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piratesfromspace · 3 years

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The Nightmare (Mandalorian x Cobb Vanth x Reader)

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Cobb Vanth x Reader

Summary: Reader has a pretty awful and vivid nightmare involving Din, Cobb and them being kidnapped. Comfort ensues.

This story is part 3 of my series “A Mandalorian, a Marshal, and some complicated feelings”. You can read part 1 here: “Two saviors and some hope” and part 2 here: Five Times. I strongly advise you read them first!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: detailed description of violence, blood, threat of sexual violence (but no actual), threat of slavery

A/N: Neutral pronouns for reader but they are perceived as feminine by the villain (no specific description of Reader's body). English is not my native language, please be kind. Fic also available on ao3.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 Part 2

“On your knees.”

You fall on your knees on the cold steel floor of the ship. You don’t really remember how you ended up here, the only thing that you know is that the hand that pushed you down is now grabbing a fistful of your hair to have you raise your head. It’s an order more than an invitation, the pressure on your neck on the brink of becoming unbearable at any moment.

Your captor is towering above you, dark-blue skin and mean red eyes looking at you with something dark in them. You struggle against his grip, but it’s useless and you know it. Your hands are tightly bound behind your back. You’re already hurting all over, the taste of blood and despair in your mouth. He finally lets go of your hair, and your head falls limply on your chest.

“I told you I couldn’t wait to put a new chip in your brain, right? Well let’s get on with this.” You can guess the cruel smile on his face, the disturbing way he seems to be enjoying all of this way too much. “Hold her down.”

Two of his thugs grab your shoulders and upper arms, preventing you from going anywhere. You feel his own hand grab your neck, and the touch of his bare slimy skin against yours sends a chill of disgust through your whole body. The cold device bumps into your neck, just above his fingers, and as a wave of terror hits you, you feel a sharp pinch followed by an awful sensation of burn slowly spreading in your nape.

“So? Wasn’t that bad, was it?”

He removes the metallic device and lets it fall on a nearby tray with a theatrical clatter. Tears are filling your vision with the realization that all you’ve done up until now, trying to survive and build a new life for you, all of this was for nothing. You’re a prisoner again, with a freaking tracker chip stuck to your skull.

“Now, what else did I promise back in this small alley…” He circles you slowly, like a freaking loth-wolf playing with his prey before killing it - or worse .

“Oh yeah, I think I mentioned your two little friends.” He crouches in front of you, forcing you to look at his face. His pupils are blown wide, two orbs of blackness in a glowing sea of lava-red. “So I think we should welcome them then, what do you say?”

It’s like he’s speaking about actual friends, and his casualness becomes more and more terrifying as you’re living, helpless, your own demise.

With a quick move of his hand, he signals his crew and a few seconds later, the door in front of you slides open. Your jaw goes slack as you watch half a dozen of the slaver’s men bringing in the Marshal and the Mandalorian. Despite their hands bound and the chains linking their ankles, even visibly exhausted by what should have been a long and gruesome fight, the criminals are having a hard time containing them both. They are coerced into kneeling, strongly held back by your captor’s henchmen, facing you.

“No, no, no, no...” it’s a whisper at first, but it becomes a scream you cannot hold back. Through your tears, you can see the dried blood in Cobb’s beard, the mess of mud and dark unknown fluids on the rare pieces of beskar still on Din’s body. You're almost relieved to find he still has his helmet on, even though the black glass of the visor is visibly cracked.

A blue hand is suddenly splayed across your mouth and chin, shutting you up.

“Shh shh, that’s how you say hello to your friends? Not very nice!”

In a reckless reaction, you withdraw from his hold in a quick move of your head and bite his nearby fingers with all the strength left in you. He jerks back, cursing, holding his injured hand while a few droplets of blood trickle on his clothes. You don’t have the time to savor your little victory before the strength of his blow forces your face to the side. You kinda knew there was going to be a backlash, and you don’t regret it. Your cheek was already bruised anyway.

“You’ll regret this.” he growls through gritted teeth.

You hear him rummaging behind you, probably trying to swipe his hand clean from the blood on it. Good luck with that.

“Well, where were we? Oh. Right. My mark. Bring me my tool.” he snaps his fingers impatiently and one of his goons brings him what looks like a branding iron. The end of it is star-shaped, and you can see sparks running around the metallic edge, ready to burn his mark into your flesh.

You start trashing against the hands that hold you down, a vain attempt to escape what’s coming next. You’re not the only one struggling though, Cobb and Din trying to break free as well.

“Let them go!” Mando’s voice, usually steady, sounds desperate “The bounty put on my head by the Hutts, I bet it’s high enough, you don’t need to keep them. You don’t need to keep him either.” he says with a nod of his head toward Cobb. “If you free them, I’ll promise I’ll let you deliver me to whoever offers the highest reward.”

“Din, no, please...” Cobb seems to be on the verge of crying.

The Chiss seems to be gauging the offer. The smile on his face grows bigger and he finally speaks, looking thrilled.

“That’s an interesting offer, Mandalorian.” his smile changes into a mockery of a pout. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. See, I’m sure I’ll be able to get a very good price for your girlfriend here. Look, almost as pretty as a Twi’Lek! She’s worth some credits for sure... even more so if I trade her as a pleasure slave.” He says this part with a nasty grin, deliberately taunting the men who were supposed to protect you, like you weren’t even there. For him it’s not about you, it’s about getting revenge for that one time they freed you. You’re just a pawn in his little game. Anger joins the atrocious cocktails of emotions you’re already feeling. Of course, both Din and Cobb battle against their shackles and the men trying to contain them, letting out threats you all know they can’t follow up on.

“Enough of this.” The Chiss barks. “Now before we begin, one more thing, Mandalorian. I would not want for you to miss anything because of a broken visor.” He turns to the two guards in the back of the room. “Remove his helmet.”

You shriek, and as unholy hands grab the beskar, you close your eyes. Cobb’s yelling is breaking your heart, you hear metal clatters, fabric being ripped, the muffled thud of a blow in the gut. You squeeze your eyes even harder, you don’t want to know what’s really happening, don’t want to see Din’s face, not like this. Of course you had already imagined seeing what he looked like, but on his own terms, when and if he wanted to, not forced by some evil brute.

“Oh come on, open your eyes woman, I’m sure you want to see.” You shake your head. Your captor starts losing patience. “Open your eyes, or you won’t have any left” he threatens, his fist grabbing your hair again.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He tugs so painfully at your scalp, you’re so scared, you’re so lost, you finally give up and open your eyes. Your vision is blurry but your gaze falls immediately on Din’s face. He’s handsome despite the sweat and the dark traces of blood smearing his face, features almost like you had imagined them. He’s looking at the floor, livid, and you can’t even fathom the hurt and the shame of the humiliation to be exposed like this, on top of being unable to prevent both of his lovers from getting hurt.

“Yoo too, look at him!” Your tormentor is next to Cobb now, almost strangling him, trying to make him follow his order. The Marshal makes a series of desperate noises, gasping for air, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Stop it, please! Please...” The distress in Din’s voice is gut-wrenching. It’s the first time you hear him plead for mercy.

“It’s okay, Cobb, do as he says, it’s okay, I swear.” Cobb probably knows it’s not okay, and that the reassuring words are nothing but a way for Mando to try stopping the arm done to him. But he has no choice than to listen and he finally looks at him.

You can read the word sorry on Cobb’s lips when his eyes meet Din’s.

“You all are a bit stubborn, for Maker’s sake.” Your captor looks slightly upset. “But we’re not done yet.” He comes back behind you, and takes his branding tool while the guards holding you slice open the back of your shirt with a vibroblade. You can hear the device buzz to life behind the protests of your two beloved and the voice of the Chiss.

“You better stay still for your own sake.”

You can’t think of a reply because the tip of the iron touches your skin, just next to your right shoulder blade, and the pain eats away all your thoughts. It hurts like hell and more. You try to squirm away from the device in a gut-reaction. But it’s worse. You want to scream but there is not enough air into your lungs and it feels like you can’t take any more breaths. Your vision is filled with dark spots and you’re sure you’re gonna faint any second.

That’s when you wake up.

With a small gasp, drenched in sweat, out of breath. The room is dark and quiet. You silently slip out of the bed, heading for the refresher and trying not to disturb the two men peacefully sleeping next to you.

You put your head under the faucet, letting the cold water run on your face, fingers rubbing your skin, like you’re trying to erase the memories of the nightmare.

Kriff, what is wrong with me?

There is a soft knock on the door.

“You ok sweetheart?” Cobb’s voice is still hoarse with sleep.

You let the door slide open to reveal your Marshal, tall and handsome with his messy grey hair. The familiar figure warms your mood more than you expected.

“Just a nightmare.”

“Like the usual ones?”

“Not… really.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Mmm” it’s not a yes, neither a no.

“Want to go back to bed?” he tries tentatively.

“I don’t think I can sleep right now. The suns are gonna start rising anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m not sleepy either.” you know it’s a blatant lie because Cobb had been yawning non-stop since the beginning of your conversation.

“I’ll go make us some caf. And then we can even watch the sunrise if you’d like.” He adds with a kind smile. You appreciate the offer nonetheless.

“Join me when you want, honey.” he turns his heels to leave but you stop him in his way.

“Cobb?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have a hug?”

He lets out a chuckle and takes you in his arms. You melt into the warmth of his body, your head resting on the solid plane of his chest. He leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead before heading to the kitchen.

When you join him, he’s already on the small deck in front of his house, and he hands you a steaming mug of sugary caf. You sit on the bench, next to him, and he wraps an arm around you, his hand resting on your waist. You sip on the hot drink, tongue almost burning, letting it ground you in the moment. The air is just warm, not as cold as during the night, not yet as scorching as during the day. The two suns are lazily rising above the horizon, the sky all sorts of pinkish colors.

“You know, this nightmare, it was… It felt so real.”

He hums in approbation, doesn’t want to interrupt you.

“Remember when I told you what he said that night in Mos Eisley?”

No more details are needed for him to understand who and what you’re talking about.

“Well, everything he said… it happened in my nightmare. He captured me. And you, and Din.”

“Hey, it’s over now, ‘was just a bad dream. I won’t let anyone hurt the people I love, I promise.”

He tucks you closer against him and you know he means it. You clear your throat, hesitant to go on.

“The worst wasn’t the pain, wasn’t even when he mentioned he would sell me to a brothel or something, it was when he removed Din’s helmet and he forced us to watch.”

You needed to let this detail out of your system. You leave out the part involving a star-shaped mark, at least for now, because you know Cobb is wearing one on his back and you don't want to bring back more bad memories.

Cobb’s fingers are clenching against your hips. He sighs.

“I’m sorry you had to experience this, love. I know how dreams can seem so vivid, it’s legit traumatizing. Please wake me up next time, I don’t care if I’m having the best sleep of my life, I want you to feel safe, always. I’ll do anything you need me to.”

“I know.” you whisper, letting your head fall on his shoulder.

You take another sip of the delicious liquid out of your cup, and as the light of the two suns is slowly casting the streets of Mos Pelgo into an orange glow, warming up the sand and your skin, you feel like the shadow of your nightmare is finally retreating, burnt away by the new dawn.

#star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #cobb vanth x reader #cobb vanth x din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #reader insert #gen reader #the mandalorian x cobb vanth x reader #din djarin x cobb vanth x reader #polyamory #tw nightmares #ptsd #cobb vanth imagine

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isingonly4myangel · 4 years

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You asked for prompts, so here is one: Hilda organizes a dance at the Academy of Unseen Arts to lift people’s spirits. Zelda begrudgingly attends. Everything is fine until a cheeky young warlock asks her to dance, and she has a flashback to being under Faustus’ spell.

Yikes, well this only took me more than a year to answer. Nothing like a mandatory quarantine to force you into working on pieces you haven’t touched in ages! Anyway, this is set after part 2, so we’re still in a sweet spot of potential before part 3 happened. First CAOS story, would love to hear people’s thoughts!

Also, in case anyone is interested, the piece they dance to is “Melting Waltz” by Abel Korzeniowski. Yes, I like my horror tv shows :)

Below the line, because Faustus Blackwood is an ass, and- ya know- trauma

The dance had been Hilda’s idea. Since the whole Satan fiasco, morale amongst the remainder of the coven had been low. Very low. Hilda, ever the caretaker, tried everything to lift people’s spirits. Once baked goods had failed, even with enchantment, she began to plan for the dance.

A week or two prior, Zelda had contacted the High Priests of two covens in New York City that had a reputation for being more liberal in their beliefs, to inform them of what had happened in Greendale. Both men had accepted her as the first High Priestess in history with relative ease, and though she was reluctant to show it, Zelda was delighted. So when creating a guest list, Hilda had written to them with a dual invitation for a face-to-face meeting as well as an evening of socialization with the Greendale coven.

Expecting the remaining members of the Greendale coven to be joined by a dozen or so members of the New York covens, Hilda spent days decorating and baking. Two days before the event, she and Zelda stood in the main hall at the Academy, making minor adjustments to decorations.

“What’ll we do about that… thing?” Hilda asked, gesturing to the statue in the centre of the space, now missing its head. It was one of only two tangible marks of Faustus Blackwood’s brief and twisted domain over the Church of Night, the other being his office within the building. Zelda had begun to clear it out the previous week, but had left almost as soon as she entered. She could not stand his lingering scent.

In response to Hilda’s question, the ginger-haired witch merely raised her left hand, palm facing the statue, and Hilda turned to look at Zelda as she felt her sister’s magic surge through the room. Slowly at first, but then with increasing speed, the neck of the statue began to melt. Dark grey droplets formed, dripping from the statue’s throat down to its shoulders. Before long, stone flowed as liquid, the statue becoming misshapen, drooping as it disintegrated.

Once the statue was no more than a large puddle of grey sludge, it suddenly errupted into flames. Zelda took a drag off the cigarette in its holder on her right hand, watching the remains of the statue evaporate.

“Well,” Hilda broke the silence as the last of the puddle burned away. “I suppose that’s that.” She began, somewhat awkwardly, to sneak out of the room around her sister. Zelda methodically exhaled a cloud of smoke before flicking the ashes of her cigarette in the swiftly shrinking puddle. Then the redhead turned on her heel and sauntered out, feeling somewhat lighter.

The evening was lovely. The hall of the Academy was alive with light and sound. Candles on each wall and hovering overhead created a sophisticated and appropriately spooky embiance. Music reverberated softly through the space, somehow smoothly alternating between classical orchestrations, jazz band recordings, and modern pop songs for the younger generation.

Sabrina sat on the staircase surrounded by her schoolmates, the red silken fabric of her skirt draped over the stairs. Her mortal friends had joined the coven for the occasion, mingling with the Academy students around Sabrina. Hilda played hostess as she made her way in cheerful circles around the room to ensure that every guest was contented, the neckline of her blue dress cut just a little lower than previous dresses (at her sister’s encouragement). Zelda was every inch the High Priestess. Her fiery hair was pinned up, her dress a formal black, pointed at her shoulders and at the ends of her long sleeves, partially covering the backs of her hands. Her nails were a deep, blood red matching the jewels of her earrings and the color painting her lips. She stood in a cluster of warlocks, trading ideas on numerology, quietly pleased that things seemed to be going so well. Their guests appeared to be enjoying themselves, and Zelda felt respected, listened to, equal with the men she stood amongst. It made for a very welcome change.

The music shifted into a haunting waltz, a minor-keyed orchestration full of strings. The warlock on Zelda’s left extended an upturned hand to her, the gesture holding a certain air of ceremony. He made quite a picture with his gold suit jacket, along with gold rings on his fingers, eyes lined in the same color, and nails painted to match. So much gold laid against his dark skin created quite a striking effect. “Might I ask you for a dance, High Priestess?” he questioned with a charming smile. Zelda raised an eyebrow, almost as though she were evaluating him before replying.

“Very well,” she murmured after a moment’s pause, placing her hand in his outstretched one. He led her to the centre of the room where other dancing couples had begun to pick up the waltz tempo, and pulled her gracefully into a dance frame with a hand on her back, leaving her free hand to rest on his shoulder. As the music rose, he stepped forward and began to lead.

They were a very elegant pair, and other couples drifted to the outskirts of the dancing space to allow them more room. A number of conversations around the room fell silent as people turned to watch.

“You dance beautifully, High Priestess,” he spoke as she followed his change of direction with ease, flashing her that same lovely smile.

“Thank you, Brother Ethan. It was one of my favorite pastimes a century or two ago, I did quite a lot of it. All those marvelous European parties.”

“Oh I know just the ones, somehow the Europeans always throw superior parties. And so many handsome young men,” he added, a wry smile on his lips. Zelda gave a knowing laugh as he raised their connected arms for her to turn under, but as she spun- once, twice- the room seemed almost to tilt under her feet, and she heard the flutter of a skirt that she was not wearing, felt sharpened fingernails pricking the delicate skin of her waist. She was pulled back against the warlock, and she desperately tried to focus on his tightly curled hair, the feeling of the flat of his palm nearly between her shoulder blades, the gold edging his dark eyes, anything to remind her that this was not Faustus.

Breathe, she thought, forcing herself to keep with the rhythm of the music while everything in her screamed to run. Careful to keep her face frozen in a slight smile, she directed all of her attention to inhaling and exhaling evenly in time with the music, counting waltz time in her head. In 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Her feet followed his automatically, and she bit hard on the inside of her lip as he turned her again.

An eternity later, the music came to an end, and she returned his bow with a picture perfect curtsey. “You are truly lovely, Sister Zelda,” spoke her partner as they returned to the side of the room.

Zelda, Blackwood’s voice hissed in her mind, a cruel echo of Ethan’s friendly tone.

“Thank you for the dance, Brother Ethan,” she spoke, digging her fingernails into her palms to stop her hands from shaking. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some-something to attend to.” Without waiting for his response, she turned away from him and started across the room. She managed to keep a sensible- though swift- pace until she stepped into the empty corridor. Her strength disappeared and she broke into a run, undeterred by the height of her heels.

Swinging around the corner, she flung herself at the front doors and stumbled through them, the chilly evening air tearing into her lungs. She flew down the stone steps, no thought to where she was going, only wanting to get as far away as possible. Racing towards the railroad tracks, one foot caught behind her, and suddenly the ground rushed up to meet her, her palms skidding against rough soil and small stones tearing at the knees of her stockings. As she whipped her head around to look behind her, she saw her right shoe standing upright, its heel rooted in the earth. Her breath caught in her chest and a sob ripped from her lips, fingers digging into the dirt in an effort to find something- anything- to hold onto as memories that plagued her nightmares flooded her mind. She sank back on her knees, gasping air into her lungs while her tears left tiny dampened spots on the ground beneath her.

Every thought was disturbingly vivid- the overpowering scent of Faustus’s cologne, the sickly sweet taste of sugared tea, the sharp crack of the cat o’ nine tails against her back, pricks of pain as his sharpened fingernails tore at delicate flesh inside of her until there was blood on the sheets. The maddening knowledge that she was aware of every moment and yet powerless to stop anything.

A hand on her back startled her so that she recoiled from it with a strangled cry, her hip landing hard against the uneven earth. Half-expecting it to be Faustus standing above her, waiting to drag her back to the prison of the music box, she was somewhat bewildered to see Lilith looking down at her, an unfamiliar expression of pity on the face borrowed from Mary Wardwell. Zelda wiped furiously at her cheeks with the back of her hand in a futile attempt to compose herself.

“My Queen,” she spoke, her voice wavering. “What m-”

“I’m not here as your queen,” Lilith cut her off, kneeling beside her despite the dirt. “I could feel you. All the way down in Hell- your body, your magic in distress, your mind practically screaming. Zelda, what’s happened?”

“I-it felt… it felt like F-faustus, when he-he…” A sob bubbled up in her throat and she tried to swallow it, her head dropping in shame at such a display in front of the Queen of Hell. In front of Lilith.

Lilith reached out a gentle hand and placed it lightly against Zelda’s head, brushing fiery hair away from her face. The witch allowed it, leaning in almost imperceptibly to her touch. Wishing to spare her High Priestess any pain she could, the demoness pulsed her magic through her hand and nudged into Zelda’s mind, carefully touching on the recollections at the forefront of her memory. Brushing up against the thoughts, Lilith could see Zelda’s remembrance of the last few minutes in the hall, and of everything she suffered at Faustus’s hand. Her lips parted as she gasped in horror, tears burning in her own eyes to match the redhead’s.

“Oh, Zelda,” she breathed, leaning forward to touch her forehead lightly to the witch’s. “As I am Queen of Hell, I promise that no man will ever hurt you like that again. And when I find Faustus Blackwood, I will drag him screaming into the Pit and I will visit on him pain as he has never known before. He will pay for what he’s done, I promise you.” Lilith tilted her head up to press her lips against Zelda’s brow, sealing her vow with a kiss heated in Hellfire.

Hold me, she heard Zelda’s whispered thought as the witch bit her lip, trying fiercely to hold back tears. Lilith, please. Please hold me. The desperation in the redhead’s mind broke the demoness’s heart as it had not been broken in millennia. She gathered the other woman into an embrace, feeling Zelda’s arms wrap around her waist as she held her tightly. And as the witch sobbed against her chest, finally giving into tears, Lilith began to plot revenge against the man who had brought her High Priestess, trembling, to her knees.

What fun she would have with him. What fun.

#I was gonna end it differently #but I couldn't bring myself to just leave Zelda there #pardon the shameless madam spellman shipping #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina #Zelda spellman #aunt zelda #high priestess #madam satan #lilith #church of lilith #madam spellman #Blackwood sucks #zero spellw*od here #tw #trigger warning #writings

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stevevans · 4 years

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I CAN’T SLEEP - b.b

So,,,,, writing comeback? This also is Marvel timeline off, so ignore that, please. Another thing is I’ve read a similar fic, almost a year ago, but this is heavily inspired by it, I just can’t find it. So if you know please tell me so I can give credit! Last thing, but from now on, any character I write will go under my username and the character until I get enough works for a Masterlist. I hope it helps <3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Insomnia, Violence, Imprisonment, and nightmares. I hope I covered it all, but if you EVER find a trigger I forget to mention, please notify me, I’d hate to trigger or hurt someone unintentionally.

Word Count: 1515

Overview: You remember those eyes, it just takes you time to figure out from where.

It was waking up in a panicked sweat again, another nightmare consuming your whole being. The sheets weighing tons now on your frame. Throwing them off of you, searching the room for any sign of disruption or an unknown threat, your heart rate not decreasing when you couldn’t detect anything. Thoughts ran through your head as you walked to the kitchen, splashing water onto your face, enjoying the feel of reality it gave you. You could almost see your reflection in the metal, configured, twisted.

“Hey-”

Before he could finish you whipped around, flinching at the surprise. He seemed to have noticed before he continued speaking seeing as he almost coiled away.

“I heard your door slam Y/N, I just wanted to check on you.” Bucky, almost a sigh of relief. It was Bucky as you felt the cold metal arm resting on your exposed shoulder. Tank Tops to bed proved easier to handle the nightmares.

He had always been nice to you, ever since you first joined the team as a trainer, everyone swore he was crushing on you, but you only caught soft, almost sad? glances when you two were with the team. You could never pinpoint it, never truly find the word for how he treated you, and you never knew how to treat him truthfully.

You knew he was from Hydra, and everyone seemed to dance on eggshells around him at first. He was looking at you very worriedly as you caught up to his words. He was speaking again, but you couldn’t hear him.

“Are you okay Y/N?” His voice was soft, sincere and as you looked up at him you stumbled back.

You knew those eyes, you knew them very well.

They were the eyes that for years had paraded your dreams, always kind and soft, until one night they were broken, void of everything.

Suddenly you could hear the screams, the terror, your screams. It was all you could hear as you digressed into your locked memories.

“Please don’t take him, please. I promise I’ll be good. I promise!”

They didn’t listen to your pleas, dragging a body out of the cell next to yours. It was almost a sort of sick game the Scientists at HYDRA played, letting you two have just enough room, enough space to talk, get attached and even grip onto each other’s fingertips, they knew.

Letting you two talk, whisper backstories, share memories of family, friends, falling in love even through the torment, the reign of torture.

They realized they could use you against him, use him against you, to force you two to comply while they figured out how to permanently enforce behavior.

It was all a sick game, to make you behave, to make him behave. It was easier, to kill knowing it made him safe, at least for one night.

“‘S okay doll. Promise.” It came out slurred from sleep deprivation and the exhaustion of being constantly tested on. Tears pooling in your eyes, gripping onto your stretched T-shirt, sobs catching in your lungs.

Promises made to be broken as you heard the screams, your hands over your ears.

He was rubbing your arm as you came down from your panic attack, or memory regain. You didn’t know which one it was, almost compelled not to know. It would be easier to block it out if it even was a memory, it seemed so painful.

You could sense his touch, Bucky’s, it wasn’t burning against your skin, it was soft, his calloused fingers daintily running up and down your arm, You were on the floor, your feet planted onto the cold surface, damn Tony for always keeping it so freezing in the Compound.

It took you a little while to remove your hands from your ears as your panic attacked ceased. He never left your side.

“You remember don’t you?”

It was a simple question, your mouth, dry from screaming, lips cracked from always being dehydrated, but you mustered it, even if it came out dry and not above a whisper. You could feel him tense up, even in your detached state, barely conscious, but you felt him tense at you. It hurt, for some reason, you hurt.

“How long have you had the nightmares?” Maybe you heard him say yes to your question, maybe it was no, or maybe you just heard it.

You tried to answer, your throat giving up on you though. He stood up, much to your disagreement. You felt so small, helpless, it felt like you were back in the cell from your dreams, wanting him closer, it made you feel safe.

He was back in a flash though, pressing the edge of a cool glass to your mouth, you hesitantly took it, your hands wrapping around the glass after your first sip. The tap water was so marvelous you had almost forgotten about his question.

“Five years maybe. They weren’t bad, not until recently. Why are you in my dreams? Not your face, but your eyes, your voice.”

He sighed, pulling you closer to his side, his arm now slung over you, his pointer finger tracing shapes into your arm softly.

“I’m not sure,”

He paused, the only thing you could hear is his slow breathing.

“But you’re in mine too. The worst ones are where I can hear you screaming, begging, calling my name, but I’m trapped in this chair and they keep saying it’s going to work this time. Every time I get out, to run to your voice, to save you, I wake up.”

As you looked up at the Winter Soldier it was obvious to see the cracks and lines made from time, so much time, and so much pain. His big baby blues were sad, filled with disappointment, refusing to look at you, taking to stare at the cabinet below the sink.

You had tears in your eyes, leftover from your panic attack you figured, but thoughts clouded your mind. You slowly raised a hand to his cheek, Bringing back more memories you hadn’t known you were suppressing.

“He would go and pick a fight with pretty much everyone, and man was he a shrimp so I would bail him out of it,” Bucky whispered, joining in on your hushed laughter. Nobody suspected your laughter, overpowered by screams, or either they didn’t care. Some of the guards were brutish, not giving a damn as long as you were both still in the tiny 10x7′s when the Scientists came back.

You were both sitting, your backs to the walls of your cells, your hand had just managed to slip through the bars, gripping onto his, your fingers intertwined. This is how nights seemed to be when the white coats were gone. Stories of Steve, when Bucky had enlisted in the war, of your first memories, school, family. He became your family, and you became his. It blossomed to more, you fell in love, the countless hours spent talking, soothing touches, resting your heads in front of the small space so you could admire each other.

It was all ripped away one day though, a loud alarm sounded, bringing you out of your restless, dreamless sleep. You saw flashing red, and when you pressed against your door, it opened. You were so shocked it seemed like a test, some sick, twisted test. Yet the guards were gone, nowhere in sight.

Bucky emerged from the cell beside yours, your eyes widening as your eyes widened. It didn’t take long for you to run into his arms, your hands pressing to his cheek, him pulling you in for a kiss, your first kiss with your caged lover. Your heart fluttering in your ribcage. It was short-lived, guards rushing in.

You both knew how to fight, trained perfectly actually to fight, one nod and a head nudge to your left. You both split up, tackling two guards on your own. It was easy to get the first one’s gun, Shooting the other one down, noticing Bucky was busy fighting his off, you took off a survey of the room, able to hear footsteps, tons by the sounds of it. You knew there was a big door, and you knew exactly what you had to do.

Sweeping down you grabbed ahold of the security guard’s keycard, rushing to the door and once the door lit up green, pressing the big button. It was like a garage door, whirring as it opened.

“Run! I’m right behind you!”

It was a lie. When he turned around you gave a small, sympathetic smile, pressing the button once more, the whir of the door shutting as guards swarmed you.

By the time you came back his hand was over yours, his thumb rubbing over the top of your hand. It was almost a dream, a rush of slurred words, of memories you had to assume, your own memories. They had to be yours, or they wouldn’t have been so vivid. Yet, how were they only now coming back? After all this time, it was too much.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?”

#bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #marvel imagine #avengers imagines #avengers imagine #stevevansbucky

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hillnerd · 5 years

Text

Waking Up - Chapter 1

Rating PG-13 A03 ff.net Chapter word count- 6791

fic summary: The war is over, but there’s still plenty of battles ahead for Hermione and Ron. Her parents are still in Australia, Ron is hiding secrets, and she has to wonder when she’ll wake up and it’s not from a nightmare. My version of an ‘Australia fic’ - Romione abounds Thank you to @abradystrix for the betaing and birtpicking! :) Thanks to @amysthefardareismai for a quick look over as well!

Chapter warnings: cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, romantic touching

Chapter 1- Hiding Spots and Whisks

The spell ripped through her. She was sure that muscles tore away from bone. She was flayed, raw and screaming. Ropes cut into her skin. Her back arched unnaturally. All she could feel was the pain searing through her, again and again. Unrelenting pain.

Please kill me...

And then it stopped, and she let out a pitiful cry, rocking back and forth as much as the ropes would allow.

“I think the Mudblood enjoys it. Otherwise it wouldn’t continue to lie.”

She brokenly sobbed. Every muscle spasmed, and all strength left her. She couldn’t even twist her face away as Bellatrix Lestrange’s nails cruelly dug into her jaw.

“That filthy goblin will reveal your lies, and when he does, nothing will be able to save you,” Bellatrix whispered in her ear. Hermione whimpered, trying to repeat that the sword wasn’t theirs, but she couldn’t speak. Her tongue was slack and nerveless.

“The sword is the true sword of Gryffindor,” the little goblin declared.

An unholy shriek wrent from Bellatrix. She roughly pulled Hermione to her feet and snapped back her neck. All Hermione could see was the chandelier. A knife was brought to her neck and painfully pressed into her flesh.

“Let’s see how filthy that blood is.”

The knife tortuously sawed through her larynx. Blood was choking her, and gushing down her body. Was she was dying from the wound, or from drowning in her own blood?

With a gasp, Hermione woke up, hands going to her throat.

Her throat had not been slit; it was whole, with only had a small scar marring the otherwise smooth skin. She wasn’t in Malfoy Manor being tortured. She was at the Burrow, probably one of the safest homes in all of England.

She gave a cold shiver. The patchwork quilt was wet through with perspiration, and her clothes clung to her. Her throat felt raw, which meant she had been screaming in her sleep again.

The silencing charm seemed to have held for another night, as Ginny was sleeping away in the bed beside hers. She puckered her lips to give a small whistle, but no sound came with the blow of air. Good. The charm was still working perfectly. With a wave of her wand she undid it.

There was no point in trying to fall asleep; she never could after a vivid nightmare like that one. She snuck out of the room and walked down the wooden steps to the sitting room with practiced ease. Making the journey almost every night, she had quickly learned how to avoid the creakiest floor boards. Her path along the hallway was pitch black, but the last bit of moonlight illuminated the sitting room, along with the earliest tinges of morning light.

In the darkness at the end of the sofa sat Ron. She wasn’t surprised to see him. He’d been down there almost every night the past few weeks. It didn’t matter if it was midnight or four in the morning, there he’d be, as if keeping watch for the house. She didn’t think anyone but herself and perhaps his parents knew. She'd heard his mother admonishing him for his poor sleep habits, having come across him early in the morning.

From what Hermione gathered, he almost never went to bed until someone else was up, as if he were still taking watch outside that horrid tent. He would hold his wand and stare out the window, for hours sometimes. On a few nights where she hadn’t felt like talking to anyone, she’d sat on the steps from the first landing and watched him pace back and forth, occasionally taking breaks to sit and bounce his knee. He didn’t even have much of a lie in the following morning. He looked exhausted, but continued on as if nothing had happened, waking early and tending to everyone in the house like he was fine.

Tonight he was hunched over his chessboard. He grimaced in pain as he rubbed at his left shoulder. Fingers dug along his trapezius, before he gave a rough roll of his shoulder, stretching it around a bit. He let out a hiss, whether in pain or relief she couldn’t say, until he gave a small smile and stretched, rotating his hand with a satisfied look on his face.

Hermione slid her feet along the floor a little louder than necessary to announce her presence. She knew better than to startle him, otherwise she would meet a wand pointed in her direction. Of course, this was true of almost everyone after the war. Harry was the fastest draw, but Ron was a close second, with equally flayed nerves and fast reflexes.

“You should be in bed,” Ron chastised, but his actions belied his admonishment. He budged over and patted the sofa for her to sit beside him, which she happily did.

“Have you even been to bed yet?”

“Yeah, but I can only sit and listen to Harry’s snoring and moaning about my sister in his sleep for so long.” Ron had great purple bags under his eyes, but he skillfully changed the topic and she was too groggy headed to pursue it further.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to sit in the dark like this just because you’re having trouble sleeping. It can’t be good for your eyes.”

“I don't want to wake anyone with lights,” Ron said with a tight shrug. “Past few nights Mum has scurried down the second I turned them on. She needs the sleep more than anyone. Plus, I wanted to be alone.”

“I'm sorry I intruded,” she apologized. She knew how hard it was to be around people anymore. Of course he needed an escape. Especially from her! She was rotten company anyway. “I'll just scarper back— ”

She moved to get up, but he put a staying hand on her arm and gave her a faint smile.

“I'm happy to be alone with you, though,” he said, smoothing a bit of her hair behind her shoulder, his hand lingering around her jawline.

“Oh!” she replied, a smile breaking across her face. Her cheeks burned as she settled in and leaned into his good shoulder. It wasn’t as bony as it had been even a few weeks ago. He was back to having a deceivingly solid build for one so tall and thin.

He was always handsome to her, but the hunger they had experienced while they were runaways had made them all rather emaciated. During the war it was hard to take in the gradual changes they had gone through physically. In the fleeting moments they’d changed clothes in front of each other there wasn’t the time to take in each other’s forms. They were too focused on getting warm, and surviving, to even spare a glance much of the time.

It wasn’t until they were at the Burrow, scrubbed clean of all the muck and dust that Hermione could finally see how hollow they all were. Ron had looked the most normal of them. He had always been tall and thin with broad shoulders, so no matter how much weight he lost, the width of his shoulders basically stayed the same size. He looked almost his usual self when dressed.

Normally Molly Weasley would practically be force feeding them, but the loss of her son kept her out of the kitchen. She stayed sequestered in her bedroom, sobbing for well over a week, barely leaving the room except for the myriad of funerals. Ron and Fleur had taken over the task of feeding everyone during the first weeks after the war.

A few days after Fred’s funeral, Mrs Weasley finally started taking an interest in her remaining family again. She had little energy for cooking, but enough to start working on healing them all up a bit more properly.

One by one she sat them down and used a number of spells and tonics on the scars they’d picked up. Hermione thought Mrs Weasley’s ministrations would be wasted, given how long ago their injuries had been, but she was able to achieve great progress on a few of the burns and scars.

One morning Hermione had come downstairs to see Ron shirtless in the living room, his mother tending to his shoulder to see if she could heal it any better.

“You did a number on yourself, Ron, splinching yourself like this,” she heard the matron tut at him. It was Hermione’s fault he’d been splinched so horribly, but he said nothing to correct his mother.

Hermione had quietly tried to read in the corner, but her eyes kept going to his body, specifically his left shoulder and the terrible scarring that was all her fault. She realized that day how skeletal he’d become.

His ribs, even the ones near his collar bones, were all apparent, the knobs of his spine far too pointed, and his hip bone, just visible from his sagging jeans, stuck out like a handle.

After that, his mother seemed to see it as her personal mission to make them plump up again. The boys were able to tear into her meals with fervor and pack on the pounds quickly, but Hermione found it difficult to eat much of anything.

Eating Molly Weasley’s cooking for weeks had Ron filled out almost magically fast, and with it Hermione realized that he was broader of shoulder and taller than ever before. His threadbare clothes were all far too small for him, and no stretching charms could make them fit him much better at this point. She quite liked it when his jeans were a bit too tight, but she had never dared tell him that.

For all the ways their relationship had changed and brought them closer, there were still boundaries she hadn’t dared to cross. She’d been able to cover up her nightmares from him for weeks. She didn’t want anyone to know, but she especially wanted to keep the nightmares from Ron.

It was not just her that he was always watching over. He was watching over everyone. He was carefully watching Harry and prodding him to come out of his shell. He was watching his mother and making sure nothing disturbed her when she was in a somewhat calm mood. He was watching his brothers and making sure they got along. He was hunting down George and making sure he got home in one piece after drinking a bit too much. He was watching his father and making sure he had privacy when he was about to cry. He was looking after his sister, to make sure Harry and she were getting on. And he was suspiciously watching any stranger who came near them whenever they ventured from the confines of the Burrow.

He’d watched his brother die right in front of him, and he was doing his best to comfort everyone. He was so overwrought, she didn't want to burden him further.

“You’re being quiet,” Ron commented, not for the first time in the last few weeks.

She gave a sigh. Her mind was buzzing, but blank. She felt like her mind had been put through a french press, and all that was left was the grounds to be thrown out with the rubbish.

Even if she had her wits about her, it's not like she could sit and tell him about the fascinating day she’d had. Most days she sequestered herself in a dark corner and pretended to read until she nodded off. Anything interesting he’d probably seen, as they were quite joined at the hip. Under no circumstances would she tell him about her nightmares.

She gave a shrug, and wove her hand into his.

"I suppose I'm just tired.”

And she was. Her whole body ached and she longed to curl up where she sat for a long nap. She wasn’t even missing out on that much sleep in the scheme of things. She might have been woken by horrible nightmares, but she was getting so much sleep during the day she didn't see how anyone could still be so tired. Of the two of them, it was Ron who didn't sleep, yet he seemed more capable than ever.

Ron hummed in response.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk? It's four thirty in the morning!”

“And who doesn’t enjoy a good early morning walk?” He rose and offered a hand to her. “Personally I think they’re meant for a comeback.”

“You do love an underdog,” she replied, taking his hand, which pulled her to standing with ease.

He grabbed jackets and wellies from the scullery. They had a small collection of weathered canvas jackets, all smelling of hay and bonfires. She felt quite dwarfish when she put on the heavy jacket and its sleeves fell past her fingers by nearly a foot.

Ron laughed as she struggled to fold the heavy fabric back from her hands.

“Here, let me.” Ron folded the fabric up her arm in a sweet doting way.

“Merlin, you’re tiny. This is the smallest one they have!” he said, as he finished the job and held her hand in his own.

“Why don’t you have a small one for Ginny or your mum? Neither of them are taller than I am.”

“Oh they just wear the same ones we do if they happen to need them. Plus it’s not like Ginny was made to shovel chicken coops, or dig up fence posts. Her chores were always more domestic.”

The tiniest bit of morning light was beginning to peek from behind the hills, catching a few clouds and staining them pink.

“We can watch the sun rise soon,” Ron said, seeing where her eyes were looking.

“It's funny. Technically I know when sunrise is, but somehow it always surprises me how early it starts getting light.”

“I think that’s because you grew up in the city.”

“Why would that make a difference?”

“Well, when you grow up in the country you get pretty familiar with getting woken up early to do the chores before it gets hot.”

“I don't remember you waking up early for anything,” she teased.

“Course I did. We all had to at least a few times a week. We had a chart and everything for whose turn it was to feed the chickens, check the fences, get eggs and veggies. I never was a morning person, of course, so half the time I’d just go back to bed as soon as I was done with my lot.”

"I never once noticed.”

“Well you were asleep, weren’t you, city girl?” Ron cheekily grinned as he easily hopped the wooden three rail fence they’d come upon. She struggled with her footing and awkwardly tried to climb it rail by rail. She’d never been particularly athletic or balanced, and found getting her boot over was a predictably unsteady affair. She had just managed to awkwardly straddle the fence when Ron put his hands at her hips, taking most of her weight and guiding her to the grass.

She gave her thanks and gave him a shy, but pleased, smile. He’d become more and more bold with touches here and there, but also a bit more tender and gentlemanly in how he looked after her. He’d always been chivalrous when it came to defending her, of course, but now he was practically gallant on a daily basis, putting out a hand to assist her, pouring her tea, holding an umbrella for her as they walked outside.

He had his elbow out for her to hold as they journeyed through some longer grass that hid a bevy of roots that she nearly lost her footing on. If it weren’t for his heavy cursing and deep dose of sarcasm, he could easily fit into a historical romance novel from the way he doted on her.

“Where exactly are we going?” she asked, looking around at the unfamiliar bit of field.

“To get a better view of the sunrise.”

Ron got to a tall tree and began hoisting himself up its branches.

“Ron! I can’t climb the tree in—in wellies! I can’t bend my ankles enough to do that in these and I’m not much for climbing, if I’m honest.”

"I know that,” Ron laughed, his upper body disappearing among some leaves. “Stay there a moment.”

“Oh don’t worry, I'm keeping my feet firmly on the ground! I don't care how good the view is, I'm not climbing that tree!”

“As fun as it’d be to see you try, that’s not the plan.”

In the twilight the upper branches were still blue hued and hard to make out. If not for the loud rustling of the branches, Ron would be easy to miss.

“There it is!” he cried in triumph. His feet dangled, as if he’d taken a seat. “Stand back!”

A wood and rope ladder clattered and unrolled itself from the tree before magically becoming rigid and straight as any staircase, complete with rope handrails.

“Come on up!”

She smiled as she easily ascended the stairs to join him. There was a little wooden platform, not much longer or wider than a bench. She wasn’t afraid of heights, she liked to tell herself, but she also didn’t enjoy them and would avoid them whenever she could.

Seeing her hesitation Ron rolled his eyes.

“There’s a barrier around the edge I just reinforced. You couldn’t fall off if you tried.”

He flicked a twig at the edge and it fell no further than the edge of his trainers.

She sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder.

“I imagine that spell was your mother’s work?”

“Dad’s. We have a couple of these tree blinds hidden around. We’d sort of half-arsedly build them, then Mum or Dad would put protective spells around it so we don’t break our necks or something. This one was usually Charlie’s getaway place. And the- the twins… They were always trying to follow him up, so Dad put in some spells to make it safer if any of us weaseled our way up, but still afforded Charlie some privacy.”

“I can just imagine you all now: sticky fingered,muddy knees, running about the property, climbing any tree you come across and throwing rocks into the pond to watch the ripples.”

“It was pretty nice, yeah,” he said with a pained smile.

“It sounds like the idyllic wild sort of childhood that I’d only been able to wish for.”

“Your childhood never sounded so bad to me.”

“It wasn’t bad at all, really. I had everything I needed, and it was quite lovely most of the time. It just afforded very few places to commune with nature. I remember loving the local hardware shop my father would take us to when he had some home project to take care of. They had a wonderful garden area I loved to get lost in. I’d pretend I was in the jungle like the Swiss Family Robinson, and wanted a house like theirs so badly.”

“So are these, like, famous Muggles or something?”

“They’re a made-up family in a book. They got shipwrecked on a tropical island and had to make do. They built an amazing treehouse in the film, and we watched it every Christmas. It wasn’t a particularly Christmassy movie, but it was a tradition of sorts for us.”

“Dad would fish out the ornament boxes from the attic, cursing the whole time as he crawled in the cramped attic. Mum and I would make hot chocolate and hang the lights on the tree. It was a tradition that the tree would remain clear of everything but the twinkle lights until the whole family was together. Then we’d put the ornaments on together. We’d try to time it out so we’d put the star on top of the tree as the song ‘O Christmas Tree’ played in the film.”

Hermione could remember her father trying to time it out year after year and they made it a sort of family challenge to get it right. They’d only properly managed twice, but the large whoops of glee they’d given had drowned out the film.

The last time they’d done it, was the Christmas of her sixth year. One by one they’d each hang ornaments. ‘Baby’s first Christmas,’ woven lolly stick stars, fine German ornaments, and a few ugly old plastic electric ornaments from the 70s. Those had little child figures spinning in them that would short out the room if they were all plugged in to the same power strip. All the ornaments were placed on the tree with equal care. Her family grinned ear to ear at one another.

They were so happy. What had her parents done this year? Hermione had left the ornaments in the attic as she didn’t have time to sort out the ones connected with herself, or that had their former names on them. Had she ruined their Christmas? Had they continued the tradition without Hermione? It wasn’t like it was their first Christmas without her. She’d skipped four in a row, from ages thirteen through sixteen.

“That sounds loads nicer than Celestina Warbeck,” said Ron. “I’ve never seen a film. Was the Swede Family Robins alright?”

“Swiss Family Robinson. It’d probably be slow paced for most people, as it’s an older movie that came out back when my parents were just kids. It made quite the impression on me nonetheless. I begged and begged for a treehouse like the one in the film, but they said I’d grow tired of it too quickly and that it wasn’t worth the danger of me falling. I tried to make myself a secret fort under a large rhododendron bush and got a good scolding from my nanny for it when she saw I’d dragged a nice table cloth in there. She tried to get me to leave, and I wouldn’t. No matter how she grabbed for me, she couldn’t get a hold of me. It was one of my first bits of magic. She thought I was wiggling out of her grasp somehow, but her own arm had gone rubbery and useless every time she thrust it into my little fort.”

“How old were you when you had this little adventure?” Ron laughed.

“Oh, four or five. And don’t make fun!”

“I’m not! I just like picturing that angry little look on your face. I can see it now, so tiny with hair twice as wide as your body, curled up with a book in your little fort, all excited for a piece of adventure and rebelling against nannies,” he said, with a warm smile. “Did any of your friends have a playhouse or something you got to adventure in?”

“Oh… Well, I didn’t… There weren’t many children in my neighborhood, and I attended a small Church of England primary school, so even if I had friends, it was quite a lot of work to see anyone, make arrangements to be driven over and everything, so I didn’t.”

“So it was just you and some posh nanny?”

“Well don’t think me a terrible snob for having a nanny. Both my parents worked, so there was no one else to tend to me until I was old enough to attend school all day,” she rattled off, a bit embarrassed by her relative privilege. She felt silly complaining about it now. The poor little rich girl who didn’t get a tree house!

“Sounds a bit lonely,” he said, with a sympathetic look.

It had been lonely. Sometimes it felt like he could see right through her. Until Hogwarts Hermione had never had any real friends. There were a few children here or there that she’d gotten to play games with, but no real friends. Her parents were very loving and gave her every opportunity, but it wasn’t like the loud warm familiar household of the Weasleys. In some ways her somewhat distant parents made it easier for her to leave for Hogwarts. You couldn’t miss what you didn’t get to see much of. She never resented it. It was just how things were. It also made it much easier to lie to her parents. She lied and lied, then finally just erased herself from their minds, and they’d never forgive her for it.

Hermione shivered at the thought and brought her knees to her chest.

“Well, that’s enough about me,” she said, trying to center herself. She plastered a smile on. “Did you have a hiding spot like this tree house?”

Ron jerked up sharply. The warm smile and deep eye contact he’d been giving her broke.

“No nothing like this.”

He stared down at his hands and began to fidget and pick at his cuticle. She wondered what could have caused such a change in him, but perhaps it was just memories of Fred. She hated how good memories could become so painful. She gave his hand a squeeze and after a moment his big warm hand squeezed back.

“There it is,” said Hermione as the sun began to peek over the hill. The puffball clouds became a lovely mix of peach and coral. “This really is a spectacular view. Thank you for— Ron, you’re bleeding!”

Ron blinked before confusedly looking about himself. She grabbed his left hand and inspected it. He’d ripped the cuticle so deep it made her wince in sympathy. It had to sting with how deep he’d torn it and how much blood there was.

“Your thumb...”

“Oh…” He blankly took his left hand from her hold and sucked the blood away. She gave a tut.

“Don’t put your mouth on it! Your mouth has all sorts of bacteria!”

“It’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.”

And now he was pretending it didn’t even hurt, and he was bound to get it infected.

“Well I don’t care how fine you think it is, you shouldn’t mutilate your finger like that then introduce bacteria to it.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“You’ve messed up your fingers enough,” she admonished, taking hold of his hand to point to his missing fingernails. “You don’t need to mess up your thumb too.”

“Just leave it, Hermione!” he snapped, ripping his hand away and marching down the ladder, shoulders tight and high. He was a few meters away from the tree when he sighed and turned around.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…” he shook his head. “I don’t have a proper excuse. I was just thinking about— And you were pushing me and I… I’m sorry. Do you wanna continue watching the sun rise or did I bollocks it up?”

Hermione was about to shout back that he’d bollocksed it up pretty well, but stopped herself when she saw how pale he was. He was biting his lip and his hands were so clenched the knuckles had gone bone white. Something had rattled him, she just wasn’t sure what.

“Are you alright?”

“‘M fine,” he said with a shrug.

The magic of the sunrise had been a bit tainted. She left the light of the sunrise and stepped down the wooden steps to hold his hand.

“How about we fix up your thumb, and then you show me your morning chores I’ve never gotten to see?”

“And I’ll try not to be such an arse.”

“And I’ll try not to be so pushy about something so minor.”

They walked in silence, hand in hand, back to the house before Ron gave her his lopsided grin. “Was that our first fight?”

“Of course not! We’ve fought loads of times!”

“Well yeah, but never when you were my girlfriend… At least I don’t think?”

A thrill passed through her. Girlfriend! It felt silly, but she quite liked hearing him call her that.

“You’re right,” she agreed. She was sure she had a goofy smile on her face, but she didn’t care.

“I guess I owe you a make up kiss.”

“Yes, I’d say you do.”

He gently pushed her up against a nearby tree and leaned over her. She stood on a root that helped narrow the height gap. His uninjured hand trailed up her arm before cupping her cheek and stroking it. His eyes were trailing all over her face and she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him. The intensity of his stare made her tremble.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said with a crooked smile. He leaned down, but missed her mouth entirely, his lips finding their way to her jaw and slowly working their way to her neck. She let out a small moan as he sucked at her pulse point, and her hands went to his copper hair. His kisses trailed back up her neck to finally find her mouth. A flush went through her as he kissed her deeply, one hand cupping the back of her head, another trailing up her side. She was just starting to kiss back with equal furor, hands on his hips when he pulled back with a hiss and jerked away from her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Er… My hand got trapped,” he explained, flexing his hand a bit.

“Oh right! We really need to fix that up.”

“Sounds good,” he said, turning away from her. “I think Dad has some Dittany and plasters in his shed.”

“No argument?” she said, following his long strides.

Ron gave a shake of his head, before giving her a tight smile.

“I figure sooner I’m fixed up, sooner I get to kiss you again.”

She beamed at that. He helped her over the gate again, and by the time they reached the shed she was quite grateful to be indoors. The morning dew had seeped through her pajama trousers and she was shivering. The shed smelled of musty wood and dust, and the floor wasn’t paved. They called it a shed, but it more resembled a small barn. Ron turned a knob and the lamp above them glowed warmly, lighting up the dark space.

She’d never been inside Mr Weasley’s shed before, and it was a fascinating sight. As Ron went to find some plasters, she took her time looking about. Everywhere she looked there were collections of Muggle paraphernalia she couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world wanting to collect. She found boxes of twisted up slinkies, wires, batteries, holographic stickers, magnets and even a box of old fashioned rotary whisk.

She’d not ever used one of the mechanical whisks before and took it out to give a quick whirl of the handle.

“Found one of Dad’s collections have you?” Ron asked looking at the whisk with a mix between embarrassment and distaste.

“Yes. I hadn’t seen one of these in a while.”

“What’s it for? No, lemme guess! Looks like it could be a hair curler or something, doesn’t it?” he said taking another whisk from the box and haltingly moving the handle. It gave a terrible rusty clatter. “God, do all muggle things have to make such terrible sounds?”

“No they do not,” she laughed, demonstrating her own whisk.

“Oh, hand over the good one then,” he said with a grin, giving it a test. “So is it something so people can get hair like yours?”

“Nobody would make a device to purposefully have hair like mine,” she replied with a shake of her head. She could just make out her reflection in the mirror and frantically started to comb her fingers through it. “Oh no! I look like I’ve been snogging!”

“You have been,” he laughed.

“Yes, but I don’t want to look as though I have! Your mother will be up any moment and then she’ll think I’m ghastly.”

“I doubt she’d notice.”

“How could she not! I look like a bramble patch.”

“But a very attractive one.”

“Oh! You’re no help!”

“How am I supposed to help? Use this thing?” he said holding up a whisk.

“Don’t you dare!”

He pointed the whisk at her and gave a pretend menacing look. She gave a laughing shriek as he gave chase. She weaved and ducked out of his way as he pursued her, twirling the handle all the way. When he’d finally cornered her, she was quite breathless as they smiled at one another. His grin faded into that same piercing look from earlier.

Her eyes fell to his lips, and she gave a rough swallow. He slowly wrapped a free hand around her waist, leaned down and kissed her again, this time so deeply she thought she might pass out from the pleasure of it. Their tongues began to dance with each other, and she felt a deep hunger growing within her that had nothing to do with food.

Her hand trailed up under his shirt and stroked against his solid frame, and his hand was making a similar journey up her top, just grazing the underside of her breast when the door to the shed burst open with a resounding crash.

They wrenched their lips apart, practically making a popping sound like a cork from a champagne bottle.

Mrs Weasley was pointing her wand at them in a menacing fashion, but upon seeing their intimate hold her eyes went wide and she dropped her wand to her side. It took considerably longer to retract their hands from each other’s shirts.

“M-Mum!”

“I was feeding the chickens when I heard what sounded like screaming,” she explained, face red. The sheepish look on her face quickly turned stern. “You two shouldn’t be doing that with all sorts of dangerous Muggle things about… Skulking about in the dark. You’re lucky neither of you ended up eklecktrified or worse! You should know better, Ronald Weasley. And what in the world is that?”

She said pointing to Ron’s hand.

“Er… Hair curler?” Ron said.

“Well neither of you has use for that, now do you? Put it away before you poke out an eye or something.”

Ron mutely nodded and put the whisk in its place, face a flaming red. Hermione imagined her face was a similar color, given the heat she could feel burning through her cheeks.

Mrs Weasley stood in the door and opened it, ushering the teens out and towards the house. They walked ahead and she marched behind them, until they reached the kitchen step. Ron made to open the door but Mrs Weasley gestured them to sit on a pair of weather worn wooden chairs beside the door.

“Now, you two, I understand something of young love and all that. Arthur and I weren’t much older than you when we got married. I won’t delude myself and think you’ve not… done certain things. After all you were off alone for months with no supervision, and you’re of age—”

“Merlin, Mum!” Ron bleated, face the shade of an overcooked radish. He seemed to know where his mother was going with this. Hermione was in pure denial. Surely Mrs Weasley wasn’t inferring that she and Ron had…. Had relations during the war? They’d barely snogged more than five or so times at this point. Hermione was mute with mortification.

“Honestly, Mum! We weren’t doing— Doing that.”

“I saw you two not minutes ago! I have seven children, and I know where that sort of snogging leads! If you’re going to be taking things to that level of intimacy you really must make sure to use all the correct charms and potions.”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed as she closed her eyes tight in embarrassment.

“Now Hermione, I know you won’t have learned them from your parents, of course, but do you know about contraception charms?”

“Mum! Please stop— We weren’t—!”

“If you’re caught snogging like that by your mother, you have to put up her making sure a pair of unwed teenagers don’t make a silly mistake!” She turned again to Hermione. “Ron and all his siblings were taught this, but I want to make sure you know them too, dear. You need to use it every single time. I know some people will say it feels better without it, but that’s complete rubbish! Do you know—”

“I know them, Mrs Weasley, thank you!” Hermione said, voice unnaturally high and loud.

“We both know them, Mum! Now can you please stop!”

“Fine! But don’t make me catch you like that again!”

“Believe me, no one wants a repeat!” Ron said with a rueful shake of his head.

“Well, that’s said then. Why don’t you tend to the chickens and get some eggs, and I’ll start on breakfast. Sausage and egg sandwiches?” Mrs Weasley asked lightly, not waiting for an answer as she went back into the house.

Hermione sunk her head into her hands.

“So….” Ron began. “That was— ”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Hermione squeaked from behind her hands. Ron gave a laugh.

“Thank Merlin the twins didn’t hear tha—” Ron cut himself off and blanched. Hermione quickly made a movement towards him, but he’d already risen from his chair, shoulders tight. She didn’t know what to say in these moments.

Ron took a rattling breath, and Hermione was fairly certain he was stifling a sob. What would Ron do if the situation was reversed? He’d put an arm around her, let her say anything she needed, then distract her or make a joke. She was no good at jokes, but she could hold him and distract him.

She gingerly put a hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. He wiped at his eyes.

“For a second I honestly forgot…” Ron said with a shrug. “What kind of bastard forgets their brother’s dead?”

She bit her lip. Seeing him hurt like this was painful. It would be so easy to start crying alongside him, but she refused her body’s instincts. The last thing he needed was her sobbing all over him.

“I think it was more a behavioral habit than you actually forgetting. You’re used to saying ‘the twins’ and noting what they’d find funny. It doesn’t mean you did something bad. It will take a while, but eventually your habits will change.”

“I don’t know if that’s not worse…”

Hermione didn’t see how that was worse, but thought it was best not to argue the point.

“Well, if I want an egg sandwich, I’ll need to get Mum some eggs, won’t I?” Ron gave a deep sniff and smiled.

She hated the brittle smile he’d put on in these moments.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, but Fred’s loss was still raw and painful for everyone. She couldn’t imagine the family would ever really recover. Fred and George were always ‘the twins.’ It wasn’t the first time someone had forgotten for a moment that Fred wasn’t alive and referred to the twins this way. It was probably why George had been holed up in a Muggle hotel for weeks. At first she thought he’d want to be home, surrounded by family. He hadn’t.

The morning of Fred’s funeral George went missing. They looked all over for him, but no one could find him. When it was time for the funeral itself they kept waiting for George to arrive, or for him to pull some sort of prank in Fred’s honor, or do something like set off some fireworks, or turn the somber event into a joyous wake. He hadn’t.

Angelina had tracked him down to a Muggle hotel and informed the family with a Patronus. A few of them had wanted to track George down, but in the end they decided to honor his wish to be alone. They thought he’d change his mind and come home, or start up the shop again. He hadn’t.

Ron had looked so lost that day. The whole family had, but seeing Ron look so devoid of focus had been disturbing. Even on the Horcrux hunt, when all of them were dazed from the locket, he’d managed to be a bit sharp. Yes, he’d complained and been aimless as she and Harry, but he’d been present. It was the one day Ron had taken to see to himself. He’d gone to the funeral, then spent the rest of his day in his bedroom unable to talk. She’d held him for hours as he stared off into space. The next day he was back to catering to everyone and fixing everything. He was back to hyper focusing on everyone’s needs, and keeping himself so busy that he didn’t have time to mourn.

She couldn’t very well make him stay still, so she followed him to the chicken coop. She might not be able to fix anything for the Weasleys, or for anyone, but at least she could get them some eggs.

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

Thank you for reading :) If you enjoyed it please reblog or review :)

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#romione #australia #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger #waking up #hilly writes #fic #hillnerd writes #my writing

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perriewinklenerdie · 5 years

Text

I will never let you forget (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note: Hello, hello, hello! I’m feeling like hell so I might as well be dying. I was asked for angst (I’m looking at you, K) and it got… intense.

And so, this is your official warning.

This fic is very dark, deals with nightmares, mentions of death, vivid and drastic situations, as well as mental illnesses and hospitals. If you are feeling down or are fragile and sensitive, this fic might not be for you. Take care of yourselves, guys <3

Anyway

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138593

Enjoy… I guess?

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

The house was a mess. Toys were sprawled all over the floor, a blue hoodie barely hanging onto the back of the couch, black suit jacket laying by the table, creasing in every way imaginable. Her heels clicked as she moved, calling out for her two boys. She was gone for the last couple of days, her parents having a bit more trouble than any of them previously anticipated, and she couldn’t wait to see her husband and son.

As expected, she found them in Theo’s room. Or, at least, she knew she did, even though both boys were sure they were hidden. She started searching the room, playing along, looking in a few places before standing in front of the closet. A pair of long legs was sticking out from beneath the blanket. Claire trailed her fingers up Ethan’s thighs, tickling him before throwing the soft material away. There they were, faces covered in chocolate, guilty expressions on their faces.

“Seriously, guys? You ate the cake and didn’t invite me to join in? I’m offended.” She huffed, mocking her upset state. Theo crawled to her, throwing his arms around her neck.

“Sorry, Mommy. We have some more if you want. We’ll even let you into our fort if you want!” his expression turned from sad to happy in a matter of seconds. She ruffled his hair, her eyes moving to her husband.

“Oh, I don’t know. Am I allowed into the fort, Dr. Ramsey?” she teased him, watching his face melt in relief that she was finally home.

“No, Mommy, it’s Daddy the Dragon Slayer! He’s going to help us!” Theo exclaimed, sitting down next to his father. Claire sat down next to her son, kissing his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Daddy the Dragon Slayer. Now, give me that chocolate cake or my magic won’t work.”

“Yes, Mommy the Fairy.”

They sat in the closet for a while longer before Ethan decided to get them all out of there and back to the living room. He embraced his wife as Theo gathered his toys to being with him. They didn’t say a word to one another, they didn’t have to. Their eyes did all the talking, as did their smiles and the way their bodies embraced each other. She was about to say something, when Ethan’s face got neutral, looking past her. She turned around and felt her blood run cold.

Theo was climbing onto the window, laughing. She tried to move, but it seemed impossible, she would never get there in time. He grabbed the window frame and places his tiny legs on his bed, half of his body already outside.

“Theo, what are you doing? Please, get down, it’s not safe to look out the window like that!” she exclaimed, running, but yet again, it was like she hasn’t moved at all. Theo turned around to look at her, his face a picture of horror.

“You didn’t save me, Mommy.” He spoke, loudly and clearly, his eyes seeing straight through her.

“What? What do you- Ethan? Ethan! Eth-“ she breathed deeply, confused and lost. Turning around, she expected to see her husband, ready to help her save their son. But that was not what happened

Instead, the only sound in the room was her piercing scream as she looked at him, burning alive. His clothes were charred, red and yellow flames licking up his body. his eyes were hollow, emotionless, dead.

“Don’t come any closer to him, Claire. You left us. You let us die.” His voice was cold and bleak, cutting through her like glass, taking a step towards her. She stumbled backwards, bringing her closer to Theo, who in turn leaned outside even more.

The closer to her Ethan got, the farther away she tried to get, and the more Theo was slipping out the window. Claire looked between the two of them, a situation so horrific, there was no way it was real. It must have been a dream.

But it felt real. She could feel her son’s panic in her own bones and she could smell the gasoline, the scent of burning flesh and blood.

Blood.

“Mommy? Mommy, help me! He-“ the last words she heard from her son was his desperate cry for help before he fell out the window, his screams echoing, ringing in the air, seemingly never ending.

“Theo!” Claire cried out as she threw herself in the direction of the window, but something stopped her. Someone stopped her. A stinging sensation ran through her left wrist, all the way to the bone.

Ethan’s hand wrapped around hers, flames picking up in intensity as his anger peaked. Skin to skin, burning her flesh. She let out another scream, tears falling from her eyes as she begged him to make it stop.

“It’s your fault he’s dead. It’s your fault I’m dead. I will never let you go, I will never let you leave, I will never let you forget that everything that happened is your fault.” He hissed, leaning in, letting her feel his breath on her face, hot like the flames that ate his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, come back to me, please-“ she pleaded, crying, screaming, her eyes instantly widening as his grip on her wrist tightened impossibly.

--- --- ---

“Doctor! She’s bleeding!” a nurse called out, her voice coming to Claire like through the thick veil. Some commotion occurred next to her, white coat flashing in her vision. A strong, confident touch was felt on her wrist, a quiet curse falling from the lips of an older man.

“Damn it, she tore her wrist open. Give her a sedative, we have to stop the bleeding and calm her down before she hurts herself even more.” He gave the orders, running out the door to call another doctor for help.

Claire blinked slowly, shaking her head before looking down. Her eyes focused enough to notice that her wrist was red, so were her fingers and nails. Covered in blood.

Her blood.

She tore her wrist open. The stinging she felt was her nails, ripping her skin apart. So it really was a dream.

“Ethan…” she muttered, moving to sit up. “Theo…”

“Oh, sweetie…” nurse smoothed her hair, smiling at her sympathetically. “They aren’t- “

“Nurse! A word.” Male voice called out, pulling the woman aside. Claire could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation. “She… they’re dead… fire… out the window… poor thing, she’s alone now…”

The world stopped as she listened. Was she… alone? Ethan and Theo were…

“They’re dead? What… Where…” she whispered, anxiety bubbling in her chest. She began hyperventilating, her heart rate picking up, tears falling from her eyes uncontrollably.

“She’s panicking. Strap her in and sedate her. Sedate her, damn it!” Doctor called out, keeping Claire pressed against the bed by her shoulders, waiting until her hands and legs were tied to the bedframe. A syringe punctured her skin as a drug was administered, her spasms slowing down and finally ceasing. She fell against the mattress, her eyes closing as she quietly slipped into the unconsciousness, the emptiness of her psychiatric hospital room matching the emptiness of her heart after loosing her husband and son to the terrible force of a murderer.

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

Tag list: @paleweasels , @lilyofchoices , @hopelessromantic1352 , @aloehasrose , @valiantlychaoticbarbarian , @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie,@choicesobsessedd, @cassiusownsmyass, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @yesimacerealkiller, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h

#ethan ramsey #fic #open heart #choices #angst #ethan ramsey x mc #dr ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #mc x ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play

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squaaash · 5 years

Text

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

read on ao3

Summary:

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

Throughout his tenure on Earth, Crowley has found that he greatly enjoys sleep. He’s learned that it’s nice to have a break from, you know, eternity. But he never knew how much he had come to rely on it until he couldn’t sleep through the night without being woken by–

By the fire.

And it absolutely baffles him. Because Aziraphale is fine. Aziraphale is alive, as he reminds himself every second of every day. Crowley should be fine too. (Except he’s not.)

Author’s Note:

hey everybody! guess who's still down the good omens hole! it's me. and this one hurts.

please take care reading this one! it involves nightmares, some issues with reality, some suicidal thoughts and very explicit descriptions of panic attacks along with imagery of fire and being burned alive (there's no gore, but again it's rather explicit about the concept) so please be careful if any of this might be a trigger

i've done my best tagging this for those things, but i'm rather new to posting on ao3, so if anyone has any advice on how it could be better tagged so people can navigate their triggers, don't hesitate to let me know!

that said, i'm pretty proud of this one, so please enjoy!

Text:

Crowley can’t breathe.

He doesn’t necessarily need to breathe, but the impact of the firehose against his chest forces all the air out of his lungs as it knocks him flat on his back.

An ice-cold sensation seeps into his clothes, his skin, his bones, his everything.

But it’s not the water. It’s something much, much worse.

Aziraphale is dead.

The thought makes his fingers go numb and his head go fuzzy.

He stays on the ground, his face tilted upwards towards the burning pages fluttering through the air like ashen doves. Aziraphale’s precious books. His misprinted bibles, his prophecies, his poetry. Centuries of collection used as kindling.

But it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s no one left to miss them.

Aziraphale is dead.

Crowley takes a long, ragged breath, letting the smoke settle deeply into his lungs until it stings something awful. He wants to stay here. He wants to let the fire burn up his corporeal form. He wishes it would take everything else that makes him up with it.

And so it does.

As the flames crawl up his scalp, lick at his sleeves, swallow him up right down to his snakeskin shoes, he doesn’t find himself back in Hell. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knows for certain that he’s finally approaching the end. The release.

Crowley will be gone. The world will end. Adam Young will make it so. And that is fine.

As Crowley slips away, he’s thankful.

Because Aziraphale is dead. And life without Aziraphale is no life at all.

But Crowley wakes up.

He bolts upright, half expecting to be met with unbearably humid air thick with the smell of sulfur. The smell of Hell.

He’s in bed, his entire body is covered in a cold sweat, tears streaming down his face. His breath is coming in shallow gasps as his body tries to hack up the smog that isn’t truly there.

He exhales shakily. He has this routine down to a science now.

His clock read 3:36 AM. He shuts his eyes and presses his hands over them tightly.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

He needs to shower. Crowley knows by now that there’s no use trying to get back to sleep. He could easily rid himself of all the sweat and tears with a single thought, but a cool shower always helps him come back to himself a little easier.

The first time that Crowley had a nightmare about the bookshop, he got violently sick.

It was so vivid, so faithful to the experience he had, that he didn’t quite realize what was going on until he was slumped on the tile floor of his bathroom, sobbing and retching into the toilet like some hammered university student. He’d hoped it was a one-time thing, a fluke brought on by all the recent Armageddon-induced stress.

It’s been weeks like this.

By the fire.

And it absolutely baffles him. Because Aziraphale is fine. Aziraphale is alive, as he reminds himself every second of every day. Crowley should be fine too. (Except he’s not.)

It occurs to him, he should probably reflect a bit on that, as he strips and steps under the cooling spray, but his nightmares leave him too drained to think much of anything other than his new mantra.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

He rests his flushed forehead against the tile.

Aziraphale is alive.

–––––––––

Aziraphale also can’t leave well enough alone.

“Respectfully, Crowley, you look awful.”

“You say the sweetest things, angel.”

He’s stopped by the bookshop a few hours prior to their plans to dine at the Ritz, dropping himself onto the sofa with propped his legs up on the arm, his feet dangling over the side. (He visits more often now for the purpose of staying rather than going out. It eases his heart to see the place intact.) Aziraphale has abandoned his finances for the moment to pester Crowley about the dark half-moons he’s sporting under each eye.

He had been fine for a while, but now the lack of sleep is truly taking its toll on him. He’s the kind of tired that stuffs your head full of cotton and lines your bones with lead. It makes your eyes burn and your feet drag. And as oblivious as the angel can be at times, he’s noticed the recent change in his best friend.

Crowley knows he looks awful, and he knows why he looks awful, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit it.

“Are you sleeping, Crowley?” Aziraphale peers at him over his reading specs (that he doesn’t need) and furrows his brow.

“Don’t worry about me, Aziraphale. I was marathoning Golden Girls all night, had a lovely time.”

“I always like a good chamomile tea in the evening if I’d like to sleep that night, puts me right–“

“Come on, I brought this on myself and it’s fine. You can drop it.”

The angel narrows his eyes at him, but abandons the subject for now and turns back to his computer.

Thank G–Thank… Someone.

So Crowley relaxes into the sofa as Aziraphale babbles on about a lovely new bakery that opened down the block recently, letting the lilting tones of his voice wash over him.

Before he knows it, his eyelids are getting heavy.

He thinks about fighting it, sitting up and listening more closely in the hopes of keeping his exhausted body awake. Surely his falling asleep would only exacerbate Aziraphale’s worries just as Crowley’s gotten him to drop the subject.

But he’s just so tired. So he gives in.

He’s awoken by the sound of crackling flames.

He sits up, his eyes wide. His head still feels thick with sleep, he’s not sure how long he’s been out for.

He’s still in the bookshop, Aziraphale is still at his desk, chattering away as he works.

But there’s fire coming up through the floor beneath him.

Hellfire.

“Aziraphale, get away from there!” Crowley wants to jump up and pull him away from the flames, but he’s rooted on the spot, unable to move.

Aziraphale turns towards him, entirely unbothered. “Whatever are you talking about?”

The flames snake upwards, slowly engulfing Aziraphale as they go.

Crowley wants to scream and yell and fight. He wants to drag the angel out of the blaze. But his voice is trapped in his throat as if he’s choking on his screams. His muscles refuse to move an inch.

Aziraphale’s tan trousers and cream-colored jacket turn black as they burn.

The angel doesn’t seem bothered by the heat. He’s looking at Crowley with concern on his face. (Entirely misplaced concern, as Crowley isn’t the one who’s currently being burned alive.)

The heat stings his eyes but he can’t look away. He has to sit and watch as the inferno eats his best friend whole.

Aziraphale is dead.

Finally, a scream rips its way out of Crowley’s throat.

“Aziraphale!”

A sharp pain on his face snaps him back into reality.

“Crowley, dear, are you alright?”

Crowley’s on the ground next to the sofa. As he rolls over, he suspects that he smacked his cheekbone against the floor when he fell. The impact’s left him somewhat dazed as he takes in the bookshop around him, breathing hard.

There’s no fire.

Aziraphale is kneeling next to him, looking absolutely distraught. Crowley takes a deep breath.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

“Crowley, what on earth is going on? You were yelling in your sleep. And your cheek! It’s already bruising. Oh, you poor thing!” The angel reaches for Crowley’s face to better inspect the bruise, but he flinches away, no matter how badly he craves the grounding touch.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut against Aziraphale’s devastated expression.

“Crowley, please talk to–”

“I have to go. I’ll take a raincheck on the Ritzsss– On the Ritz.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is– Crowley, stop!”

He can’t do this. He scrambles to his feet, startling Aziraphale enough to fall backward from where he’s crouched on the floor. The longer he looks at Aziraphale, the more vividly he remembers the sight of him ablaze. Dead.

So Crowley does what he does best. He runs away.

–––––––––

He’s in the Bentley, breaking every traffic law known to man as he speeds back to his flat.

He’s tripping up the stairs, he doesn’t trust his hands not to shake as he unlocks the door, so he opens it with a thought.

He slams it shut and collapses against it, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs and squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears inside. And it hurts.

God above, does it hurt.

It’s a feeling that starts deep in his chest, a pressure that grows and grows until it permeates not just his body but his being, everything that makes Crowley, Crowley. It makes his lungs shudder, his stomach turn. His fingers go numb and his vision goes spotty. It makes his head spin and his heart ache. The worst part about it is that it just doesn’t make sense because Aziraphale is fine.

Aziraphale is alive. Armageddon was stopped. The bookshop was saved. Aziraphale is alive.

Aziraphale is alive. Aziraphale is alive. Aziraphale is alive.

He wants it tattooed on the insides of his eyelids. So that even if he doesn’t know anything else, even if he doesn’t know himself, at least he knows that Aziraphale is alive.

Because since that day, the fear has been ingrained in him like a program that can’t be rewritten, the fear that Aziraphale is–

Is Gone.

Just the thought drives all the air out of his lungs. He feels somewhat faint. His head is pounding. Pounding. Pounding… On the door?

He should yell at whoever it is to go away. Or open it. He should do something, anything, but he just can’t. He’s gasping desperately for air and his skin feels too tight. It’s as if there's a spring wrapped around him coiling tighter and tighter until he’s crushed in its center.

He can distantly hear someone speaking. It’s as if he’s underwater. Drowning. Sinking down, down, down.

The water runs down over his shoulders. It’s almost soothing.

Wrong. Not water. Hands.

Hands.

Crowley takes a slow, ragged breath. The smog and confusion start to clear from his brain. He takes stock of himself: He’s curled into a ball on the floor, knees up against his chest, face pressed tightly down against them, arms wound over his head. Somewhere between the bookshop and his flat he’s lost his sunglasses. His back is up against the inside of his front door. There are hands on his shoulders and a voice speaking in soothing tones. There’s an urgency to the voice, though. A fear. A fear that the voice’s owner trying and failing to conceal.

Crowley exhales. Lifts his head and opens his eyes.

Aziraphale.

“–that’s better, isn’t it? There you are, just keep breathing with me, just a little bit slower, love, breathe with me. You’re in your flat, and I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere, just watch me and breathe, darling–”

It’s a steady stream of sweet nothings and nonsense, but it’s steady so Crowley hangs onto it with all his might.

He keeps his gaze locked on Aziraphale’s and he breathes. They breathe.

Aziraphale is alive.

Crowley’s not sure how long they stay there, him curled up in a ball and Aziraphale cross-legged in front of him, but he feels the some of the tension drain out of his body, his head lolling to one side as his exhaustion catches up with him once again.

Aziraphale takes both of his hands. “Crowley, will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

His voice is solemn and deep in a way that it so rarely is. Crowley sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as he nods. He knows that this is a conversation that needs to happen, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult.

Crowley refuses to take his eyes off of his toes as he concedes, “I’ve been having these… dreams–” Oh, he hates how small his voice sounds. “–Nightmares, I suppose, is the more accurate description.”

When he doesn’t continue, Aziraphale nudges him a little further. “And what happens? In these nightmares?”

“Well, they vary, from time to time, but there’s–” His voice catches in his throat. He’s already worked up again at just the thought, at the way Aziraphale looks so anguished, so he drops his forehead to his knees once again, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the grounding feeling of Aziraphale’s hands in his. His voice escapes as a strangled croak once he forces himself to continue. “But in every single one, you die Aziraphale. You burn just like– Just like I thought you did, that day in the bookshop. You burn, and you’re dead, and I’m all alone and it’s–” His throat closes up and he can’t continue. There are tears gathering in his eyes again. Aziraphale’s hands tighten around his before disappearing.

Crowley panics for a moment, eyes flying opening as he picks up his head, fearing the worst. But Aziraphale is only shifting to sit by his side instead, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s slight frame and drawing him close so that he can rest his head against the angel’s chest. Crowley spares a thought that he’ll ruin Aziraphale’s shirt and vest with his snot and tears but then gentle fingers are carding through his hair and he really can’t be bothered.

“Listen, Crowley, right there. You can hear my heart beating,” He could. He could feel it, too, a gentle thudding sensation against his cheek. “It’s symbolic more than anything else, really, but it’s proof. I’m here and I’m not leaving you, Crowley. I’m here, I’m alive and so are you.”

Aziraphale is alive and so am I.

The dam breaks and Crowley weeps.

But it’s different than before. It’s not out of terror, or loss, or the sensation of hot smoke in his face as everything burns down before his eyes. For the first time since Armageddon, a sensation of catharsis sweeps over him as he cries. He cries for little Adam and his friends, swept up in something so much bigger than themselves, he cries for Anathema and Newt, the weight of the world upon their shoulders. He cries for Aziraphale, so good and human and ineffable.

And for once, Crowley cries for himself. Because he’s literally been dragged to Hell and back again and he’s tired. Tired of the overarching plans and orders and the bigness of it all when there’s so much pleasure to be found in the smallness. The smallness of people and their cups of tea and television programs and postcards and fancy wines and CDs. The smallness of the smile thrown his way when he’s said something witty, pink flustered cheeks, and the feeling of soft hands in his.

Crowley trembles and wails and it’s fine because now there’s someone there to hold him.

Soft kisses in his hair and on his forehead, fingertips wiping away his tears, and a soothing hand up and down his spine.

Eventually, his sobs subside and they stay curled up against the door as Crowley sniffles against Aziraphale’s chest.

“How long has this been going on?” Aziraphale asks quietly, continuing his comforting touches.

“Since that day.”

“Oh, love.” The angel sighs and rests his cheek against the crown of Crowley’s head. “Gosh, I should’ve noticed–”

“You did notice. And I was doing everything in my power to hide it from you.”

“Still. I hate the idea of you going through that on your own,” Aziraphale lifts his head and shifts himself into Crowley’s eyeline, purposefully meeting his eyes. “Please come to me, the next time your experiencing something like that. You’re not a burden, it’s not a difficulty. I want to be there for you, and I’d love it if you’d let me.”

Crowley nods and places a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, drawing him in for a chaste kiss.

Thank you for being here when I need you. I love you.

Aziraphale kisses him back, placing his hand over Crowley’s.

I love you, too. I’ll always be here.

“Well, I think it’s about time we get you to bed.”

“Will you stay with me, angel?”

“Always.”

#good omens #good omens tv #good omens fic #go #go fic #gomens #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #Aziraphale #crowley #squaaash #joldiego #ao3

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scullyy · 5 years

Text

Through My Eyes

Pairing: Clem x Louis

Word Count: 1660

Summary: After having a horrid nightmare, Louis distances himself from the rest of the kids. To them, it's nothing new. For Clementine, she's determined to get to the bottom of it.

A/N: Long-time no see! This is based off an ask I received a while ago where an anon asked me to write a one-shot where Louis has a nightmare and remains closed off from the rest of the kids. I really wanted to explore Louis's family here and how they impacted his self-esteem/how even one thing we hear as children can leave a lasting impression (and yes I’m just gonna give the characters the last names of their VA from now on). I hope you enjoy :))

Stop.

For one minute, he just wanted everything to stop.

It always began with the nightmares. At least once a week they would crawl into his head, attacking him at his weakest point. Sometimes they were about his family and the divide that he caused, other times they were about his long lost classmates, calling out his name yet he could never call back. After experiencing death and decay since childhood, they all lined up and repeated themselves like tracks on a broken CD. The same horrid imagery that once rendered him frozen in his tiny bed now only gave him a headache.

But he certainly wasn't ready for the darkness to turn his ray of sunshine - Clementine - into a monster, a physical form of every evil sensation, a vessel that his darkest thoughts could escape through.

Her voice didn't even sound like her. It wasn't soft like the tone she took to in the early mornings, wasn't strong whenever she listed off instructions or even delicate like the beautiful words she would share with him before the two would depart to bed. No. Whatever had possessed her was shrill. Each word she threw his way was like an icepick to the heart. "Better wake up before I die Louis. It'll be your fault if I do."

Louis pressed the same two keys over and over again. A and B and A and B. His thoughts held a new weight to them now that they had slithered out of Clementine's mouth. "She's gonna think you're crazy if you tell her about the dream. Everyone else does."

Stop.

He hated it. It gurgled in every part of his body, rendering him quiet and weak. Since the dream something within him was pushed to avoid Clem, pulling himself away as if she were a deadly addiction that no man or woman could survive through. "Besides, who would want to deal with me..."

His present didn't go unnoticed by her. How could it?

Clementine paid no attention to the fresh soup in front of her. "He's been avoiding me for almost five days now, there must be something wrong."

"He has nightmares from time to time, we all do, I wouldn't worry too much about it." Aasim directly informed her without blinking an eye. All the other kids shamefully nodded, silently admitting that they had no idea how to fix him.

Everyone hears the jokes, the piano but after that, they stop listening. You didn't.

Clementine slammed her wooden spoon down onto the table. "I'm gonna go talk to him whether he wants to or not." With great haste she made her way to the admin building, her body jolting every time Louis hit a wrong note. He never made such crude mistakes, not so many times in a row. Soft swears echoed along the hallway, she would have giggled had they not been coming from a place of obvious sorrow.

She gently pushed the door open, wincing at the obnoxious creak it made. So much for subtlety.

"Clem?" Louis quickly fixed his poor posture as she hopped into the room. "What, uh, what are you doing here?"

Her face fell at his attempt at normalcy. After years of being lied to, witnessing people go behind each other's backs, Clementine was near immune to lies. "You haven't spoken a word to me - or anyone - for days. I'm worried."

That word...worried. He heard it come from her so many times before, yet each time it simply rolled off his shoulders. "I just have these nightmares sometimes and they really fucking suck. They all start with this thing my grandmother told me when I was a kid, never really shook it off."

He was only small. Too small to see over the edge of a table as his grandmother stood high above him, looking down upon him as if he were the cockroaches within her kitchen. "You were born a Sulieman, that is your birthright," His grandmother spat the name through her pursed lips, ashamed of her own heritage. "That is your burden."

The Sulieman empire, fucking over one person at a time. His hand had been dealt, time for his turn to bear the brute force of just how lost his family truly was.

"I didn't get it at the time, till I got older and it just...hit me. Like I was starring down the barrel of a gun my whole life, cluelessly wondering what was inside it, until the bullet got me and I wondered why I spent so long searching for what was inside," He was spilling over as if his heart was a cup that cracked beneath the weight of life itself. "When I could have paid more attention to what was around me, to what mattered." Louis merely shrugged at his words. Deep down he knew that Clementine would listen to him, willingly. She could help to mend whatever ailed him without fail. Like she said, she truly worried about him.

But how could it be true? A girl as level-headed and strong as her, worrying about a selfish boy such as himself...why? "If only you knew just how much of an idiot I was, you would clearly be disappointed."

"That's not true-"

"Yeah, it is. You're a goddamn idiot. Everywhere you go you destroy something. You can never save anything, can you? Of course you split up your parents, what else would you do? That's why Marlon's dead, that's why no one ever listens to you. What are you going to do to Clementine? What about her asshole-"

Stop.

His growing doubt stuffed his ears with prickly cotton, blocking everything except his own little voice biting back and forth at himself. He never thought it was possible for someone to lose to themselves, and yet here he was.

Clem's demeanour hadn't changed, except her eyes appeared more watery than before. "Louis, seriously what's wrong? What did you dream about?" Her palm caressed his cheek with such delicacy he almost broke right then and there. With what little energy he had, Louis swallowed the expanding lump in his throat, along with the vivid imagery playing behind his eyes every time he closed them.

“I was standing, in the woods. You were leaning against a tree that had no leaves on it, you looked clean and tidy. Suddenly you...you just started screaming. Your jaw was unhinged. Then you blamed me, for everything. One by one the trees died till it was just you and me.”

He didn't need to cry though, countless nights had been wasted that way. There was nothing but dry guilt that clogged his throat, dragging him deeper into older memories. Memories of seeing old friends ripped apart from their bones, feeling the tether between him and his best friend etch away like fog on a grim evening. If he dived in too deep, would he be able to get back out?

Before she had the chance to fight him, which she usually did in situations like these, he intervened. "Clem...do you..have a voice in your head? I mean, one that constantly talks over you, again and again, saying that you're worthless. Am I..." He didn't want to be alone in his madness. Was he mad? "Crazy?"

Her brief silence was nearly the thing that pushed him off the edge, till she moved in closer to the piano, her fingers tracing their intimate carving. Seems like yesterday it happened.

"All the time."

Louis wasn't entirely sure why he was shocked, he turned to face her completely, giving her his undivided attention. Hearing her mutter a somehow shame-free 'yes' untied the knot in his chest. "You do? You seem to always have it together."

"Gotten pretty good at hiding it, I've had to ignore my doubts to stay alive, keep AJ safe," Louis helped her to the seat, he always left a small space for her in case she ever came in. She always did. "I often wondered if I was doing right by him, if what I was doing was helping him or hurting him. But at the end of the day, I just had to trust myself and hope that I was doing a good job."

Louis scoffed, a welcoming return to his normal attitude. "I think you did better than just a good job." No one else could have done what Clementine did, she did it with such grace and patience, that's what he loved so much about her.

"I could easily say the same for you. Louis, dream me sounds like a bitch, you're amazing."

He immediately looked away from her, blocking off her words of praise. Louis couldn't move very far before her poised hand gripped his chin, forcing him to look into her amber eyes.

"You are a wonderful guy. You're kind to everyone here, you're a great role model for AJ and as far as boyfriends go you pretty much take first prize," She loosened her grip on his skin, letting her thumb draw small circles over his cheek. "You make everyone here, especially me, feel better every day just by being you."

They sat together in pure silence for a while as the last of Louis's thoughts melted away. For the first time in days, he smiled an ever so blissful smile. "Hey, Clem?"

"Hm?"

A faint sigh fell from his lips as he felt his heart mended itself, just as it always did around her and just as it always will. "Thank you."

#twdg #the walking dead game #the walking dead game season four #twdg clementine #twdg louis #clouis #louisentine #clem x louis #twdg season 4 #xscullyx #fanfiction

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unknownunseenunheard · 4 years

Note

3, 23, 21 for the fic asks

Sure, and thanks!

3. Favorite line/Scene that you wrote this year

This one is a mash up cause I have too choices for it

A) From the Heart II: Destiny’s Fall,

Faris vs Ardyn

"The first mistake yee made was coming after Noctis. The second yee made was assuming I would let you anywhere near him. The third was not running when yee had the chance." Faris proclaimed, the whip in her hands warping back to the initial dagger she'd faced him with. "My name is Faris Scherwiz, Warrior of Light and Guardian of the Fire, and you SHALL NOT PASS!" Faris bellowed, eyes wide, brandishing the blade held in hand as bright orange red flames exploded around her figure, melting had the stone beneath their feet.

Ardyn laughed.

"Guardian of Fire, little girl? I took the God of Fire and broke him to my will! Bent him until he was nothing but a mockery of himself!" Ardyn let his armiger flare around him, weapons spinning. "You are nothing but an ant beneath my feet, 'Pirate King' Faris!" Ardyn mocked.

Faris grinned, lowering her arm.

"King? Oh, no, Ardyn. I am no King." Faris told him. The dagger disappeared in a flurry of light, replaced with a bow and arrow, of all things. "I identity as a Disney Princess."

What?

Lifting her free hand, Faris stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

It was at that moment that animals appeared out of literally nowhere and began to besiege Ardyn.

Disney Princess indeed.

Ardyn snared as he was racked by a wild boar that came out of literally nowhere. Beating it aside, Ardyn tried to impale the thing but it vanished before he could. Instead, a skunk, of all things, flipped before his face, letting loose a noxious fume right in his face.

Spluttering, Ardyn backed away, eyes burning. He'd regenerate quickly, but that smell wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

A squirrel landed on his face, scarring at it, tiny claws digging into his flesh.

Enough.

Ardyn pulsed.

The animals scurrying around him were blasted away, weapons swirling around Ardyn before blasting forth, impaling them all.

It was at this moment that an arrow bursting in flames smashed into his shoulder. Ardyn was nearly knocked over from the blow, spinning in fury to blast more weapons in the direction of his assailant.

The so called Disney Princess was dancing about the rooftops, using the rubble as cover as coming out on long enough to fire another burning arrow at him.

Ardyn phased out of the way for the next few, ready to phase towards her when a goddamn unicorn, of all things, appeared.

Holy light burst through the area. Hissing, Ardyn took a step back, hand raised to shield his eyes from the glow. Surprisingly, he felt not an ounce of pain.

When the light dissipated, he could see why.

The animals he'd cut down were rising again, their wounds healed.

Oh hell no. He wasn't getting another skunk blast in the face.

B) TimKon Week Day II: Secret Relationship

Horrifying tf out of Jason

Tim's back hit the wall as Conner came at him with a growl, hands trailing along his skin, tkk ripping off layers of clothes. Lips latched onto Tim's neck, sucking hungrily. Groaning, Tim titled his head to give the clone better access before spreading his thighs to better accommodate Kon in between them.

Fuck. Fuck, it had been so long. It had been so long, and neither of them wanted to wait. Tim wasn't even sure why they were still hiding this from everyone else, but it did add a kick to the relationship.

The secret looks, the secret glances. Slipping away from everyone else. The risky sex where someone might walk in on them.

Like right here. Right in the manor, right under Batman's nose. It gave Tim a thrill to know they were doing this here, in the house of the world's so called greatest detective while the man himself was completely unaware.

Conner's hand came up to palm Tim through his pants and Tim let out an embarrassingly high pitched moan. It really had been too long since they'd done this. So, after the last mission, Tim had coyly asked Conner to fly him home.

They hadn't made it halfway to Gotham before their makeout session had gone from sweet and innocent to 'I'm trying to devour your soul through your lips', and Tim was enjoying it far too much. Absolutely nothing could ruin this mome-

"Holy mother of God, what in the fuck are you two shits doing in my room! MY EYES!"

Conner sprang away from Tim like an elastic waistband, wide eyed and surprised. Startled, Tim looked up.

There, crouched up against the headboard sat Jason, arms wrapped around his knees, face buried in his palms as he vehemently shook.

"Oh god. Oh god, I am never gonna get that image out of my head! Whyyy! What did I ever do to deserve this? Wait, don't answer that, I did try and kill Tim a few times… BUT STILL! You desecrate my brother before me, and while I'm glad little Timmy won't be a virgin for much longer because it means he'll finally get that perpetual stick out of his ass, I DID NOT NEED TO SEE IT!"

Oh gods. Oh gods, Conner had went through the wrong bloody window. Mortified, Tim's face went beat red. Then, the second half of Jason's words registered.

"You think this is the first time we've done this?" Conner, the dumbass, had to open his mouth.

Jason let out a high pitched squeal and renewed his shaking.

"Nope, nope. I'm not hearing this, I'm not here, this is a nightmare. A really vivid, really twisted nightmare," Jason chanted the words like a prayer. Then, pausing, Jason looked up. "Wait, the clone has dicked you down before and you're still an insufferable prick half the time?"

"I am not an 'insufferable prick'!" Tim denied, offended. "And, how do you know I'm not the one who tops?"

In response, Jason took one look at Tim, took another long look at Conner, then looked back at Tim with a single raised eyebrow.

"I will not stand for these accusations and this blasphemy!" Tim cried.

Conner blinked.

"But Tim, you like-"

Tim interrupted Conner by placing a hand over the clone's mouth. "Shh!"

Jason groaned again, burying his face back between his knees.

"This is punishment. I know it is!" Jason exclaimed. Then, looking up again, Jason glared straight at Conner. "You are using protection, right?"

Conner spluttered.

"Of course we are!" Conner said, offended.

Tim nodded his assessment, pulling out a Pokémon card from his pocket. "We've been completely safe." Tim informed his brother with a straight face.

Hey, if the secret was gonna come out of the damn bag, Tim was going to make the fucking most of it, thank you very much.

Jason stared at him for several seconds before, yet again, burying his face into his thighs and screaming incoherently.

23. Fics you wanted to write but didn’t

I wanna write a Star Wars Legends/Star Wars Sequel trilogy mash up

And a TimKonBart series

21. Most memorable comment/review?

Anything by ChaosSonic2018. Mostly cause they leave long detailed comments everywhere, although I just double checked and they have apparently deleted their account? This a tragedy-

Send me a fanfiction ask?

#fanfic asks #from the heart #timkon week

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katehuntington · 5 years

Text

How You & I Will Be - part three

Fandom: Supernatural Timeframe: mid-season 2 Main characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Series summary: When a hellhound case in the mountains goes sideways, Dean and Y/N find themselves trapped in a small cabin, miles from civilization. A serious injury forces the two hunters to come to terms with their true feelings for each other. Rescue is on its way, but will it be in time? Warnings part three: angst, pining, canon typical violence, horror and gore, nightmares, anxiety attack, swearing, alcohol, description of blood and injury, possible character death. Some fluff, but mostly flangst. Music: ‘Just The Way You Are’ by Billy Joel Word Count: 2864 words Author’s note: Part 3 of a 5 part mini-series. @idreamofhazel and @littlegreenplasticsoldier, thank you so much for being awesome betas! The angst train made a short stop at Fluff Station, but I can assure you that from now on we’re rolling straight into Hell! Enjoy!

Find the ‘How You & I Will Be’ masterlist here!

Darkness…. Complete, pitch black darkness. The only sound that disturbs the silence is the howling of a canine in the distance. Y/N recognizes it, there's only one creature that is capable of producing a cry like that. It’s a cry that makes her shiver, that causes the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. A second hellhound replies to the call, its origin much closer than the one before. Startled she steps back, feeling the snow rustle under her bare feet. She’s too frightened to feel the cold.

Has she gone blind? Is that the reason she can only hear the monsters in the shadows? Her sense of smell has definitely not disappeared because the metallic aroma of blood pricks her nostrils. Then the hellhounds stay quiet, causing her heart rate to fasten even more. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. Okay, keep calm. Keep your head straight, Y/N.

Even though she’s scared out of her mind, now is not the time to flee blindly. It wouldn't matter anyhow, she couldn't possibly outrun them. What she does need to do, is let the hunter inside deal with this. She knows what kind of supernatural being she’s dealing with, now what does she have on her that could possibly help? Quickly she checks her pockets, which, to her relief, contain a small cotton bag of goofer dust. With quivering hands Y/N takes the bag out, but drops it in the process. Shit!

Panicking she crouches and searches the surface using her hands, letting her fingertips explore the snow. When she touches something that stands out, she freezes. Very slowly she pulls back her hand, the tip of them stained with a substance that feels like blood. A breeze caresses her face, waving her hair slightly. But it wasn't the wind, it was a breath.

One of the hellhounds is inches from her face, she doesn’t need eyesight to determine that. She can feel the creature's presence and as it starts to growl deeply, Y/N begins to whimper, trembling so badly that she can barely keep her balance. Slowly she looks up, her breath quivering as tears find their way down her face. Her blood runs cold, even though she sees the hot flames flicker in the eyes of the being that is about to shred her to pieces. Oh my God, I’m going to hell…

In a fraction of a second, the monster jams its teeth into the side of her head. She hears the bone crushing as she lets out a horrifying scream, and before the hellhound rips her face off, she calls for the only person who has always saved her in the past, but today will not. No flashbacks of her grim life, no bright light that seduces her to come closer. Only pain. Excruciating, unbearable pain. "DEAN!!!"

"Hey hey hey! Calm down, Y/N. Calm down, it's okay." Her eyes fly open as she bolts up. In complete fright, she inhales rapidly as if she’d fought to the surface after having been held under water too long. The air is thin and she can’t breathe. “Y/N? Look at me! Look at me, please….” Dean positions himself in front of her. “Look at me.” It isn't until Dean softly cups her face, that his words come through and her eyes flick at his, truly seeing him. It’s when she stares into those green orbs, she realizes that what she just experienced was indeed a nightmare. Reality is slightly better, she’s still trapped in the cabin with Dean, waiting for some kind of miracle. But she’s not being slaughtered by hellhounds, so at least she has that going for her. Able to breathe out again with a shivering sigh, she closes her eyes. Mother of God, that was vivid.

"You alright?" Dean asks carefully, reading her with burdened eyes. Y/N nods, almost as a reflex. After all, she has never answered that question differently. Even when she’s not okay, the huntress would shrug it off, get treatment if needed and move on. But when she becomes aware of the cold that has taken over her body, the trembling of her hands and the sweat gushing from her pores, she realizes that she is anything but alright. A throbbing pain spreads from her wounded leg to every square inch of her skin. Aching muscles, the inability to move without putting in a tremendous amount of effort, the lack of energy. It feels like her battery is drained, and it startles her. What happened overnight? Has she ever felt like this? Like she’s... dying?

Swallowing apprehensively, she looks up to meet Dean's gaze. He seems to understand she’s second guessing her answer to his question. When he lays the palm of his hand over her forehead to check her temperature, the heat coming off and meeting his touch shocks him. "You're burning up," he says grimly. "But I-I'm so cold," she replies confused. Dean sighs again, although he tries to hide his worried expression, then he wraps his leather jacket around her a little tighter. He doesn't want her to be cold, anything but that. So even though her body temperature is spiking, he gets up to get the fire in the fireplace going again.

Y/N observes his actions in silence, watching how he does his best to get the smouldering embers to ignite, fueling the fire with some old newspapers and chopped wood. Burning ashes light up every now and then, it's nothing close to the little inferno that was burning yesterday shortly after they got here. The flames seemed to have died down slowly during the night, a little like her. Maybe it should give them hope then, that Dean is able to get the fire going. The light and the heat reach Y/N and she closes her eyes, letting it warm her bones. Footsteps and the wooden floorboards bending under Dean's weight triggers her to open them again. The hunter has crouched down next to her leg, which is stretched out elevated on the backpack. When he folds away the bandage, it becomes clear as day why she is feeling ill. "That doesn't look so good," he grunts. "Ugh…." She takes in a breath through her nose, which she regrets instantly. "It doesn't smell good either."

Infected, no doubt about it. The edges of the wound are red as fire, blood and pus seep out. The swelling causes a pain that beats through her body in the rhythm of her heart. No wonder she has a fever so bad it has the chills running up and down her spine. Dean can see the panic return in her eyes. "I'm so fucked," she whimpers, staring at the injury. "Y/N, listen to me." Dean's gaze is locked on her. It captivates Y/N, the pure determination strikes her immediately. "We're gonna fix this and you're gonna be okay, you hear me? You’ve had worse than this. Remember Cleveland?"

Cleveland, Ohio. Of course she didn't forget. She got shot in the chest in a police chase. With authorities on her tail, rushing to a hospital would have meant jail time and she wouldn't have it, despite a collapsed lung. Dean knew an army buddy of his dad’s, in Westlake, who served as a hospice. It got a little hairy, but with his help she pulled through just fine. "You're gonna fight this head on, understand? I'll be right here by your side. You do not have to do this alone and this is not gonna kill you, hear me?" he pressures.

Y/N swallows down the lump that was forming in her throat and nods. The stern yet reassuring words calm her down and she is able to focus again without panicking. Dean breathes out and his eyes soften. His hand reaches for her face, brushing away a lock of wayward hair and tucking it behind her ear. As his fingers glide across her cheek, Y/N leans into the touch. She doesn't mean to, she doesn't mean to close her eyes in the process either, but the action catches her by surprise. When she realizes how it might come across, however, she hesitates and backs out a bit, but Dean cups her face with both hands, his thumb caressing her clammy skin. Those green eyes look down hers in a way that it causes them to fill up.

She’s grateful that Dean is here with her, but she would give anything... everything, to have a relationship with him that is a whole lot less platonic than this. Because, face it, now that her end might possibly be near, it doesn't matter that she pushed away the ones she cared about. It doesn't matter that she didn't let love in. What matters is that she wasted time being scared of the pain it could cause. Living on the edge should have pushed her to live life to the fullest. To be bold, to love. But she went the other way, she did the exact opposite. And God, does she regret it now. "It'll be okay," he assures with a soft, gentle voice, noticing that she’s moved. Again Y/N nods, a little more convincing than she did before. She wants to believe him, she really does. Not just for her own sake, but for his too. Dean is going to beat himself up if this turns out to be her final hunt. He picked the case, he took the lead, she got injured on his watch. She’s his best friend and it would kill him if she breathed out her last breath. That alone is enough reason to do exactly as he told her; to fight it head on. Laugh death in the face. She will fight, no way she is going to give up that easy.

The selfish version of her would choose this moment to kiss Dean, finally showing how much she wants to be with him. But she won't, she is not going to drop a bomb right when the future has never been more unclear. Who knows how he might respond, what kind of reaction it might trigger. Were her destiny to take a turn for the worse, it would only cause him more pain. If anything, she wants to prevent that from happening. So instead of the kiss that she always wanted, Y/N decides to wait, and pulls him into a hug. She promises herself, though, that if they both make it out of here alive, she will tell him. She will pull him close and lock her lips on his, and he will know when he feels the admiration, the promises, the love. She can hope for a miracle, can't she?

Drained from emotion, she shuts her eyes and rests her chin in the crook of his neck. Softly, he strokes her hair, comforting touches. A deep sigh escapes her lips, then she opens her eyes again and wipes them dry, looking up at the ceiling. Between the wooden struts she spots something, a square figure. "Dean…." He creates a little distance and follows her gaze. When they land on the ceiling, he narrows his eyes. "Is that a hatch?" Hopeful, he gets up; who knows what might be stored in the attic. A thin piece of rope with a ring on the end hangs from the ceiling. With the poker that he just used to heat up the fire, he now pulls the lid down, revealing a folding ladder. "Well, what do you know," he breathes, pulling the ladder down. "What do you think you're gonna find up there?" she wonders, hoarse. "Hopefully, something that can come in handy," he says, climbing the stairs. "The back room was easily accessible and way too clean for an abandoned cabin. Either it was looted, or the hunters stored the good stuff some place else." She hears him flick on a flashlight, then dust falls down from between the cracks in the ceiling as he searches the place. Dean rummages around, it doesn't take long before he discovers something useful. "Yahtzee!" "What did you find?" "Well, for one..." he starts off, lowering himself down the ladder with a bottle in his hand, "some yippee-ki-yay moonshine." She raises her eyebrows approvingly. "Good. I could use a drink about now." "Let's disinfect that wound first and get desperate later, okay?" he suggests as he crouches down next to her. "Is it any good?" Dean pulls out the cork and smells it. He makes a face and holds the bottle out. "It might burn a hole in your leg, but it'll disinfect, alright. You ready for this?"

Carefully, she sits up straighter as Dean lifts her injured leg. While taking a breath, she braces herself and nods. Despite being tough as nails when it comes to injuries, when he pours the liquor in the wound, she almost screams out, but clenches her teeth, keeping the sound caged in her throat. It feels as if a thousand mad bees are attacking her leg, but strangely enough the pain satisfies as well. It feels as if the wound is scrubbed clean, and that’s exactly what it needs. It's only now that she notices Dean's hand on her upper leg, waiting for her to settle. He watches his partner with empathy. "You're good?" he checks. "Aces," she shudders, resting her head against the wooden wall.

In silence, Dean cleans out the wound, drenching the last of the cotton from the first-aid kit. He carefully takes out the stitches with a sharp knife in order to get the disinfectant everywhere. It starts bleeding again soon enough, so he doesn't waste any time and sutures the laceration straight away, leaving a small end open so that the fluids can run out. Y/N flinches whenever he touches the sensitive tissue, but won't let out more than a grunt every now and then. "Why don't you play something?" he asks, hoping it might distract her a little. Even though she’s exhausted, Y/N takes out the harmonica. Dean looks up from his hands, barely smiling, watching how she places the mouthpiece against her lips and plays the first chords of 'Just The Way You Are' by Billy Joel. He listens to it intently as she takes his grief away and he starts to hum, letting the words escape his lips every now and then.

Don't go changing, to try and please me You never let me down before Don't imagine you're too familiar And I don't see you anymore

Just by observing her, he appreciates the huntress more and more. Despite the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes and the strings of hair stuck to her forehead due to the fever, he falls in love with her all over again as he has done so many times already.

I would not leave you in times of trouble We never could have come this far I took the good times, I'll take the bad times I'll take you just the way you are

The urge to show her how he feels scratches the surface, but he cannot give in to that. She has enough on her plate as it is, listening to his confession is probably not something she wants to deal with right now.

I don't want clever conversation I never want to work that hard I just want someone that I can talk to I want you just the way you are

For a moment he forgets her injury, he forgets the sticky situation that they are in. When this is all over, he is going to tell her what she really means to him.

I said I love you and that's forever And this I promise from the heart I could not love you any better I love you just the way you are

If she wants to, he’ll stop hunting. He’ll take a job as a mechanic and do whatever he can to provide for her. He will buy her a house, maybe by a lake or by the beach. And when the two of them are all settled, they'll get a dog, and who knows, maybe have a family of their own.

I need to know that you will always be The same old someone that I knew What will it take till you believe in me The way that I believe in you

Honestly, he's tired. Tired of working this business, tired of stumbling into a dirty motel room in the middle of the night, beat up and broken. He's tired of hustling pool and driving from town to town. He's tired of being hunted by the police for crimes he didn't commit. He's tired of people dying around him. Y/N deserves to get out, Sam too. He would give his life to make sure they receive a get-out-of-jail-free card. But first things first; he has to keep Y/N alive. Because if he can’t even make that happen, that fantasy... it will remain just that. An idealistic dream, nothing more than an illusion.

Read part four here

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threshprince · 5 years

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Burning Bright

Word count: 2,165

Summary: Karissa has a secret she's been keeping from Eddie and the Symbiote... and has now peaked the interested of the fearsome God of the Symbiotes: Knull has returned to this world to take it. Can she stop Knull from using her gift to destroy the universe?

Notes: A Self Indulgent Selfshipping Fanfic with Eddie and the Venom Symbiote! I've wanted to write something involving Knull for quite a while and that time is now! I know some people dislike the run but I'm simply enthralled by it and love it. It's something I'm very much into and sometimes wish more people were so I wanted to pay homage to it in some kind of way! Thank you Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman and the rest of the team for the amazing (and heart-wrenching) story so far! All in all, enjoy~

Burning Bright is also on AO3

Chapter One: Tenebris

God Is Coming.

Those three simple words altered the course of the future once more.

A gasp escaped her bolting upwards from the mattress feeling the sweat roll off of her. Karissa grasped at the sheets trying to ground herself to the fact that it had been just a dream. Her muscles tensed and her knuckles white she gazed out into the night sky that only garnered a peek of the stars from the apartment window.

Her eyes wearily turned to the body next to her as her sudden movement didn't seem to wake him. Good thing, as he surely needed the rest. Though otherworldly ivory eyes gleamed in the light that did pour through the window at her.

They were safe. They both were.

It was just a dream.

The viscous being brought their thin head over to her making a bizarre questioning noise that was akin to a trill or a purr. Their mass began to slowly envelop her shaky form giving Karissa the comfort she needed in that time.

"I'm okay, dearest... I'm okay... just a nightmare." Karissa cradled the Symbiote against her bosom gently tracing their skin with her nails. Their eyes squinted in content as they noticed how worked up she had gotten. They could sense the tenseness within and coaxed her to lay back down with thin appendages.

Her head was still fogged with dread as if an ominous threat was looming over her head. Despite the Symbiote's light nuzzles bringing her back to reality she still felt herself tremble. She had never had that vivid of a dream in her life.

Especially with one that was supposed to be still imprisoned.

Swallowing thickly she allowed her muscles to calm even if they trembled and stared at Eddie as he slept soundly. She hoped that she wouldn't have to worry about them as much as she did. Considering the incident with a god Eddie had gradually been working on the mental strain that it caused him.

She allowed herself to settle and felt the drowsiness overtake her being as exhaustion set in.

A piercing roar jolted her from her hour long slumber as it cracked the sky. She awoke in panic hoping it was just her imagination frantically darting her eyes around the room. Shifting in her arms she felt the Symbiote shift their head upwards to her.

A look of dread painted her face realizing their once pure eyes were now a bloody crimson. Their voice distorted as if being commanded to say so.

"GOD IS COMING."

"No-!" Came the voice of Eddie from her side as he looked just as petrified. "No this can't be happening..."

Karissa watched warily as the Symbiote drifted towards the window to peer out muttering in their alien language. It was as if they were being drawn to it as she desperately held them back from it.

"Dear no!" Karissa cried out trying to get them to snap out of it.

"No dammit! Not again! He shouldn't be here!" Eddie bunched his fists up tightly trying to quell the rage and fear within him. Karissa sucked in a breath trying to calm the anxiety within her getting up to embrace him with the Symbiote between them both.

"You stay. We have to keep you safe at all costs, Karissa." Eddie murmured taking in the scent of her hair as if it were the last thing he would.

"I refuse! Last time you disappeared and almost were killed! I'm not going to lose you to him again!"

"We know you feel helpless... but we can't risk you getting hurt. You-"

A deafening screech came overhead as the apartment rumbled like an earthquake from the impact outside. Terrified screams filled the air as chaos seemed to ring through the streets. Clasping their ears from the roar she felt Eddie rip himself away from her in desperation.

"He's here! Stay inside, Karissa!" Eddie pleaded desperately in a hurry before the Symbiote reformed around him. Lunging through the window and letting the webbing that he had shot out to a surrounding building bringing him down to the source.

Everything was happening so fast as she wished she could heed his words. Her safety meant nothing if she didn't lend them some sort of help. Looking at her trembling hands she wondered if she finally had a chance to prove her worth and save them. The power she had within her all this time and had been practicing in secret. She could save them this time, she could with this power at her disposal.

Her legs carried her now to the door before swinging it open feeling another rumble shake the building. Karissa flinched and headed down the stairs as fast as her legs could take her. Tears welled up in her eyes trying to get herself down to the lobby as fast as she possibly could muster.

Out of breath she reached ground floor wearily leading herself outside as she was finally met with what was happening. The sight of her boyfriend being grounded as the Symbiote shielded his body. Knull looming above advancing him threateningly and against her better judgment she burst out into the street.

Feeling the heat within her palms and the warmth flood her core her eyes glowed white as she aimed her trembling hands towards the god.

"LEAVE THEM ALONE!"

A beam of light shot through her palms as it sped towards him but the trajectory had gone off course with how hard she had been shaking. Shooting past his shoulder and into the Grendel it screeched being hit. Knull faltered in pain with his approach as his chilling gaze rested upon her.

"Aren't you right on cue... you see, Eddie and I have been having a little chat all about you. I didn't expect you to come out of hiding however..." Knull sneered wickedly regaining his composure. "... How wonderful."

"K-Karissa!? What... how-? We told you to stay inside! You stay AWAY from her!" Eddie grit his teeth in fury getting back up to slash at him. The God simply caught his wrist effortlessly and threw him aside causing him to hit the brick of a surrounding building.

"How futile. It seems you won't learn to stay down, host. It's what you've been known for after all. I'll deal with you at a later date." Knull stated ominously before his gaze turned back to the shaken woman still standing her ground.

"Where were we before we were rudely interrupted? I suggest you listen well, My child... you too Eddie Brock."

His limb extended in a grotesque manner towards her rapidly as she panicked and shot another ray of light at him. His hand simply split in two avoiding the weaker attack as tendrils began wrapping themselves around her legs and arms faster than she could react.

"No! Let me go!" Karissa cried trying to struggle away before she was yanked forward into his embrace. Coils of himself keeping her trapped like a fly caught in a net as she trembled at his touch along her jawline.

"Yes, you are the one... such a powerful light emanating from you. I sensed you before on this earth when my presence was known here last. I had known you were close to my child. I saw you in the memories I had tried to burn... but it proved futile in the end." Knull preached on while she wavered in his grip. "This power was enough to wound me temporarily confirming my suspicions. This wretched light within you is a threat to my conquest... but, I have decided your powers could be of use to me as well. Your shine reaches far through the cosmos and pierces the void. You will be cleansed in my darkness personally as my weapon to further reclaim what is mine."

The Symbiote reformed around Eddie surging into a rage as they continued to listen on to this. It was as if Eddie's blood was boiling underneath the skin as Venom's form bulked up even further than it was before.

"YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING TO HER!!!"

Blinded like a bull ready to charge his muscles tensed as if he was only one hairpin away from tearing into the god. Though he knew he would have to tear Karissa away from his clutches. He couldn't fail her. He wasn't going to lose someone he loved twice to the hands of this repulsive being.

Charging forth he tore through the street he slammed into Knull swiping at him furiously to release her. His form was punctured and torn through yet never seem to lose grip on her.

"Having fun? You know this won't work... I'm far away from you. We've been over this, My child."

"DON'T PATRONIZE US!" Venom roared as Knull's shape-shifting form continued to shift away and keeping Karissa out of the onslaught of blows.

"You know you cannot touch me yet you still try... pitiful. Stay down where you belong." Knull's hand swiftly clamped against his skull as an ancient power flooded their collected mind. The Symbiote screeched feeling the burn that Knull was once again trying to inflict upon them as Eddie felt it tear through his psyche.

"STOP IT!" Karissa desperately sobbed out trying to struggle in his grasp but still being immobilized by Knull's mass.

Once Eddie's other split from him Knull had let go as they collapsed to their hands and knees in agony. Knull simply turned his heel to the Grendel as it opened up to invite their deity within. A tight tug made him stop in his tracks as Venom's claw clenched against the threads of fabric. "Still you fight the inevitable? You won't prevail." The threads began to slip away from his grip thinning and sliding from the cracks. Venom's grip now empty as his head stung and was still foggy with lingering pain.

"VENOM!!" Karissa screamed his name as the dragon stitched itself up for voyage obscuring vision from them.

The God Dragon made a mighty raucous screech as it rattled even the Symbiote that was grounded from the sound as it splayed it's wings for flight. Venom couldn't just lay there and shot a thick strand of webbing against the skin of the Grendel.

Pushing off the ground and beginning the rapid ascent Venom was tugged along into the sky holding on for dear life. The heavy gusts of wind covered the scream that he let aloud from how quick they had shot up into the atmosphere. He had to grab onto the hide if he wanted to save her struggling to fight the turbulence. There was a brief instance of black that covered around the webbing as the milky pearlescent eyes widened in horror. Snipping the webbing free they were now in free fall as the Grendel sped towards the stars and beyond the clouds into the stratosphere.

"KARISSAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!" Venom howled in agony as he desperately reached for the sky.

Falling back to Earth the sheer panic of trying to slow themselves down as buildings began to start to get closer. Venom shot out webbing to catch his fall as it latched onto the side of a building nearest to him. It stopped him from falling but the force of the stop made him fly back and upwards and hit the stone leaving a sizable crack. Almost like a bungee Venom was flung up and down a few times before settling and dangling.

They stayed together like this defeated as a numbing feeling set inside of them. Venom failed yet another person that he promised to always protect and keep safe. After an hour of dangling they both had the strength to finally swing towards a building to sit on the ledge staring at the bright lights of the city below. The sirens of police and ambulances a few blocks away from what happened with The Grendel.

They both said nothing to each other sharing their grief as a unit. No words needed to be spoken as Venom's claws dug into the limestone. The sun began to peek from the horizon as the dawn of a new day greeted them but they only wished it hadn't come. She wasn't here to see it with them.

The Symbiote peeled back from Eddie's head as silent tears fell from his cheeks. His outfit morphed out into the guilt riddled face of his Other as they pressed their forehead against his. Eddie's trembling hands came up to cradle their face hearing them made a high pitched noise of distress. Their minds ached as one from the after effects of Knull's power tearing through their collective conscious. They both held each other closely glad to be whole but knew the last piece of the puzzle was lost to them. Eddie cracked open his steel blue eyes as they were weary with fatigue and despair but yet had a newfound fire lit with clouded vengeance.

"We'll get her back, Love. We will."

#Webbed Hearts #Selfship #Selfshipping #Supia's Writing #Fanfic #Symbrock #Knull #Venom 2018 #Them Poly Triad Ship Feels #Here's the first chapter guys!#prepare for angst #I finally finished something its a christmas miracle #Venom x Self Insert #Eddie Brock x Self Insert

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ncumenia-archived · 5 years

Text

The luxuriant tree with festering sap

[TRIGGERS: depression anxiety intrusive thoughts suicide mention strong language disturbing descriptions (I don’t know how to describe it, sorry!)]

Another, poisonous and catastrophic intrusive thought woke her up, during that night, so colder than usual... Like parasites, these monsters infiltrated in one’s mind, making them dance into the edge of pure madness and horror. A caged bird which wings were torn out, in a darkened prison with no escape. The nightly breeze sounded like millions of haunted voices echoing in Targon, whispering, again and again, deadly thoughts inside her fragile mind... Again. Jaelor, the High Prophet, his dirty nails digging on her fair skin, vomiting words filled with death, a sentence endlessly repeated: “You’ll be a dawnless night, child.”. And the nightmare, the Lunar Eclipse, the vivid crimson of its surface was still vivid in her eyes, the stench of blood soaking her clothes seemed so... Real. She could remember anything from that night: her soft, pale hand now bloodstained on blood that wasn’t hers, her silver hair now turned into a shiny, crimson river. A scream echoed in that cage, screaming to a deaf world, unable to understand her pain. The fact she was unable to vomit what was twisting her guts, making her hands shiver in fear, just wanting the silence around her... For those eerie voices were already screaming inside her mind. Ah, what would happens if the whole community discover she had actually lied about the High Prophet’s verdict? The fact she had condemned an innocent soul, the guy she was supposed to know -and perhaps, marry-. Ah, his dreams... Now shattered into pieces, just like an executioner cutting the victim’s limbs, but leaving them alive... With the awareness, they won’t be able to walk anymore, nor caressing the smooth, wet grass beneath their palms. Many days have passed since that cursed prophecy ripped out her hope, her smile, now the silver-haired was pretending everything was fine. Just smile and nod, she screamed in her mind, attempting to silence all those parasites inside her brain, now slowly eating what was left of... Desire to live. Ah, the beauty of having no mouth, but a huge need to scream. And how one was supposed to scream its sins when... They had committed one of the worst acts ever? How could one was supposed to expel from its body the disease which was rotting them alive, the festering secret no one should know. A secret which would lead to death. Ernye was alone, now. Her palms opened, feeling the gentle breeze caressing her body, in contrast with the guilt which was clasping her body, silently suffocating her, whispering to her ear what she had done, what that pretty mouth of her was able to condemn a honest guy like Magel, and his whole family. O, beautiful, silver-haired child of the moon, those plump, peach-like lips of yours secrete poison, my child. And just look... Your beauty had poisoned an innocent man’s life, ah look at his family, now slowly decaying because of your lie. O, dawnless night... You’re just a beautiful, luxuriant tree filled with many fleshy, scented fruits... But nobody knows your sap is infected, rotting your sweet insides, my child... Ah, but who cares, my dear Ernye, daughter of an honest man like Maelor, your mother Sealeanna, one of the most respected women in the community? Tell me, my dawnless night... Who cares about your rotting insides, when there’s beauty outside your guts? And now, her cerulean hues staring at the abyss in front of her. The wind gently pushing her next to its edge. Just silently staring inside it... The void. There was nothing. Only the howling wind. But, after all, she didn’t want... To face anything, for the burden was like wearing a rosebush... Ah, look at me. Beautiful roses, delicate petals... Fed with my bile and blood. «Not even the Silver One is able to heal my pain... What I’ve done is... Wrong. I’m a liar, why isn’t the High Prophet... Say anything about Magel’s exile? Is he aware? Is he waiting the Full Moon Festival to feast on my sorrow?» Warm tears now wettening her eyes, slowly running over her freckled cheeks, each drop feeding the ground beneath her feet... Feeding them with sorrow and lies. Ah, gorge before the young one. Its siren-like beauty was tempting the Lunari, now a sailor after seeing Death disguised as the most beautiful creature in the world. Hear its voice, Ernye. They’re calling your name. Throw away your burned, open yours arm and let yourself go... Don’t you wish to join us, child? You beautiful, venomous liar... Don’t you wish peace? She slowly began to forget the chains she was carrying, the same which trapped her on the bed. Ah, how awful was waking up, knowing the pain had returned. Her head hurting, the voices echoing, the night disappearing only to welcome a poisonous day. The chain were getting lighter and lighter now. Ah, goodbye, father. Goodbye, mother. Goodbye, Pasifae. Goodbye, my friends, my beloved children, my beloved teachers... Now, it’s time to go. Let me sink in my sorrow. Let the last straw drown me. It’s time to go. -Nina?- A voice, suddenly, made her eyes open again. Now silently staring in front of her. A hand, a familiar touch grasping her shoulder, almost forcing her to turn toward a dusky visage, dark, shiny hues meeting her sky ones... Pasifae. «Pae? A-ah...! I was just... Reflecting...!» Ernye quickly stuttered, fighting to not weep, but... She couldn’t. Her arms wrapping around her soft body, her visage pressed on her chest as she began to sob. Ah, my beloved Pasifae. So wild, so fierce... A lioness. How much I wish to tell what happened. How liar I am. Will you hate me, Pasifae? How, how much I want to escape, how much I need the silence, my friend. How much I need the soporific kiss of the Death. -Hey, Nina! That’s okay...! I’m here! I’m here!- She whispered, hands now caressing her silver locks, pressing her lips on her forehead, for seeing the girl she loved the most suffering like an animal was... Unbearable. -My beloved silver one. How much I wish to kiss your lips. How much I want to escape with you, to visit Runeterra. This land doesn’t belong to me, the Moon isn’t my mother. I’m fierce, I’m a lioness. And I’ll protect you, my love. With my claws and teeth.- She let Ernye silently vent, although she wasn’t that religious. Perhaps that was... A mere coincidence. And Magel wasn’t the person suitable for her. Which made her... Lowkey smirk. But there was no time, now. Her well being was the most important thing, now. -Nina...- She repeated, her hands cupping her cheeks, raising her visage up to meet her sky-like hues again. Pasifae was a strong woman, she had been through many things... From having a family who dislikes her, for the fact she refused to become a Lunari soldier... For the fact, some girl labeled her as a lesbian, as if it was an insult... But, alas, even if, as long as two people were of age and there was consent, some people felt disgusted toward certain types of sexualities. Ah, how much she enjoyed when she threw a punch in one of those cocky, homophobic faces. A moment of silence, now, her thumb gently brushing the silver’s freckled cheek. -Everything is fine, Nina. That’s not your fault... Now you’re safe. There are people who love you, you’re not alone. Your family, me, Magni, Moodi and all our friends... This community loves you, Nina.- Pasifae, how much I wish to vomit, now. Vomit my guts, just to let you see how rotten I am inside... Pus filled with lies, the worst sin I’ve commited in my whole life... My lungs want me to scream, but I can’t... My body is a dangerous place. What could Ernye say about that statement of hers? Was she safe? Well, she didn’t feel such. She felt trapped, always vigilant something bad might happen to her. Ah, the smallest mistake which could cause a cataclysm. Ah, intrusive, vermin thoughts echoing in her head. Just fake a smile. That was so easy. And that’s what she did, curving upward her lips, hands now reaching hers, her fingertips caressing her soft skin, letting her wiping away her tears. «Yes... I... I am. That’s just... A very bad period. But everything will be okay, Pasifae... I just... Need time. And... Rest.» She murmured now, unwilling to let the other go, enjoying the warmth of her body. Which partially soothed those demons inside her. She heard a small chuckled, then Pasifae’s hand digging through the leather bag she used to carry with her... Ernye knew what she wanted to do... Smoking. Yes, letting herself dance with the smokes, the mind-altering substances taking control of her mind, of her fears... A brief respite before the madness. -Wanna smoke, Nina? You look like you need to!- Ernye let out a small, forced giggle, nodding and sitting on the ground, next to her. She waited patiently for the other to fill the pipes before handing one to her. And then, she lighted them up. Now the Lunari inhaling those smokes... Letting them fill the rotted emptiness inside her, pretending she was listening to Pasifae, gossiping about some other people. Ah, Pasifae, Please, be quiet. I need the silence. I need the smoke filling up what’s left of my body. I need silence... For the monsters are now sleeping. But soon, they’ll wake up again... Ah, I’m walking on the edge of the abyss. What am I now? She blew out some herbal-scented smoke, her senses slowly becoming numb. A dead girl walking.

#tw: depression #tw: anxiety #tw: suicide mention #the cursed night (angst)#about alive!nina #whispering to the moon (drabble)#foolish call it slaughter i call it justice for my people (ic)#tw: strong language #ALIVE!Ernye #close your eyes and open your mind (tw:smoking)#just... wanted to write something #and I'm... Quite proud of this?#it's odd #first time I write this stuff

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hannahindie · 6 years

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Signs

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jack Kline, Castiel Word Count: 4,089 Warnings: Destiel, language, some angst, but then no angst! So there you go. A/N: So, I have newly embraced the idea of Destiel, and I had actually posted this on a side blog that was going to be where that stuff went until both @pinknerdpanda and I decided that was silly. She was the sweet angel that beta’d this for me, and I’m super proud of how it turned out. It’s an interesting concept that I wish would have really happened...but then again, I suppose I’m a little biased. lol Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

I will only be tagging those that have specifically shown interest in Destiel things. If you’d like to be added, then please let me know.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

It had been awhile since those words echoed in Dean’s mind, but lately, it was the one thing that kept coming back to him in the dark, the memory of electric eyes and shadowy wings spread across the abandoned hangar still vivid despite the long passage of time.

But that's all he had left, wasn't it? Memories...of Cas, of his mom. Both of them gone, taken away from him by Lucifer. As if they hadn't lost enough because of him, he lost his mom and his best friend in the blink of an eye. What they had left was a broken family and a kid that didn't know up from down, left from right.

It had been weeks since Cas had fallen, the sand marred by the tattered remains of his wings, and Dean couldn't understand why this was different. He always blamed himself, always felt a deep anguish for things that were inevitably his fault, but Cas’ death had torn something from him and, though he was almost ashamed to admit this, it was far worse than losing Mary. The only time he'd felt remotely like he currently was was when he'd left Lisa and Ben behind, and even that paled in comparison. The image of the angel blade piercing Cas’ chest, the slow crumple as he fell, the bright blue light that shot from him as his grace flickered out...it was like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart.

He attributed it to Cas being his best friend, the closest person to him other than Sam. Hell, Cas had saved him, literally pulling him out of the fire. Dean had done what Dean had always done in these kinds of situations; he'd hit on every waitress, bartender, and witness that he could, and slept with half as many as he would have liked. It wasn't a great way to deal with things, but it usually worked as a temporary distraction. This time, however, it only seemed to make it worse. Sam kept asking him what was wrong, but how could he answer a question he didn't know the answer to? So instead, he stayed grouchy and irritable, and threatened to kill the nephilim every chance he got.

That was, until this morning. He had been sleeping; not well, chasing nightmares he couldn't quite grasp, but he'd finally fallen into a fitful sleep. Suddenly, he was awakened by a sudden fire, a flame running up his arm and coalescing in his tricep, and he sat up as he grasped at the burning flesh, a strangled scream caught in his throat.

“Dean?! What's wrong?” The light clicked on abruptly and Dean squinted at the sudden brightness.

“Jesus, Sam, it’s fine. It was just a dream.” His hand lingered over the spot, his fingers slipping under his sleeve and finding rough skin where it once was smooth. “Go back to sleep.” Dean reached over and clicked the light back off and waited as Sam rolled over and pulled the blankets over himself. He quickly fell back into a deep slumber and Dean shifted, hanging his legs over the edge of the bed as he ran a hand over his face. Though the initial excruciating burn was gone, he could feel a tingle just below the surface, a reminder that whatever he'd thought he'd dreamed was real. He quietly stood and walked to the bathroom, checking to make sure Jack was also still asleep as he walked into the darkened room. He shut the door behind him with a muted click before flipping on the light. A bedraggled mess looked back at him; hair sticking up every which way, a five day beard that was slowly obscuring his face, and tired eyes that could use at least eight more hours of sleep.

His eyes traveled down to his arm, and he squinted at the slightly puckered, pink skin peeking out from below his sleeve. There's no way. The thought echoed in his mind, a denial that he knew he couldn't keep up. And then another thought, the first thing he'd ever heard Cas say.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

His hand moved on its own, gripping the soft edge of his t-shirt sleeve, and pulled. He stared wide eyed at the mark that, just a few moments before, hadn't been there. The mark that hadn't been there for almost a decade, the one that had disappeared over the years of death and resurrection.

The hand print that had saved him from a millennia of pain and torture, and the undoing of his very self. Cas’ hand, burned into him like a brand, a reminder of who he was and what was expected of him. There it was, plain as day, and there was absolutely no explanation for it.

He looked back up in the mirror, the exhaustion replaced by confusion and, if he was being honest, a little fear.

“What the hell?”

The car was silent other than the low rumble of the engine and the quiet rock music Dean had put on for background noise. Sam had spent the majority of the afternoon scrolling through his phone, and Jack had sat in the back, quietly flipping through a magazine Sam had grabbed for him at the last gas station. Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled deep into his muscles while he ignored the dull ache in his upper arm.

“You okay?” He glanced over to see Sam staring at him, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Yea, why?”

“You seem...tense.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “This is kind of a tense time, Sam. Mom is gone, probably dead, Cas is dead, we’re stuck with…” he looked up in the rearview to see Jack looking at him and sighed. “We’re not exactly living the dream.” His eyes returned to the road, and he tried to ignore his brother’s concerned gaze.

“What about last night?”

“What about it? I had a bad dream, it woke me up. I think we both are well versed in those.”

“I heard you talking to yourself.” Jack’s voice chimed in from the backseat, and Dean glared at him through the rear view.

“You didn't hear shit. You were asleep.”

“I don't really need sleep-”

“I said, you didn't hear shit.” Dean fell silent again and once again the only sounds in the car were the deep rumble of the engine and the low din of Metallica pulsing through the speakers.

Dean tried to ignore the pulsing in his arm, an insistent beat like a drum, set to its own rhythm.

What the hell was going on?

Dean sighed, the breeze cool against his face as he sat in the sun, his legs stretched out lazily in front of him. The worn handle of the fishing rod fit easily against his palm, almost as if it had spent countless hours resting in the same spot. The lake he was sitting in front of was a pristine blue, surrounded by mountains and green trees as far as the eye could see.

It was perfect.

Despite the seemingly calm perfection, he had a nagging thought in the back of his mind, the familiarity of the scene egging it on. But what was it? A tug on his line distracted him from the question, his hand automatically shifting from the handle to the reel, and slowly began turning.

"Dean." The low, gravelly voice startled him out of his idyllic moment, and he turned to see Cas standing next to him, looking out over the lake but standing close enough that they could touch if Dean just put his hand out. Instead, he returned his gaze to the water, and began slowly reeling in his line. "What are you doing here?" "You should ask yourself that. It is your dream." Dean rolled his eyes, "Yea, but I was perfectly content just fishing. I didn't want to see my dead best friend, alright? Not my idea of a dream.” He cast out his line again, and watched as it clung to the surface of the water before breaking the tension and sinking into the darkness.

“It is important that we talk, Dean.”

“How important can it be to talk to a dead guy? What else can we possibly talk about other than the fact that you’re gone, and Sam and I are on our own?”

“You have been on your own before.”

Dean gripped the rod tighter, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to stay calm. “Just because I’ve been on my own doesn’t mean…” He took a deep breath, then continued, “It’s not the same, Cas. I...we...were on our own. And then we weren’t, okay? A person gets used to it, and it’s not like we have much family left. I’m tired of losing people.”

“I do not think you are as alone as it seems. It is only a matter of time before you will see.”

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes even more blue than he remembered as he looked down at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He was surprised Cas could even hear his question, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Wait for the sign.” Cas dropped his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s chest tightened at the touch. He closed his eyes as he reached up, his fingers just grazing Cas’. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he moved his hand upwards, his palm covering rough knuckles.

Suddenly, his arm was on fire again, an intense burn that moved from his fingertips all the way to his shoulder, stopping just below where Cas’ hand was resting.

“Wait for the sign.”

Dean sat up with a jerk, and hastily wiped away the tear that was still rolling down his cheek. The dream was already fading into a mostly forgotten memory, except for a pair of exceptionally blue eyes standing out in the darkness. He heard someone clearing their throat and looked up to see Sam staring at him. “What?” he asked roughly, throwing back the blanket and shuffling to the bathroom before the younger Winchester could answer. He avoided looking in the mirror; he knew whatever he saw there would be rough; no need to dwell on it.

“What was that about?” Sam asked as Dean reappeared from the bathroom, and despite his obvious effort to mask it, Dean could hear the concern in his voice.

“It was just a dream.”

“A dream about Cas isn’t ‘just a dream’,” he air quoted annoyingly.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching for the jeans that were hanging on the end of it, “How’d you know it was about Cas?”

“You repeating his name over and over again kind of gave it away.” He paused, then tilted his head as he caught a glimpse of Dean’s arm as the sleeve shifted. “What happened to your arm?”

Dean grabbed his shirt from the chair and pulled it on, “Nothin’. Bruise from the last hunt, nothing to be concerned about.”

Sam left his spot at the small kitchenette table and walked over to the bed, “Lemme see it.”

Dean glared at him as he pulled on one of his boots, “Why would I do that? It’s not a big deal, I already told you it was a bruise from the last hunt. Let it go, Elsa.”

“Come on, let me see.” Sam went to grab his arm and Dean dodged it as he pushed him away.

“Back the hell up, man. I said it was nothing.” Although a majority of the burning was gone, it was still tender to the touch, and it took everything Dean had not to grimace as the flannel rubbed against the mark. Sam looked at him for a moment as if contemplating his next move, then suddenly moved towards Dean, one hand going for the edge of shirt, the other coming down on where he thought the mark was.

Sam’s aim, despite not knowing exactly what he was looking for, was true, and he landed directly on the hand print. Pain shot down Dean’s arm and back up, and he shoved Sam as hard as he could away from him. Sam hit the ground with a resounding thud, and he looked up at Dean from the floor in surprise.

“Goddammit Sam, that hurt!”

“I barely touched you! What the hell was that?!”

“He has a brand.” Both Winchesters spun around to see Jack sitting quietly on the couch, watching the television with the sound all the way down.

“The fuck did you say?” Dean growled, taking a step toward the nephilim.

“I said, you have a brand. It's Cas’ handprint.”

“Is he right, Dean? Is it?”

Dean ripped his flannel off and threw it angrily to the side, then grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked it upwards, displaying the newly burned mark.

“Fine, yes, are you happy?!”

“I don't know that happy is the word I would use. Confused, yes. Happy, I'm not really sure. When the hell did that show up?” Sam pulled himself out of the floor and resumed his place at the table.

“I dunno, couple nights ago. I just...woke up and it was there.” Sam narrowed his eyes, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why the hell did I need to? Cas is gone, Sam, he's gone. This changes nothing, and,” he threw a hateful glare towards Jack, “we have bigger concerns on our hands.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Did it ever occur to you that this might mean Cas isn't...gone gone? That maybe it's some sort of sign that he's still here, somewhere?”

“What kind of sign? A reminder that we failed yet again? Sign, my ass.” Dean tried to ignore the obvious use of the word, images from his dream resurfacing as he tried to ignore it. He didn’t need any signs; his best friend was gone.

“Not a sign of failure, more like a sign of your…” Sam trailed off, afraid of pointing out the thing they’d all pretty much been ignoring.

“My what, Sam?”

Sam sighed, “Your connection to Cas. We both know it’s much stronger between the two of you than Cas and I. You guys...you have a bond.”

“What does that mean…bond?”

Dean glared at Jack but remained silent, shifting his gaze to Sam.

“It's just that Cas saved Dean, and he's always...I mean, he cares very much about-”

“Alright, that's enough of that. I'm leaving.” Dean grabbed the keys from the table and stormed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

He threw the door open, then turned back to Sam, “For a drive. Don't wait up.” He slammed the door shut, then went straight to the Impala. He needed air, a chance to think. Sam had no idea what he was talking about...did he?

Dean pulled into the overgrown field and put the car into park, his mind racing with thoughts of Cas and his dream, what Sam had said, and the now constantly aching hand print on his shoulder. He got out and slammed the door shut, pacing back and forth as he mumbled to himself.

“Bond...he doesn't have a damn clue what he's talking about. He's my best friend, obviously there's a...a bond.” He stopped walking and sat on the hood of the Impala and leaned back, his hands behind his head as he stared up into the sky. He hadn't prayed for awhile, not since Cas had been killed, and he didn't really see what good it would do now.

He sighed; it couldn't hurt either. “Cas...if you've got your ears on, I...we could really use you down here. Everything's gone to hell, I don't know what to do with Jack...and I don't understand why your handprint is back. Sam says it's because of our bond, but that sounds like bullshit. We’re family, of course there's a bond.” He reached up and put his hand over the print, matching his fingers with Cas’, and sighed. The warmth flooded from it, moving from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder, then downward, until it buried itself deep within his gut.

It was a familiar feeling, one he'd felt hundreds of times when he'd go home with whatever piece of ass he could get his hands on. Crass, and not exactly the same, but it was as close as he could get to describing the sudden tightening in his stomach. For a moment, it almost felt like the fingers he'd aligned with his own were shifting, filling in the empty spaces and curling around his hand. His eyes flew open, but just like that, the feeling was gone.

He looked down at his arm, the scar a deeper shade than before, and sighed. He didn't understand any of this; why the mark had returned, this feeling of longing usually only reserved for those that caught his attention at the bar, and the ever present denial of there being something more between the two of them than anyone else.

“Cas...please come back. We need you to come home. I need you to come home.” After a moment of silence, he sat up with a sigh and slid off the hood. “Figures…” he mumbled to himself as he reached for the door handle. Suddenly, the fire in his shoulder returned, and he collapsed into the closed door, nearly biting his tongue to keep in the pained yell. As quick as it began, it stopped. No fading away, no slowly relinquishing tingling like before; just a hard stop, as if he had imagined it.

He reached down, his fingers tracing along the edge of his shirt sleeve before slowly raising it to find smooth, freckled skin. No hand print.

“What the hell?” He swiped his hand across where the print had been just moments before, but not only was it gone, so was the feeling it gave, the feeling that Cas was there. Whatever it was was gone, and Dean felt his stomach drop. Cas was gone. Truly gone. Whatever hope Dean had of Sam being right...well, it had disappeared with it.

Then his phone rang.

Dean had always overlooked traffic laws and speed limits while traveling back roads; in the rare instances that he did get pulled over, he simply would flash a smile and charm his way out of it. Sam was always impressed by it, and though he'd never admit it, a little jealous. But tonight, nothing would stop Dean. He ignored yield signs and stop lights, flew through intersections, blasted through a railroad crossing as the bar came down, and narrowly avoided being caught by a state trooper who, by sheer luck, had already pulled someone else over for weaving back and forth over the center line.

Always the one to use a map rather than GPS, Dean had also broken that rule; his eyes constantly drifted over to look at the phone in Sam’s hand, the estimated time of arrival dropping as he pressed the gas harder.

Seventy five miles.

Fifty miles.

Twenty-five miles.

You have arrived at your destination.

Dean abruptly stopped as he caught sight of the shadowy figure hovering at the phone booth, the shadow from the grimy streetlight obscuring most of the details. He didn't need details; the tight feeling in his gut as he stared at the figure was answer enough. If it hadn't been, the fluttering edge of a trench coat in the sudden breeze certainly was.

“Dean.”

His breath caught at the sound; deep and gravelly, the voice almost didn't go with the owner.

He had arrived at his destination. Although, if he really was honest with himself, he'd arrived as his destination way earlier and had taken his time actually getting there.

He climbed out of the car and walked towards Cas. Jack began to follow and Sam held out an arm to stop him. Jack looked at him in confusion, unsure as to why he couldn't go to his father, the man who was supposed to keep him safe, but obeyed Sam’s silent request to stay put. Dean stopped just short of Cas, his hands still at his sides.

“How?” It came out a whisper, and Cas’ gaze darted over his shoulder towards Jack, then back to Dean.

“I am unsure, though I believe it deals with the child.”

Dean took another step forward, “Where were you?”

Cas shook his head, “I...I do not know. I was somewhere and nowhere. There was darkness...nothingness. It was...disconcerting.”

Another step, then another, until Dean was standing toe to toe with him. Cas’ eyes narrowed, locked with Dean’s, and Dean wondered how he'd missed how blue they were. Without thinking or thought to anyone else standing around, he threw his arms around him and gripped him tightly.

“You can't leave me again. You hear me? You can't leave me like that again,” he whispered fiercely in Cas’ ear, his voice breaking as Cas’ arms found their way around his waist.

“I am sorry, Dean. I did not realize-”

“Don't...don't apologize. Just...don't ever do that again.” He pulled back and stared at Cas, taking in everything he could. It occurred to him that their arms were still around each other and for a moment, he considered moving away. Instead of doing that, however, he leaned his forehead against Cas’ and closed his eyes. The feeling was back; only this time, it was his entire body that felt like it was on fire. Every part that touched Cas tingled, spreading warmth through him until he thought he couldn't take it anymore.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I would very much like to kiss you. Is that okay?” Dean opened his eyes, and for a moment didn't know how to answer. He took in Cas’ wrinkled brow, furrowed in concern, his messy hair, and crooked tie. Kissing Cas had never really occurred to him, not until he was gone and Dean realized there was more to them than just the angel and the hunter, but now that Cas was back...should they? Cas’ arm began to loosen around his waist and Dean panicked; he had waited too long to answer. So, instead of answering, Dean did the thing he knew he was better at than talking.

He pressed a palm on each of Cas’ cheeks and moved in, his lips pressing gently, almost chastely, against his. They were chapped, just like always, but Dean was surprised to find that they were even softer than most girls he'd been with, warm and plump. His tongue darted out as he decided to push his luck and explore, and not surprisingly, his lips tasted of honey. He jumped a little as Cas’ tongue joined his, but quickly recovered and let his lips part so that Cas could do his own exploring.

Then it was over. Dean took a deep breath and let his hands drop, staring at Cas as if he'd disappear any second. “Whoa.”

Cas gave him a rare smile, “I believe that is a good response. Can I tell you something?”

Dean nodded, “Of course you can.”

“While I was gone...in the empty, as the entity I met there called it, all I wanted was to go home. And after being there for awhile, it felt like millennia, it occurred to me that when I thought of home, I was not thinking of Heaven. I was thinking of you. I held onto that, and though I believe it was Jack’s powers that pulled me physically from that place, I never would have made it out whole without the thought of you.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, unprepared for the eloquent and touching speech. “I...I don't know what to say, Cas.”

“You do not need to say anything. You are here, that is enough.” He nodded over Dean’s shoulder, “I believe we should probably discuss this more in depth later, as we have an audience. And also things to take care of.”

Dean looked back in time to see Sam forcibly turn Jack around and pretend that neither of them saw anything. “Yea, let's go,” he chuckled as they walked back to the car.

As he slid into the front seat, he smiled to himself. Next time, he would believe in all the signs.

Destiel Tags: @pinknerdpanda @mrswhozeewhatsis @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jeweldancerwrites <--I feel like I tagged the wrong person...please tell me if I did. lol

#destiel #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #dean x cas

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save-jacksepticeye · 6 years

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Chapter 1: Awakening

A/N: Here’s the full first chapter. I don’t have an actual name for this fic yet, so bear with me.

WARNINGS: Gore and blood, as well as depressive thoughts and torture, both physical and psychological. This is pretty dark, so be warned.

Awakening felt more like drowning, like his head was being held under in a bucket of ice water. For a minute, he could do nothing but gasp for breath and flail, grasping desperately for some kind of handhold or landmark to haul himself out with. Then he was on his knees, bent double and coughing, mind racing as he tried to place himself. He fell to his side and lay like that as his breathing steadied and his heartbeat calmed.

He was hauled roughly to his feet and he glanced up to find himself face-to-face with the monstrosity that had put him there. He yelped and jumped backwards, only to stop dead when he the ice-cold touch of the puppet strings tracing paths down his back. Their touch brought vivid images, grotesque creatures and twisted creations of his own mind, like the nightmares that plagued him when he was in their thrall.

Jack shook his head, banishing them as well as he could, and focused on his present situation. The only time Anti drew him from his slumber was when he wanted to have a little fun turning Jack’s insides into his outsides. Cold fear shot through his veins at the prospect of another long and torturous session beneath Anti’s favorite blade.

“Now, Jack, is that any way to greet a guest?” Anti purred. His voice was rough and broken, like he was speaking through a faulty radio connection, or a voice distorter. His body glitched spastically, his head jerking from side to side and his body flickering in and out of focus like a dying lightbulb. Blood spurted from the ragged tear in his neck, soaking his front, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy how uncomfortable it made Jack.

There was the sharp sound of the knife as he drew it down the length of one of the iridescent strings. The string seemed to curl around the knife, and the others hovered around Anti like a hive-mind. Jack’s skin crawled, but he bit his tongue, determined not to give Anti the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

There was a long sigh. “A puppet’s no good if it doesn’t jump.” Still, Jack didn’t respond. He knew it would come back to bite him later—maybe literally—but for now, he was feeling rebellious.

Anti glitched and disappeared, and suddenly, Jack’s head cracked against the ground and a cold hand tightened around his throat. Feebly, he clawed at the hand, gasping for breath as his lungs began to burn. Anti laughed at his struggles, fresh blood spurting from his throat and catching Jack in the eye, turning his vision red. “When are you going to learn, Jackaboy, that I’m the one in charge?” Jack made a choking sound and the hand released him. He gasped and coughed, sucking in air greedily and wiping the blood out of his eye.

“What do you want?” he asked hoarsely as he massaged his throat and hauled himself to his feet. The glitch toyed with his knife, a grin on his face that sent chills down Jack’s spine. Whatever Anti had planned, Jack wasn’t sure he was going to like it.

“I have a task for you, puppet.”

Jack frowned at his words. “I’m not your puppet,” he spat. There was an angry hiss from the strings and one lashed out, digging into his shoulder, and another wormed its way into his hand, pulling taunt and lifting it into the air. Jack cried out in agony and tore at the strings, willing to do anything that could stop the awful burning that had spread throughout his arm. Two more strings latched onto his other arm and yanked it away. Anti grinned at the show before him, his entire body glitching spastically.

“Are you sure, Jack? Don’t you remember what I told you? You became mine the moment they started calling my name.”

“No,” Jack growled through clenched teeth. His muscles trembled as he tried to move, but he was frozen in place. “No,” he said, his voice raw with pain. Tears streamed down his face as more strings dug into his back, his legs, his chest, the back of his head, setting his entire body alight with cold fire. Jack would have screamed, but even his vocal chords were under Anti’s control now. He was beginning to regret giving in to his rebelliousness.

“See?” Anti ran his knife down one of the strings, sending a bolt of pain through Jack’s arm. “You are nothing. I control your every move. I can make you dance.” He raised his arm and the strings pulled at Jack’s flesh, contorting his muscles and sending new waves of pain coursing through him, forcing him into an Irish jig. For a single moment he released his hold on Jack’s throat, and a ragged scream tore from it, music to Anti’s ears. He dropped his arm, satisfied, and the strings let Jack rest.

The string in the back of Jack’s head retreated completely, relinquishing control, and he let his chin rest against his chest. He was in too much pain to do much else. Anti tipped his head up with his knife, that hideous grin still on his face. Vaguely, Jack wondered if he ever stopped smiling.

“I can make you sing.” He snapped his fingers and Jack’s face contorted in agony as another scream was ripped from him. Anti snapped again, and the pain stopped. Jack slumped against the strings, his vision swimming in front of him. He felt warm blood trickling down his back and arms. “You are at my mercy, all because of them.”

Jack couldn’t count the times they had been through this. Over and over Anti had drilled this into his head. At times he had believed it, but there had always been something to pull him back from the edge, whether it be the community, or the egos, something that gave him the strength to continue fighting back. This time, however, something changed. The community had abandoned him, Schneeplestein was probably dead, and the rest of the egos were at Anti’s beck and call. There was no one out there that could help him, no one that cared. He began to believe that maybe it would be better if he just gave in, that maybe Anti was right.

Stop it, he told himself. He knew better than to listen to the demon’s lies, why was this time any different? Maybe it was the nightmares when he was in the thrall of the strings, or his seemingly endless sessions with Anti, but Jack found it harder and harder to believe that. He felt himself breaking, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“You’re weak,” Anti sneered, as if he could read Jack’s mind, “You’ve given in before, and no second wind will save you this time. You’ll never be free of me, never.” He gestured to the strings and Jack held his hand out, palm up. He hissed in pain. Anti placed the knife in his hand and his fingers closed around it, gripping it tight. Stalking around behind him, Anti grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat as the knife rose, agonizingly slow, the blade glinting ominously.

Memories flashed through Jack’s mind, sending a bolt of fear through him. His eyes widened and he tried his hardest to move, if only to protect his exposed neck, but the strings held tight, not allowing him to do more than shake his head. He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t feel that pain again, that helplessness. Anything was better than this, anything.

“Please, don’t,” Jack pleaded frantically, “Please, I-I’ll do anything.” The knife drifted closer to his throat, pricking his skin and making him wild with fear. Anti giggled next to his ear, wrenching his head back even farther.

“That’s right, beg. Beg for your pitiful life.” The knife pressed against his throat. One wrong move and it would all be over. Jack gulped, the sensation of the blade against his neck eliciting another spike of fear and adrenaline.

“Please, Anti, please. I’ll do anything, anything at all. Please,” Jack whispered. He was crying now, terror overruling his mind. Nothing else mattered, nothing but getting that blade away from his neck.

“What are you?” The knife pressed harder, drawing blood.

Jack could barely speak through his sobs. “Y-Your puppet.”

“What was that?” Anti cupped a hand over his ear. The knife shifted, splitting skin. Jack gasped.

“Your p-puppet,” he said, louder this time. “I’m your puppet.” The pressure disappeared from his neck and the strings in his back retreated, allowing him to take a deep shuddering breath. Anti patted him on the shoulder, making him wince, and he pried his knife from Jack’s fingers, turning it in his hands. Bringing it to his lips, he licked the blood off the blade, savoring the taste.

“Now that you remember your place, I have a task for you.” Jack raised his head, but said nothing. His blue eyes were dull and listless, still red from crying, exactly how Anti liked to see them. “Your community has been getting a little…cocky. They think they know who’s in control, that there’s still a difference between you and I. I want you to make some videos for me, and pretend nothing ever happened. We’ll show them that we are one and the same.”

Jack fell to the ground as the rest of the strings retreated, glistening red with his blood. His muscles spasmed as he tried to sit up, forcing him back to his side and making him whimper. He nodded in submission, and Anti grinned.

“Good.” Grabbing Jack by the back of the shirt, Anti hauled the trembling man to his feet, placing a hand on his forehead. “I have some unfinished business to attend to, so get to it. Oh, and Jack? Don’t do anything that you might regret.”

There was a blinding flash, and suddenly, Jack was in his bed, starting awake as if from a nightmare. He was drenched in sweat and his nose was bleeding, but all he cared about in that moment was the rush of fresh air in his lungs, the familiar smells wafting into his nostrils. He took a moment to breathe deeply and he savored every last breath. His heart ached as he glanced at the figure in the bed next to him, sound asleep. How long had it been since he had seen her?

Shakily, he got up from the bed, careful not to wake Signe, and made his way to the bathroom, bumping into stuff as he felt his way through the unfamiliar house. He had gotten a feel for the general layout of the house in the times he had managed to weasel his way past Anti’s defenses and steal control, but he still wasn’t completely sure where he was going. He flicked on the light and his eyes widened at his reflection in the mirror.

His brown hair—the result of his last attempt to stay in control—was matted and dirty and his once-sparkling blue eyes were now dull and haunted. He could see the beginnings of scars, both new and old, crisscrossing his collarbone and his arms, but the one that caught his attention was the faint slash across his throat, and the new shallow scratch just below it. There were ragged tears in his hands, and undoubtedly all over his body, from the strings, still oozing blood. He shuddered and felt the need to vomit, his empty stomach groaning in protest.

After dry-heaving over the toilet bowl, Jack took out some rubbing alcohol and carefully cleaned his new wounds, wincing occasionally at the pain. He bandaged his hands and did his best with the others, but he couldn’t reach the ones on his back. Then, he took the time to examine his body in greater detail. Carefully, he removed his t-shirt and stared in horror at the puckered lines of scar tissue that painted a picture of the torture he’d endured for more than a year. Some of the lines were only half-healed; he would have to be careful if he didn’t want to rip them open again. All of them brought back vivid images, things he would have given almost anything to forget. The flash of Anti’s knife, searing pain, the blood drying on his skin, the cruel taunts and realizations.

How was he going to explain this to everyone? There was no way this was what his body had looked like when Anti was in control. And unlike Anti, he didn’t have powers to cover them up. He’d have to find another way to hide them—maybe wear a sweatshirt or something.

He ran a hand through his hair and, after a second of deliberation, stripped off the rest of his clothes and turned on the shower. He sighed in relief as the hot water coursed over his head, and slowly, he let himself relax. It had been a very long time since he’d had the luxury of a shower.

The water stung a little as it hit the fresh cuts, but it was well worth the pain if it meant he could wash away the layer of filth that had accumulated on his body. Jack knew that this might be the last time he would ever be able to enjoy this, so he took his time, comforted by the sound of the water sloshing out of the shower head. Too bad the water couldn’t wash away the scars and memories as well.

When he was done, Jack patted himself dry with a towel, dressed, and made his way along the route to the recording room, a coil of nervous energy forming in the pit of his stomach. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the last time he had recorded in this studio; the day Schneeplestein had tried to save him. He nearly started dry-heaving again at the thought of what had happened afterward. He wondered where the doctor was now, or if he was even alive. He forced himself to push the thought to the back of his mind and opened the door.

It was just as he remembered it, black padded walls, his setup in one corner, the whiteboard on the wall opposite it. With a shaky breath, he took his seat in his gaming chair and reoriented himself. Glancing around, he saw a sweatshirt laying draped across the computer. Hands shaking slightly, he grabbed it and pulled it over his head, wincing as the rough fabric brushed against his wounds.

He didn’t turn on the computers, or touch his camera. He just sat in his chair, letting everything sink in. He plucked Spiderloaf from where he sat on top of his monitor and gazed at him for a second, a lump in his throat. Jack knew very well that this may be the last time he would ever see the outside world, and that there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried, at least, he had fought until he could no longer move, until he could barely breathe. He had even called for help, screamed until his throat was raw and his lungs hurt. But nobody had come. Nobody cared. All that was left was to accept his fate.

After a minute, he rose from the chair and slipped out into the hallway, quietly making his way back to bed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he wanted to be there in case Signe woke up, to keep her from being suspicious. The covers shifted as he lay back down, and Signe turned in her sleep.

“Sean?” she murmured sleepily, propping herself up and rubbing her eyes as she gazed at him, “What’re you doing up so late?”

“Sorry, Woosh, I had to go to the bathroom. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“’S alright.” She yawned. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just need to stop drinking so much coffee before I go to bed.” He could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t believe him, but to his relief, she didn’t question it. She just gave him a long, hard look before relenting.

“You do that. Now go back to sleep.” With that, she rolled back over, and was asleep within minutes.

For a while, Jack watched her sleep, guilt and longing welling up inside him. He wanted nothing more than to snuggle up close to her and forget everything, pretend that none of it was real, that it was like before. But that could never happen, not again. Had she even noticed he was gone? Would she have cared if she had?

She doesn’t care about you, Anti crooned in the back of his skull, She never did. She didn’t even notice when you disappeared, when I replaced you.

Laying his head on his pillow, Jack stared at the ceiling, his longing giving way until he felt empty, hollow. Anti was right; nobody cared, nobody wanted him back. There was nothing left in this world for him, and as much as it pained him to admit, he wouldn’t be missed. Tears welled up in his eyes.

The hours ticked by slowly, giving Jack plenty of time to mull over these thoughts and pull himself deeper and deeper into the abyss. When it was time to start the day, he felt like nothing more than an empty shell, never to be filled again. It showed in his movements as he made his way to his recording studio, a shuffling, defeated gait with slumped shoulders and downward cast eyes. He forsook breakfast, even as his stomach rumbled and Signe chastised him. Finally, he had agreed to take a plate of pancakes, only to slip them into the trash can when she wasn’t looking.

The recording itself went well enough. He was able to emulate his former enthusiasm, and the sweatshirt Anti had left for him had hidden his scars well enough. He got the footage sent off to Robin, then sat in his studio, wondering how much longer he had. Absentmindedly, he scratched at his hands where the strings had slipped under his skin. He didn’t mind the pain so much, in fact he was beginning to like it; it was the only constant in his life nowadays.

He slept that night, deep and dreamless. When he woke, he started his new routine all over again, dodging Signe’s insistent attempts to get him to eat and focusing solely on his recording. Nothing else was more important than fulfilling Anti’s wishes, after all. It was all he had left in his pitiful life.

The next night, however, did not go as smoothly. He tossed and turned, haunted by his own memories and the twisted creations of his nightmares. Three or four times he jolted awake, his entire body breaking out in a cold sweat. Eventually, he moved to the couch to keep from disturbing Signe. The next nightmare was the worst.

He was back in his prison in the void, cold and shivering, fresh from yet another one of Anti’s sessions. Even though he was wracked with pain, and cold, and damp, he was willing to deal with it if it meant he could avoid being thrown back into the grip of the strings and trapped in an endless cycle of his own worst fears and nightmares. He didn’t think he could handle being stuck there again.

Someone rapped on his cell door, making him jump and dragging him out of his thoughts. He rose to his feet and cautiously peeked out through the bars. Anti never knocked, and the others would never visit him. Who could it be?

“Jack, are you in here?” Jack recognized the voice immediately, and his suspicions were confirmed when a face appeared in the window a second later. A blue surgeon’s cap over scraggly green hair, and a blue surgeon’s mask around his neck, below an unkempt beard. His bright, tired blue eyes fixed on Jack’s dull ones.

“Schneep? What are you doing here?”

“I have come to help,” he said simply, “Now hold on ein minute, and I vill have you out of here.” Schneeplestein disappeared from his view and he heard the doctor rummaging through what must have been a large bag full of tools. Schneep let out an exclamation of triumph a second later, and the sharp rasping of a saw filled the air.

Two hours later, Schneeplestein pried the door from its hinges and set it aside. He stood in the doorway for a minute, gasping for breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Jack didn’t move from his spot against the wall, and instead pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his head against the cold stone. He had been fooled enough times, and he wasn’t about to fall for it again. He closed his eyes.

Schneep’s eyebrows furrowed. “Jack, vhat is vrong buddy? Are you not feeling vell?”

Jack didn’t respond, just pulled his knees tighter against his chest. He shied away when Schneeplestein knelt down beside him and put a hand to his forehead. Schneep withdrew his hand, hurt flashing in his eyes. “It is just me, Schneep. Vhat is vrong?”

“He sent you to torment me some more, didn’t he? You can tell him that I fucking get it. None of you are coming to save me.” Jack turned away from him, eyes fixed on the ground. Schneeplestein recoiled as if he were struck.

“How could you think zhat? Zhe only reason I ever dared to ally myself vith him vas to save you!” he said.

Jack said nothing.

“Jack, please, ve have to get you out of here.” He reached out, hesitated, then withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry. All I vanted vas to save you.”

The air in the room seemed to change, suddenly oppressive and terrible, the temperature dropping noticeably. A green light emanated from every crack and crevice, casting the room in its sickly pallor. Jack leaped to his feet, adrenaline pumping as he saw a shape rise up in front of the door, his throat tightening with fear, strangling his voice. An eerie chuckle reverberated off the stone walls.

Schneeplestein whipped around, startled, only to be met with the cold steel of Anti’s knife sinking into his gut. He let out a strangled cry and sank to the floor, batting feebly at Anti as the glitch beamed down at him, delighted with his handiwork.

Jack stared in horror, guilt blossoming in his gut. Schneeplestein had been telling the truth, he had honestly been trying to rescue him. And now…

The doctor lay unmoving on the ground, in the middle of a spreading pool of his own blood, eyes glassy with death. His face was frozen in an expression of utter terror mingled with regret, and if he could still cry, he would have. His unbuttoned lab coat had fluttered out around him as he fell, like the wings of an angel, slowly blooming red. Jack knew it was all his fault, this grisly, horrible scene. If only he had trusted him, if only…if only…

Suddenly, Schneeplestein jerked to his feet, his joints cracking as his limbs moved unnaturally, head jerking from side to side. He turned to face Jack as his limbs twisted, then straightened, an evil glint in his cloudy eyes. The wound in his gut still oozed blood as he moved forward, hands outstretched.

“All your fault. All of zhis is your fault.” A syringe appeared in the doctor’s hand. Grinning, Schneep leaned down, trapping Jack in his corner, preventing escape. He froze when he felt the cold around his neck, warning him against any sort of movement. “Now, now you must sleep…” The needle drifted closer, pierced his skin. His breath hitched as his veins exploded with fire, and then he was drifting away, off to God only knew where.

He screamed hoarsely, barely any sound escaping his throat as he awoke. Fingers immediately caressed his throat, easing the lingering sensation of the dream and reassuring that everything was as it was when he drifted off, that he was still here, still in control, at least for the time being. He did not sleep for the rest of the night. Any attempt to close his eyes yielded the same gruesome images, the same outcomes, the same choices. Instead, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and scratching at his hands until he could feel the warm, sticky sensation of the blood on his arms.

Tags: @nebula-starlight @rainymae523 @farming-chick

#jacksepticeye #jse #jacksepticeye egos #dr schneeplestein #antisepticeye #jacksepticeye fic #jacksepticeye fanfiction #creek's imagines #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: torture #septic egos

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bbbb-barnes · 6 years

Text

Look After You - Bucky Barnes X Reader [3]

Summery; Bucky Barnes discovers his sister is still alive and finds comfort in the endearing nurse that cares for his dying sibling

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Word count; 4336 (long one oops)

Warnings: Blood (In the first italicised part) angst and swearing.

I’m loving writing this so if you’re enjoying it please let me know, if you want to be tagged i’ll add you my requests are also open. Enjoy!!!

June 6th, 1941

The early evening orange sunset painted the whole makeshift army base in a decadent amber hue, various soldiers milled about, jostling with each other, playing cards and swapping pictures of their dames, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths as they did so. The air smelled of gunpowder and sweat and the atmosphere was relaxed, Bucky kicked his legs up and rested them on the upturned crate in front of him crossing his arms behind his head turning his face towards the setting sun, enjoying the warm feeling as it danced across his skin, he let his eyes lazily fall close as he concentrated on the Vera Lynn song crackling through the old radio nearby, he let himself relax like this for a while, it was a rare peaceful moment amid the chaos of war. A large figure heavily stomped in front of him, blocking the sun from his face and making him frown. The robust man in question gruffly cleared his throat and Bucky’s eyes flitted open. “Sargent Barnes, some mail has arrived for you” The soldier saluted with one hand and the other clutched a white envelope. Bucky waved him away signalling him to stand to attention, he did as he was told. “Thank you, Meyers” Bucky took the letter off him and gave him a quick salute, after returning the gesture Meyers stomped away. Bucky sat up and rested his elbows on his knees studying the letter, he knew straight away it was from Rebecca the slightly childlike writing was a dead giveaway and caused his face to break into a grin. These were the only letters he paid any mind to, he received many from different dames he had spent spontaneous nights with in various cities and countries in a pathetic bid to combat the loneliness of war, he always left them with promises to write back but he never did, he didn’t even open their letters. He shook those thoughts from his head and ripped open the letter, nostalgia and homesickness punching him in the gut as he saw his sisters familiar scrawl.

Dearest Bucky,

I miss you very much, Brooklyn is not the same without you. News of your death has reached the town and mama is very upset, she doesn’t get out of bed anymore, not even to take me to school or answer the postman and all we ever do is cry cry cry cry cry and cry. Why have you left us Bucky? I can’t do this on my own. We need you here. I told you not to go. Why have you left me?

Suddenly thick, deep red blotches fell on to the letter with a loud, wet slapping sound blurring the ink, Bucky sobbed in shock horror, choking and gasping as the blood coated his hands, falling from his head, sliding down his face and mixing with the tears as the liquid deteriorated the letter into nothing, until he was holding on to nothing, until there was nothing. Red everywhere, blood everywhere. He screamed but no sound came up, he screamed for his mama, he screamed for his home, his eyes were heavy, and he was so tired he just wanted to go home, and he screamed for his sister, for Becca. He never got to say goodbye.

You jumped up with a start, hands scrambling over your bedspread trying to ground yourself. Your hair was stuck to your forehead with sticky sweat and your breathing was sporadic and heavy. Just a dream, it was just a dream. You sat in your mess of blankets letting yourself calm down for a few seconds. You couldn’t shake the dream, it was so vivid and so real. You rubbed your face, which was stiff with dried tears, you had been crying. You let out a sad sigh and your heart ached for Rebecca and for Bucky, for a situation that you yourself didn’t fully understand but knew you had a role to play in bringing these two people back together, you were in too deep, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your phone which you had carelessly thrown on the bedside table to check the time, 7:28am two minutes before your scheduled alarm, you pulled yourself from the warm cocoon that was your bed and padded barefoot across the wood floor of your bedroom, your bare feet arched slightly as they came into contact of the cold kitchen tiles, you grabbed Rufus’s food from the side and shook it before pouring it messily into his blue food bowl. You flicked the kettle on and leaned against the kitchen sideboard waiting for it to boil and absentmindedly looking out of the window that overlooked the grey, rainy New York morning, your mind wandered to Rebecca, as it often did these days and you mentally reminded yourself to call and check in later. Your stomach dropped as your eyes fell on the eyesore that was Avengers HQ and the reality of the day ahead hit you full force, the nightmare had distracted you for a while and you didn’t know which thought process you preferred.

After you gulped a large, scalding cup of coffee down, took a quick shower and blow dried your hair in to lose waves you stood in front of your open wardrobe with your hands on your hips, towel wrapped tightly around your body as your freshly dried hair flowed down your back. You needed to look like you had your shit together, you had to look like you had enough money to invest in Stark industries when in actual fact you had to live off instant noodles for the past week while you waited for your pay check to come through. You pulled a black long sleeve blouse out of the wreckage before surveying in and throwing it on to a discarded pile in the corner of the room, you did this with a few items of clothing before getting frustrated and flopping down on the bed with a sigh. That’s when you saw the skin tight, high waisted, knee length pencil skirt, pushing all of your insecure thoughts to the back of your head you slipped it on with a flowing white blouse tucked in, against your better judgement you unbuttoned the top two buttons, letting a slight bit of cleavage show, you slipped on some black stilettos and decided to put some make up on, you needed to look like you came from money, not from 4 hours sleep. After you were finished you looked in the mirror, the makeup helped you look less dead, your eyelashes were curled to perfection and before you could second guess yourself you smeared some red lipstick on and took a step back from the floor length mirror that hung on the back of your bedroom door. You felt sexy, you felt dangerous, you felt like you could take on the world never mind Tony fucking Stark. You savoured this feeling, it was rare, but you liked it.

“What do you think, Rufus?” You asked opening your bedroom door dramatically and strutting out, your heels clicking against the hard wood floor, catching the attention of the chubby cat who looked up at you bewildered, he wasn’t used to seeing you like this either it seemed. You grabbed your bag, an umbrella and your white name badge, clipping it on to your blouse. You had toyed with the idea of using a fake name but that was after 2 glasses of wine on a Wednesday evening and you quickly discarded that idea come Thursday morning.

The 5 minute walk to the tower was spent with you running through your carefully constructed (you thought of it last night) idea in your head. Clock the ladies’ bathroom as soon as you enter and when you were far enough away you would ask to use the bathroom, head in the general direction and when nobody is around to stop you, make a break and find Steve Rogers. Simple. Easy. Your confident persona was starting to slip as you strode down the wet pavement, you rounded a corner and audibly gulped. There it was, in all its shiny, expensive lavish glory. You stopped for a second, taking it all in scanning the entrance where two beefy security guards stood eyes darting around the various people milling around the entrance. After a deep breath and a mental pep talk you held your head high and walked straight up to building, pushing the heavy, glass doors and stepping into the warm reception area. Whoever said confidence works was right, the security guards didn’t even give you a second glance. Inside was it was sparkling clean, marble floors, glass walls, a sweeping staircase took up one side of the room and various lavish couches were dotted around, a few men in suits occupied them and a huge marble curved desk with a large obnoxious A emblazoned on the front took up the whole back wall, you checked your watch 9:26am, 4 minutes early. You walked up to the front desk, heels clicking on the marble floor catching the attention of the receptionist and notifying her of your arrival, she was a young, pretty girl with dark hair pulled into a high pony tail. It looked like it was giving the poor girl a headache. She gave you a wide smile showing off pearly white teeth.

“Hi! How can I help you?” She chirped, bright eyes giving you a quick once over. You smiled back at her “I’m here to see Tony Stark, for the investors tour” you replied coolly tapping your name badge, her eyes followed, and she read your name and quickly started typing with her brows furrowed.

“Mr Stark is running a little late, he’ll be here in a few moments if you’d like to take a seat” she pointed a perfectly manicured finger over to a plush leather sofa. You nodded silently at the young woman you walked swiftly over to the seating area and sank into the leather, trying to find a way to sit without looking awkward, you settled with crossing your legs over each other and practising your poker face trying your hardest to not look overwhelmed.

“Rich and beautiful, a lady after my own heart” The sound of an obnoxious male voice bellowed through the reception and you snapped your head towards it. Dissenting the large staircase with incredible grace and confidence was Tony Stark. Head to toe in a pristine suit, tinted glasses were perched on his nose, his hair groomed to perfection. He had his arms outstretched towards you as he approached and you stood up quickly, smoothing down your skirt and plastering on a wide, incredibly fake smile. You saw him give you a long once over, not trying to hide it, you had to visibly stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Good morning, Mr Stark” you greeted, pulling his attention back to your face, you gave him a sickly sweet smile.

“Good Morning, Y/N” he greeted back, squinting slightly to look at the name badge you had been provided in the letter confirming your place, he extended a ring clad hand and you took it, shaking his hand swiftly, without saying anything else he began to stride ahead, climbing the stairs he just came from, gesturing you to follow. Your brow furrowed in confusion, you were supposed to be in a group. You hurried behind him, heels clicking on the floor as you struggled to keep up with his long strides.

“Um, Mr Stark, where is the rest of the group?” you asked as you finally reached his side, climbing the last few steps and trying not to seem as out of breath as you were. He stopped at the top and turned to look at you.

“As much as I love the sound of Mr Stark coming from your mouth please, call me Tony, and change of plans it’s a one on one tour now, my favourite kind.” He said that last part with a wink and carried on walking down the very overwhelming hall ways. Shit shit shit, you suddenly felt sick, this wasn’t going to work one on one. This wasn’t part of the plan. Your eyes darted around nervously as you walked and you were aware that you were surrounded by high tech machinery, lab equipment, weapons and vehicles, you tried not to look like a child as you ogled at your surroundings all concealed by tall glass windows, your heels clicked loudly as you followed behind Tony. He led you into a large office, which homed a large, shiny oak desk, a full bookcase and a full glass wall, looking out over New York. He settled in the large office chair behind the desk and gestured for you to sit opposite him. You smiled and perched on the edge of the seat as you crossed your legs. Without taking his eyes off you he retrieved a intricate, crystal bottle of what you assumed was Whisky. He poured two, expensive looking whisky glasses and pushed one over to you with a wicked grin. You kept your eyes trained on him as you threw it back, it burned like a bitch, but your head was swimming and you needed to think of a plan, it all felt too real now, your chest felt tight and your hands were clammy.

“Rich, beautiful, not much of a talker and you drink whisky. Marry me?” He teased before sinking his glass and refilling them both, you drank it in one mouthful again, just because you didn’t know how to reply, you smiled at him expectantly, willing him to get to the point.

“So, lets cut the bullshit. Everybody knows what’s in here, a quick google search will do that for you” he paused to sip his drink and you raised your eyebrows at his confidence. “You don’t need a tour and you want to invest, who wouldn’t?” He asked, taking another tentative sip and leaning back in his chair, if you weren’t so nervous you’d be impressed.

“I think you’re going to have to do better than that Mr Stark. I want to see where my money’s going” you clasped your clammy hands together in your lap and he filled your glass again.

“You see where its going every day sweetheart, you see how much profit is in these walls just by walking past, I’m a busy man I don’t have time to show you everything” he refilled his own and held It up to you, he was insanely relaxed, you sipped your drink this time, attempting not to wince at the burn.

“If you think getting me drunk is going to help your cause, you’re wrong” you stated flatly, trying to buy some time. He threw his head back and laughed, loud and obnoxious.

“Worth a try” He chuckled, finishing off his drink and stretching his arms behind his head, looking at you over the top of his glasses.

“Can I use your bathroom?” you blurted out, at a loss for things to say and needing to pull yourself together. He sighed and sat up straighter.

“Just down that hall way, then take a left” he pointed in the direction of the east corridor and you stood up quickly, feeling a little light headed, hoping he didn’t see your slight stumble you hurried out of the room and down the looming corridors heading in the direction he pointed. You took the left but strode straight passed the bathroom, seeing an elevator at the end of the corridor you hurried into it, there were too many buttons and none of them made much sense, so you jammed a few hoping they would take you were you need to go. The elevator dropped quickly, and you gripped the hand rail for balance, it stopped abruptly and opened up into a dingy, large garage filled with various shiny sports cars, you figured you wouldn’t find Steve here, so you pressed another random button and the elevator jolted to life and shot upwards. The pristine steel doors shot open on to what seemed like a communal living area, the place seemed slightly lived in cushions askew on the large sofa, a sweater was thrown over the side, the large TV was on playing a movie you didn’t recognise, the place opened up with a lot of natural light and had a large kitchen in the corner with all the gadgets you could name, this place was nice. You stepped out and the elevator zoomed away again, you suddenly felt very uncomfortable like you were in somebody’s personal space. Despite everything in your head telling you to flee this place, you softly walked down the corridor connected to the large communal area. There were multiple closed doors lining the carpeted hall way, the doors were numbered and had high tech looking locks on them. You reached the end of the corridor and stopped at a large, glass wall that loomed over a huge gym, this seemed like a very high tech facility. Your eyes scanned the floor and did a double take when you noticed a figure in the corner you didn’t see upon first inspection, you put your hands either side of the glass to get a better look at the tall, hunched over figure sat on the bench in the corner of the gym, he had his hands clasped together and dark, long hair covered his face, in a instant his face snapped up and his icy blue eyes met yours, you audibly gasped and stepped back quickly, his eyes made your blood run cold, you knew those eyes, you had seen them before. His face was emotionless and he was just staring into your eyes and you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his, you felt grounded to him In this moment, and nothing else seemed to matter and you don’t know how long you stood there staring at him, staring at Bucky Barnes.

“So how exactly did you acquire your fortune again?” a hard voice came from behind you and you yelped in shock spinning around and pressing your back against the glass wall, looking at you visibly irritated was Tony Stark.

“My parents?” you tried with a small smile, but you knew you had been caught, he raised his eyebrows at you and snatched the tinted glasses off his nose with a large sigh, he started walking and gestured for you to follow, you quickly obliged. He led you to the communal area and pointed at the sofa, you sat down timidly, he loomed over you.

“Okay kid, just so you’re aware this place is heavily armed, try anymore funny business and I can obliterate you in two seconds” he started in a warning tone and you visibly cringed, he continued without waiting for an answer.

“You couldn’t stop your slack jaw from falling when you saw the most basic tech, you winced when drinking expensive whisky, which went straight to your head, you’re nervous as hell and you’ve gone walk about in my tower. So, unless you have a really good excuse you need to leave, like now.” He stepped closer to you, so he was literally leaning over you, giving you a hard stare with a quirked brow almost begging you to question him so he could use all the weapons he’d been boasting about.

“I need to see Steve Rogers” you blurted out and he looked visibly unimpressed, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger, shit you couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“We’re just letting crazy fangirls in now, right get out” he stepped back and gestured towards the door, you stood up and took a step towards him, a pleading look in your eye.

“Please, its about Bucky, its important” You looked into his brown eyes and he scoffed at you.

“Barnes, really? leave now” He grabbed his phone and put it to his ear, tapping his foot. In a fit of confidence you pushed his phone out of his hands, you weren’t getting this chance again and if you couldn’t say you did everything you could then you couldn’t live with yourself, he looked at you like you had just fucking shot him.

“Did you really just- “he started to shout but you cut him off.

“Look I need to talk to Bucky or Steve okay, its serious it’s about Bucky’s sister it about Rebecca, she’s alive but probably not for much longer, I shouldn’t have come in here like this and I’m sorry but I’ve tried everything else and I don’t know what to do but I promised I would help her so PLEASE” you gushed, squaring up to him, you felt a lump form in your throat because you had gotten this far, he couldn’t turn you away now, he looked bewildered but before he could speak, a heavy set blonde man you had only ever seen in pictures emerged from the corridor, he planted himself in between you and tony and looked down at you with intense blue eyes.

“Becca’s alive?” he asked firmly, and you just nodded violently.

You threw the pictures down on the table, one you had printed of you and Becca last thanksgiving, old pictures of Bucky and his family and letters from Bucky to Rebecca. You were sat around the large table in the kitchen area with Steve and Tony. You had apologised to Tony, but he still seemed wary of you, staring at you through yellow tinted lenses constantly. Steve just looked through the papers you had given him with his brows furrowed.

“I promise you, I’m telling the truth” you had blurted out your story when Steve told you that you had five minutes to explain yourself and you jumped into the story, assuring them you had proof too. Tony looked to Steve with apprehension who looked up from the letters and sighed.

“This all checks out, what can I do?” he asked, eyes on you and you felt your shoulder sag with pure relief.

“Well, she’d love to see him, to see both of you. I just didn’t know with um Mr Barnes’ situation” you trailed off awkwardly not knowing how to refer to it. Tony laughed, Steve cringed. Steve raked a hand through his short hair and thought for a few moments.

“We could just bring her in here we have top of the range medical facilities, it makes sense” Tony announced, he sounded bored as he leaned back in the kitchen chair, the thought made your heart drop.

“No, that’s not a good idea, I’ve been caring for her for years, you want to take a dementia patient out of her home a shove her in a sterile facility where she doesn’t know anybody? its cruel” you protested quickly, the thought dawned on you that these two men could override your decision in a heartbeat, it scared you. Tony narrowed his eyes at you, opening his mouth to defend himself before Steve quickly interrupted.

“You’re right, let’s set up a meeting, ill come with him and you’ll be there too. If anything goes wrong I can control Bucky, if you can handle Rebecca” his face was sombre, this was probably a hard situation for him too you realised. You nodded and felt a weight lift off your shoulders, you weren’t sure how the meeting would go, but you did all you could possibly do to help, and you felt accomplished at that thought

“Thank you, Mr Rogers she… she never got to say goodbye and it kills her, this means the world” you thanked him sincerely and his eyes softened a little.

“Please, It’s Steve and you really care about her huh?” he asked with a small smile as his eyes fell onto the old picture of Bucky and Rebecca, outside their childhood home.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t” You answered honestly.

“So, you’re a nurse?” Tony asked disbelieving still staring at you, you broke into a grin without thinking and his mouth quirked a little at you. “No, don’t make me smile I’m still mad at you” he announced pointing at you before getting up and leaving. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Florence Nightingale” he called over his shoulder as he stepped into the elevator, he sent you a wink before he zoomed off and Steve breathed out a laugh.

“Sorry about that” he apologised slightly awkwardly, hands fiddling with the pictures.

“Don’t be, I’m the one that lied my way in here” you laughed slightly, and he joined in as you stretched your arms. It had been a long day.

“Tomorrow” Steve said abruptly, before you could question anything he continued “Buck’s had a few good days, ill talk to him about all this and if he’s up for it, we’ll stop by tomorrow is that okay?” he looked a little nervous at the thought and to be honest so were you, you wanted it to go well but they were both very unreliable, unpredictable people.

“Tomorrow is good, we’ll see how it goes” you reassured, and he nodded satisfied with your answer.

After scribbling your number down for Steve, insisting he keep the photo’s you brought and a slightly awkward hug, you clicked out of the building, stopping to give Tony an overenthusiastic wave when you saw him on the way out, which he returned with a middle finger. It was warmer out and you walked home slowly, you couldn’t help but feel enthusiastic about tomorrow, you called up Becca on the way home, who seemed confused so you didn’t mention Bucky but you felt better for talking to her, after saying your goodbyes you rounded the corner to your apartment block, you realised two things, you needed more friends your age, and you were going to meet Bucky Barnes tomorrow and of all the things you should think of him, all the preconceived notions you should have, all you could think about was him and how excited you felt about seeing him again.

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vechkinfan · 6 years

Text

End of Me ~ Part 3 (Bucky Barnes)

A/N: Hope you guys like this part, I enjoyed writing the fluff. Please let me know what you think!! I’m a sucker for comments hahah (There is Russian in this part and i’m sorry if its totally wrong, I tried my best.... You will definitely find out what it all means in the next part though, I PROMISE) If you wanted to be TAGGED, Please leave a comment :D

Words: 5667 (Sorry, Not sorry)

Warning: Fluff, Fluff and Bucky trying to be Fluffy.

Summary: Calin’s demon finally makes an appearance, and one super solider gets in the way to help bring her back to reality.

Part 1 // Part 2

It had been a long night, the longest she had experienced in quite awhile actually. It reminded her of those nights in the facility, where the screaming echoed off the concrete walls amplifying the noises. Where the crying from the other kids seeped into her brain, despite how hard she held her hands over her ears. Willing… pleading for the world to go silent, even if it was just for a moment, just so she could close her eyes.

She had been laying on Steve's floor staring up at the ceiling, listening to him snore softly. Calin envied him, how easily he found sleep. Even in the near silence of his room, she couldn't even dream of catching a wink. Every time she shut her eyes visions would plague her, images of Bucky, Steve, of Wanda and Bruce. Her imagination did not discriminate on who it picked to torture her with. Cause the flashes of images always ended the same, with the Avengers dead and their blood on her hands.

Sitting up from the floor, Calin ran a tired hand through her hair, before pulling it up in a messy bun. She knew her demon was the cause of the vivid imagery. It had seemed to find some foothold in her subconscious and it didn't want to let go. For over six years Calin had fought with her inner self, pushed her down, kept her buried under good memories she had started to form. But six years was to long for her demon she supposed, it wanted out, it wanted blood. Afterall it was use to coming out several times a week, back at the height of her treatments. There might have been restraints involved, but it still got to breathe some fresh air.

The plan was to wear Calin down until she couldn't fight it anymore. Once all her resolve was gone, it would have total control. And total control meant being able to do whatever the hell it wanted.

Letting out a shaky breath, Calin rose to her feet. Quietly creeping over to Steve's desk, she scribbled out a note stating she was alright and that she would meet them in the med bay later. She had to mentally prepare for the onslaught of tests Bruce had been hankering to perform. The man had been curious about her since she walked into the tower six years ago.

Calin didn't have high hopes for there to actually be a fix to this nightmare better known as her mind. There were only a few things that could be done at this point. They could either restrain her somewhere so her demon could make a very dramatic entrance like it always liked to do, or they could kill her. Preferably not the latter, death was something she begged for when she was with HYDRA, but she didn't want to give up the people who slowly became her family here at the tower. They were her everything, despite her best attempts not to show it.

The thought of letting her demon out made her cringe though. It was a violent experience, at least for herself. The event draining her already depleted energy to the point where it was like she was paralyzed. Awake and aware of what was happening, but unable to do much about it. Not that it mattered back then, she enjoyed the reprieve. To make the situation worse Calin really didn't know how long it would take to fight her way back into control this time. This thing had been lying dormant for years, so the possibility of herself not even coming back was a reality. So in the end death might be the only option, either at her own hands or one of her friends.

Groaning softly, she made her way out of Steve's room, ever so gently shutting the door behind herself. Knowing his super soldier hearing would pick up on the lock latching if she wasn't careful. She merely wanted a morning of peace to herself, knowing it was Saturday, most everyone was sleeping in after a busy week of training and missions. Tony and Bruce wouldn't be up until about eight as usual, so she had a few hours before good old Steve Rogers blew her in for last night's discussions.

Calins feet absentmindedly carried her down the hallway, the morning sun creeping in through the windows basking the walls in a soft orange glow. She had expected to be alone but when she plowed into a large mass, regret flooded her like a levy snapping in two.

She stumbled slightly, a strong metal hand coming out and taking hold of her elbow, steadying her form. Bucky had been up early, pacing the entire length of the hall in front of Steve's room, waiting patiently for someone to get up. He had to stop himself from smashing the door down several times just wanting to rip this God forsaken band aid off. All he wanted was a chance to apologize, to see her smile, and to hold her again.

“Sorry.” Her voice was weak as she took her arm from his grip. Not even looking up at him, knowing if she even glanced into those steely blue orbs, she'd fall right back into the trap known as Bucky Barnes. Like some mindless bug heading straight for the beautiful light of a bug zapper.

“It's ok.” He added cautiously, seeing how distant she was trying to be. Calin wouldn't even look at him, her gaze solely fixed on the hardwood floor. His heart tightened painfully in his chest, seeing what he had done to them, what he did to their relationship.

Without thinking he found his left hand gently raising up, his metal fingers smoothing against the skin of her cheek, an action that he was so use to doing with his girl. The feel of hot flesh against cold vibranium, sending a wave of pleasure shooting through his body. Oh how he missed touching her, feeling her with something that should not even be able to distinguish between materials. Yet here he was, using the pad of his thumb to trace her cheek, feeling every inch of her soft, supple skin beneath him.

He was surprised she didn't pull back from his touch, knowing how upset she was with him. It had taken Bucky so very long to gain every bit of trust she had to offer, that he was certain he'd had lost a good part of it, especially because Calin was someone who didn't forgive or forget easily.

It had taken two years of patient trust building to even able to brush his hand against her own without there being a panic look spreading across her face. From there he slowly allowed his actions to become more intimate and less friend like, trying to show her how he truly felt. It amused Bucky to see how oblivious she was at times. Letting his hand linger on the small of her back as they walked out of a room, how Bucky tried to catch her hand to pull her into a hug, all those things and many more seemed to go right over her head. Even Steve caught onto Bucky's lame attempts at woohing her. Only laughing, remembering how easy Bucky had it back in the day when it came to women. However things needed to be spelled out for Calin, in big bold letters, and in part Bucky knew it was because of her time with HYDRA.

But the girl was like a safe with the lock rusted shut, if it were to open it would need to be pried. She never spoke about her time in Moscow, never hinted at how long she had been held captive, or the things they did to her. It didn't take a brainyak to figure that she was probably tortured, it was HYDRA’s preferred method of captivity afterall. Whenever they spent time cuddled next to one another on the couch he used to pan her face discretely. Looking for scars or burns, anything to let him know what she had been through. He was thankful he didn't see any, and he silently hoped those ass holes spared her of the same pain they put him through.

In truth, that was part of the reason he never told Calin how he truly felt. Over the years she had put on a good front of healing, but every once in awhile flickers of her old terrified self would resurface. Anything regarding physical interactions still scared her especially when Steve or himself weren't nearby, she would flinch away from high-fives from Sam, cringe almost painfully if someone accidentally brushed up against her. He watched her more times than he'd care to count clutching the fabric of one of her sweatshirts, as if she was trying to shield away any unwanted attention. Bucky was already pushing his luck in that department, and figured it was safer to stay in the ‘friendzone’ as Wanda called it.

He knew she was not ready for a relationship when his feelings had developed, she had barely had a hold on friendships at the time. Hell, when he first got out of HYDRA’s grip he certainly wasn't anywhere close to being ready for a relationship. He had to focus solely on himself, and that's what Bucky tried to do for Calin. But Calin was never one to stick to the plans. She seemed to have helped Bucky more so, especially when his nightmares crept back. Which only made his love for the girl stronger.

Bucky sighed contently, continuing to let his fingers run against her skin. She remained quiet and unmoving, her eyes still not finding the courage to look up at him. After a few moments he felt her tilt her head into the palm of his hand, trying to gain more contact. Calin was fighting an internal battle, one wanting her to lash out at Bucky, wanting to yell and scream, telling him he had no right to touch her. However, the bigger, weaker side of herself was enjoying his fingers far too much. Her body missing the cool of the metal that always seemed to send a surge of peace through herself, calming all the frayed nerves that were just waiting to be lit up again.

“Can we talk?” Those three little words were all it took to break Calin out of the trance though. The three fucking words that brought this whole Bucky debacle upon herself weeks ago.

Her lip curled up in disgust, pulling away from his ministrations as if they scalded her skin. “You want to talk? Didn't you already do that?” Calin snapped harshly, stepping back a few feet to put distance between the two of them. “You wanted nothing to do with me Bucky, so why should I even consider listening to a word you have to say now?”

Bucky didn't know what hurt worse, that he had opened his big mouth, ruining their perfectly blissful encounter. Or the way Calins eyes glared with utter hatred at him, an anger swirling dangerously close to the surface of those hazel eyes. He swallowed thickly, uncertain how to respond. This was not how he had planned to patch things up with his girl, so he was at a loss currently. His brain spinning with ideas that certainly would piss her off even further, which was not the goal. ‘Calin’ and ‘pissed’ were never words that should be used in the same sentence, because when she was angry she became a totally different person.

So instead of making matters worse, Bucky's eyes softened, and settled with a matter of fact statement. “I miss you.”

Her mouth opened and shut promptly, clearly not expecting to hear those words. No, in truth Calin expected him to just give her more reasons as to why he couldn't spend time with her.

“What?” She furrowed her brows, still confused.

Bucky gave a weak smile seeing how flustered she became. “I miss you Calin.” He stated again, this time reaching his hand back out to her cheek. Wanting nothing more than to feel that blissful blistering heat against him.

However it never made it close, Calin hitting his arm away from herself. “You don't get to do this Bucky, you don't get to fuck with me like this. I've done everything you've ever asked of me, I tried to be a friend to you and you basically threw me away.” Calin was angry again, her emotions so heightened that it took hardly anything to upset her. “Believe me I know I'm fucked up, and I'm hardly worth the time you've spent with me, but that day… it felt.” Calin swallowed thickly, her hand tightening into a fist at her side, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white. “You know what, forget it.”

Taking a steadying breath, Calin looked over the man before her, eyes panning his face searching for anything. She wasn't even quite sure what she was looking for to be honest. A sign? Some kind of blinding light pointing her in the right direction? All she got was Bucky Barnes staring at her, in all his wayward puppy dog glory.

She needed to go.

Turning on her heels she started her way back towards Steve's room. Leaving Bucky right where he stood, leaving him just like he had left her. But she wasn't expecting Bucky to move just a quick, reaching out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist tightly. The act, so innocent yet so familiar. Flooding her mind with memories of how the guards use to grab her flailing body as they dragged her down the dark musty hallways. How their hands, nearly twice the size of her own at the time crushed her wrist with little effort, only the reverberating sound of snapping bone making them release the tension a bit. How when they learned of her powers, they caged her hands together with vibranium binding, only to then drag her kicking and screaming down the hall by a chain like some animal.

The images flashed before her like a movie, and it was one of those moments when time seemed to stop all together. Seconds felt like hours, as she stood there unmoving, feeling a surge of energy hit her consciousness. It knocked her, shook her mind so powerfully Calin knew exactly what was happening. Her other half found it's chance and was not wasting the opportunity. In these times Calin usually accepted it, almost wanting her to make an appearance. Now… oh no, now was not the time. She may hate Bucky at the moment but she would never willing wish for him to be in harm's way and harm's fucking way was exactly what he was in currently.

Biting down on her lip Calin screamed painfully, trying with all her might to keep it at bay. Pushing it back down in the depths of her mind, but it had other plans.

The feeling could be equated to a tidal wave, hitting her at full force causing her to lose her mental footing. Sending Calin falling into an icy pit of darkness that was so thick it made it nearly impossible to move or fight back. Her arms weighed down, so heavy and cumbersome that it felt like she was drowning.

This had never happened quite like this before. Calin had always been a willing participant in the change over. No, this was like that movie Bucky had made her watch, the one with the spartans. One swift kick to the chest and she was falling into a seemingly endless pit of pitch black nothingness, while her other half watched from above. A grin tugging at the corners of her own lips, giving a parting wave. Before Calins body slammed agonizingly into the rough bottom of the pit.

Bucky…

The mere thought of him had her starting to panic. He was in the real world dealing with her other half, her demon right now . Nobody had ever seen it, or dealt with it, she could have already killed half the people in the tower by now. Time didn't work the same being trapped inside the mind, so what felt like minutes could actually be days. So the longer she didn't fight, the more time she let her demon go on its rampage.

She struggled desperately, pulling herself to her feet, hobbling around the circular pit, her arms clawing at anything that would bring her back into control. There was nothing, no holds, no footings, nothing. There had always been something to cling to, something to climb her way back up. Frankly she had never been put here, she usually had one hand on the wheel with her demon, seeing what was going on. Now… not so much.

“возвращайся ко мне.” It was a soft distant voice that called out. Causing her struggling body to stop for a moment, listening.

“Любовь моя, пожалуйста.” Again the voice sounded, pleading to her almost.The noise reverberating off the walls of her mind. Making Calin look around frantically, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

A quiet sob left her lips when her eyes panned upward following the sound, seeing the tiny spec of light. It was so very far away, but she knew that's where the voice was coming from, she knew that's the direction she needed to go in order to take control again.

Wading over to the darkened wall, she pounded her fist violent against the barrier. Her limbs feeling uncomfortably heavy with each swing she took. Hours, it had begun to feel like hours had passed, her hands raw from the continuous barrage but her efforts getting her no closer to Bucky… just more exhausted. And the more tired she was, the longer this processes would last.

“Bucky! You fucking leave him alone.” Calin shouted loudly, rage clear in her voice as it bounced off the walls. But when nothing happened, and the light remained out of reach she choked back a pained whimper. Resting her forehead on the cold surface, her hands splayed out beside her. “Please… just leave him alone, leave them all alone.”

Turning around, she let her back hit the wall before sinking down to the floor. The air getting thicker, the darkness wrapping itself around her limbs pulling her back. Coxing her into a state of acceptance. It wanted her stuck there, just like Calin had done to it. It was gonna keep her trapped for as long as it could, make up for lost time.

“пожалуйста.” That last word, Calin could finally tell it was Bucky’s voice, pleading.

It was Russian, but she knew he was asking her, please. The sound echoing in her mind, stirring up all the things that could be happening to him at this moment. Things that were even worse than her time with HYDRA no doubt. She'd bare every torturous minute back in that facility, just to save him. Save him from herself.

With that thought it felt like she was shot out of a cannon. Body flinging up into the air and out of the hole she was pushed into. Bypassing the climbing option all together.

Calin landed on the ground violently, her breathing ragged as she lay there for a moment. The heat from her breath fanning out against the cold floor, fogging it a little. Vision blurry, her eyes blinked back the haze, trying to see clearly. Her body still shaking and exhausted from the fight it just went through. However Calin was unsure of what was going on or where she was at the moment. She supposed it was another level of her mind, the next barrier between her and her demon. Or she could be back in the real world, but that seemed way to easy.

“Cal….” She lifted her head slightly, seeing that she was actually back in the hallway.

Bucky was laying on the ground beside her, blood dripping from his nose and a large gouge in his cheek. He was staring at her like he had just seen a ghost. His hand gently rubbing his throat, the skin raw looking. In truth he had never witnessed anything quite like that before.

“D-did I hurt you?” Calin asked shakily, her voice quivering in fear. Worried that she hurt him badly. “Did I hurt anyone?”

Pushing herself up onto her hands, she dragged herself towards him cautiously. Keeping a slight buffer zone, uncertain as to how Bucky was going to react. She was surprised he didn't run off screaming, or better yet, find the nearest phone to call Fury. He was always waiting for something like this to happen.

Instead after a few breathless moments of staring, Bucky moved towards her effortlessly. Pulling her weak body into his arms and onto his lap, cradling her against his chest. “No, I'm fine.” He finally spoke, his voice lower than usual. “You're my Calin right, you're my best girl?” Bucky asked, needing to be reassured that she was back. Actually back.

Calin wasn't lying when she said her powers were better left unknown. It only took a split second and the girl he loved had turned into a unrecognizable monster. Eyes dark as a stormy night, swirling with a mixture of hatred and rage. Whatever it was, listened to no reason and was clearly out for blood. It had attacked Bucky so violently that he wasn't sure what to do. It was Calins body, but her mind, the things that made Calin herself were no longer there.

She sure as hell didn't pull punches either, picking him up like he weighed nothing, sending him straight into the nearest wall. His body crushing the drywall like paper, and destroying Tony's one of a kind desk to the point where it wouldn't even be useful for kindling. The commotion was loud enough that it had stirred several people, Steve included. But he told them to stay back, not wanting anyone else to get involved. That's when he began to plead with her.

Bucky knew she could understand Russian, she had caught him whispering it to her one night when he had thought she was asleep. It was little words, a poem, nothing major but the sheepish grin that pulled on her lips gave it away. Calin said she understood it but didn't know how to speak it well, so he was hoping this shared memory would trigger her to come back to him.

He whispered and pleaded as the girl focused her attention on him again, lifting him up without even touching him. A swirl of black smoke engulfing his body slowly. The final, please, seemed to grab her though. The black in her eyes flickering back and forth between her hazel ones, before she shook her head violently. Yelling out in disgust, clearly upset with what was happening. Calins hands moved, dropping him to the ground with a loud thud as she screamed out louder, the sound so guttural that it had him wincing before the darkness completely dissipated. Her body collapsing soon after.

“I didn't mean to do that.” Her scared voice brought Bucky back to reality. Causing him to pull her tighter to his chest. His head leaning down to rest against her. “You h-have to believe m-me.”

She looked exhausted, as his metal hand came to sooth her cheek. “Its ok, I have you now. I've got you Cal.” He whispered, gently wiping away the stray tears that began to roll down her face. She never cried, never in the whole time he'd known her. So Bucky knew this was serious, and it made his chest tighten painfully. He was at a loss, and it killed him to think he couldn't do anything to put Calin at ease.

He felt her arms wrap around him, burying her face into the front of his shirt. His eyes looking over her tired form, seeing most of the team standing there silently with looks of both shock and concern.

The hall was a war zone of drywall bits and over turned furniture. Broken glass dotted the floor, a clear reminder she had literally shattered every window in sight with little more than a flick of her finger.

After a few hesitant minutes, Bucky saw Steve inch his way closer, hands out in surrender. “Buck… I think we should get you two to the med bay.” His voice remained calm as he spoke, not wanting to startle the girl who was plastered to his best friends chest. “Calin? What do you think kid. Can you do that for us?” Steve addressed her this time, seeing her back quack beneath her sweatshirt.

Calin swallowed thickly, listening to her friend, her fingers bunching in the fabric of Bucky's shirt. “Y-yeah.”

Shifting ever so slowly till she was sitting up, Calin viciously wiped at her tear stain cheeks. Feeling Bucky’s hand gently rest on her back to keep her steady.

“Can you guys give us a second?” Bucky asked, as he rubbed circles into her back calmingly. His eyes looking over the crowd that was still congregating in the hall. Wanda and Nat looked the most upset, and if he didn't say anything the two would try to be right over here. Bucky knew Calin wouldn't want that attention. It was a sign of weakness to her, and she hated to seem weak.

He could sense the shame and embarrassment rolling off her in waves just sitting there. Watching as her heavy lidded eyes scanned the destruction she had left behind. Bucky didn't want her to stress out further, that was the last thing they all needed at the moment.

“No problem.” Steve nodded his head at his friend before turning around. “Lets go people, back to bed.” He motioned with his arms, making everyone slowly make their way back towards their rooms. His head turning back once to check on them before he disappeared behind his door. Out of sight but still within earshot incase a situation came up again.

Leaving Bucky alone with Calin.

She had said nothing, her eyes blankly staring out at the Bucky sized hole in Tony's wall. An ache in her chest forming, thinking about what she probably did to him that did that kind of damage.

“Hey, I'm fine.” Bucky smoothed her hair, knowing that Calin was dwelling on what had just happened. Ever since she sat up her eyes hadn't left the hole in the wall. But when his words didn't seem to pull her from her thoughts, his hand came up, timidly moving her chin so she was eye to eye with him. “Cal… I'm more worried about you darling. I know I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, it was stupid on my part.”

“It.. it reminded me of how the guards used to grab me.” She says absentmindedly, her gaze dropping to her wrists that were covered by the sleeves of the sweatshirt. “They broke my wrists a couple times…” Her voice was small, as she slid the fabric up slightly. Bucky's eyes settling on the faded scares that adorned the inside of her wrists. They were relatively small in size and if she hadn't drawn attention to them he would have never even known.

With slow calculating movements Bucky took one of her hands in his own, bringing her wrist to his lips. Kissing the soft blistering flesh ever so gently wishing he could take all that pain away with it.

This was big for him, in two ways. One, Calin had just willing told him something about her past. A topic that had been tight lipped from the moment she arrived at the tower. Even though it angered him to know someone manhandled her so hard they snapped her wrist. It was quite a feet to be honest, since Calin was no weakling. And two, he had just kissed her. It may have been innocently placed on her wrist, but it was all he could ever ask for. A chance… one moment to show her what she meant to him. That he loved her too Goddamn much to lose her.

Bucky's hand continued to make small circles on her back, his eyes watching her carefully. She seemed lost, her fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of her fraying sweatshirt. Picking at the loose strings over and over again.

“It's gonna happen again.” Her voice broke the silence after a few minutes. It was hoarse, as if she had just spent the last hour screaming.

Furrowing his brows Bucky stiffened, “Now?” He cautiously asked, hoping it wasn't the case. Her powers were beyond whatever his super soldier abilities could handle. She'd crush him with little more than a blink of an eye.

Letting out a small breath, Calin shook her head before glancing up at Bucky. “No.” Her eyes panned his tired drawn in face, the scruff on his face heavier than normal. The large gash she put in the side of his cheek still bleeding, leaving trails of crimson liquid running down to his chin. “I'm sorry.” She quietly added, using her sleeve to wipe away the blood. “I was so worried I was going to lose you Bucky. That I wouldn't be able to come back in time to stop myself…”

Another wave of stinging tears threatened to emerge, welling behind her eyes dangerously. But in an instant she felt Bucky's arm tighten around her body. His vibranium fingers dancing softly against the skin of her cheek, making her eyes meet his own again. “I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. If you need to, I will sit right here in this hallway all day with you.” He whispered softly.

She was so close to him, he could smell the sweet scent of green apple from her body spray. It drew him like a month to a burning hot flame. Against his better judgement he moved his face a bit closer to hers, watching for any signs of distress. But when she continued to silently watch, her breathing steady he took his chance. “Can.. Can I kiss you?” He asked for permission first, knowing Calin needed to feel safe. She needed to agree to it before he'd do anything rash.

Narrowing her eyes, she felt her heart begin to race. He was dangerously close, and her mind was swirling. This seemed like some cruel joke to her, having Bucky like this. Maybe she was still trapped in her mind and her demon was giving her something to keep her occupied. If that was the case, why not just play along. Why not just give in… Maybe find some kind of peace? Even if it was just fake.

Calin nodded her head hesitantly, not dropping her gaze. A small smile tugged at Bucky's lips, and his fingers cupped her cheek ever so gently. His movements soft and meticulous as not to startle her. Bucky hesitated only for a second, looking into her eyes trying to read the emotions hidden in them. Searching for any sign that her mind may have changed, but when he was met with nothing, he leaned in closer and let his lips gently brush against Calins. Her eyes fluttered closed instantly at the contact, and Bucky revelled in the heat.

It was a sweet, innocent kiss, and Bucky left it at that. Pulling away just enough so his forehead rested against her own. “I waited too long to do that. I've waited too long for a lot of things Calin. And I need you to know… there was never anyone else. I pulled away ‘cause I thought I was going to hurt you.” Bucky closed his eyes as he spoke, knowing he had to come clean once and for all, to just tell her the truth. This was his shot. “I've been having these nightmares… where I kill you, and I couldn't handle it. I just didn't want them to come true. There's no way I could live with myself if your blood was on my hands.” He breathed out fearfully, both hands cupping her face now. Needing to touch her, needing to show her the fear he had felt when those images flooded his mind.

Calin froze at this words, letting the weight of them sink in. He had pulled away because of nightmares? Almost the same type of nightmares she had been having?

Letting out a huff, Calin shook her head with an annoyed groan. She knew exactly what was going on now, feeling incredibly stupid for not seeing it sooner. Her demon… this was all it's doing. It fucked with Bucky so he'd leave her, and it knew how big of a blow that'd be. It had been the first crack in the impervious armor she had built up over the years. Then to hammer the final nail in the coffin, it conjured up nightmares for Calin as well. Breaking down her walls just enough to slip right through. This was all calculated, planned out so it could escape. The smart little bitch. Calin knew it had been fucking with herself… but to go after someone else… that was new, something that seemed impossible. But the similarities were striking, too coincidental to ignore. It was growing stronger clearly. Which wasn't good.

Seeing how dejected Bucky looked, Calin leaned in and pressed her lips against his softly again. Her body almost needing another taste, just to make sure it was real. Because in truth, she still didn't believe this was actually occurring.

“Let's go find Tony… I think it's time you guys know what happened. At least so you know what you're dealing with.” She murmured against his lips. “I owe it to you.” Closing her eyes, she felt his hands leave her face and carefully found purchase around her waist.

It was time to face the demons of her past and present.

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