she’d done and everything she’d been, this was all she was now. Remmy didn’t move. “That’s...it?” they croaked, eyes glued to the vase, even as their voice searched for Morgan or an answer or something. “That’s all?”

Morgan held herself steady as she lead Remmy through the house. They knew the way as well as she did after staying for so many weeks, but the familiarity between them was strained. The last thing she’d done with them before Lydia died was send them away. She couldn’t shoulder their disappointment, their betrayal, while waiting for them to walk away from her instead. She liked her losses to be clear and solid. But watching Remmy’s heart break snapped the distance shut, a rubber band falling back into shape. Remmy was the only one who could feel Lydia’s death the way she did. Remmy saw her in that basement. Remmy knew how cruelly apathetic she’d been to Chloe. And Remmy knew how even Lydia’s laugh sounded sophisticated, and the glow of her smile, and how patient she could be even when she was irritated, how...absurdly, horrifically wonderful. Morgan slid into their side and gripped their hand. “She was trying to leave town,” she murmured, her voice already falling apart. “I haven’t asked Deirdre for the specifics but I heard...she called us right before, maybe even right as it was happening and I heard…” Screaming. Broken, anguished screaming she would give anything to un-know. Lydia didn’t beg or sob like that when she was herself. She was articulate and proud, a masterpiece in an exhibition. Even when it was just the two of them, she’d tried to hold herself up for Morgan and Morgan let her. She couldn’t think of that pride now without hearing the shrill, keening sound of her death crackling over the phone. “It was awful, Remmy. I don’t know how they did it, but it was awful and this was how we found her…”

Remmy stood still in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold. They didn’t want to know how horrible Lydia’s death had been because it made their heartache and they didn’t want it to. Lydia was ostensibly a bad person, but that didn’t mean she was irredeemable, right? She’d hurt so many people, she didn’t deserve forgiveness, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have changed or gotten better or something. But someone else had decided she wasn’t worth it. Again, someone had taken away another person’s choice. Again, someone had stolen a life from the world because they believed their actions were justified. Because they believed death was the only answer. Remmy squeezed Morgan’s hand so tight the bones bent. “Why is this place so violent?” they asked, not sure who they were speaking to anymore. They supposed Morgan, considering she was the only other one in the room. A space filled with three dead souls but only two still standing. “Why is it always death?”

Morgan squeezed Remmy back, just as hard. “It’s the whole world, Remmy. It’s everything we can’t escape. We break things and we lose things and everywhere you turn it’s life or death. That’s the rules for people like us.” She swallowed thickly, looking at the vase again. It was almost the same color as Lydia’s ashes. However they’d been made, they’d been burned so fine, almost perfect. “I know I...you and I are different. I know that. And for me, maybe if it had just been a fight, maybe if some hunter had found out how she was and decided to stop her and she’d gone down fighting him over it, it wouldn’t feel so…” Wrong. Morgan shook her head, cringing as the memory of Lydia’s pain echoed in her ears again. “We stayed on the phone until the battery gave out. It was awful, she was hurt so bad you could hear it. It wasn’t a fight, and I think I hate that the most. In a fucking back alley. She was leaving town…” But Morgan could feel her excuses and her fear choking her. She hated the pain she wasn’t able to unhear. She hated how imbalanced it seemed, everything Lydia was reduced to trash. But even if Kaden had killed her himself, if he had shot her and made it quick. “I miss her,” Morgan whispered. “I hate her and I love her and I miss her, Remmy. I think I was going to feel that no matter what. Is that bad?”

All Remmy could do was listen. The words fell out of their head like water. There was nothing solid there to hold onto. Nothing made any of this better. Lydia was bad, but she hadn’t deserved to suffer like that. No one did. There was always so much suffering, so much pain. It was just a cycle that kept going and going and going and Remmy was drowning in it. They let go of Morgan’s hand and finally walked forward, with purpose, kneeling at the table and reaching out to touch the vase. They thought maybe it would feel warm, somehow, warm and comforting, like Lydia’s arms always had been. But it was cold. Cold and grainy, like how Lydia really was underneath everything else. For all Remmy knew, this could’ve been her heart. Frozen and cold and clay. Their hands wrapped around it tightly as they held it in place, but did not move it. Tears burned in their eyes again. They did not want to cry for her, but knowing how she’d died, screaming and suffering and alone, their heart couldn’t hold back. A small crack appeared in the vase by the palm of their hand and Remmy let go of it as if it were suddenly alight with flame. They dug their palms deep into their eyes, fingers clenching their head, and crumpled forward, sobbing with a horrible grief that tore them apart. They had no words. Just sobs and grief and pain.

Morgan whimpered at the sound of the vase cracking. For a second it felt like Lydia’s body, shattering again. Stars above, she couldn’t bring herself to ask what was done to her, what could make her scream like that. She rushed to Remmy, putting her body between them and the table where Lydia sat. It didn’t feel like rest, looking at her disintegrated beyond recognition. It looked like more punishment. Morgan bundled Remmy in her arms and held them tight, as tight as she ever had. Bone bending, skin puncturing tight. They could take it. They both could. And whatever strain their backs carried, it wasn’t anything compared to what was inside them. “I’m sorry,” Morgan wept. “It should’ve been different…” The killing. The way she’d given Remmy the news. Lydia herself. There wouldn’t even have been something to punish if she had just listened and… “I’m sorry, Remmy. She’s gone and I’m so sorry.” Sorry she didn’t have any answers. Sorry she didn’t have courage to ask for any names from Deirdre’s death vision. Sorry she couldn’t have come up with a better way to get the people out, a way that would’ve left Lydia alive, with hope. “I’m sorry…” There was nothing else to say, nothing else to be, so Morgan held Remmy tighter and cried with them.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: morgan #dead weight #morgan #//short but sweet!#well.....not sweet but u know

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jacklyn-flynn · 4 years

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For all of you who are eagerly awaiting this update…I am in awe. Your patience is incredible and I very much love you for it! I continually hope to deliver content that is worthy of your loyalty.

For all of you who have been asking “what even is Jasoom?!”….here you go. Be careful what you wish for. I cried writing it so consider yourself warned. Buckle the fuck up for this roller coaster.

Link to Chapter 8.

Link to the beginning of the Space Trash story.

Teaser below the cut. Comments, thoughts and GIFs of your reaction to Jasoom’s story are much appreciated.

Oh, just as a note: I know this seems a little out of character for Cass and it is. On purpose.

He knew that he was dying. Yet, all of the fear he felt wasn’t for himself. He didn’t know what sort of creature he heard from the vent by his cage. It sounded young to him somehow. When it spoke to itself in the long hours, the voice was high and bright. He could hear the loneliness in its sobs and feel the despair when it cried out in its sleep. His life in that small metal box had been a horrific trial of both pain and utter boredom. He hated to think of another suffering the same fate.

He now lay on his side, struggling past the pain in his ribs to draw in air. His matted black fur was thin and brittle. Patches were missing where he had been shaved for an IV or procedure or where it had simply fallen out. He couldn’t feel his feet or the end of his tail.

Yet, as much as he wished for death, he wished to stay. Though he didn’t know what the creature looked like, it didn’t matter. He could feel it. Feel for it. They had that connection. He, too, had lain awake at night, yowling in pain and fear. He’d gotten used to the loneliness years ago, but he remembered what it felt like.

There were times since it had arrived that he’d had enough strength to make noises to it. He knew it could hear him because it would stop talking or crying to listen. It had even started making noises back at him. Mimicking his meow or starting to chatter to him softly. Those nights grew rarer for him as he grew weaker. Enough so that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the strength to make any noise.

Just then, he heard it. Chattering to him in nonsense noises that meant nothing to him. Despite that, he knew well enough what it was doing. It was simply filling the time. It spoke lovingly and he was even gifted with a rare giggle.

It was unfair. The people in pristine white coats, stealing their lives from them. Their laughter. Replacing it instead with despair and pain. But that wasn’t something to fill one’s last thoughts with. Instead, he listened to it meow, sing, and talk to him.

There was a loud clatter and metal scraping against metal before it went silent. It started to cry, quietly. Resigned almost. Another clattering and everything was silent. It was gone. It was scared to go as it always was. He tried to lift his head but couldn’t. Couldn’t even open his eyes. If only he could wish for one freedom in his life, it would be to find that poor creature and comfort it. Let it comfort him. If only he had died sooner, he could have left listening to its sweet noises. Instead, he could only burn with anger.

He suddenly felt an odd sensation. A feeling of warmth coming from seemingly nowhere. And it called to him. It didn’t speak, or even make noise, but he knew exactly what it was trying to communicate.

-Do you want to help her?- Her? Yes.

-You can’t save her.- I know.

-You won’t be here. I will use your materials after you go.- But she won’t be alone? Ever again?

-No.-

He gave his assent with no hesitation. Finally, he could let go without regret. He would find peace knowing it-she would no longer be alone as he had been.

()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()

The body was old beyond its years and incredibly fragile. The spirit was amazed that the cat had attracted his attention. The soul made up in strength what the body lacked. The spirit wasn’t very strong himself. A minor spirit that others, even demons, paid no mind to. Not strong enough to manipulate the fade around it as other spirits could. Yet this creature had called to the spirit. Not for itself, but for another.

Its need was so strong and spoke to him in such a way that he couldn’t resist its call. There were several creatures here who suffered. But none more so than the creature this cat had bonded with, unseen and untouched. The body would take time to heal, but it-he, now-was strong enough to move it. The memories he sifted through were largely unpleasant so he ignored them and focused on those of the girl in the cell.

He slipped into the space between the Fade and the physical realm. For most, the Veil was a barrier between the two. For the lesser spirits, it could be traversed in small distances. They were the spiritual vermin in the walls. He found her quickly. Unconscious on a stark white bed. Odd machinery was connected to her, some appearing to assist and others seemingly to restrain her.

Feeling the hints of her emotions, he sensed she would be waking soon. This had never happened before. Her body being opened. She would be in pain. Scared.

But no longer alone.

With a struggle, he hopped onto the bed. He stepped up onto her stomach and then over her chest, settling where he could feel her heart beating. She was warm and he hoped that his body, curled against hers, would provide her with the same feeling.

When he finally felt her stir, he started purring. He didn’t even mean to. Didn’t know he could. He just did. A soft vibration deep in his chest. Her eyes opened, mossy green and glassy with drugs. When they focused on him, she gasped softly. For the immediate moment, the drugs that clouded her mind kept the pain at bay and let her focus on him.

Her lopsided smile made him purr louder. He stretched out his neck to brush his cheek against her chin and was rewarded with a giggle. She couldn’t move to pet him, but he somehow knew that she wanted to. She started to talk but he didn’t understand her. He would, someday, so he listened to her happy noises and the memories of the feline came back. How much it had meant to him to connect with her through that long vent.

He could feel it too. The peace of companionship. He was glad he had answered the call. In the Fade, he had no purpose and served no cause.

Now, he belonged to this little girl.

()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()

Jules woke with a headache so strong she could hear the rush of her pulse echoing in her ears. With a groan, she reached up to pet Jasoom, feeling the vibration of his purr against her breastbone. His silky fur against her palm and fingers was instantly calming. Though she didn’t want to, Jules opened her eyes.

She was in some sort of cell. With a quick glance around, she noticed that the Tevinter mage, Dorian, was with them as well. Zevran had also been close to her when Alexius’s spell was interrupted, but she didn’t see him nearby. Jasoom hopped off of her chest to allow her to sit up. She shook Dorian’s shoulder and he woke with a shout.

“Hey! Sorry!” She said quickly, holding up her hands to show she meant no harm. “It’s just us.”

Dorian nodded before running his hands through his hair. Once he was satisfied with the result, he righted his curling mustache, pinching it between his fingers to ensure every hair was in the correct place. Jules, on the other hand, didn’t even notice that much of her hair had fallen out of the elastic band.

“Jas, can you go see if anyone else is around here?” She asked, pushing herself to her feet. With one raised brow, Dorian watched the midnight black cat slip through the shimmering blue anti-magic barrier and between the metal bars.

“That is not a cat,” he said with a definitive pointing of his finger. “A cat most certainly cannot do that. What is that?”

Jules shrugged, checking her weapons which were oddly still at her side. “That’s Jasoom.”

“That does not answer my question.” Dorian pointed out.

She took out her hair, combing her fingers roughly through it before putting it back up. “I don’t know what he is. Solas thinks he’s a spirit, Varric thinks he’s some kind of mythical trickster god and Morgan thinks he’s the physical manifestation of the innocence I lost as a child trying to protect me as an adult.”

Dorian was at a loss for words. The last one, especially, would require a much longer conversation than they had time for. Instead, he just cleared his throat. “I see.”

#space trash #jasoom the cat #what even is jasoom #some of you have been asking #jules trevelyan #morgan trevelyan #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #FIRST commander cullen in this au #first in my heart too #rare pair smut up in here #bull x cassandra

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okimargarvez · 4 years

Text

REVERSE - 19

Original title: Reverse.

Prompt: Penelope is the new girl on the BAU team and Luke tries to treat her cold.

Warning: A.U., possible OOC.

Genre: drama, romantic, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Derek Morgan, O.C. Sam Cooper’ team, Roxy.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 62 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘👓🔦🐶❗🎲🎈👻🎬🎵.

Song mentioned: Amici per errore, Tiziano Ferro.

Reverse- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

19 # Friends elsewhere, friends by mistake...

Since a while, his life has become an endless series of I shouldn't have. The last bullshit, to be added to the bottom of an endless list, was to accompany JJ to prison. He stayed out, but her expression told him everything he needed to know. She is one of his best friends, of course, not like Chrissie... but she has always been a separate matter. However, he cares a lot about her and cannot bear to see her so destroyed. Like there is nothing they might do to change things. They remained embraced in that shabby courtyard for at least five minutes, amid the astonished looks of the prison guards. And it was as if through that grasp he had absorbed his friend's pain. And not only that. Backing to the base, he ran to the bathroom, where he is still, spewing even his soul. He has cleaned up any trace, but his face is too pale for his usually darker complexion. Hair is wet, pulled back. He made no effort to settle down. He doesn’t expect visits, not there, then. Not she, over all.

Already the ticking of the heels should be a good clue, but his brain today has decided not to work and his intuition too. -Luke, are you okay?- Garcia is standing in front of him, in her white dress with lipsticks and mascara (not low-cut), her flower and pink shrug. Her lost expression.

She had just left the toilets when she heard noises from the corridor, noises that she identified with someone in pain. It wasn't any of her, business but then she had that totally irrational feeling and she understood, she sensed that it was Luke. For this she entered without announcing herself, not even considering the possibility that it was someone else or that he was not alone. -You are in the men's room.- he points out the obvious. But she is trying to recover from that unprecedented and so intimate vision. She has already seen him sad, embittered and above all angry, for example when they returned with Reid handcuffed or during the bail process. She never liked this, though. Those black shadows that she had only caught in passing inside his eyes are now dancing freely. He seems to be sick both physically and emotionally. He is completely down. She forces herself to answer him, rejecting the need to hug him.

She stays where she is, on the threshold, without approaching. -I know, you think they'll arrest me for this?- the joke has no effect, not even a half grimace, absolutely nothing. She swallows, but now she is alone in this mess and can no longer look the other way... if she ever succeeds. -Hey, what happened?- she asks, in a sweet, sad, low, sugary, comforting tone. All in one package. Luke turns away from her, staring at the sink. She ventures to look at him. She doesn’t know that her words were like medicine on his wounds. After an endless pause, realizing that he won't get rid of her so easily, he faces her again.

He shakes his head. -Nothing, absolutely nothing.- his eyes are dull, vague, even if Garcia senses that he hasn't cried. Which is already something, but too little. She doesn’t think that he is one who often allows himself to cry. -Go ahead with your life.- he claims. His tone is nuanced, so empty. He doesn't really try to drive her away.

She understands that he needs a shock, to recover, or at least to break trough it. Away the sweetness, then. Hard way are needed, as with one of her adoptive brothers, who loves to bask in self-pity and watch others solve his problems. -Now don't start talking like a woman, Alvez.- here, a little twinkle in his pupils. -You know perfectly well I won't go away.- she says, showing more convinced than she really is. The time has come to take advantage of the skills learned thanks to the theater course recommended at the group's meetings on the creative elaboration of mourning. -Now you understand how stubborn I can be.- she adds, crossing her arms. Luke sighs and she realizes that he has given up. He runs a hand over his face.

He speaks without looking at her. -At least let's get out of here.- his voice sounds so fragile that only by a miracle Garcia doesn’t hold him against her breast, like a mother with her baby. And he's damn sexy in this moment too. They walk along the corridor at a certain distance, until they reach one of the balconies that face outwards. Even that time of the joke about Roxy, he had chosen the outdoors. Perhaps he finds comfort in the caress of the wind. Or maybe when something like this happens, he becomes claustrophobic.

She gives him plenty of time to open up, but he doesn't get the message. He clings to the balustrade and looks down. -Therefore?- she captures his gaze for two seconds. She approaches. -I am aware that you would prefer to speak to anyone outside of me.- she suddenly feels selfish, wanting to be the savior at all costs. She sighs. -You want that I call someone? Rossi, JJ, Emily, Tara, Walker?- with the last surname she doesn’t tear a chuckle from him by a hair. Without knowing it, she almost followed a precise hierarchical order. She doesn't say the right name, of course. She can't be there. He reads in her face the awareness of not being that person.

But Luke surprises her doubly. -No. Please.- his is almost a moan. She clears the distance by a few more centimeters. He too. It's the only way he has, in this moment, in this state, to make her understand that he doesn't really want her to leave. He needs her, her words, her understanding. Even if he could never admit it verbally, even if he hadn't that lump in his throat.

Garcia, never been a profiler, has guessed the right explanation at first sight. -Is it about Reid's matter?- man doesn’t move. -I haven't received any new messages.- she then adds, not knowing how to proceed. He sighs, realizing that she is much closer than he thought. He scratches his head.

-Yeah.- he says. It’s still a result. -You know he can get visitors now.- a nod of assent; of course, it was she who had made a chart to establish the order of the visits and had placed herself at the bottom, even after Walker (moving him to tears). -JJ went to see how he was. I accompanied her.- it should be enough, but now that he has removed the cap, everything flows towards the drain. -They hit him. He is hurt.- he looks away suddenly, unable to bear the eyes of the woman, who foreshadows the worst.

-Oh God.- she covers her mouth with her hands. -Is it so bad? He's not going to die...- an absurd smile appears on Luke's lips. She doesn't even think for a thousandth of a second that it's for happiness or relief.

He nods. -Yes, he's serious, but I don't know how to answer the other question.- she sees him tremble. She puts her hand close to take his, but then she doesn't. -Prisons are a microcosm in its own right, as he would say.- a sob escapes him. It is almost the coup de grace. Because he can't really imagine him in that context. His mega brain is useless in that place; in fact, it could even be a problem.

He watches her move her fingers on the railing. -But he did not even find a friend?- she asks him, keeping her tone soft, so as not to increase, if she can't decrease, his level of anxiety and stress. Luke's look climbs along the curves of her body until he stops in the eyes.

-Two, according to JJ.- he tries to remember the names she said to him. -One is called Delgado and the other... Shaw, I think.- Garcia lights up like a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. She would definitely play the shooty star in the crib.

-Shaw?- she repeats that surname, which had no particular meaning for him. -It won't be Calvin Shaw?- he nods, recognizing the name, hearing the voice of the other blonde in his head. He frowns forehead and eyebrows.

-Why, do you know him?- he can't understand what someone like Garcia has to do with a human trash (of the worst kind) like that guy. He didn't know him, but he read his file, furtively, taking advantage of the fact that JJ was driving. It is partly the cause of his nausea. The idea that Reid was bonding with him...

Garcia shakes her head, a cascade of blond curls. -I don’t, but Morgan...- she doesn’t need to specify who she is talking about. If he knows, better for him, otherwise, it is not fundamental information . -I think he took care of his case. If I remember correctly, it was one of us.- Luke nods. -He killed his Russian contact.- he doesn’t hold back, doesn’t choose to add that detail, but his mouth opens and the words come out on their own.

-Yes, and probably his own baby.- she opens her eyes and looks at him in shock. Now she has all the elements to understand why he is so angry, even if he never thought of wanting to become a father, start a family, carry on the name of the Alvez, with discontent of his entire family, especially of his beloved grandmother.

She swallows, he can hear her sucking the air and holding her breath. -God, was she pregnant?- he breaks eye contact. Absurdly he sees Chrissie with her baby bump, her husband Richard with the baby in his arms, when they announced that he would be the godfather, if he wanted to.

He pushes the image away with difficulty, closing his eyelids. -Considering HCG levels, it would seem so.- he is not prepared for her reaction. Garcia punches the balustrade, probably risking to get hurt, at least to break a fingernail.

-What a bastard!- she exclaims. It is the first time he has heard her say a dirty word. -I'll call Derek and ask him to have a chat with this… man.- she reassures him, but her gaze is bad, another novelty. Can she really hate people? Maybe then she's human. -He is the best in this kind of thing.- she says, full of pride for her best friend.

He can just say one word. -Well.- there is no problem, she speaks enough for both. She comes closer an inch, without noticing, or maybe it's him. He has no certainty, nothing in any area.

-And hopefully in the meantime Emily and Fiona will be able to move the bureaucratic waters.- he nods, feeling a flame developing in his chest. He cannot remain indifferent to her way of expressing herself. But then he hears a familiar sound that catches her gaze going towards the bag, towards the cell phone.

-There is a case, there isn’t it?- a flicker of provocation. Garcia willingly takes the blame (actually not hers) for interrupting his opening moment.

But then she reaches out and finally squeezes his hand, hard. -Luke, trust me.- her gaze is equally intense. -We can save Reid.- it sounds like a promise.

But he can't risk evreything. How would he come out in the event of a defeat? He lets go of her hand and shakes his head. -I wish I could believe you.-

TAGS: @martinab26 @thinitta @shyladystudentfan @pegasus-scifichick @paperwalk @inlovewithgarvaz @the-ellen-stuff @astressedwriter @symphonyashley @kofforever @myhollyhanna23 @tootsienoodles @centiaaa @penelopesluke @dumbdraws @onefail-at-atime @reidskitty13@adorarapril @princesstreaclefanfic @glocknade111-blog @magiunific @fallen-novak @dreatine @hopelessdayydreamer @painterofhorizons @racing-against-the-sunset @majo0803 @vickyd-2012 @writing-whats-that @wearejuststars@klngzeewp @heylittlehollywood @kirstenvangsness @blu3crush@futureperfectmedia-blog @jade-cheshire3303 @life-between-pages @tooshorttobeanadult @xxlonelyghostxx @honeydoodles @pennypeabody @alessiapolimeni @londonrosebooklovingwitch @bbyxk @full-on-fangirl @catlynhoss05 @lushmp3

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #spencer reid #tiziano ferro #amici per errore #a.u.

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Chasing Cars || Morgan, Remmy, & Deirdre (feat. Constance)

Morgan and Remmy go out for ice cream, but fate is cruel and so is Constance.

@deathduty, @whatsin-yourhead

CW: traffic wreckage, death

The scream cracked the air like an egg. As it spilled through the town center, Morgan froze, ears covered, bracing herself as she would against a storm. It was a sound harsher fear, fiercer than rage. It was the sound of fate and all her unfairness. When it finally passed she shivered, shaking it off her. “Yikes,” she said with nervous laughter. “Wonder who’s gonna die, huh?” Probably the old lady she’d seen passing from Regan’s apartment. Nothing to cry about, but no less chilling. Morgan wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be out doing something as frivolous as getting ice cream with her friend. But getting up the energy to engage her students had been more exhausting than usual and--damnit, Constance shouldn’t get to take away ice cream on a warm spring day. She turned to Remmy. “You okay?”

Remmy was able to remove their hearing aid before the scream split their head too much, wincing only a bit as it echoed around them. They were in line for ice cream, and Remmy had brought a little container of blended brains to mix into their cup, to try it and see how it tasted. It was just supposed to be a nice afternoon, as they both just wanted some time off. And so far, it had been. But the creeping feeling inside of Remmy hadn’t gone away, for some reason. Though they weren’t usually one to ignore their instincts, they brushed the feeling off. “What, die? Oh, was that? That was a uh--” they leaned in to whisper, “banshee scream, right?” Looked around nervously, popping their hearing aid back in. Moose was quiet at their feet, despite the head tilt as the scream echoed away. If he wasn’t reacting, then it couldn’t be too bad, right? “I’m fine!” Remmy finally answered, taking another step forward in line.

“Yeah. There’s another one in town, and she doesn’t really have the hang of things like Deirdre does,” Morgan said, giving another full-body shudder. “They’re cool, in a terrifying sort of way. Whoever it is, hope it’s not something bad.” It was her turn in line for ice cream, and Morgan got herself a chocolate swirl cone, topped with a cherry. “You know, you don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” she said between licks. “Everything okay at home? Or something else?”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Does Deirdre know them?” Remmy asked, watching Morgan order her cone happily, before stepping up next. They ordered a cup of vanilla with sprinkles, waiting until they were a fair distance away before pouring in the brain mush and stirring it up. Taking a bite. Not too bad. Just cold brains. “What? I-- why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m totally fine,” they said, giving a shrug. They weren’t sure what had prompted Morgan to ask that, had they been acting weird lately? They weren’t sure. They took another bite, letting it sit on their tongue this time. Moose trotted gently beside them and they took a little scoop of ice cream and let him lick it off their finger. “Everything’s fine at home. Blanche is sleeping in her bed and Nora hired someone to look after Munch. Things are pretty normal.”

“I think that’s technically classified, but what do you think?” Morgan said with a pointed look, one that went something along the lines of ‘of course she does.’ “Honestly, she’s been having a hard time about it. And it helps, being together, in the way that everything feels a little better when we’re together, but she needs other help, more time opening up to her other friends.” She tongued a chunk out of her ice cream cone and swilled up the mess with her cherry. “But we’re not here to talk about my girlfriend.” She batted her eyes at Remmy in a fake show of coyness. “You’re doing that thing where the more you insist that you’re fine the less convincing you are. And you’ve been weird the last couple time we’ve hung out, and I haven’t pushed, but--” She sighed. “If it’s not a trust thing, then what kind of thing is it? Can I at least know that?”

“What do you mean-- oh! Oh, right. Yeah.” It was like Lydia said, they were a community, the Fae. And they were careful with their identities. Remmy nodded more to themself than Morgan and took a bite. “Well, I’m glad she has you, then. She wants to take me to a cemetery soon, so I can try and talk to her then, too.” They looked over at Morgan after a moment, furrowing their brow. “Nothing’s-- nothing’s wrong. Okay? Everything is just the same as it’s always been. It’s not--” a trust thing? It...kinda was, though, wasn’t it? Ever since Morgan had pushed them away, they hadn’t quite felt the same. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t tell her about the Ring and the issues they were having with losing blocks of time to that hollow trance they equated to sleep. “It’s a nothing thing,” they finally said.

Morgan waited, still swilling her cherry over the ice cream cone while Remmy thought. For all that they insisted that she was forgiven and things could go back to the way they were before she freaked over the bootstrap worm, some wall hadn’t quite come down. And she waited patiently, and she waited not-so-patiently, but it made her cold and ill in the worst way to be right next to them and know things weren’t close to what they said they were. “Remmy, please,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I care about you, you know that right? It’s clearly not a nothing thing, so--what is it?” She munched on her ice cream, brow furrowed as she tried to untangle her thoughts better. “I’d rather be honest with you than fake-happy with you. You know that, right?”

“It’s not, like, important,” Remmy said with a little force. The stirred their ice cream around, poking at a bit of brain. “It’s just-- it just is. And it’s stupid and I don’t wanna talk about it. Cause it’s not gonna help. To talk. It never helps. It just makes things worse.” Their spoon suddenly snapped, and they hadn’t even realized they’d been squeezing it. Dejected, they tossed the whole container of ice cream into the nearest trash bin and stopped walking. “Can’t we just have a nice walk?” They asked, not looking up at Morgan.

“I never said it was going to be a magic fix everything!” Morgan said. “I just think that sitting on something and pretending it isn’t there isn’t going to make anything better!” She sighed pitifully as her ice cream dripped down her hand. She’d lost the appetite for it, and it had been so sweet and satisfying only a few moments ago. She sucked her cherry off its stem and followed Remmy to the trashcan to throw hers away too. “I’d rather you be honest with me. You wouldn’t be this mad if you were fine. If I can’t help, I don’t know, let me do something! What is so bad that you can’t let me in about it?”

“It’s not-- I’m not mad,” Remmy snapped, then held themself still a moment. They needed to calm down. “I’m not mad. I’m just...I don’t know what I am, okay? I just know that, this-- this always happens. People always inevitably leave. Because I’m not, I’m not like-- interesting. Or exciting or...someone people want around. And then you, I thought you wouldn’t do that, but like….you did. And I get it, you know? I thought I was okay with it. Cause like, you had more important people in your life. So it was fine. I just wanted to help.” They flopped onto a bench, leaving room for Morgan, putting their head in their hands. “I’m not good at explaining how I feel. It just...I’m not mad.”

Morgan’s face fell as Remmy finally explained. “Oh, Rem,” she said, coming over to sit by them. “Hey--” She tugged on their shoulder and tried to get them to face her. “That wasn’t the reason I pushed you away at all. I pushed you away because you’re one of the most important people to me in this place. You were my first real friend, and you’re still my best friend, even if I’m not yours anymore. I couldn’t stomach something bad happening to you because of my curse. And it was dumb, I know now it was really, really dumb, but it seemed--the trade-off of you being still here and mad at me and maybe able to forgive me someday versus you being my friend and chopped into pieces or re-killed or tortured, or who knows what and gone--” Her voice stuck in her chest. The fear was still real, all the more so with Constance lurking who knew where, waiting to torment her some more. “It seemed worth it. You were worth it. I’d do anything for you to not be gone, and it was wrong but...but that’s what I did.”

Remmy turned to look at Morgan when she nudged their shoulder, trying to keep their expression from wavering too much. “It’s-- I mean, if it was, I-I get it, but--” But Morgan was explaining something else, instead. The words made Remmy’s heart do flips. They were important to her. The most important. Had they ever been picked first? Had they ever been the most important to someone? Remmy’s throat choked up a moment and they turned away, scrubbing a hand across their face. “I’m sorry, I’m not mad. I was never mad. I just-- it was easier, is easier, to just, to think I’m not...important. But you don’t like, you don’t have to worry about me, you know? Cause I’m like, impervious. And I-- you know I’d do anything for you, too, right? Like, anything. I don’t want you gone either. It would--” they swallowed, “it would hurt too much. I already lost so many friends, I can’t-- I don’t wanna lose you either, okay?”

“So--I’m gonna hug you. This is, like, you five-second warning so I don’t spook you, but I’m gonna hug you now okay?” Morgan’s eyes were watering from watching Remmy cry with surprise over this. She threw her arms around her friend and squeezed them tight. “Of course you’re important to me. You’d always be important. Don’t ever think you’re not--stars, Remmy, you’re the best person I know. Okay?” She wiped Remmy’s face with the back of her hand and gave them another squeeze. “And I’m gonna try. For you, and Deirdre, and me, and everyone else, I--I want us all to be good together. I don’t want to be someone who even has to think about making those choices. I just want us all to have good lives with each other. So I’m gonna figure out this whole ghost thing. And I’m not gonna do anything stupid to protect you, and I’m not gonna make you worry about losing me if I can help it.” She squeezed them again. “So uh, why don’t I get us some make-up ice cream? Maybe we can walk to the arcade before going back to the hotel? I never had enough money for video games growing up, and I never had any friends to go play those games with, so you can show me the ropes, okay?”

“I-- okay,” Remmy said quietly, leaning into the hug as Morgan wrapped her arms around them. They put their arms around her after a second and sighed. “Okay,” they said quietly, giving a little nod. “I’ll remember.” At least, they would try. They knew it would take more than just one reminder, but they would try. For Morgan, they would try. Leaning back again, they gave their best attempt at a smile. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” they agreed, “That sounds fun. I can show you all the fun old school games, like Galaga and Space Invaders. Those are my favorites. And they’re both two-player.”

Morgan beamed and gave them one more squeeze just for good measure before getting up and jogging back to the ice cream stand. “Promise you’ll remember and you got yourself a deal, Rem--no, promise you’ll remember AND you’ll tell me when you need reminding. Friends give friends reassurance whenever they need. And then: Space Invaders.” She shot Remmy a pair of finger guns: pew, pew. “What are we thinking for round two of ice cream? Maybe strawberry. Do you have any preferences?” Probably not, although it seemed nicer to ask. She took her place in the line and gave her friend a wave that said she’d be just a second.

Constance watched the little witch scamper off. Not afraid. Not repentant. Just flying off into her own little selfish world. It hadn’t been enough to hound her in public, to stalk her in her disgusting, romantic happiness, or to search for her cursed friends. It was never enough. She had given up her soul so every Bachman might understand a fraction of the pain they had caused her and it was never, never going to be enough.

“You two look very sweet,” she said, coming near to the bench. She sat beside the witch’s friend. Looking over them, trying to see what the witch saw in them. “What does she use you for, I wonder?”

“I promise,” Remmy said softly, giving Morgan a gentle smile. “Whatever you think sounds best. I won’t be able to taste it anyway.” When Morgan scampered off, they slumped a little. They were happy to be here with her, but they wished this hadn’t all come up. Today was supposed to just be fun and easy. Suddenly, there was someone beside them. Not a real someone-- well, real in the sense of the word, but not real as in alive-- a ghost. “I-- what?” they asked, blinking. “Who- who are you? She’s not-- Morgan’s not using me. She’s-- my friend.”

Constance looked quizzically at the human--or, they couldn’t really just be human, could they? Medium, or undead, it was all the same to her. She hadn’t expected to be heard. The place where her heart should have been leapt, tingling with the spectre of warmth. She smiled at them. “My apologies, I didn’t think anyone could hear me anymore. I meant it, about you being sweet. I’ve been watching you for awhile there, I hope you don’t mind. It’s all I can do to pass the time.” That, and plan. Test the capabilities of her form. But all things in their own time. She sat atop the bench and dangled her long legs over the end. “But you’re wrong. All people like her know how to do is use. It’s in their blood. I’d steer a little more clear of her if I were you. I might even consider doing it now.”

Remmy was confused for the moment. “I’m-- it’s, um-- okay, I guess?” They looked at her, swinging her legs, sitting on this bench as if she wasn’t see through or floating. They followed her line of sight over to Morgan, feeling that creeping feeling coming back up. “W-wait, are you-- are you Constance?” they asked suddenly, remembering Morgan had said she had escaped. “Morgan’s not-- that’s not true! Morgan is my friend, and she’s a good friend, and you should-- you should stop cursing her, or whatever! She didn’t do anything to deserve this. All she wants is to be happy. All I want is for her to be happy.”

Constance frowned in disgust. She had been loyal like that once, stupid like that once, and all it had done was bring her here, into this world that neither recognized nor cared for her existence. A world of smoke and iron and cruelty. “She doesn’t deserve you,” she said, rising up and walking backwards, lazy and ambling as she phazed through passers by. “She doesn’t deserve any of this. Whatever you are, you’re owed more than another weak, selfish Bachman girl.” Constance swelled with rage as she went on. The shine on this creature’s disbelief, their pure, foolhardy courage--no one had ever looked at her like that before. Not in her whole life. It wasn’t just. And just like that, the game wasn’t fun anymore. Constance didn’t want to see Morgan Beck merely suffer; he wanted to see her pay.

Morgan didn’t see the brakes come loose from the ice cream stand or the lights flicker backwards from yellow to green on the crosswalk nearby. She was getting vanilla for Remmy and a scoop of strawberry for herself. Another cherry on top, with juice dripping down the side in a morbid sort of way that made her reach for her phone to send a picture of it to Deirdre. She noticed the gulls overhead, and a shiver through her body that came from the wrong direction to be from the wind. She didn’t even have time to consider what it might have been until everything happened at once.

The cart burst into motion as if it had been pushed. The cars, starting and stopping on their brakes with confusion honked their horns, starling a boy on his skateboard, who fell and took down a large banner advertising a stargazing group with him, and just as it fell over Morgan, who batted it off her head as best she could, the ice cream cart caught one end of the string in its wheels and dragged like a bright spotted tail into the street where the cars, confident again, revved forwards, too sudden and too late to fix their mistake.

Morgan saw the pieces in the quiet terrible moment before they came together. There was an eerie elegance to it, a sense of fingers plucking at threads with a cruel sense of humor. Morgan’s brow pinched in confusion. That can’t be right, was all she thought. “Hey, Re--” The line on the fallen banner, still trailing away, caught around her ankle. She looked down and the world broke open and her body crashed to the ground.

There was something to be said about instinct, but Remmy couldn’t think of it. They turned on the bench as Constance stood up and started walking away, phasing right through everything in her way. Confused and slightly angered by what she was saying, Remmy stood, as if to give chase, when a chilling wind passed by. The hairs on their arms stood on end and a tingle went straight up their spine. Their head turned sharply to look back towards Morgan, as if just knowing that’s where they were supposed to be looking-- just in time to watch the cart snap. It sailed towards the street, which was furious and loud with honking and confusion and road rage. Remmy watched with mute horror as a car swerved to avoid hitting another, but it was too late. The bumper collided with the side and the two metal machines crumpled like paper.

“Morgan…” they said, almost a whisper at first. “Morgan.” A little louder, eyes searching wildly for her. “Morgan!” There she was, she was standing, there was a banner near her. Another loud squeal of wheels. Remmy was vaulting over the bench and towards her, down the sidewalk. A car, swerving to avoid traffic, jumped the curve. No one saw it coming, not even Remmy. It all happened at once.

“MORGA--” they tried one more time, eyes wide as the string snagged her leg. She was pulled directly towards the street, feet taken out from under her. Straight towards the wreckage, which had been shoved up from the road and onto the sidewalk by other cars attempting in fury to stop before becoming another part of the pile unsuccessfully.

Remmy didn’t see what happened next. Just like when Deirdre had shoved them in front of that taxi, Remmy’s body bent, but did not break. But this time, the car kept going, only stopping when the metal post behind it ripped through the front end of the car, Remmy’s body stuck pressed between the fence and the destroyed bumper. Losing momentary consciousness for the first time since… Blinking, Remmy looked up. “Morgan,” they called out weakly, tears already in their eyes. They didn’t know why. “Morgan!?” a little louder, a little more alarmed. “Morgan?” There, on the ground, on the sidewalk. She was laying on her back, and something was-- oh no.

“MORGAN!” Remmy screamed.

Morgan opened her eyes at the sound of her name. She remembered her leg falling out from under her, that she’d tried to brace herself on her arm, that her head hurt, but how-- pain throbbed inside her. She hurt. Why did she hurt this bad? What had-- Morgan tried to pick herself up. Her body made a wet, sticky sound as another jolt of pain swallowed her. She cried out, unable to swallow it back. “Oh, shit…” she whispered. There was a metal rod running through her body, pinning her chest to the ground, and a bumper trapping her lower half in place. She twitched her legs--sore, but moving. She just couldn’t get up. She was bleeding and stuck and she couldn’t get up. “R-remmy?” She called. “Remmy…” She pawed the ground in a panic, searching for her phone. Hadn’t she been holding her phone? Her fingers closed around the sharp edge of a headlight and she cried out again. “Remmy, help!”

Remmy’s ability to block out everything else except what they were focused on was astounding. They’d learned how to do it in boot camp and being in the spec ops had helped them hone it. So when people ran up to them, trying to keep them calm. They didn’t even hear them. When people started emerging from their cars and calling the police, they didn’t even notice. The driver of the car pinning them was dead, and they didn’t even know. Hearing aid destroyed, glass eye gone, they didn’t even notice. All they saw was Morgan. Metal wrapped around her like a blanket. A shard of it jutted up directly from her abdomen. They couldn’t see it, but they knew. Clawing at the car, they summoned all their strength-- but couldn’t move it. They’d just eaten-- why had they done that? They couldn’t be strong enough now. They weren’t strong enough now. Whimpering, Remmy pushed, then, against the pole. There was a ripping, a tearing-- of cloth, of skin, of muscle. They screamed, it hurt, but they had to get to Morgan. The people around them screamed as well-- “Stop it! Don’t Move! Oh MY GOD!”-- but they didn’t listen. They just needed to get to Morgan. If they could get to her, they could save her.

With a final shove, Remmy ripped themself free, falling to the ground. Whatever was missing would grow back, and they didn’t stop to look. Dragged themself towards Morgan as fast as possible. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Morgan!” they called out, finally collapsing next to her. “Morgan, I’m-- I’m here. I’m here. I’m gonna--” they turned to look at the metal trapping her. Shoved against it, but it didn’t budge. They weren’t strong enough. Tears clouded their eyes. “I’m gonna get you outta here, okay? I’m gonna get you outta here.” Shoved against it again, crying out as bones bent. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be--” words falling short as they turned to look back at her, face smeared with blood and bruises and dirt. Their body quivered. “I’m gonna save you, I promise.”

“Remmy! Remmy, I can’t--” Morgan’s breath caught when she saw how badly her friend had been hurt. They were muscle and blood around their abdomen, and not much more than raw muscle around their calf. It was growing back in a way she couldn’t bear to see. She turned and tried to slide herself out from under the bumper again, but her arm caught on more glass and she screamed out. She couldn’t be trapped. She couldn’t be trapped. Deirdre hadn’t screamed for her, so she couldn’t be. “We have to figure--something out---” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. There was something metallic in her throat, clogging her words. “We have to Remmy, okay? Please? Please okay? Maybe if you can just...clear the glass, I can--” She tried to shift, testing the idea preemptively, and upset the rod in her abdomen. The pain went through her eyes, shooting holes into her vision as she screamed. Blood puddled out from her chest, soaking through her clothes. There was still away. There had to still be a way. She settled back to where she lay, panting, gritting her teeth against the panic. “I am not dying like this,” she whispered. “I’m not. I can’t. So, do you--what do you think I can do to help?” She looked over at Remmy, eyes pleading.

“The glass,” Remmy repeated, hanging onto every little thing they could, “I’ll clear--” they couldn’t even think in full sentences anymore, dragging themself over and scraping the glass away with bare hands, shards digging into their skin, but doing nothing to cause them pain. They looked around again. “I’ll just-- I’ll move this-- and we’ll. We can keep-- th-the-- keep it in so you don’t bleed more. No! S-stop. Stop moving. I can. I’ll fix this,” they stuttered along, kicking at the bumper that was pinning her to the ground. It barely moved. Why weren’t they strong enough? They kicked again. “It’s fine. You’re not-- don’t say that. I’m gonna-- I’m here. I’m gonna save you.” Desperation kicking in, they grabbed another piece of metal that had been lying on the ground and stuck it under the bumper. “I’m gonna try and lift this, you just-- when your legs are free, move them, okay? And then we’ll-- the ambulance will be here and they’ll get you and it’ll be okay. Okay?”

“You are,” Morgan panted, nodding furiously. “I know you are. I know. I know. You can--” She whimpered as her body gave another shiver, upsetting everything sticking through her like so many needles in a cursed doll. She braced herself, getting her legs ready, but Remmy only moved the bumper up by a few inches, and there was hardly anywhere for her to crawl to. She managed to shift one a little, scraping herself along the pavement as she did, but the hurt was drowning her and she had to stop, gasping with sobs.

All around her was wreckage. Blood smeared in asphalt tinted puddles, scraps of metal like teeth flung in different directions. There were other screams, other cries and shouts of anger. It had all happened so fast, a stupid, freak accident like the rest that had come before. She had just wanted to get out for a little while, to feel normal. She’d been with her best friend. She’d been safe. And she hadn’t been told this was how it ended, so it couldn’t-- And then Morgan saw a dark figure at the end of the road.

“Oh,” she whimpered. The truth hit suddenly, cold and absolute. “Oh no…No...”

She would know Deirdre anywhere, even from a distance. In her favorite plum-colored dress and her leather jacket, she was like something out of her best dreams. But there was only one reason she could know to be here, only one reason she could be rushing to her with this much purpose. The scream. “Oh, stars….” Morgan cried, mouth trembling. It was too soon. She was supposed to have at least til the fall, at least until the leaves turned, she’d never seen leaves turn in fall before. It wasn’t time, it wasn’t right. “No,” she whimpered again. “The scream. I’m--I’m--shit--I’m not gonna make it, Remmy…”

Scream? What was Morgan talking about? The thought hit Remmy like a ton of bricks. Oh, right. The scream they’d heard earlier. It hadn’t been Regan, had it? Remmy’s hands trembled. “No,” they said, shaking their head, “no, it’s not. It can’t be.” But it was, wasn’t it? The defeated look in Morgan’s eyes, her skin already so pale. Blood pooled beneath her, around her, on her. She was dying. She was dead. It didn’t matter if the ambulance was here. Morgan was dead. Remmy broke down into sobs next to her, dropping the metal rod. “No, no, no, no no.” They cried curling up next to her. “No, you can’t. You promised,” they sobbed. “You said-- you said you were going to fight and stay and get better. You said. You promised. You can’t break a promise.” It was happening all over again. Remmy was going to lose the most important people to them all over again. A great sickness began swirling inside of them, making them woozy, lightheaded. They couldn’t let Morgan die-- they’d promised Deirdre they’d keep her safe, and they couldn’t let Morgan die-- they just couldn’t.

The realization came to them quietly as they cried next to Morgan, sick and somehow tired. They slipped their hand down to her free one clenched. They hadn’t been able to save anyone back then, but they could now. Slowly, Remmy brought Morgan’s arm up to their mouth. This time, they could save her.

Deirdre heaved. Her lungs burned twice; once with the force of the scream that she couldn’t stop from tearing apart her office building, and then with all her sprinting to the scene. She’d kicked off her heels as soon as she hit the pavement. She didn’t bother to pick off the tiny shards of glass that jutted from her hair or skin or clothing or any part of the places it struck her. She ran as fast as she could, as soon as she could, and came to find it wasn’t fast enough. The scene in front of her was exactly like her vision, bent street sign and all. And for all the death she’d seen, none of it could have prepared her for this. She wasn’t just slow, she was too late.

“Morgan!” Deirdre screeched, dashing towards the wreckage a moment later. “Remmy--Rem--Get away from her!” Morgan wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon, and the last thing she needed was Remmy trying to eat her. “Get---Morgan!” Deirdre ran to her girlfriend, skidding across the ground on her knees--now torn by the force of the gravel beneath her. Her hands reached for her body first, trying to stop bleeding she knew she couldn’t, the faint sting of Morgan’s blood on her bare skin. Shakily, she reached for her face, cradling it, brushing back strands of misplaced hair. “H-hey,” she swallowed thickly, unable to stop the stream of tears that lined her face. “Y-you said ‘a while’. We could have this for--” Her voice was choked by a sob. Morgan said a lot of things; that she’d stay inside, that she’d stay safe, that she’d end her curse and fight Constance. Deirdre knew this would happen, and yet-- ”It--um--it--” And yet, she wept.

Morgan couldn’t scrounge up any bravery in the face of Deirdre’s tears. Her face crumpled in her soft hands and she pressed in with what was left of her strength. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...for any of...I want to stay...can you…” It was getting harder to breathe. The liquid in her lungs was swallowing half her words. “Can you stay? I didn’t mean...for any of this...” Deirdre’s face blurred behind her tears but if this was it, if this was the last thing she ever knew, ever felt, maybe the universe could at least let her die held by the people that mattered to her. And if Deidre couldn’t fully forgive her, maybe she could pretend, just for now.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Deirdre repeated over and over again, growing softer with each repetition. All she wanted was more time, all she’d asked this world for was more time with Morgan. She should have known better than to hope, her mother warned her of the dangers of putting her faith in life. “Don’t be sorry,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. She tried to thumb away her tears, finding them simply replaced with more. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.” Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s, gently and gone all too quick. “Don’t speak, my love. You don’t have to speak now; I’ll stay. Rest. You can rest now.” And that was all death was, wasn’t it? The best thing it could be, even if it was taking the most precious thing Deirdre had known. She was born into this, raised to know this one truth of the world; that everything had its eventual end. Whatever good there was, it laid limp in her arms, in the slowly withering form of a woman who should have received what little kindness this world could offer. She pulled her head back just enough to offer a weak smile. “I love you.” Foolish as hope was, she hoped for once those words that never were enough, could be just that.

Morgan’s breath wheezed, rapid as if she’d been running for miles, for as long as she could remember. Deirdre’s arms were cold as the depths of that pool in Karen’s back yard, that beckoned her to stay and be still. She opened her mouth to speak again, to explain that she had everything to be sorry for, that she would do everything the same if it was the only way to have her at all, that if they had been a twist in Constance’s curse all along it made no difference, horrible as that might sound. She tried, and coughed, wheezing and red. “S-stay…” she whined again, desperate and scared. “I..I lov..” her voice hinged and she winced. She looked at Deirdre and reached for the will to breathe and try again. The rhythm slipped further out of her grasp each time, but she tried. In. Hold. Out. Tried again. In. Hold. Out. Again. In--

Remmy had been yanked backwards before they were ready to let go, but hadn’t fought when they saw it was Deirdre. Whatever worry she had about them, it wasn’t true. But the painful desperation in her voice made them sit silently, hand still clutched in Morgan’s. They refused to let go, staring at the painful red welt growing on her arm as the two confessed their deepest sorrows to each other. Tears clouded their eyes as they watched. It was painful now, in this moment, even though it would be okay later. It still felt painful. Watching someone die. A small flash of their own raced through Remmy’s head-- laying in Darius’ arms, looking at up his face, begging him to run, to save himself-- and they felt more tears pour out of their eye, the other still clenched shut, dried, caked, dead blood on their cheek. Fresh, smeared alive blood covering their hands and shirt and chest. Morgan’s. Her hand finally went cold, her breathing stopped, and Remmy let out the stress they’d been holding, collapsing to the ground next to Deirdre and Morgan, before pushing themself back up. “Deirdre,” they said quietly, nudging her, “we have to move her.” They looked over at Deirdre, somehow still worn. “Deirdre.” But she wasn’t budging. “Deirdre, we have to move her before she wakes up.”

#chasing cars #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy #wr deirdre #wr deirdre chatzy #wr group chatzy #wickedswriting

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Eight

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

An American Welcome

Clicking his tongue, he urged Ophelia into a gallop, eager to put some distance between him and the town. He rode north, knowing Bill would head wherever he thought was appropriate to bury the boy and Micah would ride back to camp... and tell everyone what had happened.

This might just break Ada.

It was the first thought that came to his head as he finally began to process, and he immediately wanted it out of his mind. After all she’d been through, past and present, what would this do to her now? Christ, she’d even said he reminded her of her brother and now he, too, was gone.

Arthur slowed Ophelia to a canter as they began to pass wide, open fields. A few minutes later, he slowed her to a walk.

He was being a coward and he knew it, putting off the inevitable.

But, selfishly, he was thinking of himself, of what he could do to help her, of what he could say. He wasn’t good at comforting people and God knew she would need that. What if she turned him away again, like she had when she’d first arrived? It wasn’t good for someone with her history to be left alone, not when another tragedy struck. He shouldn’t have left her that first time, but what would he have said?

She’s got no one to make her laugh now.

As he turned east and took the familiar paths back to camp, Arthur tried to rid himself of the sinking feeling in his chest. He knew grief, knew it all too well, but he couldn’t let it get to him now. He would, somehow, have to be there for Ada and whatever was going to come the camp’s way next.

There was no one on guard duty as he came into camp from the north path but he wasn’t too surprised. They were probably mourning Sean as Micah relayed the story, lying through his teeth about how upset he was.

Arthur decided to hold onto the anger the boy’s death had provoked rather than the sadness. Anger was easier to deal with, more proactive.

Dismounting near a post and patting Ophelia’s neck, his head lifted as he heard raised voices near Dutch’s tent.

“... down. Everybody just relax. We are doing all we can.”

Frowning, Arthur began to move towards the small group that consisted of Dutch, Kieran, Molly and Trelawney. Dutch lifted his head and when his eyes fell upon Arthur he suddenly strode towards him, brushing past Kieran who looked distraught.

“Arthur, have you seen the boy, Jack?” He was the most rattled Arthur had seen him in a long time.

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he searched his features. “No, wh—”

“Where’s my God damn son?!”

Both men turned to see Abigail advancing towards them, her features thunderous. Ada followed close behind her, a Repeater gripped in one hand. Arthur glanced between the two of them, catching Ada’s eye. Her lips parted slightly, and he saw the fire in her eyes.

“Where is he?! Where’s my son?!” Abigail demanded as she came to a halt right in front of Dutch, her fists clenched.

Oh dear God...

“They took him, didn’t they?” Abigail’s voice shook as she spoke. “They took my son!”

“Who took him?” Arthur asked, trying to meet her gaze, his heart starting to beat faster.

Not little Jack...

“We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea called as he approached, as frantic as they all were. “That Kieran saw a couple of fellers, sound like Braithwaite boys.”

Abigail released a pained sound as she pressed a hand against her chest, and Ada settled her hand on her back as she demanded again, “Where’s my son?! If anything— Where is my son, Dutch van der Linde?!”

Dutch turned to her, fixing his eyes on her, and Ada had never seen him so serious.

“We will find him, we will bring him back to you and we will kill any fool that had the temerity to touch one hair on the boy’s head! Abigail, you have my word.”

Ada felt someone appear beside her and glancing up she saw John Marston, his obvious rage rivalling Abigail’s.

“Just get me back my son!” Abigail ordered through gritted teeth.

“I will get that boy back, so help me God, right now!” Dutch promised, and he, Arthur and John were already turning away.

As they began to stride towards their horses, Bill’s voice suddenly called out, Charles, Lenny and Javier behind him, “Dutch, we just heard about Jack! You need some extra guns?”

Ada lifted her head and looked to him, then Abigail. “We’ll get him back,” she murmured gently, before moving towards the men as the other women neared, Susan gathering Abigail into her arms as she finally released a sob.

“Yes, I do,” Dutch answered lowly, continuing towards his horse without looking at them.

Ada met Sadie’s gaze, and both women headed for their horses.

“Micah, Kieran, anyone strange turns up, you kill ‘em! Rest of you, let’s ride!”

The men, Sadie and Ada mounted their horses and one after the other followed Dutch out of the camp.

Ada could feel her heart pounding in her chest, every kind of scenario running through her mind of what could have happened.

They’ve just done this to scare them, she told herself.

From what she’d found out about this business they had with the Braithwaite’s, it wouldn’t have surprised her if they’d finally caught on.

But to have a child pay for the sins?

“Let’s go get that boy back!” Dutch called as they all began to canter, some falling in beside each other.

"They must’ve figured out what we was up to, Dutch,” she heard Hosea call from a little further up in the formation.

“Yeah, we just got shot to hell by the Grays in town,” Arthur added, his voice coming from behind.

She glanced back at him, her gaze sweeping over him, assessing.

“I know, I heard,” Dutch answered, “About Sean, too. I don’t wanna even think about that right now.”

Ada stiffened and her eyes rose to meet his.

She doesn’t know.

Arthur opened his mouth, but then she turned and looked ahead.

Oh, God...

“We have to focus on Jack,” Dutch continued.

“I swear, I’ll kill everyone there.”

“Easy, John, try to stay calm,” Dutch called to the younger man.

“I’m fine.”

Ada stopped listening. She gripped the reins so tightly her knuckles were white.

She could see from the corner of her eye Arthur had moved up to ride beside her as they turned onto a wider path but she kept her gaze ahead, Dutch’s voice ringing in her head.

Focus on Jack, focus on Jack, focus on Jack...

The chant continued on and on in her mind as they rode. Soon, lights appeared in the falling darkness of the distance as they turned onto a long stretch of road, and she saw a large house looming ahead.

Braithwaite Manor.

“Okay, get your heads right. Nobody makes a move until I say so,” Dutch ordered.

Slowing their horses as they neared a brick archway, Dutch then called out, “All right, everyone, dismount and come to me. We’ll go in on foot from here.”

Ada pulled up beside Charles and dismounted swiftly, drawing her Repeater from Faithful’s saddle. Sadie joined her at her side as they moved towards Dutch.

“First Sean, now Jack. We should have stayed out of all of this,” Lenny murmured.

“Bit late for that, ain’t it?” Bill muttered.

“Quiet, we’re going to fix this right now,” Dutch silenced them. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

He then gripped John’s shoulder as the younger man made to pass him. “John, you sure you’re okay?”

His mouth was set in a grim line. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

Dutch nodded, and drew his revolver, his jaw set. “Follow my lead.”

Everyone drew or adjusted the grip on their guns as Dutch led them down towards the Manor.

“Both these redneck families think they can ruin us? I don’t think so... Who steals a God damn boy,” Dutch muttered.

“There they are,” Hosea warned as they neared the house, and Ada saw men step out onto the porch, guns in their hands.

“I’m gonna let fly at those sons of bitches,” John hissed.

“John, I need you to stay calm.”

John didn’t answer Dutch, his gaze fixed ahead.

“Get down here now!” Dutch suddenly yelled out. “You inbred trash!”

“What the hell do you want?” a man called from the porch.

Dutch glanced back and gestured at them all to halt.

“Easy, John...” Hosea murmured, catching him by the arm as he made to continue moving forward.

Taking a few steps forward, Dutch answered, “We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would.”

“Shouldn’t have messed with our business now, should you?”

The man speaking and two others moved down from the porch, only a few feet between them and Dutch.

Dutch inhaled a breath, steadying himself.

“Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged or otherwise... That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over.”

“Get the hell off our land.”

Doors up on the balcony opened and more men appeared, there and on the porch.

Ada’s gaze darted between them all, and she could feel every one in the gang just as tense as she was.

Waiting.

Dutch’s voice was low and calm when he finally spoke.

“If you ain’t gonna be civilised about this...”

He raised his guns.

Everyone fired in the same moment.

Racing for a nearby tree, she dove behind it, gasping out a breath as bullets rained down. It was shoot or be shot at so, raising her gun, she fired at the men that spilled out onto the balcony on the first floor of the manor.

They took Jack, was all she thought, was all that rolled around in her mind.

Both sides yelled at each other, gunfire drowning out whatever curses they spat. As she reloaded, pulling bullets from the pockets of the trousers Sadie had given her, she watched Dutch, John, Arthur and Charles advance towards the front doors, the other men giving them cover. A well oiled machine.

“Annie!”

Her head whipping to the left at Sadie’s shout, she saw her beckon her and point towards the fields; men were running between the produce and trees, firing at them.

“Come on!”

Without thinking, she followed after Sadie, running and standing behind an apple tree close to the other woman. Her gaze darting between the men, she counted them.

Sixteen.

“Sadie, we can’t take them all on!”

“Can’t we?”

Glancing at her, she caught Sadie’s grin.

“Christ Almighty...” Ada muttered through gritted teeth as she and her friend began to fire at the advancing men, sending them diving for the nearest cover.

“How do you like that, you bastards?!” Sadie yelled over the cacophony of sounds.

Ada just aimed, shot, aimed, shot, aimed, shot, pausing only to reload. It wasn’t until one, solitary man tried to run to new cover that she realised, yeah, they could. With Sadie’s bullet finding its mark, all sixteen men were dead, their blood seeping into the earth. Blowing out a breath, Ada glanced over at Sadie.

“Well, that was—”

“Annie!”

Before Ada could react, she felt a solid force barrel into her, knocking her and her gun to the ground. Her head rattled as her teeth clamped together with the motion, narrowly avoiding her tongue. Groaning as she hit the dirt, her eyes snapped up to see a man snarling at her, a Revolver in his hands. Half-twisted on her side, her nearest hand shot out, shoving the gun to the side as he pulled the trigger. Gasping as a bullet buried into the ground beside her head, she used his shock to shove her body up and over, pinning him beneath her.

She could hear Sadie cursing, trying to find an opening to take a shot as she and the man grappled, fumbling with the gun he clung to. He was probably no taller than her but strong, making her hiss through her teeth as he tried to bend her hands away. One of his hands suddenly left their scrambling and she thought she had the advantage, when his fist drove into her stomach. Gasping for breath as he rolled them over again, she had to swiftly block his next oncoming punch to her face. Undeterred, he aimed the gun again and she stared into the barrel.

A boot invaded her view, kicking the gun aside and she seized the opportunity. Thrusting her leg up, she reached into her boot, withdrew the knife Sean had gifted her and thrust it into the man’s heart. His eyes widened as he choked on his last few breaths, before he went slack and slumped forward. Shoving him aside, Ada sucked in a breath, her chest heaving. Shaking from adrenaline or fear she didn’t know, most likely both, she looked up, watching Sadie pick the Revolver up and pocket it.

“Thanks for that,” she gasped.

“If you hadn’t’ve been rollin’ around like pigs in the mud I could’ve ended it sooner,” Sadie answered, arching an eyebrow as she smiled.

Giving a much needed if slightly shaking laugh, Ada took her offered hand and let her pull her up to her feet.

“You all right?” Sadie asked, rubbing her back gently as the auburn-haired woman brushed the dust from her trousers.

“Yeah.” She straightened after wiping her knife clean on the leather material of her boot and pushing it back into it, licking her lips. “I think so.”

Sadie dropped her hand, smirking lightly. “Good. Let’s see what else we can do.”

She jogged towards the front of the house as Ada moved to her Repeater, retrieving it from where it had fallen. She could still hear gunfire towards the front of the manor, Sadie now possibly, no, definitely joining in. Checking how many bullets she had left, she took a breath, turned and followed after her. Two wagons filled with men came down the main path and she ducked down beside Javier, firing at them as horses screamed and tried to pull them away. They were handled quickly. Behind her, she could hear shouts and gunfire in the building and a swift glance around told her Dutch, Arthur, Hosea and John were missing, most likely in there.

Sounds to the left distracted her; men coming up from the cabins on the shore. There was only a small group of them, though, and it was almost a relief that, after firing twice, she ran out of bullets, her pockets empty.

I’m going to have to get a gun belt and bandolier, she thought faintly.

The men were finished with in barely a minute, and Ada and Javier shared a look.

Was this all of them?

Glancing over the crate they’d used for cover, she caught Sadie’s eye, who shrugged.

“I think that’s all of them!” Charles called from beyond her, standing.

They all stood, too, still watching the fields and pathways, just in case.

Screaming came from within the manor. All turning, they tightened their hold on their guns but none raised them. It was a feminine scream, without a doubt belonging to the lady of the manor.

Ada had never seen her, of course, but Hosea had described her to her only a few days before. She reminded her of her mother, physically at least.

Moments later, Hosea, John, Arthur and Dutch emerged. Mrs Braithwaite, thin and small in only her nightgown, her grey hair unkempt, was over Dutch’s shoulder, hollering and yelling. Beyond her, the manor was on fire, rapidly being engulfed by hungry flames. Ada could feel the growing heat of it on her face. The gang backed up, forming a close group as Dutch deposited her before them on her side.

She looked up at them all, full of hate and pleas.

“You damn yankee!” she spat at Dutch, snarling.

Hosea stepped forward, standing over her. She’d never seen him so angry, as calm as he sounded. “Why’d you take the boy, Mrs Braithwaite?”

“You stole my liquor—” Mrs Braithwaite began to yell.

“Boys are off limits,” Hosea spoke over her, anger now seeping into the calmness. She could see how this man, who was so gentle and kind to her, had made this life for himself.

“— you stole my horses, ain’t no rules in war, Mr....”

“Matthews,” Hosea helped her.

“Yes...” she hissed, smoke unfurling around her, flowing down the front steps, “... that’s it.” She began to cry.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea pressed, unfazed.

Ada saw the older woman grit her teeth, and she turned onto her back, looking Hosea full in the face.

“My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte, so my guess is Saint Denis.” She looked to Dutch and revelled in every word. “Either there, or on a boat to Italy!”

Oh my God.

She felt sick.

Hosea turned away instantly, his features thunderous. “Let’s go.”

The rest of the gang moved as he did, returning to their horses, their expressions matching his. Ada went with them but couldn’t quite look away from the sight of the sniffling woman.

“Arthur, come on!” Dutch commanded, turning away.

“What are we doin’ with her?” Arthur asked even as he followed after him.

“Leave her,” Dutch retorted as she pushed herself up to her feet, weeping loudly.

“I told you she was crazy,” Hosea called from atop his horse.

As they all walked up the main path to their horses, Ada stared over her shoulder, watching, unable to look away, as Mrs Braithwaite stumbled towards her home and into it, disappearing into the smoke and flames that touched the dark sky.

As she looked away, all she could hear was the woman’s cries.

—

It was a fast, quiet ride back to camp. Even Dutch didn’t say anything, or John. Looking over to the latter, she felt her heart tighten at his grim expression. He was going through the unimaginable, he and Abigail both.

This could have been avoided, was all that kept returning to her.

Only when they entered the safety of the camp did Dutch speak.

“Javier, Micah, Lenny take a watch, Hosea, John, Arthur with me, everyone else get some sleep.”

And that was all that was said. No one quite knew what to say, she supposed. There was one thing, though. Something that she’d had to shove to the deepest corners of her mind, something that was now clawing its way to the forefront.

Dismounting, Ada strode towards Arthur.

“What happened to Sean, Arthur?”

He pressed his lips together as he stroked Ophelia’s neck before turning to her, murmuring, “Ada—”

“Just tell me.”

He gazed at her, the obstinate fire still burning in her eyes.

“He didn’t make it,” he murmured after a moment. “Bill buried him somewhere.”

She stared at him, her features unchanging, though her breaths had quickened slightly.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll ask him.”

She made to pass him, her eyes already fixed on Bill, and he gripped her bicep, pulling her to a halt and around to face him.

“Ada, not now,” he implored, keeping his voice low. “He ain’t showin’ it but he’s torn up about it and now with all this with Jack—”

She pulled her arm from his grip and straightened, trying to pass him again. “I need to see him—”

“Ada—”

“I want to see him, Arthur.”

Taking hold of her arm again as she tried to stride away, he glanced around to make sure no one was looking before he led her behind Strauss’ wagon, the older man nowhere to be seen.

“Let go of me, Arthur,” she hissed as he pulled her along, turning her to him a moment after.

“Ada...” He held her by both arms to keep her eyes on his. “He’s dead, Sean is dead.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, trying to keep her voice calm. “I just want to see him, that’s all—”

“He’s dead, Ada, he was shot in the head, he died instantly.”

Her jaw was clenched tightly but he could see her eyes beginning to shine.

“I just, I want, I need to see where he is and then—”

“Ada...” he murmured gently.

She took in a shuddering breath and finally dropped her gaze.

“All right.”

It was so quiet, the way she said it. He watched her, waiting for how her grief would reveal itself. He straightened as she shrugged his hold off.

She opened her mouth then closed it after a few moments.

“Good night, Arthur.”

For the second time, Arthur opened his mouth as Ada turned away. He watched her walk away, silent.

What else could he do?

If she hadn’t been trying so hard to keep her composure, Ada would have been grateful that he didn’t call out to her or try to stop her again. Pushing through the flap of her tent, she then came to an abrupt halt at the centre of it, her jaw moving. Her hand swiftly came up to cover her mouth as her eyes closed.

Don’t cry. Don’t let them hear you...

He was shot in the head... he died instantly... he was shot in the head... he was shot in the head...

She didn’t know how or when she ended up on her knees, her face buried in her hands.

He hadn’t deserved that. He hadn’t deserved to end like that.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he had done terrible things that he hadn’t told her about, why would he. Maybe he’d done awful, vile things to other people.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t.

She didn’t know.

Whatever kind of a man he was, he was now dead.

From one day to the next, people here were hurt in one form or another.

It was another cold reminder of the kind of life she was trying to adapt to, that she was trying to make work.

Because what else did she have?

They’d spent all night trying to plan, Arthur, Dutch, Hosea and John.

Should they return to Braithwaite Manor, or what was left of it, and find any other Braithwaite’s to try and get more information? No, that would be too dangerous. Greys would probably be out looking for them, too, or perhaps a miraculous event had happened and they’d partnered with the remaining Braithwaites, just for now.

Should they go out to Saint Denis to find out what they could? Yes, but where to start? Was it wise to leave the camp unguarded after all the mess they’d created? Should they move?

They were, each and every one of them, tired, frustrated and shaken. But what to do?

John was growing ever more impatient and, as the sun rose, Abigail had risen from a restless sleep, her cheeks still wet with tears and her eyes blazing, demanding what they would do next. After no clear answer was given, she stormed away and they let her. John turned on Dutch, his anger keeping his weariness at bay.

“We have to do somethin’, Dutch, and soon.”

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Hosea soothed him. “It’s gonna work out, listen to Dutch.”

Dutch fixed his gaze on the younger man, nodding slightly. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, brother. You’re doin’ the right thing by not rushin’ in to anythin’.”

“If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m...” John shook his head, his eyes briefly closing. “She... She’ll kill us all.”

“I know, but, lookin’ at this logically? That boy is fine. They took him to scare us. Nobody takes a boy to harm him.”

“He’s right, John,” Hosea added.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Dutch asked, turning to him as he rolled his shoulder.

He nodded, trying not to sound as weary as he felt. “That boy’ll be fine, but of course Marston’s scared rotten. We killed all those people, we stirred up all that trouble...” He scoffed. “For nothin’.”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “No, no, not for nothin’. For livin’. Now we get that boy back, and we go.” He looked to all of them, then. “Trust me.”

“Hey, Dutch!”

Lenny’s call had all of them turning, Arthur straightening and squinting his eyes against the low morning sun.

“We got a problem.”

“Not a problem...”

All the men but Dutch suddenly rose to their feet as two Pinkertons approached, one with a gun resting against his shoulder. Lenny moved close behind them, a gun trained on them. Arthur recognised them immediately; he’d encountered them once before when he’d taken Jack fishing.

Shit.

“... Visitors. A solution.” The agent without the gun smiled at Dutch as the camp began to gather around after hearing Lenny’s call, circling around them, most carrying guns. Only Abigail and Mary-Beth weren’t there.

Arthur rested his hands on his guns as his gaze darted about above their heads, checking the treeline for anymore agents. Nothing... yet.

How the hell did they find us.

As his eyes moved back to the man who spoke, they fell across Ada. She stood beside Sadie, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her arms folded, her hair slightly unkempt. She must have just woken. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying, possibly all night. His chest ached.

The agent, his face pockmarked, glanced at them all, his smile lingering. “Good day, fine people, Mr van der Linde...”

Dutch was looking away, still sat down, his thumb and fingers rubbing together.

“... Mr Matthews, I presume,” He nodded at Hosea who didn’t move, before his attention turned to John beside him. “... and who are you?”

“Rip Van Winkle,” John answered blankly, his hand resting on his gun.

“Huh...” He looked him over. “... good day, sir.” He then looked at all of them. “Agent Milton, Pinkerton Detective Agency. Agent Ross,” he finished, gesturing at the other man.

Arthur had begun to move closer, putting himself between them and Dutch, who still hadn’t looked up, his back to them.

“Ah, Mr Morgan, nice to see you again,” Milton smiled.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch suddenly said, sounding rather weary, his head moving slightly in their direction.

Milton seemed to have waited for this moment. “I don’t know if you’re aware but this... this is a civilised land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented. This thing...” He gestured around. “... it’s done.”

Dutch rose to his feet. Arthur didn’t take his eyes off of Milton.

“This place...” Dutch began, finally turning to the Pinkerton. “... ain’t no such thing as civilised.” He began to step towards him, Hosea moving with him. “It’s man so in love with greed, he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

In her grief, Ada could have laughed.

What a pretty line.

“And as a consequence that let’s you take what you please, kill whom you please and hang the rest of us?” Milton countered incredulously. “Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?”

Ada’s stomach twisted. She’d thought almost the same thing the night before.

“I’m nothin’ but a seeker, Mr Milton.”

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr van der Linde.” Milton’s voice suddenly rose a little. “But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I give the rest of you three days to run off, disappear and go and live like human beings someplace else.”

Some of them shifted slightly.

Take it.

Ada eyes were fixed on Dutch now.

Take it. Be the benevolent god you’re so desperate to be.

“You came for me?” Dutch actually sounded humorous. “Risked life and limb enterin’ this den of lowlifes and murderers so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine...”

Quiet laughter arose from some in the group.

Take it.

Milton’s jaw moved. “I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch. Just you.”

Dutch looked at him. Then, he lifted his hands and stepped forward. Her heart stilled.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God, he’s going to do it.

“In that case,” he was saying, “it’d be my honour to join you.”

Her heart was now pounding, staring at him. This was it. This was finally it.

“Excuse me, friends,” Dutch continued lightly, stepping closer to Agent Milton, “I have an appointment to keep with...”

She jumped slightly as the clicking of hammers being drawn back on guns sounded as they were lifted or removed from their holsters by every single person in the group who had one besides her.

She’d been a fool.

“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch,” Susan said firmly.

Their loyalty to this man was astounding.

Agent Milton seemed to think so, too.

“You’re making a big mistake,” he warned them, staring between them. “All of you.”

Dutch chuckled. “Yeah, dreadful.” Lowering his hands, he smiled. “We have got somethin’, somethin’ to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr Milton.” The smile vanished. “Stop followin’ us. We’ll be gone soon.”

"I’m afraid I can’t,” Milton retorted, “and when I return I’ll be with fifty men.” He pointed at them all, his voice rising. “All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools! Run!”

Lenny tutted and stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm. “Come on.”

Milton snatched his arm away, glowering. “Get your damn hands off of me, boy.”

Without another glance at them, Milton turned and strode away, Ross following close behind. Lenny and Javier followed after them at a little distance. They all watched in silence as the men left the camp, lowering their guns only when they were out of sight.

“What now?” Arthur was the one to ask, with a faint sigh.

“We get outta here,” Dutch answered, his voice low, “and quick.” He glanced at Arthur. “Any ideas?”

People stayed where they were, looking to their leaders.

Arthur nodded a few times. “I know a big old house, hidden in the swamps outside Saint Denis. I’m sure they’ll find us eventually but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need.”

Lies. More and more lies, and still loyalty.

“It’s a spot out by Shady Belle,” Arthur was continuing, “Lenny and I got into a dispute with the previous occupiers. Place is well hidden.”

Dutch nodded, then looked to John. “You and Arthur ride out and make sure no one else has moved in.” John was already turning away as Dutch added, “And, John, we’ll get Jack back and we’ll get gone.”

John just nodded silently, moving with Arthur to their horses.

“The rest of you,” Dutch shouted, “Get packing!”

Ada turned away.

How could they all be so blindly loyal to this man?

Alone with her thoughts the previous night, she’d wept as silently as she could into her hands and pillow. Grief twisted to anger, then back to grief, then anger again at the cause of all of this, of all the pain that had occurred in her twenty five years of living. It all came back to Dutch. Why had he meddled with these two families? Why, now that a child had been taken, was he still not seeing how delusional he was? Then again, she knew children had no sway over Dutch van der Linde’s decisions.

She wanted to ask him, so desperately, what had caused him to carry out such a vicious attack on Colm’s, her, family. Did he remember two small children? One black-haired and screaming, the other red-haired and silent? She’d tried to quell the thoughts because what could she do to him? Seeing the gang’s loyalty to him now only confirmed that they would all turn on her in a moment if she tried anything at all or even revealed herself.

Ada moved automatically as everyone else did, knowing what they had to do, familiar with the routine. It wasn’t until she was in her tent that she realised she had nothing to pack. All she had was the clothes she was wearing and an extra skirt and blouse. The blouse Sean had stolen for her. And the knife he had given her. She had nothing else.

‘How many rocks have you got there, darlin’?’

‘Ten!’

‘Ten! Goodness, that’s a lot. Where are ya gonna put them?’

‘In my bed.’

‘In your bed?’

‘Yeah, so they can keep warm.’

‘I don’t think your Ma’s gonna like that.’

‘She doesn’t have to know, Daddy,’

‘You’re most certainly right there, darlin’.’

A wagon rumbling past the tent made her head lift.

Christ, that was fast.

Did she take the tent down? It wasn’t even her’s. John had allowed her to continue using it even after she’d insisted he could have it back, and now either slept with Abigail and Jack or against a tree if he’d annoyed Abigail, which was often.

“Annie?”

Turning, she smiled lightly as Miss Grimshaw entered, in her element.

“There you are, sweetheart. Why don’t you come and help the girls pack the supplies away? The boys can take this down, they can do it quick and we gotta move on quick.”

“Of course, Susan, I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the older woman ducked out of the tent, Ada took a breath.

Don’t lose your head. You adapted to here, you can adapt to the next place.

With tired eyes and a weary soul, Ada lifted the two garments from the barrel and exited the tent.

John had left moments before, riding back to gather the others and lead them here to their new home. Arthur had been left the unenviable task of clearing the bodies from the camp. It had been too easy to clear it, the men unprepared and Arthur and John better shots then all of them combined. They’d discovered a wagon to the right of the house filled with food and ammo, and there was room aplenty in the house and on the ground which, all in all, would no doubt lift spirits.

And, Christ, did they need lifting.

On the ride out here, John’s despair was unsurprising but worrying. He was nearly echoing things he’d said before he’d left the gang, though now Arthur could barely argue against them. It shouldn’t have come to this, yeah, they shouldn’t have gotten involved in those families, they should have left by now. It wasn’t just John either. He’d seen the way Ada had looked at them all, particularly Dutch, when the agents had arrived at the camp. He had seen the hate and disbelief smouldering in her eyes, could practically see what she was thinking. It was all things he, too, had been thinking, but he had to trust in Dutch. And he did, he always would.

The rumbling of wagons drew his attention to the window; he’d pushed the last body into the swap to the back of the house a short time ago and had taken the opportunity to take a seat in the front room, resting his boots on a stack of books. Getting to his feet, he headed to the front doors.

Ada brought up the rear of the group, keeping herself occupied as a look-out; a caravan this large would most likely attract attention, but John had led them down quiet paths and she was surprised they didn’t encounter anyone. The wagons pulled off to the right of the house and she drew Faithful to a halt as Arthur emerged from the house, stepping out onto the porch with his arms out wide.

“Welcome home, everyone, to my humble abode!” he called, smiling. “It’s fine livin’, ignore the corpses and the alligators, it’s paradise.”

Dutch laughed, shaking his head. “I love it! Miss Grimshaw, Mr Pearson, would you two kindly work your magic?”

She couldn’t believe it. Not a day ago one of his men had died and a child had gone missing. Yet here he was, smiling at their next great adventure. Dismounting, she turned away and her gaze landed on John. He was looking, too, a frown set across his features. She wasn’t the only sane one, then.

“Arthur, take a ride with me,” Dutch continued as people scurried about, turning The Count back towards the main path.

“Sure.” Stepping down from the porch, Arthur looked to Ada as she handed her reins to Kieran with a faint smile. He wanted to ask how she was, tell her that they were safer here, that he understood what she was thinking but—

“Come on!” Dutch called.

Sighing, Arthur gathered Ophelia’s reins from where they’d been wrapped around the porch railing and mounted her.

Following after Dutch, Molly suddenly appeared, playing with her hands.

“Dutch?” she asked uncharacteristically gently, hopeful, even.

Dutch looked at her, not slowing The Count. “Yes?”

“Could I have a word with ye?”

Dutch pressed his lips together, then looked away. “Not now. Come on, Arthur.”

Molly paused, slightly taken aback, then clenched her jaw and strode away past Arthur, her fists clenched.

“Can you believe that girl?” Dutch scoffed as Arthur caught up to him. “All I’ve got goin’ on and she wants to talk.” He scoffed again as they broke into a canter, heading through the tree.

Ada watched them ride away, torn between relief and unease. She could breathe a little easier when neither men were around, but she wanted Dutch within her sight and Arthur... She wanted to talk with Arthur. She felt it was safe and not too bold of her to admit that they were friends. With Sean gone she could only talk to him or Sadie, but Arthur was the only one who knew everything about her. But... No, she couldn’t talk to him about this. She already knew what his thoughts and feelings were; it would be Dutch and the gang every time, no matter what.

Turning away, she raised her eyes to the building. It was the kind of grand house her mother would have loved to live in, probably could have lived in if she hadn’t disobeyed her parents.

It was less closed in than their previous hideout, with a river on one side and swampy fields on the others. The heat was verging on oppressive, though, much more noticeable than back at Clemens Point. Trenches lay on either side of the wide path leading up to the house, a few dirtied guns lying within them.

“Dutch and Molly have got the big room upstairs,” she heard Miss Grimshaw call out as she emerged from the open doors of the house, directing the men to where crates and boxes should go. “Abigail, you’re up there with John, too, room first on the left with the bit of wall missin’. Arthur can go up there, as well, in the smaller room. Hosea’s got the room downstairs and, ladies, you can take the rest...”

Ada’s gaze drifted away from her as she continued on. She moved towards the white bandstand to her left, moving around a dry and cracking fountain. Stacks of sandbags lay within it, as they did in the trenches, and leaves and dirt covered the floor. It had space, though, enough for a person to lie down.

Moving up the steps into it, she dropped to her knees and began to brush the debris out with her hands, pushing it down the steps to her right. Soon, the floor was clear, and she rose to her feet. Moving one sandbag at a time, she then rearranged them, blocking off all the entrances but one. Deciding she needed more, she headed to the nearest trench, taking two and moving back to the bandstand.

“Do you need a hand?”

Raising her head as she dropped the bags, Ada met Charles’s gaze.

“No, thank you, Charles, I’m fine.”

She could feel him watching her as she returned to the trench, but she ignored him, carrying out two more trips. On the final one, he had gone, and she stacked the bags.

Taking her bedroll from Faithful’s saddle, who grazed nearby, and her blouse and skirt from the saddlebag, she spread the bedroll out on the floor of the bandstand, placed her clothes at the foot of it, then stood back to assess her work.

It would do. It was hidden, protected. The bugs might become an issue but she could deal with those.

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she raised her head. It must have been nearing noon. Most of the wagons had been set up as had some tents, people were milling about, resting or exploring the land. Good, they’d all have space here, somewhat.

Moving down the steps, Ada found herself heading to the small jetty. She’d identified what it overlooked as a river, however the water was so slow moving it might as well have just been part of the swamp. Standing at the edge of the not-entirely-safe jetty, she looked down into the water. She saw indistinct shapes, various kinds of fish, most likely. Maybe even a water snake or two. She’d have to watch for those, as well as the bugs. She could deal with those.

Before she realised it, she was sitting down, leaning her head against a wooden pole. It was quieter than Clemens Points. Perhaps it was the rising, stifling heat that muffled sounds, or the warmth sapped the energy from beings that would make noises. She certainly felt drained.

Steps sounded behind her. She didn’t look up.

“Hey.”

Sadie sat beside her, balancing her rifle across her lap.

“Hey.” Ada watched a small fish slowly swimming in circles.

Sadie blew out a breath, leaning back on her hands. “I can’t stand the heat.”

“Me neither.”

The fish suddenly went one way, then started to circle again.

“Your stand looks nice. I’m sure someone might have some candles so you can perhaps read at night.”

“Someone probably does.”

The fish disappeared from view.

“Annie.”

Ada’s gaze rose, but not to Sadie. She looked instead to the far bank, watching the unmoving grass.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sadie.”

“I know. And once upon a time, I didn’t. I understand, Annie, you know I do... But goin’ through it and watchin’ someone else go through it ain’t the same.”

Ada knew she was right, but she was so tired of talking. So tired of trying to rationalise everything and justify it.

“Annie, say somethin’.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Don’t say somethin’, then. Shout, scream, shoot somethin’—”

“Sadie—”

“You can’t keep it in, Annie, I know that now—”

“I don’t know what to do, Sadie.” She finally looked to the other woman, finding Sadie’s gaze imploring. “I don’t... I don’t know what to do with all this pain.”

Sadie gazed at her, her lips pressed together. Then, she pushed herself up to her feet.

“Come on.” She held her hand out to her.

Ada frowned now, staring at her hand.

“What?”

“Come on.” Sadie waved her hand. “We’re goin’ into Saint Denis, see what we can find out about Jack.”

Ada stared at her. Then, after a few moments, she took her hand, and allowed her to help her up.

Saint Denis was... It was big. And loud.

From the moment they passed under the ‘Saint Denis’ sign, Ada could only stare. People were everywhere, racing about, milling about, laughing, shouting, talking, buying, selling, music was playing from what sounded like nearly every street. Police officers seemed to be on every corner and street, too, she noted. It was almost overwhelming, in the most delightful of ways. She followed close behind Sadie as they moved along the cobbled streets, happy for her to lead the way as she just stared and stared.

“Over here,” Sadie called, having found whatever she was looking for, guiding them towards a quieter street.

Dismounting and tying their reigns to a post, Ada arched an eyebrow at her. “What brings us here?”

“Best place to find answers about the underworld.”

Ada followed Sadie’s pointed finger to a house across the street, the porch a foot off the ground. Various women stood or sat on it, chatting, smoking and drinking. She breathed out a laugh, glancing at her.

“And how would you know that?”

“It’s just common sense, ain’t it?”

“Not to me.”

Crossing the street, Sadie cleared her throat. “Ladies...”

The women glanced at her, some instantly returning to their conversations while others just looked.

“You both looking for work?” asked a scrawny, pale, blonde woman with a thick foreign accent that was unfamiliar, an eyebrow arched, a cigarette in her hand. “Or a good time?”

Some of the women chuckled and Sadie smiled, stopping at the bottom step with Ada.

“No, thank you, we’re lookin’ for answers.”

“Get him to touch the thing at the top that looks like little lump, you will come very hard.”

The women laughed again and Ada’s lips twitched.

“No, thank you, we know about that,” she said as Sadie chuckled. “We want to know about someone called Angelo Bronte?”

The women went silent, all amusement vanishing.

Well, shit... That says it all.

The blonde woman took a long drag of her cigarette, glancing between them. “Why do you want to know?”

“A little boy’s been taken from his family, we’d like to get him back to them,” Sadie said, leaning her boot against the first step.

A dark-haired woman with brown skin exhaled a breath, her arms folding across her thin body. Another woman, almost identical to her, narrowed her eyes at her.

Sadie looked between them all, some not meeting her eye. “He’s just a little kid. Any information would help.”

“We can—” The dark-haired woman started to speak, her accent different but also unfamiliar.

“I like you two so I’m going to tell you truth,” the blonde woman cut in, flicking her cigarette aside. “You should stop asking questions. It’s not safe.”

“Why?” Ada asked, glancing at the woman who’d tried to speak.

“I just said, it’s not safe,” the woman repeated, “Listen to me and look after yourselves, ladies, you both seem very nice.”

“Oh, we ain’t nice,” Sadie chuckled lowly. “We can handle him.”

“It’s not just him.” The woman stopped herself quickly, pressing her lips together.

“He has men, then? A gang of some kind?” Ada pressed gently.

“Please stop asking and go,” the woman said firmly, folding her arms. “It won’t just be trouble for you.” Looking from Sadie to Ada, she then turned and went inside, a few of the women following after her.

Ada looked to the dark-haired woman, smiling lightly. “Look, we just want to know what we’re up against. Is there anything that could help us, anything at all?”

The woman swallowed, then stepped forward. The woman identical to her, a sibling most likely, caught her elbow but she shook her off, speaking rabidly in another language, French, Ada realised, seeming to plead with her. When the other woman just shook her head and tutted, she turned to them, leaning over the porch railing and spoke in a quiet voice.

“He has many men, he practically owns this city so please be careful. If his men found out we were talking to you then we would get in trouble, too, that’s what Jane meant so that’s all I can say.” She glanced around the street, then looked back to them. “Please stop askin’ us questions. I’m sorry about your boy but unless you got an army then you ain’t gonna get him back. I’m sorry.”

Pushing away from the railing, she made to go inside when Sadie called in a low tone so as to not draw attention, “Where is he based?”

The woman paused in the doorway then turned. She hesitated. “East, a house on the river.” Then, she vanished inside.

Her sibling shot them a cold look before she went after her, pulling the door shut.

The remaining women on the porch had already turned their backs, engrossed in their conversations. Sadie straightened and turned, pressing her lips together.

“This is bad,” Ada murmured as they moved back across the street to their horses. “This isn’t some other gang hiding out in the middle of nowhere that we can just confront.”

“We faced the Braithwaites,” Sadie answered as she surveyed the street.

“Again, they were isolated. This is a civilised city with police everywhere, there’s no way we’d get out alive.”

Sadie sighed as they stood between their horses, shaking her head. “Bronte’s got quite a reputation, too, if even whores don’t wanna talk shit about him. What do you wanna do, shall we check it out?”

Ada took a breath. “Well... It is on our way out.”

Sadie grinned, taking the reins and mounting her horse. “Look at you, gettin’ a taste for danger.”

“It won’t be dangerous,” she corrected matter-of-factly, gathering Faithful’s reins and pulling herself up into the saddle, “We’ll just ride by and have a short look.”

“Whatever you say.”

They rode idly through the centre of Saint Denis, pointing out various shops to each other, telling the other to remind them it was there. They could buy new clothes, get a haircut, buy decent food, there was a bakery, and what seemed to be a well-stocked bookshop.

Life would be so easy if I lived here, Ada thought, everything I could ever want only a short walk away.

Easy and safe.

They were waiting for a tram to pass, a tram, she wouldn’t even need to walk anywhere, when a small commotion caught their attention. Turning their heads, they watched a man chase a boy, possibly a teenager, out of an alleyway, across a street, and into another alleyway, shouting after him. Ada’s eyebrows rose, then her eyes widened.

Turning to Sadie, the other woman also looked surprised.

“Was that Arthur?”

Sadie chuckled. “I think it was. There’ll be a story there.”

“Should we go and help him?”

“With a kid?” Sadie laughed. “I think he’ll be fine. Come on.”

Well, I can’t wait to hear about that one.

There were only three houses in the eastern area of Saint Denis that sat on the river, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one was Bronte’s. Riding past the wide, iron gate, they glimpsed men standing guard with guns, more men beyond them.

Blowing out a breath, Sadie redirected her gaze ahead. “Well, shit... It’s gonna take a hell of a plan to get in there.”

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Ada murmured, her heart sinking. She couldn’t bear to think of how afraid Jack must be.

“You wanna get a drink?”

Ada arched an eyebrow. “You know I don’t drink, Sadie.”

“You wanna get a book and a cake, then?”

“... Okay.”

—

Arthur rubbed at his face as he entered the camp.

Those fuckin’ kids...

Well, fuck all that, at least they knew where Bronte was now, the bastard. All he had to do now was get John, go back to Dutch, then they’d be closer to Jack and this would all be over.

And I can get some fuckin’ sleep.

Dismounting Ophelia halfway down the path, he patted her before heading down the rest of the way.

“Hey, Karen?”

She looked up at him from where she was sat on a crate, cleaning a gun. “What?”

“You seen John?”

“Turn around, you fool.”

Doing as he was told, he saw the very man coming round the side of the house, striding towards him.

“You got anythin’?” he asked before Arthur could speak as they neared each other.

“Yeah, we know where Bronte is,” he answered. He quickly continued as John turned and strode towards Old Boy, falling into step with him. “Dutch is at the east park in Saint Denis, we’ll meet him there and go and see Bronte.”

“All right.” John pulled himself up into the saddle, his features set. Gathering the reins, he looked to Arthur expecting him to have moved to Ophelia. Instead he’d remained where he was, frowning at Annie who, a quick glance told him, was stood a little way off, pushing a Repeater into the holster on Faithful’s saddle and mounting him. “You comin’ or what?” he asked the other man, Old Boy shifting beneath him, feeling how unsettled his master was.

“Yeah, I just...” Arthur sighed, looking up at him. “You go, I’ll catch up to you.”

John nodded and moved around him, heading away and nudging Old Boy into a gallop.

Running a hand down his mouth, Arthur cursed himself as he moved towards Ada.

What the hell am I doin’.

“Where you goin’?”

She glanced at him as Faithful began to walk. “Out.”

He resisted the urge to grit his teeth. “I can see that.” He stepped in front of them, gently gripping at Faithful’s bridle to get him to stop. “Out where?”

She pressed her lips together and exhaled a breath before looking at him. “Bill told me where he buried Sean. I’m going to pay my respects.” She paused, then her features softened a fraction. "Can you let go, please?”

Watching her, he released Faithful and stepped back. His mind was made up in seconds.

“You ain’t goin’ alone.”

“Arthur—”

“I ain’t gonna hear it.” Mounting Ophelia, he turned her towards the entrance of the camp and inclined his head towards it. “Now, c’mon.”

Hissing out a breath through her teeth, Ada followed after him.

—

At any other time, Arthur would have snorted. Clemens Point? Bill had buried him so close to camp? Well, what had he expected.

Dismounting as Ada did, he followed her through the trees, glancing about in case someone else had decided to use their old camp.

“Bill said he was around here...”

He nearly knocked into her when she halted suddenly, his hand instantly going to his revolver, but then he saw it too. Two thick branches tied together to resemble a crucifix, stuck into the ground before a pile of rocks. SEAN MACGUIRE RIP, the horizontal branch read. They stood in silence, staring at it as a gentle breeze blew the green leaves on the branches around them.

Suddenly, she made a sound which he thought at first was a sob, before he realised it was a laugh. She was laughing.

“He was so irritating,” she said through it, a smile pulling at her lips.

That’s a damn understatement.

He couldn’t stop a smile himself, though. “Yeah, he was.”

She hummed, a laugh trailing off, her smile lingering. “Bill did a nice job.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet here,” he nodded, his hands resting on his belt. “It’s nice.”

“It is. Very peaceful.”

They fell silent again, lost in their own memories.

“Say some words about him,” she finally said quietly. “You knew him better than I did.”

Arthur shifted, rubbing his jaw. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think he was a good friend to you.” He glanced at her as he dropped his hand; she just kept looking at the grave, her amusement nowhere to be seen now. Clearing his throat, he clasped his hands together before his belt. “He was like an annoyin’ little brother to me, but we had fun ridin’ together. He was a good an’ loyal friend when it came down to it, an’ that’s what matters.”

She inhaled a breath, clearing her throat. “Amen,” she murmured. Wiping at her eyes, she shook her head. “Damn you, Sean.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Camp’s sure gonna be quiet without him now.”

“It sure will be.” Wiping at her cheeks, she turned away.

She moved out of the trees and across the grass. A rock jutted out of the small hill and she sat on the edge of it, her legs swinging a little as she looked out at the lake, water gently lapping at the shore, the sun making it sparkle. He joined her a moment later, standing beside her. It was damn peaceful around here. Birds trilled and chirped, fish splashed about in the water, and out on the lake a couple of boats and canoes moved idly. He should’ve taken advantage of it more when they were here, but there was always something to be done.

“Arthur, I...” she began quietly, hesitating, playing with the finger where a ring should’ve been, then she looked up at him suddenly, frowning. “Are you meant to be somewhere? Weren’t you looking for John?”

“Yeah, but...” He waved his hand dismissively. “It can wait.”

He couldn’t tell her. She be damn horrified and probably hit him for being with her rather than trying to get Jack back... but Dutch and John could handle it without him for a short while.

What the hell are you doing here, you idiot, a voice hissed to him.

You know what, another voice whispered back.

“Are you sure? Arthur, are y—”

“You were gonna say somethin’?”

She huffed out a breath. Would she ever be distract him from anything? Looking back at the water, her hands fell into her lap.

“Dutch should be here, too, saying something.”

There it was, dangerous waters again. Shrugging, he folded his arms. “Dutch don’t do so well with losin’ people. Hits him hard ‘cause he feels responsible for us all. He’ll probably come, in his own time.”

He caught her faint smile. “You have a lot of faith in him, you all do, all of you really do love him.”

His tone was gentle but reproachful. “Ada, you don’t—”

“No, sorry, I’m not trying to...” She paused, licking her lips. “I don’t want... Oh, I don’t know what I want.” She continued on after half a second, frowning slightly. “Something is screaming at me inside, Arthur, that I should want him dead, I should want to kill him, but I... I just don’t know what I really feel anymore these days.”

He watched her his chest tightening even as he kept his tone light. “I think all that just means you’re a good person.”

This was getting dangerous. Dangerous and complicated.

She snorted as she slid down from the rock, brushing dirt off of her hands. “No, more likely hopeless.” Smiling lightly at him, she headed back up the small hill. “Come on, I’m sure you have something to do.”

Arthur immediately started walking with her, grateful for the change in subject. “Yeah, I should get goin’. I’ll take you back to Shady Belle.”

“No, it’s all right—”

“I’ll take you, it’s on the way.”

He heard her mutter under her breath, probably curses, as they mounted. “Fine, fine, all right.”

Heading back to the main road, she looked to him, amusement having suddenly returned. “Did I see you chasing a child earlier?”

He frowned, narrowing his eyes at her. “What?”

“Did. I. See. You. Chasing. A—”

“No, well, yes, what the hell were you doin’ in Saint Denis?”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Sadie and I were asking questions, what were you doing?”

If his eyes could’ve narrowed any more, they would have. “Asking questions about what?”

She had the decency to look a touch sheepish. "Angelo Bronte.”

“You were both asking questions about Bronte?”

“Yes.” Sheepishness turned to defensiveness. ”We wanted to be useful. Sadie wanted to tell Dutch what we found out when we got back but as you know he hadn’t returned.”

Arthur harrumphed. “Well, Dutch and I were askin’ questions, too, so tell me what you found out.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’ll tell if you will.”

“Yeah, all righ’, fine,” he muttered. “But it ain’t a long ride so be quick.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

Ada wrapped her arm across what she could of the thick trunk, swinging around it to avoid wetting her boots in the swampy water. Sadie had been ghoulishly delighted to tell her about the sinking graveyard at the back of the property when she’d returned, Arthur having departed from her before they got near the camp so he could continue on. It must have been quite old, some of the gravestones having decayed from the constant assault of the water and she could barely make out some of the names on them. How many generations had lived in this house and been buried here? Who had been the last and what circumstances had led to the place falling into ruin?

It was something else, something occupying, to think about rather than what she’d said to Arthur, because she didn’t know why the hell she said it. In a moment of vulnerability perhaps, created from grief. She’d realised on the ride back that that was the first time she’d been able to grieve properly, that Sean was the first person she’d been able to grieve properly for, with full understanding and complete with an occupied grave.

She’d been too young to really understand when her father had died. The only real memory she had of it was her mother and brother weeping, and how, in her innocent, kind, child’s mind she’d vowed to be strong for them as they both held her hands tightly at his funeral. Then when she and her mother had accepted that Thom had died her mother couldn’t bear the thought of a funeral or even a memorial.

Ada hadn’t wanted to cry around her mother either; she would have got no comfort from her because she was too busy grieving herself, so Ada had had to look after her. Not that she resented her for it, God, no, she couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through of losing a child, but... sometimes comforting yourself just wasn’t enough.

“Hello, dear.”

Looking up, Ada smiled warmly as Josiah Trelawney approached, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hello, Josiah,” she answered, stepping away from the swampy graves.

The odd man was just that, odd, but she liked the tales he told of different cities and worlds, though they’d never spoken alone so this was a surprise.

“Bill said you and Arthur visited young Sean’s grave.” He smiled sympathetically. “Were you close?”

She folded her arms, a slight pang in her chest. “I suppose we were, yes.”

“Sweethearts?”

She laughed softly. “No. Fond of each other, yes, I think, but not sweethearts. More like brother and sister.”

He nodded, his smile widening a little more as he rocked on his heels. “Yes, well, we are all an odd little family, aren’t we.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She didn’t feel it quite right to include herself in it. Not that she wanted to, actually.

“And you are a part of this family.” It was as if he’d read her thoughts. “Whatever troubles you, troubles the pack.”

She maintained her own smile. “That’s comforting to know. I’m very grateful for everyone’s generosity.”

“I’m sure you are.” If his smile hadn’t been so kind she would have been unsettled by his gaze. ”Sean’s death troubles you, of course?”

She frowned slightly. “Of course.”

“The event or the cause?”

She looked at him. “I don’t quite know what you’re implying, Josiah.”

He waved his hand, chuckling. “Forgive me, my dear. My wish to be mysterious and interesting sometimes runs away from me, as does my thirst for knowledge.”

She didn’t return his smile just yet. “If you wish to know something, just ask it, Josiah.”

He shook his head, that smile just lingering and lingering. “No, Miss Sawyer. Mystery. Mystery so intrigues me, it would almost break my heart to hear truth.”

—

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marvelousmarvelimagines · 5 years

Text

Mine

Pairing - Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Summary - Since Dr. Banner started embracing his Hulk side, and Peter started his second year at MIT, other than your little sister, the lab has been pretty lonely. Fortunately, drunk facetime conversations with Peter keep it interesting.

This one shot had multiple sources of inspiration. This is my entry into @starksparker‘s writing challenge, and my prompt was, “I’m so tired.” Then I saw this post and thought it was cute as hell, so I went with part of that too.

Word Count - 1,802

Warnings - Language, Underage drinking, Endgame Spoilers are mentioned, but not really dived into.

Quiet nights at the tower were rare, but not unheard of.

The only constant workers were Dr. Banner and you. Of course he was in it less and less since he was now embracing the whole superhero thing more often. Peter also visited, but since he had started his sophomore year of college, he was also coming by less. Four hours wasn’t a . . . terrible distance, accessible by jet and suit which you had access to, but during the week . . . it wasn’t logical for him to come around.

So while nice . . . the quiet was also lonely.

You let out a sigh as you ran over the various designs on your screen again. After a whole four days of having to deal with Stark Industries board meetings and press that you wanted nothing to do with, getting to work on Peter’s suit was a relief. It was a surprise you had been working on for a few months now, and you couldn’t wait to show it to him on Christmas. He had wanted to skip the only class that hadn’t cancelled today and come up early, but you had told him no. You had fed him some line about spending time with his friends that he wouldn’t see over break. It was all to buy more time to work on his present.

Now that you realized you were stumped, you wished that you had told him to come ahead. You still had one last hope though. “Maguna, can you come here?”

Your eight year old sister made her way over to you from where she had been messing with her tablet, a smile on her lips at being included.

“This is Pete’s new suit. I think it’s missing something. What do you think?” You asked her, pulling the designs out from your screen into holograms and spreading all the different pieces around so she could see and manipulate them.

You watched with fond eyes as she studied and played with all the parts in front of her. In times like this, it was so easy to see your dad in her, and it made a smile come to your face, knowing how proud he would be. “You remember how daddy’s planes sometimes go invisible?”

With a nod and a big grin, you realized where she was going. “I do. Retroreflective Panels.”

“Can you do something like that? If they can’t see Pete they can’t hurt him, right?” She asked, shrugging her shoulders.

“That’s right, Morgan, and a brilliant idea.” You ruffled her hair with an affectionate smile. “It’s also a break through that should be rewarded with juice pops before bed. What do you say? I won’t tell Pep.” You promised, closing out all the files and turning off the screens.

“Can you braid my hair after?” She asked with hopeful eyes that there was no way you could turn down.

“Of course! What fun would juice pops be if I didn’t braid your hair after?” You said, as you led her out of the lab and to the apartment floors.

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

It surprised you how relaxing braiding your sister’s hair was for both of you. By the time you were almost finished, both of your eyelids were drooping, until a familiar ringtone started playing on your phone. “Is that Pete?” Morgan asked with a big, albeit sleepy, smile.

You nodded, sitting straighter to wake yourself up more. “Do you want to say hi before bed?”

Morgan nodded sitting up herself as you accepted Peter’s facetime request.

God it was incredible what the sight of him did for you. Your shoulders relaxed, breath found its way into your lungs easier, and a content smile formed on your face. “Hey, P, someone here wanted to say goodnight.” You told him, pointing the phone down so he could see Morgan.

“Oh my god, guys it’s Morgan! Morgan! I’m so happy to see you!” Peter almost yelled into the phone, looking a little too excited to see the girl he adored.

Morgan picked up on it too, giving you a ‘what the fuck’ face that you were sure she had perfected from Pepper. Of course, one look at that lazy grin and bright eyes, and you knew what was going on with Peter. “Are you coming back tomorrow, Pete?”

“What? Of course - of course I am! I can’t wait to see you.” Peter replied, his tone enthusiastic.

“Can you take me swinging again?” Morgan asked, her body bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Excuse me?” You interrupted, giving her a disappointed look followed by giving one to Peter on the screen. “You took her swinging?”

Peter waved his free hand in the air before settling it in front of his lips, his movements exaggerated. “Shhh, Morgan, you weren’t supposed to tell her!”

Morgan giggled at his response, and you shook your head. “Okay, Morgan’s going to bed now. Night sis,” You told her, kissing the top of her head and tucking her in. “Say goodnight to Peter.”

“Goodnight Underoos!” She replied with another giggle, hiding her face under the blanket while you snorted.

“Y/N! Did you tell her to call me that?” Peter asked, faking outrage.

“Of course not,” You lied, biting your lip to hide your smile as you closed her door and headed back to your room. “Anyway, when I said you should go out and experience college life, getting drunk is not what I meant Parker.” You teased.

His eyes widened in comic disbelief. “How did you know?”

God he was so cute. His hair was disheveled, his eyes glazed, not to mention the red in his cheeks. “Because you’re about ten times more adorable than normal.” You replied, climbing onto your bed and curling up with the pillow he frequented.

“I’m not adorable. You know who’s adorable?” Peter asked, pointing at the screen, his eyes serious.

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“You.” A smile formed on his face, so big and sincere it made your stomach flutter. “You’re so adorable and pretty and funny, and smart and I like . . . I wake up every morning and look at your picture and am like . . . woah. She’s my girlfriend. You know how perfect you are?”

Unable to find the words at the moment, you shook your head, a fond smile on your face as you watched him.

He grabbed a piece of pizza from some guy who was standing beside him, which after a, “Hey! Give that back, Penis Parker!”, you realized was Flash, and held it up to the camera. “For you, I’m going to drop a slice of the best pizza in Massachusetts.” Peter told you and then proceeded to indeed drop the slice onto the dirty sidewalk. “See? I love you that much.”

“Oh my god, P,” You replied, covering your mouth to keep from laughing and hiding how goofy your smile was at the same time.

“But, I should pick that up because that’s littering and yeah.” He rambled, hurrying up to pick the pizza back up and put it in the nearest trash can.

God you missed him. “What a cute, environmentally conscious spider boy I have.” You said, affection leaking from your voice. “I hope Ned or MJ is there to make sure you get back to the dorm okay.”

“No worries, Y/N, we’re going up now.” You heard Ned say from somewhere off camera as they walked into the dorms they were living in.

“Hey, Y/N,” Peter said, looking very much like the excited puppy he was.

Curious to see what on Earth he could say next, you replied, “Yes?”

“I love you,” He said simply.

No matter how many times he said it, you could never believe you were lucky enough to hear it from him. That boy was the embodiment of everything that was good and pure in this world. You, on the other hand, were not, yet somehow he loved you, and God did you love him too. “I love you too, Peter,” You said in a quiet voice, your smile turning soft as you watched them enter their dorm room, and Ned help Peter into his room.

As soon as he was in his room, you watched him flop down in his bed, curling into the pillow beside him much like you were, looking at you with large eyes. “Am I in trouble for letting Morgan swing?” He asked with a pout.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction. “Not as much as you would be if Pepper found out.”

Peter’s eyes widened so much it was comical. “Oh god, please don’t tell her. She scares me.”

“Maybe you can convince me when I see you tomorrow.” You said, winking at him with a playful smirk on your lips. You could definitely think of a few ways the handsome boy could convince you.

“Mhmm, tomorrow,” Peter replied with a happy smile as well until a large yawn interrupted it.

“You tired, Pete?” You asked with a frown. “You should get some sleep.”

You could tell at this point he was fighting to keep his eyes open. It was one of the things that didn’t take you too long to learn about Peter Parker. He could be wide awake, but the second his back hit a mattress, he was out. You assumed it had to do with his late nights as Spiderman and his body having to adjust to fall asleep as fast as it could so it could at least attempt a few hours of good rest, and he could heal. “Don’t wanna,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “Miss you too much.”

“I miss you too,” You replied, biting your bottom lip. Why had you told him to come tomorrow again? “How about you go to sleep, and I’ll be there when you wake up, and we can fly back together?” You proposed.

“Really?” Peter replied, sounding hopeful as his eyes began drooping.

The way that he often resembled a puppy was way too adorable. “Really,” You replied. In fact, you’d do whatever Peter wanted if it meant extra alone time with him.

His eyes closed while his mouth curved into a lazy smile. “Mkay. That’s good,” he let out another yawn, this time still leaving his eyes closed. “‘Cause I’m so tired. Just didn’t want to stop talking to you.” Peter mumbled.

A laugh left you lips, and your fond smile returned. “Go to bed, P, I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Peter couldn’t even respond, snores already leaving his lips.

You ended the call, cuddling the pillow tighter against your chest as you inhaled the scent of the boy you had been talking to.

Yeah, quiet nights at the tower were nice when they happened, but you couldn’t wait until tomorrow when they wouldn’t be so quiet anymore.

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#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #kayleessummerwc

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hailing-stars · 5 years

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relax, just breathe

Read on Ao3

Trope: Poisoning

Summary

“Tony,” said Peter, lifting his head from the glass, his stubbornness spent. “I don’t feel so- “

“Do not,” said Tony, through gritted teeth, and meeting Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He had just one hand on the steering wheel as he drove them into the night. “Finish that sentence.”

Morgan leaned over, hung out of her booster seat, and whispered, “It gives dad attacks.”

The Starks go on a road trip and everything goes wrong when Peter gets food poisoning and suffers an allergic reaction.

relax, just breathe

Peter used to wonder when it happened, exactly.

Days like this, for one reason or another, he wanted to find the precise second he got abducted into the Stark family.

It’d be easy to say it was on the battlefield, after he snapped back into existence, when Tony saw him for the first time in five years, when he hugged him and pressed a kiss on his cheek to welcome him back, but the more Peter thought back, the more he realized it was some undefinable time before that.

Maybe it was during late nights in the workshop, or all those nights Peter had to call for backup when he was in trouble, and Tony would have to come, stitch him up and ice his bruises.

Or maybe he became a Stark during the few seconds before he died in Tony’s arms, like Tony decided if he ever somehow, by some miracle, got him back, he wouldn’t ever let him go.

Peter wished Tony would let him go.

Maybe then he’d be back at his apartment, free to do whatever he wanted while May and Happy were on their honeymoon, instead of being at a small, roadside carnival Morgan conned Tony into stopping at during their drive through the country. Peter hadn’t wanted to come along for the drive, but he was forced into the road trip, anyway.

A trip, Peter was convinced, didn’t actually have a destination. They were just driving around just to drive around, and besides being at a carnival, Peter wasn’t sure where they were, what state they had wandered into, or when they would get to go home.

“It’ll be great,” Tony had told him. “It’ll be fun.”

Peter had yet to have any fun.

Not when he was busy thinking about the week that could have been, that he could be doing what he’d planned to be doing before Tony interrupted those plans by sitting him down, giving him a weird talk about underage drinking, and announcing that they would be going on a road trip.

A breeze caused Peter to zip up his jacket, and leaves crunched under his Converse as he looked around. The carnival was pretty unimpressive. It was small and cramped and the rides were so rusted over Tony banned Morgan from riding them. Peter didn’t have to be banned. He had no interest in doing anything that might make Tony believe he was enjoying himself.

“Hey Pete!”

He turned, and saw Tony waving him over to where he stood in front the lane of skee ball games at the edge of the carnival’s boarder. It was too late to pretend he hadn’t heard him, so Peter ducked his head down and marched over.

“Let’s play,” said Tony, and before Peter could give an answer, which would’ve been a hard no, he handed the employee a few tickets to cover both of them. The carnie, who looked like he wanted to be there just as much as Peter, slammed down a button and the skee balls released from the rack.

Peter looked down at the lane hopelessly, and with a sigh, reached down and grabbed a skee ball. He eyed the 10,000 slot. If Tony wanted a game, Peter was going to give him a game. He aimed, swung his arm backward, brought it forward, then released and watched, like his life depended on it, as the ball rolled down the lane, jumped up, hit the rim of the 10,000, bounced off, and dropped down to roll into the 1,000.

“Almost,” said Tony. Peter wanted to shove him, or at least sabotage his roll, and when it leapt up and sunk down and scored 10,000 points, he wished he had. “Oh, look at that.”

Peter swiped another, sent it rolling down the lane and cringed when it was an exact repeat of his first roll. He didn’t look over at Tony. Just looking at his scoreboard light up 20,000 was enough to clench his fists, to get him riled up and even more determined to win.

He didn’t know why it mattered so much, or why he was getting so frustrated each time he rolled the ball and it missed his target. On any other day, he’d laugh it off. He was never really any good at these sorts of games, but that day was different.

Beating Tony at skee ball was all he had, and then, after rolling his last ball, and of course, missing, he didn’t even have that.

“Damnit,” he muttered, under his breath, as he kicked the front of the machine.

“Kid, relax,” said Tony. He must’ve sensed his frustrations, because he’d stopped gloating after his first hit. “It’s just a game.”

Easy for Tony to say. He finished his game with a perfect score.

“Congratulations, sir,” said the carnie, in a monotone voice. He ripped a golden ticket off a roll and handed it to Tony. “You won a free elephant ear.”

They walked away from skee ball, and Peter glared at the golden ticket in Tony’s hand. It was stupid to be angry about losing at a carnival game. Petty, even, he knew that, but he still felt it, still wanted to rip coupon out from Tony’s hand and stomp it on the ground.

“You cheated,” said Peter. “You used your prosthetic arm. It’s unfair advantage.”

The words sounded like a joke, even to Peter, but his tone made it clear it wasn’t. Tony laughed anyway.

“It’s still attached to my genius brain,” said Tony. “That knows how to aim, unlike yours.”

They walked past a trash can, and Tony tried to toss the golden ticket, but Peter snatched it in midair, before it went in.

“You can’t throw this away, it’s free food.”

Tony looked down at him and stared. “You always forget I’m a billionaire.”

“That’s not the point,” said Peter. He didn’t want an elephant ear. It was the principle. He looked around until the spotted the concession stand, then took off in that direction, Tony following along at his heels as he went.

Tony was always following him.

The cashier greeted them by coughing into her hands and sniffing her nose, and Peter choose to ignore that, along with the offended look that flashed across Tony’s face. He put the crumpled coupon on the wood counter and pushed it forward.

“One elephant ear, please.”

She turned her head and screamed his order to the back, causing her voice to break off as she went into a coughing fit. When she finally stopped, she straightened out, and looked at Peter and Tony with watery eyes. “Sorry, I’m just getting over Strep.”

Peter took a couple of steps backwards, and Tony distanced himself even further. Behind the cashier the kitchen looked dirty and rusted just like the rides, but Peter tried not to pay attention to that, just like he tried not to pay attention to the way the cashier handled his food when it was passed off by the cook.

He took it from her, with a smile that faltered, and stepped away from the stand with Tony, both of them eying the elephant ear wearily.

“Don’t eat that,” said Tony.

And he probably wouldn’t have had Tony not said anything. He didn’t particular want it. He didn’t want to tempt his body into getting sick, but Tony just had to open his mouth, and Peter couldn’t take another lose after the skee ball disaster.

He looked up at Tony. He maintained eye contact and took a bite into the sugary, cinnamony, probably germ-infested treat.

Tony sucked in a deep breath, then released. “I’m not feeling sorry for you when you get sick.”

Peter shrugged, took another bite. He was already committed to finishing and it was actually pretty good, once he divorced it from the dirty kitchen and sick cashier.

“Dad!” Morgan ran towards them, holding a cone filled with blue candy cotton that was bigger than her head, and with Pepper chasing after her. “Look what I got!”

“Where did you get that?” asked Tony. Peter rolled his eyes at the dramatics while he chopped on the elephant ear. “The concession stand?”

“No,” said Morgan. “Mommy and I found a cotton candy machine.”

Tony sighed in relief, just in time for Pepper to catch up with them. He checked his watch and tapped it.

“Time to get back on the road, before we all die from swine flu.”

It took only thirty minutes for Peter’s stomach to start hurting.

It felt like longer, though. Tony had confiscated his cellphone so they could bond as a family over road games, which just meant instead of listening to his music or watching YouTube videos, he was listening to Tony and Pepper bicker about directions from the front seat, while Morgan’s kid songs blasted from the speakers.

Peter tried to tune them out, both the music and the arguing, as he hugged his stomach and let his head rest against the cool window.

First he tried denial. He wasn’t getting sick. It was all in his head. Tony had planted it there, but then his stomach cramps twisted and twisted until denial was impossible and all he had left was stubbornness.

But that hadn’t lasted long, either.

He regretted all his recent life decisions, mostly scarfing down that entire elephant ear in four bites when Tony wouldn’t allow it into his car, and he resented Tony, and his spontaneous road trip and perfect skee ball game but mostly, he resented having to admit he was right.

“Tony,” said Peter, lifting his head from the glass, his stubbornness spent. “I don’t feel so- “

Morgan leaned over, hung out of her booster seat, and whispered, “It gives dad attacks.”

“I, um, feel the opposite of good.” His voice was raspy and small and begging for relief from the fire in his belly.

“Tony watch out!”

Pepper grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the side just as Tony slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop, the front half off the road and in the grass, while the backseats were still out in the road. It was a rough stop, but Peter was thankful for it. He wrestled out of his seatbelt, opened the door, stuck his head out, and puked.

“Ewwwww, dad, Peter’s getting sick,” announced Morgan, as he continued to empty his stomach.

Three car doors opened and shut, and sometime between Peter’s last gag and wiping his mouth off on his jacket, Tony appeared above him. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but even there in the dark, Peter could see the smug, I-told-you-so expression written into every line on his face. That passed quickly, though, and it was replaced with concern, something he’d promised Peter he wouldn’t feel for him.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so, for now.”

Tony checked his watch, then sighed. “We’re gonna stop for the night. The first hotel we see.”

Peter nodded, too relieved to even try to argue. Tony had been planning on driving through the night, but they both knew they couldn’t continue. Not like this. Not when he was sure to puke again.

He kept the door to the car open but leaned back against in his seat while Tony rummaged around for something up front. When he straightened out, he handed Peter a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” said Peter. He took a sip, swirled it around in his mouth, and spit it out on the ground, careful to avoid looking at his puke.

“Dad look!” Morgan walked around the car and into view. She had a black cat cradled in her arms.

“You almost ran over her, that means we have to give her a home.”

“What?”

“It’s the rules,” said Morgan.

“Says who?”

“I dunno,” said Morgan, with a shrug. “Says me.”

Peter watched Tony look down at Morgan, who was cooing and petting the cat, who was already in love with her, and Peter knew, probably before Tony did, that they all just met the newest member of their family and the newest passenger for their road trip.

She didn’t need her own seat. She sat in Morgan’s lap as Tony maneuvered the car back on the road, and FRIDAY gave directions to the nearest hotel. Peter put his head against the window, shut his eyes, and tried to focus on something that wasn’t the cramps knotting in his stomach.

He drifted in and out, until the car finally slowed, and Peter lifted his head and opened his eyes to a large, plastic teddy bear standing tall, directly outside his window. The bear carried a sign, and it read: Huggy Bear Motel.

“Absolutely not,” said Tony. The car was stopped, but the engine was still running. “We can’t stay here. We’ll all be dead by morning.”

“We have one spider-boy, and one retired savior, I think we’ll all be fine,” said Pepper.

Peter jerked his car door open and hung his head outside. He felt it coming back again.

“Either we stay here,” Pepper continued, “or force Peter to stay in the car sick for another hundred miles.”

Peter threw up all over the ground, and felt the car switch off under him and heard a frustrated sigh from up front.

“Fine, we’ll get a room.”

Tony and Pepper disappeared inside the building, and Peter looked over at Morgan. She was fast asleep, and so was her new cat. Overhead lights flickered, bringing Peter’s attention to the motel, instead. It was the kind of place without hallways. All the rooms looked like they were accessed from the outside, and all the doors leading to those rooms had faded, chipped red paint. There was a hot tub off to the side, near some trees, and Peter could tell just by looking it wasn’t functional, or at least, shouldn’t be functional.

“That man has one hundred percent killed someone with an ax,” said Tony, when he came back, as he gently helped Peter out of the car and to his feet.

“He was just a little strange,” said Pepper. She picked up the cat off Morgan’s lap, and gently shook her daughter’s arm, trying to wake her. “Not completely unlike yourself.”

The motel room was small, with just two queen sized beds, and single hallway leading to a bathroom. It had a weird smell, that Peter tried to ignore, just like he tried to ignore the faded, off-white color of the comforter as he collapsed down on the bed closest to the bathroom. He was too exhausted, felt too sick and gross to care, but neither of those things kept him from appreciating Tony’s horror as he stared down at his bed.

Peter sat up, and looked around, a realization hitting him. That there were only two beds. That Pepper, Morgan and the cat were missing.

“Where’s Pepper and Morgan going to sleep?” asked Peter.

“They didn’t have a suite, shocker, right?” said Tony. He lifted up the pillows and searched underneath, as though he expected something to jump out at him. “So they’re in the adjoining room.”

“You can go be with them. I’ll be fine in here by myself.”

“Right,” said Tony, with a small laugh. He put the pillows back, but still frowned at the bed and refused to sit down. “Then who’d be here, keeping you company, and making sure you don’t die?”

Peter opened his mouth, the answer somewhere on his tongue, but something else wanted out, instead. He felt it again, and it’d come on just as suddenly as the first two times. He jumped off the bed and darted into the bathroom, where he slammed his knees down on the floor and dunked his head into the toilet, just in time.

He finished puking, shut the toilet seat, flushed, then looked up. Tony hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, like always. He always hovered, always tried to help, or planed road trips just to ruin Peter’s plans for freedom and independence.

Peter draped his body against the toilet for support, then blinked at Tony. “I don’t need you here taking care of me.”

Tony frowned, opened his mouth but shut in quickly. His face crinkled with confusion.

“I can take care of myself,” said Peter, and he knew he should stop talking, even knew he didn’t really mean it. He liked the company, even when he wasn’t sick and miserable, but he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. “If you weren’t around, I could take care of myself just fine.”

The room went silent, and that left plenty of room for Peter to remember that he’d almost gotten to see a world where Tony Stark wasn’t around.

Tony crossed his arms, hooking his prosthetic and his flesh together, while he continued to stare at Peter, who couldn’t take the words back now that they were out there, no matter how badly he wished he could. He couldn’t read Tony’s expression, either.

Confusion, hurt maybe, but definitely worry.

Always worry. Tony was always waiting for Peter to be taken away from him, a second time.

“So, you’re still mad about not being able to stay home alone,” Tony told him. “That’s what this is all about? Why you’ve had an attitude this entire trip?”

Peter clamped his mouth shut, and continued to hug the toilet, ruminating about how he was about to get lectured in the bathroom of some crummy motel as he threw up bits of elephant ear. It could only happen to him. Parker luck.

“I could’ve stayed home alone,” said Peter. “I’m seventeen. I’m Spider-Man. I’m not a baby.”

“You mean, you could’ve stayed home by yourself, so you could have your party?”

“What?” asked Peter. He gripped the edges of the toilet seat tighter to keep himself sturdy as the bathroom spun. “N-no – “

“You’re not the only one good at eavesdropping, Pete,” said Tony. “I heard you on the phone, then I found your fake ID.”

He lifted his head off the toilet seat and tried to focus on Tony as his figure blurred. “You could’ve just busted me.”

Like a normal parent

He didn’t say that part out loud. Something about digging his own grave didn’t really appeal to him when he was pretty sure he was actually just going to die from a bad elephant ear right there on the floor, and besides that, he was too exhausted and frustrated and sick to try explaining to Tony that he’d gotten it all wrong.

Tony shrugged away from the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Road trip sounded like more fun. Believe it or not, I don’t actually like being the bad guy.”

“Next time just ground me,” said Peter, as he laid his head back down on the seat cover. It was still gross, but at least it was cool on his burning skin.

“I look forward to throwing that back in your face.”

“Well I’ll be eighteen before you get the chance.”

Tony chuckled under his breath. “It’s so adorable how you think that matters.”

He walked furthered into the bathroom, and sunk down to the floor, opposite of where Peter rested against the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. He didn’t know how it was possible to feel resentful and angry, and for those things to also be wrapped up in guilt. “Sometimes it just feels like, like you’re suffocating me.”

“Let’s just put this on ice, for now, okay? We can have it out when you’re not puking your guts out. It’s damn near impossible for me to be angry with you when you look so pathetic.”

Peter forced a small laugh, and nodded, and wished the pain mounting in his belly would stop so he could just sleep.

“Do you think someone got axed in here?” asked Peter. He was leaned against the wall, with Tony by his side, staring at a giant stain splatter.

“Maybe,” answered Tony, also eying the stain.

It was hours later, and Peter had thrown up twice more. That last time he mostly just gagged on his own stomach acid, while Tony rubbed his back. He was seventeen. He didn’t need Tony to take care of him like that, but he wasn’t exactly going to tell him to stop, either. He craved the comfort still, and he wondered if that would ever go away, if his biggest, most obvious lie would be telling Tony he didn’t need him anymore.

His stomach was starting to feel at peace, like all the poison had left him, but his throat felt tight, felt so tight, he had trouble getting a good breath. Peter inhaled deeply, trying to get a good, deep breath in, but it didn’t matter. It was useless. His lungs still weren’t satisfied.

“Tony, I can’t breathe,” said Peter. He rubbed at his throat, as if that might help.

“Yeah, yeah I get it, I’m helicoptering – “He started to scoot away from him, to finally give him space, right when he didn’t really want it.

“-No literally, I can’t breathe.”

“Okay,” said Tony. His voice was calm as he repositioned himself, back closer to Peter, and put a comforting hand on his back, rubbing circles. “Just relax. Deep breath in, deep breath out, match me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can, we’ve done this a million times, it’s just a panic attack.” Tony kept rubbing his circles, slow and steady, and that should’ve helped, should’ve grounded him and brought him back to reality, but it didn’t.

Peter shook his head. He knew what a panic attack felt like, and this wasn’t it. He knew what it was like for the room to spin with anxiety, but he also knew what it was like for the planet to spin as death came crept near.

Before he could tell Tony, Pepper appeared outside the bathroom door. “Tony we can’t stay here.”

“Oh now you listen to me – “

“-Morgan’s cat found some… bugs,” said Pepper. “In the beds.”

“What?”

Tony’s eyes snapped back to Peter, and without warning, he grabbed him by his shirt collar and hoisted him to his feet. He dragged him out of the bathroom, through the motel room, then finally, out the door and into the night.

Cool air hit Peter’s skin, and without the odd smell of motel room, the air felt lighter and reached his lungs in a way it hadn’t when he was inside. He breathed deep and exhaled, as Tony lowered him down so he could sit on the sidewalk and up against the wall.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay, just, just work on your breathing,” said Tony. He stayed standing and ran a hand through his hair, his head partially blocking out the moon behind him.

Peter sat on the concrete, and for once, did what Tony told him and worked on his breathing, that became labored for a second time as a bright light flashed in his face. He gasped, shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, Tony stood between him and the light source.

“What the fuck?” yelled Tony.

“Sorry to scare your kid there,” said a man, who caught the malice in Tony’s voice, and directed his flashlight to the ground. “Just going around, making sure everyone’s alright.”

“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?” questioned Tony.

“We’ve been having bug problems,” said the man. “Just bug bombed the place earlier on in the day.”

“We’re checking out now, right now.”

The man, who Peter guessed must’ve been the caretaker, frowned at them, said nothing, and left, whistling as he turned a corner and disappeared.

“To answer your question,” said Tony. “Yup, someone was axed in there without a doubt.”

Just ten minutes later, Peter sat on a curb, out in the parking lot, and watched as Tony and Pepper covered all their bags in plastic and loaded them into the car. Morgan and her cat were already inside, passed out in the backseat, but Peter wasn’t ready to be locked up in a moving vehicle yet. Though he’d stopped throwing up, he was still nauseous and exhausted and dreaded having to drive a couple hours longer to get to a hotel.

Tony seemed to sense the dread, though. He threw the key fab to Pepper, who caught it easily and slid into the car behind the wheel. Tony helped Peter to his feet by gently tugging on his arm.

“Come on,” he told him. “I’ll sit in the back with you and Morgan, and you can use me as a pillow.”

Peter only offered him a shaky nod, then climbed into the car after him. The cat decided the backseat was too cramped and jumped off to the passenger’s seat to keep Pepper company, but it was just the right amount cramped for Peter. He huddled into Tony’s side, put his head on his chest, and, as Pepper drove them into the night and to a nice, normal hotel, fell asleep in his arms.

The wind blew through the treetops, and ruffled through Peter’s freshly showered hair, as he sat on a wooden balcony and let his legs dangle off the ledge.

He was up early, considering the night they had, but their drive from the bug infested motel to their safe haven at the nearest Holiday Inn hadn’t been as bad as Peter had expected. He’d gotten sleep. Good sleep, and the few seconds he’d been jostled awake by the car hitting a bump, he’d at least been comforted by Tony’s hand running through his hair, or by the rock music playing softly through the speakers.

The door to the balcony slid open with a squeak, and Tony stepped out, holding a soda fresh from the fountain of whatever gas station he found. He sat next to Peter and handed him the Sprite he’d requested.

“Thanks.” He poked the straw through the plastic lid, and took a small sip, before setting it down, off to the side.

“Anytime, kid,” said Tony, as he sat down next to him, and let his legs dangle next to Peter’s.

For a while, it was nice. It was just Peter, and Tony, and the sound the trees made when the wind blew through the leaves and branches. They didn’t need to fill the air with noisy words, or apologies, though Peter knew that would be coming for both of them sooner or later. It was quiet, and that was okay. Company was enough.

Tony’s company was more than enough. It was comforting, an anchor, and Peter didn’t want to ever imagine what his life might be like without it, what his life had almost been.

“So,” said Tony, bumping his shoulder with a nudge. “Are we ever gonna talk about you being allergic to bug spray?”

Peter laughed, shrugged, and looked out on the trees.

“I swear, the longer I know you, the more I’m convinced you’re more spider than human.”

“Tony listen,” said Peter. “I’m sorry about what I – “

“-Forget it, Pete. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry.”

It was said with ease and confidence, and as if Tony had never really taken it to heart. He wondered if it was an act. If Tony made his voice sound that way so Peter wouldn’t have to walk around feeling guilty, like he was known to do.

“I do need you. I just – need you to let me ask for help sometimes, instead of rushing in.”

Tony nodded, to make it clear he heard him, that he was considering, and then he hit him with, “We need to talk about the party.”

“I know,” said Peter. “I know it was stupid, and I should’ve talked to May before inviting Ned and MJ to come over – “

“No wait,” Tony cut him off. “Just Ned and MJ?”

“Yeah.”

“You said on the phone that it was, I quote ‘going to be wild.’”

“It was,” said Peter. “We were going to watch all the Star Wars movies.”

Tony blinked at him.

“In zigzag order, when everyone knows the best way to watch them is in release order.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, and looked more confused than Peter had ever seen him look before. “Do I even want to know what the fake ID was for?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Kid- “

“-They were playing this Black Dahlia documentary at the movies. And it was rated R, right? So they wouldn’t let us buy tickets, which is ridiculous by way, but anyway, we couldn’t have May come with us on a date, you know? May’s getting pretty nosey as it is, and that’s really uncalled for, I don’t go around spying on her and Happy-”

“Alright, alright, I think I get it,” said Tony. He looked at him, then laughed. It was at his expense, just like at the carnival, but it was booming, and infectious, and brought a grin to Peter’s face. “You’re Spider-Man, and you can’t sneak a girl into the movies?”

“Spider-Man is sneaky,” said Peter. He looked down at his sock covered feet, still smiling. “Peter Parker trips over his untied shoelaces.”

Tony fist bumped Peter’s shoulder, and his laughing died down. “I suppose I owe you an apology. I, uh, let my anxiety run away with me, and jumped to conclusions. The truth is, I… I worry about you becoming past me, but you’re so much better, already, than I ever was. You’re a good person, Peter. A responsible one.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to May,” corrected Tony. “In spite of me.”

“Thanks to Ben, and May, and you,” said Peter. He gave one last look at Tony’s prosthetic arm, a permanent reminder of what Tony was willing to do to keep his family and his home safe. “You taught what it means to be a hero, what it takes.”

Tony smiled, and gave his shoulder a pat, before standing up, and walking towards the door. “We’ll head back home tomorrow, once you’re feeling better, I think I tortured you with this road trip long enough.”

“Wait, Tony,” said Peter, stopping him when his hand was on the door handle. “Where were we going, anyway?”

“Galaxy’s Edge.” The answer came off Tony’s lips causally, like it was no big deal, like it wasn’t the single greatest place on earth that Peter had yet to visit.

“What? Star Wars land?”asked Peter. He stood up, to match Tony. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know, mentioned that in the first place?”

Tony shrugged. “Honestly, I wanted you to suffer.”

“Can we still go?”

“If you want to,” said Tony. Peter nodded his head up and down. “Okay. We’ll get back on the road tomorrow.”

“Sweet. I’m gonna go watch the movies, to get in the spirit,” said Peter, as he stepped past Tony, and into their suite. It wasn’t the luxury that Tony was used to, but it was homey and wasn’t advertised by a creepy plastic bear holding a sign.

Also, it didn’t have bugs, or poisonous fumes from bug bombs floating around in the air.

“Sounds like a family movie day.” Tony followed him in. “Just stick to the originals. The ones without the Kylo the dad killer. He’s Morgan’s favorite, and I’m not sure what that says about my future.”

Peter stopped, and turned, and laughed. “Morgan’s favorite is Rey. I just told her to tell you Kylo to freak you out.”

“You’re grounded,” said Tony, and wiped the grin right off Peter’s face. “See? Told you I’d get a chance to throw it back in your face.”

Tony patted his head, and walked past him, plopping himself down on the couch in the living area and snatching the remote off the coffee table. Peter paused and watched Tony flip through the pay-to-watch movies on the hotel catalogue.

They ended up breezing through four Star Wars movies that day. All five of them, including the cat, smashed together on the tiny, hotel room couch. It was a pretty good day to be an abducted member of the Starks, and it was a pretty good week for a road trip, after all.

#fanfic #irondad #irondad bingo #sickfic #road trips #peter parker #tony stark #morgan stark

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shimmershae · 4 years

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Personally? I'm all for Carol and Daryl experiencing a little emotional catharsis. My girl has been fucked over six ways to Sunday since Rick abandoned her on the side of that road. Since before that really. Being married to Ed Peletier, enduring his physical and mental abuse and being on constant alert that he might try something untoward and evil with their own daughter had to be a living nightmare. Finally being released from that prison only to lose Sophia so tragically and feel the guilt over not doing more to find her? Oh my heart. My girl has suffered in so many ways and for so long. She's barely had a moment to settle into some kind of peace and be her true self, the person she always wanted and thought she could be, without having to regroup after some tragedy and don another mask. What we're seeing this season, whether it's ever explicitly spelled out or not, is a cumulative effect of every bit of that.

So yeah.

Bring on the angst.

Lance those wounds so the ugly infection can start to be cleansed.

Do I deny that she's acting recklessly? That I'm just as frustrated as Daryl that she is almost impossible to reach right now for more than a few, brief moments of clarity and peace?

Absolutely not.

I'm not that kind of fan.

But I am a fan with a long memory and I remember Michonne chaining reminders of her own executed vengeance and always present loss to her person and having them follow in her wake. I'm also a fan that recollects Rick ripping out the throat of the nasty bastard that would have raped his son.

Some might argue that those acts didn't endanger anybody good, anybody not considered family, and I'll give them that. But see? Those instances, at those points, were relatively isolated in comparison. They didn't manifest as a result of soul-breaking after soul-breaking loss mounting one right over the top of the other.

Ed Peletier physically, emotionally, and probably sexually abused his wife for years. He looked at his own little girl with evil in his thoughts and his heart. Walkers got to him and Carol got to take a pickaxe to the human representation of the traumas of her past. But did she get a moment to actually breathe and exist peacefully before life hit her cruelly again?

Barely. Because Sophia was lost, bitten and turned, and she had to endure the trauma of not only that but Rick putting a bullet through her little girl's head.

Dale was eviscerated.

Andrea put herself between Carol and some walkers with the downfall of the Farm, too. Survivor's guilt is real, ya'll.

Then they found the Prison and things were looking up. They really were.

Hershel was bitten and from that moment, everything snowballed. Because Rick had to amputate his leg and Carol found herself promoted to Lori's main source of medical help. She did what she could to prepare, but it was all for naught because that little punk Andrew got his revenge and ultimately two of Carol's closest friends perished. And again, she got to carry that guilt. Because T-Dog sacrificed himself to save her. She wasn't there to help with Judith's birth. Can you imagine how she felt? I can and it was at this point, that a pattern started to really emerge, IMHO.

They got Andrea back, only to ultimately lose her again. Merle was also killed by the Governor.

Fast forward some and things were starting to settle again. Real happiness and peace seemed to be within reach and the sickness started. Not wanting to lose anymore of her family, Carol made the hard choice to do something to try to stop it from spreading and put down a too far gone David and Karen. She carried the secret for a while, had to put down her friend Ryan and become the reluctant adoptive mother of Lizzie and Mika, and then Rick figured things out. He took her on a mission, passed his unilateral judgment, and left her on the side of the road like trash.

Now, Carol has never been shown to be unfeeling. Never. She didn't react with histrionics but she was hurt deeply with Rick's way of handling the situation. Still. That didn't stop her from going back at the first hint of trouble for her family and what did she find?

She found the whole place in ruins and thought her entire family was dead until she happened upon Tyreese and the girls.

I don't have to go through the painful details of Lizzie and Mika. Anybody that has ever loved the character of Carol Peletier and/or afforded her an inkling of unbiased understanding knows how much the Grove gutted her.

Then there was Terminus and getting her family back again, only to feel like an outsider. Finding Beth and witnessing her pay for her childish impulsiveness in such a cruel way. Trying to bring Daryl back from the brink of losing a child himself when Lizzie and Mika and what happened still haunted her. When the only other person that was haunted by Lizzie and Mika died so tragically so soon, how do you think she felt? Hmm?

They get to Alexandria and she took to hiding herself and her emotions behind masks and distance.

She met Sam and echoes of her own abusive past rise up to confront her. Sam ultimately met a grisly end. Morgan arrived and honed in on her like some kind of morality police, constantly picking at the scabs of the wounds that just wouldn't heal.

By the time Denise was murdered and the kill floor happened, Carol was thisclose to breaking. To just giving in. And guess who swooped in again?

I won't keep going on in detail because this has already turned into a novella.

But Carol has suffered inordinately under these writers' pens.

Aside from the people I've already mentioned (more than enough to drive any sane person to break), she also lost Glenn and Abraham, Sasha, Noah, Carl, Benjamin, Enid and Tara and finally Henry.

Henry.

Tell me. If it had been Judith on one of those pikes, would there be any acceptable limit to the vengeance doled out by the likes of Michonne and Daryl, possibly even Carol herself?

I don't think so.

In fact, I think any or all three of the characters would have been praised for the lengths they would go. Particularly Michonne.

But Carol's efforts are too much?

Paint everybody with the same brush or admit to your own bias. Stop persecuting a particular character and her fans because you just don't prefer her. Everybody's welcome to have their own favorites. I'm certainly not here o police anybody on that. The objections roll in when the demonization starts because from where I stand, as a fan of both the remaining originals and Michonne? It's just not warranted.

Anyway, let me climb back out of that long and winding rabbit hole to reiterate my original point, lol.

Bring on the angst and the arguments if need be. It's past time for all the feelings, and I do mean all the feelings to be voiced.

That is all.

Goodnight.

#ignore this if you want #I'm feverish #hahaha #I'm not even going to tag it any further #for reasons

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cmncisspnandmore · 5 years

Text

Mistakes were made, Spencer Reid x Reader.

It hurt to look at him, every glance just pushed the icy dagger further into your broken heart.

It felt like just yesterday you sat down on the couch from a long day at work and he came in and broke your heart.

*flashback to 2 months ago*

Spencer walked into the room, his black cardigan pulled tightly around him, and he took a seat on the coffee table in front of you. You were about to share what you had been so anxiously waiting to tell him all day. When you noticed he wasn’t as happy to see you as you were to see him.

“What’s wrong Spence?” You sat forward on the couch, resting your elbows on your knees and grabbed his hand, running your thumbs over his long nimble fingers.

“We need to talk” he mumbled pulling his hands from your grasp; tucking them under his legs, his eyes cast downward.

Anxiety bubbled in your chest, and your knee started to bounce. If there was one thing you hated the most it was sentences like that. Swallowing thickly you nodded, “sure, what’s going on.”

“I’m in love with someone else..” Spencer whispers, and your heart shatters. The physical pain that swarmed in your chest made you take a gasping breath.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter out, clenching your hands, your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands.

“I’ve been talking to this girl… her name is Maeve, we’ve been talking for 4 months. And I’ve fallen in love with her. I’m sorry” Spencer reaches over for your hand, as tears pool in your eyes.

“So this.. this is the end?” You choke out, ripping your hands away from him, and curling in on yourself. Your happy composure cracking like glass.

“I’m sorry Y/n” he stands up, and puts a hand on your hair brushing his fingers through it before he walks out the apartment door.

The lock clicks and then tears cascade down your cheeks like an unruly waterfall. Your chest heaves with sobs. You never got to tell him what you had been holding back all day at work. You laid back on the couch, putting one hand under your head, the other laying flat against your stomach. You laid there and cried until there was nothing left to cry and your head pounded.

You stand up from your couch and walk over to your bag, pulling the box wrapped in blue sparkly paper, and rip it open. With shaky hands you pull out the leather bound journal and flip to the front page where you had spent an hour decorating. You grab the corner of the page and tear it out, you glance at the thick paper.

‘You + Me = Three; Baby Reid EST 2013’

You crumple up the paper and shove it into the trash can, and make your way to the bedroom, where you hope for the sweet escape of sleep.

Standing in the bullpen with the team, you watch as Morgan claps Spencer on the back, telling him that it was good for him to have found someone.

Your eyes prick with tears and you take a deep shaky breath before turning and walking from the room. You make your way to the copy room, and put your hands on the copy machine and try to hold back the tears that are so desperately trying to escape.

“Y/n? You okay?” JJ puts a hand on your arm, shifting the papers she was coming to copy into her left arm.

You nod slowly, trying to return your breathing to normal.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you sniffle and look over at the blonde. Her eyes are full of worry, she knew that you and Spencer didn’t leave on the greatest of terms, but she didn’t think it was this bad.

“You know you can talk to me. Spencer is my best friend, but that doesn’t mean I agree with what he did to you.” She sets the papers down and rubs your arm.

“Oh.. JJ. My life is a mess.” You sob, and JJ frowns, she’s never seen you this upset before and it worried her.

“Tell me what’s going on..” She guides you to a chair in the copy room, and pulls one up in front of you. It’s then that you feel the overwhelming need to finally tell someone what has been going on.

“I-I’m pregnant…” you whisper and for a second JJ isn’t sure she heard you right.

“What?” She sits up, and brushes her hair behind her ear.

“I’m pregnant and it’s Spencer’s..” You our your head in your hands, and let the tears fall.

“Does he know?”

“No.. I only found out the day he told me he.. he was in love with her…” you wiped at your eyes furiously.

“Oh y/n, you need to tell him… How far along are you?” She takes you hand and squeezes it gently.

“14 weeks.” You take a deep breath and try to calm down.

JJ pulls you into a bone crushing hug, “it’s better that he know now.”

“I know.. I just can’t.. I can't tell him. I can’t ruin his happiness, no matter what he did to mine.” You shake your head, and JJ runs her hands through her hair. Torn between wanting to punch her best friend and wanting to help you.

“He needs to know, it’s his baby too.” JJ states, her eyes searching your face.

“Who’s having a baby?” Spencer walks around the corner, his brows furrowed.

JJ gives you a sympathetic look, “I’ll go.”

Spencer watches as she walks from the room, confused as to why no one has answered his question.

“Y/n, who’s having a baby? Is it JJ?” He asks, glancing at you.

“No.. not JJ.” You mumble, and try to brush past him, desperate to leave the confined area.

“If it’s not her, then who?” He grabs your arm as you try to walk by and stop in your tracks.

“Just some friend from school.” You tug your arm free, and make your way to Hotchs office. Spencer watches you climb the stairs to his office, still confused as to where you are going.

You knock on Hotchs door, and he waves you in from his desk.

“Y/n, what can I do for you.” He smiles, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

“I’m leaving.” You pick at a loose thread, on your skirt.

“Let’s talk about this.” Hotch leans back in his chair, and lets you explain why you’re leaving. You tell him about your pregnancy and how you need to get away for the safety of your baby and your own mental health. Hotch tried to get you to stay and you deny all his offers. Intent on getting out of the bau before anyone else catches on. Eventually Hotch relents, and lets you go, promising you that if you ever want your job back that you have it. With one last nod you leave, grab all your stuff from your desk and say goodbye to the team, not going into detail. Just saying that you need to take some time off. They all expected you to come back in a week or so, but you didn’t.

*4 months later*

You were walking home from the grocery store, having to stop more frequently now that you were almost 7 months pregnant. It took a lot to walk for few short blocks to your apartment from the grocery store. You glanced up at the setting sun, and someone ran right into you, causing you to drop the few bags you were carrying.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.” The man who bumped into profusely apologized. You lean down and attempt to grab the bags that had spilled onto the sidewalk.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about.” You manage to grab one of the handles with the tips of your fingers.

“Y/n…. is that you.” The voice asks, and it hits you just how familiar it sounds.

“Hi… Spencer…” you stand up straight and he looks at you, his eyes wide. He takes in your protruding stomach and something in his mind clicks.

“It.. it was you.” He whispers, he sounds almost horrified.

“Yeah it was me.” You swallow hard, fingers picking at the plastic strap of the bag.

“He’s one lucky man..” he trails off, and you take in his sunken eyes and tired expression.

“Yeah.. I guess. I’m not so lucky, he doesn’t know and I’m sure he’ll want nothing to do with it. He’s happy with another girl.” You tuck your hair back, and tap your foot anxiously. You hadn’t spoken to him since the day you left the BAU.

“Oh I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay. Anyway how’s Maeve?” You ask trying to change the subject.

“She.. she um died. But yeah, when are you due?” He takes a deep breath and shoves his hand down into his pockets.

“Uh about 10 weeks.”

“Oh…” he trails off, and you start to lean back down to collect the runaway groceries. Spencer was smart and if you stayed there any longer he would surely put the timeline together.

“Wait… we broke up 6 months ago…” you can almost hear the gears in his head turning, and panic courses through your veins.

“Is.. is the baby… is it mine?” He asks tears in his eyes. You can do nothing but nod, as your own tears start to form. You hated crying, but since he left you. It was something you found yourself doing more and more.

He grabs you and pulls you into a hug and you both stand there on the sidewalk crying, holding onto each other for dear life.

“I want to be here for you..” He whispers and looks down at you, holding you a small distance away from him by your shoulders. You glance up through your tears, and let out a broken laugh. One that cuts Spencer deeply, he should’ve done something he should’ve tried to get in contact with you after you left.

“Okay…” you whisper, and he leans down and kisses you softly, and even though he gave you no indication that you were going to get back together. You felt in your heart that you were going to be okay again and you would both fix the broken pieces of your hearts together.

#spencer x y/n #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer x you #spencer x reader #criminal minds #pregnancy #angst #fluff #jj #spencer reid #spencer #reid

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srawesleyghuewrites · 6 years

Text

You Don’t Have to Fight Anymore - Chapter 5(Extra)

Series: You don’t have to fight anymore(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4)

For desktop users: masterlist

For mobile users: mobile masterlist

Pairing: Cal x Mare

Book: Red Queen

Faceclaim: Matthew Daddario as Cal Calore and Lindsey Morgan as Mare Barrow

Word Count: ~ 2,700

Rating: M for language

Prompt:

Maven captured Mare and Cal again, his obsession taking a much darker path when Cal’s fate interferes in his plans. But what if Maven isn’t even the their worst problem? In a crazy night, safety seems like the furthest but still he finds himself at the safest place in the world.

Author’s Note:

HELLO PEOPLE

SOOOOO, here I’m bringing to life the extra angst/fluff PUNtastic extra chapter for the finished series “You don’t have to fight anymore”. It’s a chapter that was incredible to write and I loved every minute of it so I hope you’ll all agree with me(send feedback so that I’ll know)!!!

This officially ends the series and I gotta say it was a pleasure writing about these characters that I love, I might have something else planned for my couple so keep checking because maybe soon I’ll have news about it disclosed on my Tumblr.

Forgive me for any mistakes AND I think the tags are freaking finally working!!!! *yells excitedly*

Always let me know if you wanna in or out of my tag list and I hope you enjoy it!

@marecalrandomstuff, @darlingod, @war-storm, @samanthaslytherin, @starsabovenewsoulss, @inopinion, @niinazenikk, @calmareforever, @lilyharvord, @queeniriscygnet, @evngelinesmos, @clarafarleybarrow, @aarcherons, @spookymareshmallow, @calorelove, @tiberiascalore, @marecal-trash, @choosemarecal, @quiteliterallyinthis, @nikkiwhitesidesx, @scxrletguardsdawn, @fandxms-uniite, @nxyatr, @daryanavid, @artemishdp, @pinky-saltyocean, @lil-taco-kid, @i-am-the-diana-farley

Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me I just borrow them from Victoria Aveyard!

PUNtastic Adventures

Cal Calore

Mare.

She is static, her gaze focused on what seems to be recently polished royal heels, the expression on her face is a conundrum. Someone appears next to her and she immediately turns to look at him, from where I’m standing at the gap in the door it’s only possible to see his silhouette but I recognize him as soon as I hear the cold voice.

Maven.

“I still can’t believe that you’re here.”

His arms look pale when compared to hers and he touches her shoulders cautiously, getting closer to her and making it accessible for me to clearly watch his next move, and I wonder if he knows I’m here. The hand that holds her shoulder slips to her rosy cheek and caresses it, Mare doesn’t hesitate like I would expect her to do, if possible she leans her face even closer to his hand.

“I didn’t thought you would find us.”

Mare says with uncertainty in her tone, the hands shaking slightly under his touch and her eyes never leaving his deep blue.

“Mare, don’t be a fool. For you and my traitor brother, I would go until the end of the world.”

“And what are you going to do to him?”

“Are you worried about Cal?”

The sharp way the words leave his mouth shows that they are a clear threat, I try to warn Mare in some way, however nothing comes out of my mouth.

“Of course not! You know that the only person who matters is,” she gets closer to him and puts both of her hands in Maven’s chest, caressing it while she smiles and completes with: “you.”

I close my eyes when she closes the distance between them in a kiss because something inside of me burns, and maybe for the first time the flames don’t feel like power, they feel like pain.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

I quickly open my eyes again, in time to see Mare’s eyes widen as she separates from him and asks: “What?”

“In fact, I think the job was already done this morning.”

Maven speaks naturally, I can see a deep pride inside his cold stare as he says the words words but his expression changes when he notices her panicked face.

“You… killed… Cal?”

Her eyes are filled with tears and her gaze seems more broken than ever, my first instinct is to run in her direction and show her that I’m alive, yet my body stands motionless.

“I thought you didn’t care about him.”

“I…”

She sinks to her knees, landing on her bouffant gown and hiding her face in her hands to muffle her cries.

“Mare.”

I whisper is the only sound I can vocalize and it breaks my heart to see her like that.

“Pull yourself together!”

Mare gets up and stares at him, the tears painting her face when she screams at him.

“YOU COULDN’T DO THAT! YOU COULDN’T KILL HIM! YOU’RE A MONSTER!”

Both of their gaze is fixed in one another, the anger boiling just below their surface and the next thing I see is Maven slapping strongly Mare’s face.

“MARE!”

I scream even though my voice is gone, trying desperately understand why the hell can’t I do anything. Maybe Maven did kill me and I’m just a ghost?

“Put yourself in your place and learn to respect me, everything I did was for you. For your own good.”

“MY OWN GOOD? YOU LEFT ME AT THE BOWL OF BONES TO DIE AND IF IT WASN’T FOR CAL...”

At the mention of my name another wave of tears falls on her cheeks and I can see the sparks rising on her fingertips.

“IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME THAT YOU PAY FOR EVERYTHING YOU DID.”

Before she can hurt Maven with her lightning he takes two handcuffs from behind his suit, it doesn’t take long for both of us to recognize the Silent Stone cuffs when he locks it on her hands.

“I didn’t intend to use them but you forced me, I’m so sorry dear.”

Maven reaches to cup her cheek but Mare’s quicker and dives from his touch, the anger written on her chipped her lips.

“I WON’T SURRENDER. YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO KILL ME TOO IF YOU THINK AFTER EVERYTHING I’LL ACCEPT ANY AFFECTION FROM YOU!”

He gives her another slap, this time so hard that it makes her face turn red right away. I punch the door in front of me but nothing moves, no sounds are heard and I begin to think it’s all in my head.

“YOU’LL TAKE WHATEVER I WANT MARE.”

Maven grabs her arms strongly, crushing them until they turn bright red and tries to touch her lips. She gives in a little bit, growing closer to his mouth, and just before their lips can touch Mare spits on his face.

“I think you don’t know me well then.”

There’s a hint of a smile on my face as I’m once again surprise by Mare Barrow’s incredible strength. Unlike me, Maven doesn’t appreciate the gesture and squashes her arms again, throwing her body against the cold palace floor. His hand closes into a fist and he punches her face.

“NO!”

The inertia is driving me crazy and I fight with all my strength to help her but every second I feel more and more stuck. Mare’s still laying on the floor, trying to gain her stamina back to get up when he kicks her stomach and slaps her face one more time, leaving a cut on her face that exposes her red blood.

“MARE!”

My screams don’t have any effect and it’s like I’m in a personal hell, seeing him hurt her and not be able to do anything to help her almost kills me.

“YOU… CAN… TRY… AS… HARD… AS… YOU… WA...NT!”

Mare screams as blood drops from her cut and now from her coughing mouth, Maven probably kicked her too hard near her chest. She won’t last long if Maven continues with this and I’m suddenly relieved when someone opens the door and says:

“What’s going on here?”

Relief passes quickly as it came when I realize who the voice belong to. Elara. Yes, this is definitely my personal hell.

“Mother. I was just informing Mare about my brother’s death and she doesn’t seem to be taking the news very well.”

He smirks to the tall blonde that now comes nearer Mare, her silver finger lingers close to the bruise on Mare’s face and she stains her fingertips with red blood.

“Well, as much as I enjoy torturing red blood rats, I don’t believe your information is correct.”

“What do you mean with that, mother?”

Elara rises her gaze from a fallen and now a very shocked Mare to a very angry Maven, who taps his foot nervously on the ground. Her manipulative smile is present as she speaks softly:

“Killing him would not be punishment enough, but watching this might be.”

Something inside of me clicks the minute I hear the words and I painfully understand what’s happening. They stand in silence for a while, probably wondering if Elara is completely crazy, Maven hating her for not killing me and Mare appearing to be relieved until the queen talks again.

“But why don’t we ask him that, shall we? Tiberias you’re allowed to come in.”

The pride is so clear in those ice blue eyes when she stares directly at me and the strings that just a minute ago tied my body force me to enter the room, causing Mare to get up fast and run in my direction.

“Are you o-ok?”

She touches my arm to make sure I’m real and I brush my thumb against her cheek carefully because of the cut, however I know there isn’t time to cuddle her so I pull her in for a hug and whisper: ‘Run’.

“He’s fine dear, for now.”

“Mother, what are you doing?”

Mare holds me tighter, her small hands squeezing me closer to her and separating far too fast, but if that means she’ll run out of the danger I’m actually glad. When my eyes meet hers I know she’s not leaving me, and I’m not the only one because Maven throws a fireball in our direction, luckily I’m able to catch it fast enough so it doesn’t hurt her.

“You’ll see in a minute, child.”

Elara walks slowly in Maven’s direction, standing at his side she finally turns to me, the same evil smirk spread across her face as it did the night she made me kill my own father.

Mare.

“You have to go, now.”

“The star of the show can’t go anywhere.”

I feel a tingle in the back of my mind and I comprehend that it’s her entering my head, that’s why I squeeze Mare’s hand.

“Mare, GO AWAY NOW.”

“Have you ever seen me run from a fight?”

“Oh dear, there won’t be any fights tonight. Tiberias is simply gonna finish what he already started.”

“NO!”

I growl at her because my voice is already chained to her and once again I’m trapped inside my head, fighting like hell to escape her claws.

“Tiberias, I kept the sword you used the last time, thought maybe it would bring a comfort sensation to you. Now, grab it…. and kill Mare.”

“What?”

Maven says and tries to take a step in our direction but his mother holds his shoulder, squeezing in it in order for him to look at her. I don’t know what she tells him because I’m already holding the sword and walking towards Mare, every fiber of my body screaming and fighting but not being much successful.

“MARE. RUN. NOW.”

Her intense gaze meets mine and I can see the tears already forming in our eyes. She runs away from me but ends up in front of a completely locked door, with all her bruises it takes her a while to kick it open and Elara’s voice forces me get even closer to her.

I notice that neither Elara or Maven are following us, still I can feel her presence inside my mind, making me lift the sword in Mare’s direction as she tries to run faster. Mare has always been a good runner, except that this time she’s hurt and almost without strength after kicking over four doors already.

“Son of a bitch.”

The door doesn’t move even as she kicks it several times and Elara’s power is stronger in my mind, I finally reach Mare and the tears start falling from my eyes knowing what happens next. My worst nightmare coming true right in front of my eyes.

“Cal, it’s me. It’s me.”

I press her at the door, locking her between my body and the solid wood as she tries to push me away.

“Please Cal, you have to fight it! Fight her, for me.”

My voice is gone again and I struggle hardly to stop my arm from lifting, she holds my hand and pushes the sword away from her chest. The blood on her face becoming mixed with sweat from running, I try closing my eyes but Elara sends a clear command ‘watch her die’.

When the sword enters her chest and red blood starts pouring out of if, Mare’s face goes pale and she falls into my arms. My tears touch her face and Mare holds my hand strongly, whispering with the last of her strength:

“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. It’s ok. I love you.”

“Ma-a-are. I’m… so-o-orry. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

Something inside of me breaks and I sob when her eyes close before me, the life leaving her body slowly as does mine. One last scream comes out from deep inside my chest: ‘MARE!’

“Cal. Cal. Cal!”

I jolt awake, the sweat and the tears blurring my vision as I feel a body pressed against mine, small hands pressing my chest in a calming way. Her lips are the first thing I see, slightly parted and as red as her blood, almost to tempting so I shift my gaze to her own. The brown eyes are searching mine with a sentiment that I’ve seen so little times in her, especially about me: worry.

It takes a couple of minutes for me to stop gasping and I take deep breaths, watching her hand rise and fall in sync with my chest. Mare isn’t not used to caressing people and I know that by the way she shakes beside me, the intense gaze never leaving my face and I smile faintly in her direction, glad that she’s here and that the nightmare wasn’t real.

“Are you ok?”

Mare has a sleepy voice, she rubs her eyes and sits straight yet never creating any distance between us. My fingertips brush her cheek, lingering in her smooth and warm skin as she gives into the touch, her movement reminds me of the nightmare and I shut my eyes closed to ignore the flashes in my head.

“Hey, I’m here.”

“You’re here? You... You’re safe?”

Feels like I’m still dreaming as the words leave my mouth, the pain and the life leaving her eyes are too clear for me to focus on anything rational for a while. Mare’s breathing is steady and someway I think she wants to calm me, the brown deep eyes shining in the dim light as her gaze finally finds my confused one.

“We’re safe.”

It’s just a whisper now and she presses her forehead to mine, using her hand to caress the back of my neck and bring me closer. For once in a long time I let myself relax, opening my eyes to find the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen staring back at me, our lips only inches apart and a tiny smile on the corner of her lips.

“I’m right here Cal.”

Her nose touches mine and she stands like that for a while, we both close our eyes and just enjoy being so close after a long time being apart. The room is silent, only the light of a candle illuminates the space and I can feel Mare’s breath over my lips, causing a sentiment I never thought would feel again emerge to the surface: I feel safe.

With her this close to me I lean in and capture her lips in a gentle kiss, remembering how amazing it feels to have them pressed against mine, I can feel safe again and something tells me it’s because I know that she’s safe. At least for now.

“Feeling better?”

There’s a cocky smirk in her face as I open my eyes, giving her peck on the lips before Mare can create distance between us. Her hand’s still on my chest and I enjoy the opportunity to put mine over hers, interlacing our fingers.

“Definitely. But you don’t have to worry because it was just a night-mare.”

I say the last word with a chuckle and Mare sighs, throwing her head back with disbelief but the corner of her mouth twitches in a smile.

“I expected more from you, you know? I’m pretty sure a silver noble shouldn’t talk like a child.”

She chuckles but notices the tension building because of her word choice, since I’m no longer a silver noble, I don’t even know what I’m anymore. Realizing her mistake she squeezes my hand and I decide to give her the proper punishment.

“Are you cal-ling me a child Mare?”

“Will you ever stop?”

“Yes, of course I will. You just have to give me some mare-it for the great puns.”

Mare kisses me again, this time her lips come crashing into mine and her tongue plays with mine in a heated kiss. When we’re out of breath we finally separate, her hungry gaze fitting mine but soon it’s replaced with a sleepy one and I remember that I woke her up in the middle of the night.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“No problem, what was the nightmare about?”

“Elara… made me… hurt…. you.”

My chest burns with the images and the words come out in hoarse whispers, her reaction is to make me lay down again and rest her head against my chest. Her free hand tracing circles on my arm as she closes her eyes and says in a sweet way:

“You would never do that. And you’re safe, we’re safe. Together.”

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