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#I noticed police and ambulance but didn’t hear any sirens and since then the ambulance has left

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

I’m Right Here

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident (minor), Injuries

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Summary: There is nothing scarier than those moments when every breath you take is shallow; when your heart is racing and your body is drenched in cold sweat. When you are rushing to the aid of a hurt loved one, knowing you can never be fast enough because your mind and fear are at least a mile ahead of you. Corpse has to experience these exact moments after a frightening call that informs him of his girlfriend’s car accident.

Requested by @sugiliteshadow . Hi! Thank you so much for you request, darling. Sorry to be posting it so late and I can’t thank you enough for your patience. I hope the fic itself makes up for the wait. Please enjoy! Stay safe! Love, Vy ❤

It’s been about an hour since I got off the phone with Y/N and my concern is through the roof. She called me from the parking lot of the office building where she works at, telling me she’s be home in less than half an hour and asking if I needed her to pick up anything along the way. I have been trying to brush away the worries, comforting myself with the fact that I did request a specific type of iced tea and knowing Y/N, she’s probably looking for it in multiple stores because she couldn’t find it in the convenience store that’s along her way back home. I should’ve told her not to sweat it considering I don’t need it right away or anything. I have tried distracting myself with editing just to hinder myself from picking up my phone and debating weather to call her or not. I may be worried but I don’t wanna put her life in danger by calling her while she’s driving.

I keep my hands on my keyboard and mouse, my phone halfway across the room just in case. Another thirty minutes pass by with no sound of the door being unlocked or even a car pulling up. My fingers are beginning to drum over the buttons on my keyboard anxiously. I have had to go back and redo so many things with the video I’m editing because my mind simply isn’t present. It’s wandering around the city, looking for that one familiar car that’s always outside our house, parked in the driveway. That’s currently being driven by my girlfriend of two years Y/N.

My phone’s ringtone snaps me out of the downwards spiral of my thoughts, simultaneously picking up the speed of my heartbeat. I basically launch myself out of my chair and towards the bed where the ringing is coming from. I feel a wave of relief rush over me when I see Y/N’s name on the lit screen.

“Hey babe, where have you been?“ I ask as soon as I answer the call. It feels like my whole body shuts down when I finally pick up on the sound of blaring sirens in the background.

“Sir, I’m sorry to inform you Miss Y/L/N has been in an accident.” The words the female voice on the phone says cut through me like a knife, sending chills of paralyzing fear all over my body, “You were the last person she contacted before the accident which is why we’ve stepped in contact with you. However, if you are not able to come collect Miss Y/L/N, please contact a family member of hers.“

The calmness of her tone is freaking me out of my skin and mind, “Is she ok?! Where is she?!“

“She’s alright, sir. She’s not completely conscious yet, though. But she will be by the time you arrive. Her injuries are not in any way life-threatening. She has a few cuts and bruises and a concussion. A medical team has already taken care of her.“

Before I know it, I’m already out the door, the location the policewoman gave me in my head as I get behind the wheel of my car which I rarely use. Thankfully, the road the accident happened on is less than fifteen minutes away. Due to the late hour there is close to no traffic on the roads so I make it to the scene in no time. Y/N’s car is surrounded by two cop cars and two ambulances. I barely even notice the black Honda Civic that is almost equally as beat up as Y/N’s Toyota. Speaking of the Toyota, its front bumper is completely obliterated - the headlights, blinkers and windshield in pieces and shards on the pavement.

In the first ambulance there’s a guy passed out on a gurney with an ivy rip connected to his arm. In the one next to it is Y/N, sitting hunched over with her head hanging low, her hair falling over her face.

“Y/N?“ I rush over to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder but withdrawing my arm in case she has a bruise in that spot.

She lifts her head, a look of relief and happiness flashing across her face. She lets out a sigh, a small smile appearing on her lips as her eyes fill with tears. “Corpse...” her hand reaches out for mine which is still hanging in the air. I give her my other hand and she uses me as support to slowly stand up. She lets go of my hands and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug as a quiet sob leaves her chest. “I was so scared when I woke up. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“It’s ok, you’re ok now. I’m here, I’m right here.“ I gently smooth her hair while carefully holding her in my embrace. She has a few purple bruises along her arms and cuts on her cheek and neck which are covered in white bandages with small dark red stains. The most major thing I can see is the cut on her left temple which is also covered up. I press a tender kiss to the right one. “Are you in any pain?“ I pull away to get a better look at her.

Thankfully she shakes her head, “No, I’m ok. My elbow hurts a little but that’s it.”

I nod, moving a strand of hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead. Just as I’m about to ask her what exactly happened one one of the police officers approaches us.

“A drunk driver. He ran the red light and crashed straight into her car.“ The officer says, judging by her voice it’s the same woman that called me. “You don’t remember that, do you?“

Y/N turns to her, “I just remember hearing a loud crash and then darkness. I didn’t know what had happened until you told me when I woke up.”

The policewoman gives us a sincere smile, lightly touching Y/N’s shoulder “It’s ok, sweetheart. You are alright, that’s what matters. And you have someone here by your side.”

Y/N’s eyes meet mine when she gives me the most loving glance, the one that I often catch in her eyes - the one that always melts me. “He always is.” she says, running her fingers down my arm, interlocking hers with mine when they reach my hand.

The policewoman tells us good night and walks over to the other ambulance. We stick around to see the cars get taken away and Y/N gives her info so they can contact her when the car is repaired. I know how much she loves that car - it’s the first and only car she has ever owned. She has had it for about seven years and calls it her child basically. I never thought I’d be jealous of a car in my life - just kidding. But my point has been made - she’s never been apart from it or driven another car.

Wrapping my arm around her while she watches her car being taken away, I turn her around, leading her towards my car. “Let’s get you home. You’ll be 100% under my care and no complaints will be accepted.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, snuggling up into my side, “Don’t make a big deal about this please. And, for the love of God, don’t baby me too much, ok?”

I grin down at her, “What was that, I didn’t quite catch it?“

“Corpseeee...“ She pouts, a frown on her face, making her look so childish it’s absolutely adorable.

“Save the whining, it ain’t gonna work.“ I open the door to the passenger seat, stepping aside so she can get in the my car.

Surprisingly enough, she actually doesn’t complain the rest of the way home nor when we arrive. Nor when I instruct her to stay in bed and not move unless it’s absolutely necessary. I basically bring all the snacks from the kitchen into our room while she compiles a list of movies we will be watching because no sleep will be had tonight. “I love you.“ Y/N says through a sigh halfway through the second movie.

“I love you too. But don’t fall asleep.“ I tickle her side, causing her to giggle and squirm in an attempt to get away from me.

“Ok, ok, but you’re gonna have to help me. If I blink, I’ll be a goner.“ She yawns, shuffling back towards me. When she flashes me that hinting wide smile, I know exactly what she’s insinuating.

I sigh, giving in with ease. “When you were here before...“

“Couldn’t look you in the eye...“ she backs me up just as I knew she would

“You’re just like an angel...“

“Your skin makes me cry...“

Needless to say, we end up duetting random songs - rap songs, heavy metal, pop songs, some of my songs, some Christmas songs, Disney songs - making it one of the best movie marathons we’ve ever had, the unfortunate events of the day far behind us and completely gone from our minds.

@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @the-fuck-up-of-today @chiefwombathoagiepizza @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @symphony-butterfly @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @baby-iyania @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @pinkhairedsapphic @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @maybe-im-dead-idk @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @chaoticgayandnerdy @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @strawberrycheesecakekenzistuff @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @amysingh2512 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @faepetersen @namikhai-i @nastiablr

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ashley-greenwick-my-beloved · 2 years

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Sirens (season 2 episode 1)

Summary: Ashley is injured during a hostage situation and Stuart and Rachid respond to the call.

Warnings: gun violence, blood, hostage situation, strong language.

Ashley sighed, and looked at his watch. If this line doesn't move along soon, I'm gonna be late for work, He thought. He took out his phone and started texting “I’m at the bank, might be a bit late. Cover for me.”

A few seconds later Stuart responded, “You picked the wrong day, mate. Woodvine is extra grumpy today.”

Ashley groaned quietly to himself.

***

“Hey Rachid, Ashley just texted to let me know he’s running a bit late, so it looks like it’ll be the two of us till he gets he- '' Stuart was interrupted by the dispatch tones coming on over the loudspeakers. He stopped to listen.

“Did they just say standby for a hostage situation?” asked Rachid. “At the bank?”

“Fuck!”

“What!?” Rachid asked.

“Ash is at the bank!”

Stuart took off at a run towards the ambulance, he didn’t even wait to see if Rachid was coming. He didn’t need to. He knew Rachid would be right behind him. He was going so fast he nearly collided with Kirsty.

“Whoa! Slow down!” she exclaimed.

Stuart didn’t stop, not until he reached the ambulance. By the time he got in and started the engine, Rachid was pulling open the door on the other side. As soon as he was in, Stuart stepped on the gas and sped away, lights and sirens blaring.

***

Well this is shaping up to be one hell of a day. Ashley thought as one of the hostage takers tightened the zip tie around his wrists and shoved him to the ground beside one of the other hostages. Ashley wasn’t particularly scared, definitely not as scared as he should’ve been.

***

By the time the ambulance got to the bank the police had already blocked off the surrounding area. Stuart's heart was racing as he jumped out of the ambulance. He looked around, trying to get a grasp of what was happening. There were police cars everywhere and officers everywhere else. Stuart found Maxine and made his way over to where she was standing with Ryan.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I'm not sure exactly, I know there’s four terrorist inside and they have several civilians as hostages.”

“Yeah, including Ashley!”

“What, how do you know?” Ryan, who’s attention had previously been elsewhere, suddenly turned his attention towards Stuart.

“He texted me a couple minutes before the call came in. He said he was at the bank and would be a bit late.”

Ryan looked towards the bank. Start could see the fear in his eyes. He felt the same fear welling up inside him.

“Have they made any demands yet?”

“I think so, but no one’s told me what they are. Honestly I'm just here for crowd control.” Maxine replied.

***

Ashley quietly moved closer to the kid next to him, careful not to attract the attention of anyone else.

“Psst, hey, what’s your name?” he whispered.

“Chris.”

“Alright, Chris, listen. I need you to do me a favor. Reach into my pants pocket and get the trauma shears out. I can’t reach them with my hands behind my back.”

The kid turned so that he could reach into Ashley’s pocket and pull out the trauma shears. He handed them to Ashley who then cut the zip ties from his wrists, then he cut Chris free too.

“Keep your hands behind your back so they don’t notice.”

“They’re going to kill us aren't they?”

Ashley thought for a moment then said, “No I don't think so. See, they need us alive for leverage.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy the kid any.

***

Rachid paced back and forth in front of the ambulance. It had been hours since they had arrived on scene and nothing was happening. Everything seemed to be at a complete standstill. Stuart was leaning his back against the side of the ambulance, rubbing his temples. He looked up when he heard two officers whispering to one another.

“Did you hear? They’ve threatened to start killing the hostages if their demands aren't met soon.”

“I don’t see why we don’t go in and rescue the hostages.”

“It’s too risky. The civilians could get hurt.”

“Do you really think they’ll start killing people?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Stuart felt the panic rising in his chest. His heart was racing. He risked a glance towards Rachid to see if he had overheard the conversation too. He was still pacing, clearly oblivious to the police officers’ conversation. Stuart leaned back against the ambulance. He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer to whatever higher power that may be.

***

“They don’t believe us.”

“Well then prove them wrong.”

Ashley felt his blood run cold as saw one of the terrorist tilt his head towards the group of hostages. He hadn’t caught the whole conversation but he had heard enough. Ashley watched in horror as one of them cocked his gun, grabbed a woman by the arm and pulled her to her feet. He couldn’t watch this. He leapt to his feet. Chris tried to stop him but it was too late.

***

Stuart stiffened when he heard the gunshot echo through the air. Rachid stopped in his tracks. They both looked at each other in horror. Rachid started towards the building but Maxine stopped him before he could get more than a few feet.

“Rcahid, no!”

“We have to get in there!” Stuart exclaimed as he slipped past Maxine, who was busy holding Rrachid back.

“You can’t. We have to wait for SWAT to clear the building.” Ryan said, grabbing Stuart by the arm.

“Tell them to clear the fucking building then!” Stuart tried to pull free, but Ryan’s grip was too strong.

“They will, you just have to give them time!”

***

Ashley fell to the ground, clutching his abdomen. He could feel the blood oozing between his fingers. He lay on the ground gasping for air. He knew the bullet must’ve hit his lung. He blinked, trying to keep his eyes open. He knew he had to stay awake and keep pressure on the wound. As he slipped in and out of consciousness he thought he heard shouting. They sounded far off, as if they were coming from a long way away. He prayed that it was the police, coming to put an end to this nightmare. He prayed that Stuart was with them. but he wasn’t even sure he had actually heard it. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was hallucinating from all the blood loss. He heard someone call his name. Was it Stuart, or was it someone from the other side? He wondered as the darkness closed in around him and his world fell into silence.

***

Stuart reached Ashley’s side first. The blood was already pooling around him and his breathing was coming in short and shallow breaths. there was a stream of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. ‘At least he’s breathing’ Stuart thought.

“Ash, can you hear me? Ashley, stay with me!” Stuart pleaded. He could feel a lump rising in his throat.

“Ashley Greenwick, don't you dare die on me!”

Stuart felt a knot twisting in his stomach as the warm blood oozed between his fingers as he packed the wound with gauze. He had to look away; he couldn't stand to see so much blood coming from someone he cared about so much. He felt Rachid kneel down beside him. Together, they moved Ashley onto the back board and lifted him onto the stretcher.

As soon as they got him into the back of the ambulance, Stuart cut away Ashley’s bloody shirt so that he could hook him up to the heart monitor. Rachid jumped into the front seat and pulled the ambulance out onto the road, sirens wailing.

Ashley let out a quiet moan as Stuart backed his wound with more gauzz. Ashley was losing blood fast and Stuart worried that he had already lost too much.

“Stuart…” Ashley's voice was barely audible.

“I'm right here Ash, just stay with me. We’re almost to the hospital.”

Stuart could hear his own voice shaking. He glanced at the heart monitor and felt a shiver run down his spine as the line went flat.

“Damn it, Ashley! don't do this to me!” He was barely able to choke out the words because of the lump rising in his throat. He dropped the gauze and started chest compressions.

***

“He’s in v-tach! Get the defibrillator!” one of the doctors shouted as they rolled Ashley into the ER.

“Charging…clear.”

Stuart watched helplessly as the first shock was delivered and then as a second shock went through his best friend's body.

“Common Ash!” he heard Rachid muttering beside him.

He looked up and saw that there were tears streaming down Rachids face. Stuart looked away; he didn’t want Rachid to see that there were tears in his own eyes.

***

“Let's get him into O.R.”

Despair gripped Rachid as he watched them disappear into the operating room. He would never admit it but he had always looked up to Ashley. Ever since Rachid’s first ‘purple job’, Ashley had been secretly checking up on him. He had always made a point to make sure Rachid was okay after rough calls. Rachid hadn’t developed the same tough skin or put up the same walls that his partners had, and Ashley seemed to understand that, somehow. Rachid wasn’t sure what he would do without him. If it weren’t for Ashley he probably never would have made it through his probationary period as an EMT. He couldn’t lose him now.

Rachid heard a sniffle beside him. He looked down and saw that Stuart's cheeks were wet with tears. It scared him.it scared him more than the blood, more than defibrillator, more than anything that had happened. He had only ever seen Stuart cry once before. He had always seen Stuart like a rock; stone cold, unemotional and unmoveable. He used to find comfort in it, but now that Stuart was crying right in front of him, Rachid began to realize just how grim the situation really was.

***

Stuart sunk down into the nearest chair in the waiting room and put his head in his hands. He had done everything he could for Ashley and it still didn’t feel like enough.

“Stuart,”

Stuart looked up and saw Maxine standing over him.

“I was able to get Ashley's phone. I thought you might want to try and get a hold of his emergency contact.”

“Actually, could you do it?” Stuart replied. “I'm not sure if I'm up for it at the moment.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Do you know who it is?”

No, I have no idea. Ash said he’s never told anyone who it is.”

“Um… Stuart…” Maxine went quiet as she turned the phone screen around.

“Wait, but that's my number.”

“I know.”

“Fuck,”

Stuart stood up and looked around the room before making a dash for the exit.

“Stuart, wait” Rachid started to go after him but Maxine put out a hand to stop him.

“Let him go.”

Rachid sat back down then stood back up when he saw Woodvine walk through the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“One of my guys is hurt, of course I'm going to be here. I got someone to cover your shift, but you’ll have to make it up to me somehow, when all of this gets sorted out.” she said before stalking off to track down a doctor, probably to interrogate them for information about Ashley.

Rachid sighed and sat back down.

***

It felt like hours before one of the nurses came out of the OR and made her way over to where Rachid was sitting.

“The surgery was rough and we’re still not sure if he'll make it, but he’s stable for now.”

Rachid ducked his head, trying not to let the nurse see how scared he was.

“Can we go see him?”

The nurse nodded.

“I’ll go find Stuart.” Maxine said.

***

Maxine found Stuart in the back of the ambulance. He was cleaning the blood off the floor. He didn’t look up when she opened the door. There was a lot of blood, Maxine noticed. She hoisted herself into the ambulance and picked up a rag and started helping him clean it up.

***

Rachid found a chair and a magazine and settled in beside the bed where Ashley lay. Ashley looked pale and his breathing was shallow. Rachid looked away. Why was this happening? Why did such terrible things happen to good people?

***

When they had finished cleaning away the blood, Stuart sat on the floor and leaned against the bench seat in the back of the ambulance. Maxine sat on the seat beside him.

“Ashley once told me that his ICE contact was the person he trusted most in this world… Did I let him down?” Stuart asked, half to himself.

“You did everything you could.”

“I panicked. I'm still panicking… Maxine, what am I gonna do if he doesn’t pull through?”

“He’s out of surgery…” Maxine said. “The nurse said he’s stable for now.”

“For now?”

Maxine instantly regretted adding that last bit.

“She said that they won't know for certain if he’ll pull through till he wakes up.”

“Can we see him?” Stuart asked.

Maxine nodded. Stuart didn’t move.

“We’ve been by each other's sides, through thick and thin, since we were 18.”

Stuart looked up at Maxine to meet her eyes.

“We were one fucked up pair, but at least we were fucked up together.”

“Stu, you better go see him now.” Maxine said.

“Is Rachid with him?”

“Last I checked.”

***

Stuart wandered into the ICU room where Ashley was. Rachid was asleep in a chair beside the bed, snoring quietly. Stuart pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed and made himself comfortable.

***

The first thing Ashley was aware of was the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside him. The next thing to enter his conscience was the sound of breathing, but not his own. He slowly blinked open his eyes. The room was dimly lit and the curtains were drawn, blocking out what he assumed was the late evening sun, but it could be early morning. He had no way of knowing for sure. He looked to his left and saw that Rachid was sleeping in the chair next to him. He was snoring softly. Ashley shifted to see that Stuart was asleep in a chair on his other side. He had his legs propped up on the bed.

“Stu…” Ashley's voice was barely more than a whisper; it was all that he could manage.

Stuart didn’t answer.

“Stuart…”

No answer.

it hurt to breathe, let alone speak. Every breath brought about a tearing pain in his chest. Ashley nudged Stuarts leg off the bed with his foot. Stuart nearly jumped out of his chair, he woke up so suddenly. The sudden movement woke up Rachid who sat up rubbing his eyes.

“Fuck! Ashley, you had us really worried!” Rachid exclaimed.

“What time is it?” Ashley asked.

Stuart looked at his watch.

“7:30 A.M.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Since yesterday.” Rachid replied.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“No. Everyone else is fine.” Stuart replied

“Good.” Ashley let out a sort sigh of relief

“Ash, we tried to get in touch with your ICE contact.” Rachid said, a smile creeping across his face.

“Fuck,”Ashley rolled his eyes.

“I'm not sure I should be your ICE.” Stuart said.

“Why?” Ashley and Rachid asked in unison.

“I let my emotions get in the way and you almost died.”

“Oh yeah, it was bad.” Rachid said in a mocking tone, “he was so worried that he actually showed a real human emotion.”

“Shit, that is bad!” Ashley said with mock surprise.

“Fuck off!”

“The fact is, I was shot, and yes, I almost died, but you got me here alive. And I'm alive now, aren't I…” Ashley broke off into a coughing fit. When the coughing subsided he continued.

“That’s all the proof I need to know that I made the right choice, so yes, I’ll be leaving you as my ICE.” Ashley’s voice was low and quiet, barely more than a whisper; it was all he could manage. But it was firm and it got his point across that he meant what he said.

Much to Ashley’s relief, Stuart didn’t argue. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to make Ashley strain himself any more than he already had, or maybe it was because he realized that Ashley was right.

***

Stuart had stayed with Ashley all day, but now that dusk had settled over the place, it was best that he let Ashley sleep. Rachid had gone home a few hours ago and now it was time for him to go as well. He could tell that Ashley was struggling to keep his eyes open. Stuart knew he was trying to stay awake for him.

“Ash, you better get some rest.” He said, placing a hand on Ashley's shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ashley looked relieved.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Stuart asked, getting up from his seat.

“No, I'm good.”

“Alright, get some sleep.”

Stuart stopped in the doorway and turned to look back at Ashley. His eyes were closed and it seemed as if he was already sleeping peacefully. Stuart smiled and turned away, and, for the first time since this whole ordeal had started, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. He knew Ashley's road to recovery was going to be hard, but Ashley was going to be okay, and that was all that mattered.

#this is my very first fanfic i ever posted #so im a little nervous about it #i hope you enjoy #i might write more later #like maybe a continuation of this or something #who knows #maybe ill write a whole second season of sirens #if im feeling ambitious #since the show got cancelled way too soon #sirens UK #Ashley Greenwick #Stuart Bayldon #Rachid mansaur #Richard Madden #Kayvan Novak #Rhys Thomas #sirens fanfic #my writing #im nervous about this 😬

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groovyzombiellama · 3 years

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Don’t Leave Me

Title: Don’t Leave Me

Requested? No.

Plot: Your brother was the one to kidnap Cesar and his friends, and while you help them escape, you and Cesar fall in love, and you come to save his life when your brother discovers your hiding spot. Two endings.

Warnings: Mentions of getting shot, blood, death and funeral (one of the endings)

Word count: 2583

---***---

In the beginning it was tough to even get Cesar and his friends to eat right, let alone do anything else when they first arrived. So being in the position you are now, your feelings for the dark haired boy growing daily, you knew you had to do something. When your brother showed up to your house with the four of them in toe, you were already angry at him. You didn’t understand his need to hurt people, but he has crossed the line, kidnapping kids your own age, when he was much older than you. You honestly didn’t even care about his motives, but you immediately knew that you couldn’t let him hurt the four kids he kidnapped. So whenever Cesar argued with your brother while he was being grilled for the information your brother needed and you could see the eyes of your brother light up in rage, you were always ready to step in and protect Cesar from getting hurt in any way and the rest for that matter. At first you had no feelings towards him, it was only because you hated seeing people get hurt and especially seeing your brother, the guy you looked up to when you were younger doing the damage.

And since then you had developped some kind of relationship with all of them. You had began seeing Jamal, Ruby and Monse as friends, because they were quick to understand that you were trying to help them, but when it comes to Cesar, you were a bit unsure of what was going on. You knew that you had feelings for him, but at first you thought it was just a crush and that it would go away, because he was still reserved towards you and didn’t really warm up to you as much as the others, and even they were luke warm since you were related to the person who held them in captivity, so to say he was ice cold would be the most accurate description. But over time, especially when you had risked your own life helping them escape, they started opening up to you more, this time Cesar included. And that was when you realised that your feelings for Cesar were more than a crush and that the more you talked to him and the more you learned about him, the harder you were falling for him. You didn’t want to make an enemy out of Monse, since you knew that the two of them had a history, so you didn’t do a lot regarding your feelings, but it was clear that you had them, mostly to Monse.

She was actually the one who told you to go for it and that maybe you were the one for Cesar, since you were more in tune with the kind of life he lived, and no matter how much you tried to convince her that his way of life or yours or hers had nothing to do with feelings, she still pushed you into Cesar. And you were shocked to see him not pushing you back, and instead pulling you in. Like that one time you had to grab groceries as sneakily as you because all of you were getting hungry and the mask you were wearing had fallen slightly off your face, Cesar didn’t just tell you to pull it back or something, instead he was the one to reach over to pull it up for you, his fingers gently brushing over your lips, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Or when you all had to hide from a few of your brother’s goons who had come looking for you in the place you were hiding, and Cesar insisted you come hide with him in a already cramped closet.

It kinda gave you the impression that he liked you too, but what sealed the deal were two instances, firstly when you had to switch hiding places and you offered to just lead them there and then go your own way or go back to your brother, and just face the music for helping them escape, since you knew you could go to your father and your brother wouldn’t be able to hurt you, but Cesar was the most vocal one in saying that you were staying with them and that was final. And secondly when at the new hideout you had a limited amount of beds, so one of you was destined to sleep on the floor. You volunteered, because you felt like you owe it to them for letting you tag along, but Cesar was quick to tell you to sleep next to him. You looked over at Monse and she smiled at you, nodding slightly, signaling that she had already talked to Cesar and that she as fine with the two of you being together and that for her, Cesar was as much of a friend as you.

But that was just part of the event that sealed the deal between you and Cesar. What really put the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, was the moment when you almost fell out of the bed in your sleep and woke up in a panic, ready to hit the ground, only to be grabbed by Cesar and pulled back, landing with your chest flush against his, your breaths mixing from the proximity of your faces. You looked up from his lips to his eyes, only to see him staring at your lips in turn, before leaning in and connecting them. The kiss was short and sweet at first, a chaste kiss shared between people who are yet to discover each other, but it was soon followed by a kiss more fast paced and hungry, just enough for the both of you to confirm to each other all that you felt through your mouths moving in sync and your breaths tangling. From then on you were his and he was yours, no doubt about it, and you felt butterflies roam your stomach when he even looked at you, let alone when he kissed you.

Neither one of you had any idea that your relationship was gonna be put to the highest test sooner rather than later when you brother and his goons somehow managed to find your hideout and a fight broke out. You fought to escape, while they fought to bring all five of you back into captivity. Your brother tried convincing you to come back to his side, but that had not been an option for a while now so he was trying in vain. And when even he realised that, that was when he really unleashed everything. There was punches thrown, and kicks from both sides, and people were thrown left and right, until you somehow ended up on the floor after one particularlly harsh kick from one of your brother’s goons and in your peripheral vision you noticed something shiny. Turning your head over to your brother, you noticed he had pulled out a gun and your eyes widened.

Pure shock overtook your body when you realised he was pointing it at Cesar who was fighting off his goons the strongest and he figured if he got rid of him grabbing the rest of you would be easier. Everything felt like it was in slow motion, but you managed to free yourself from the guy that had hurt you and was trying to hold you down and yelled out for Cesar, running to him. As soon as you reached him, you hugged him and heard a loud bang, followed by an enormous pain in your back and you collapsed to the floor, Cesar catching you in his arms. When your brother saw it was you who he shot, he froze, unable to understand how you were willing to fight with your life for people you met not too long ago. Suddenly they heart the sound of police sirens who just happened to be patroling the neighbourhood, they fled the scene, leaving you bleeding in Cesar’s arms. One of the officers rushed in and radioed for help when he saw you on the floor while the other started chasing your brother and his goons.

ENDING 1 (Gone But Not Forgotten)

“Come on Y/N, don’t leave me!“ You heard Cesar’s words, but you were unable to respond as you felt weak and your eyes were closing, and no matter how much he fought to get you to keep them open, you couldn’t anymore. Even the police officer was trying to get you to stay awake, pressing on your wound to stop the blood from flowing, but you somehow had a feeling your time is limited. With your last ounce of strength you told Cesar you loved him. “I love you“ was very important to you, and you felt like saying that in a relationship when it was truly serious, but since you felt like it was your last moments on earth, you knew that you had to say them to Cesar.

You felt one of his tears drop onto your skin and you wanted nothing more than to reach your hand up and wipe his tears, but you were getting weaker by the minute. You reached out your hand as much as possible, looking for Monse’s and when she grabbed your hand, you told her to take care of herself and of all of her friends, especially Cesar. “Turns out we weren’t actually meant to be as we thought.“ You say, your throat dry, causing you to cough, a bit of blood coming out of your mouth, and you smiled hearing Cesar. “Don’t say these things! You’re gonna be okay! I love you too, I love you, just don’t leave me!“ After uttering out one last “I love you“ to Cesar, you closed your eyes for the last time, your body going limp, and no matter how much he screamed, and he screamed for you so loudly that Monse, Jamal and Ruby felt like those screams were gonna haunt them for the rest of their lives, you were gone. Cesar cried even louder, placing his forehead against yours, begging you to wake up, but deep down he knew you were gone and he knew that he was gonna need a LOT of time to get over you and how you made him feel. “Sweet dreams angel, I love you.“ Were his last words to you before you were burried. He would often visit your grave, whenever he missed you, in every girl he saw you, even when he moved on, you were still tattooed in his heart.

ENDING 2 (The Survivor)

“Come on Y/N, don’t leave me!“ Cesar’s words echoed in your head, giving you more will to keep on fighting. You felt way too weak, but something in your mind was telling you that you had to fight. The police officer pressing down on your wound informed you that the ambulance was gonna be here soon and all you had to do was hold on a little longer. All four of your newfound friends were givin you words of encouragement, being able to see how strong you are from all of the things the five of your went through in this time you were together. It made you smile, even if it was weak and followed by you coughing out blood, it gave a sliver of hope to your friends and your boyfriend that you would be able to get through this. Your eyes felt heavy and for a moment you felt like it was the last thing you were ever gonna say, so you felt like you had to let him know. “Cesar, I l-love y-you.“ You wanted to say more, like how you know that those words are reserved for serious relationships for you and not something to be taken lightly or how it was okay if he didn’t feel the same, or how it might be too soon to say that, but you couldn’t. Your throat closed and you caughed again.

Cesar begged you not to talk and to keep your energy for fighting to stay alive, and said he loved you too, so you had to fight, because he wanted to show you how much he loved you, in every meaning of that word. If you weren’t bleeding out on the floor you would have hugged him so tight right now and showered him with kisses. Soon the ambulance was there and it was just in time too, as you were slowly starting to close your eyes. You were all taken to the hospital and they were all treated for their wounds as you were rushed to the operation room. Everyone was anxious, hoping to get good news that you were gonna be okay. Cesar was blaming himself for not turning the two of you around and taking the bullet himself, but he was too late to realise what was going on, and didn’t have enough time to react. Monse, Jamal and Ruby were doing their best to calm him down, but all three were starting to get dizzy watching him pace back and forth in their hospital room, waiting to hear how you were.

After what seemed like forever the doctor walked into their room and started scolding Cesar for not resting, but he quickly brushed him off and asked for you. A sigh of relief washed over the entire room as they heard that even though you had lost a lot of blood, you were gonna be fine and recover. Cesar asked if he could see you, or stay in your hospital room with you and the doctor granted that to him. Even when the other’s left to go home to their families, Cesar stayed with you. You had made him feel so much in such a short amount of time, more than even Monse. He had never felt the way he feels about you and couldn’t wait to say he loves you to you again, when you are fully back to health and looking at him with your beautiful smile and breathtaking eyes. When you woke up finally, he peppered your face with gentle kisses, making you giggle, that turned into a hissing sound, as you felt your wound hurting from the sudden movement, prompting Cesar to stop and apologise multiple times, despite you saying it was fine.

He was there for you throughout your recovery, making sure you know that he was serious about you, and when you had finally been released from the hospital, he took you to his house and you had officially moved in with him, since you had nowhere else to go after what happened with your brother who was your main caretaker. But you were accepted into the Diaz family and you were truly thankful. “Oh by the way, I love you angel. I love you a lot.“ Cesar said one night as you were getting ready to go to bed, making you blush, both at him saying those words to you and at the nickname he gave you. “I love you too....amor.“ The smile Cesar beamed at you was the biggest you had seen on him since you met him. He surged forward, feeling like he was on cloud nine after finally hearing those words properly from you and kissed you with so much emotion, you felt blissful. He was yours and you were his, sure you met under wild circumstances, but at least you were here to stay.

---***---

Gah I made the second ending so much longer than the first, but since she lives in that one, there was more to happen after she wakes up, so it got longer, but I hope you guys still like it and don’t mind <3

I haven’t seen On My Block fully yet, so I’m not sure if Cesar and Monse get back together before they get kidnapped, but someone spoiled that they get kidnapped to me so I had this idea one night while I was thinking about it. I’ve always wanted to write a fic with alternate endings so people could choose weather they like the sad ending or the happy one. Hope you enjoy this, I’m off to bed. my back and neck are killing me and tomorrow I’m going back to my inbox for new requests to do :) that’s all for now folks <3

#cesar diaz #cesar diaz imagine #cesar diaz imagines #cezar diaz x reader #on my block #on my block imagine

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Sideways {Andrew Garfield x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1811 Summary: Andrew gets a call that no one wants to get. Especially from their own child. Warning: Contains hospital, miscarriage and talk of pregnancy.

The best part about your job was that you could do a lot of it online, and could travel with Andrew when he went abroad for his different acting gigs. This was one of the last times that you would be able to go, since it was the Summer and your daughter was going into first grade, and you wanted to keep her in one place to keep her adjusted. Still, he was going to appreciate all that he could get. And every minute that he wasn’t needed on set, he was going to take you and your child together to go and explore. He’d been here in Vancouver before, but you hadn’t, and he was eager to show you what he had learned about on his last trip here. But for now, he was stuck in the studio, getting fitted for one of the ‘special’ outfits that he was going to be wearing for this film.

He was laughing with the wardrobe stylist, joking about something that happened with the director on the first day here. They had pranked him by bringing in a bunch of extras and announcing them as the main cast. The director had sputtered, and not wanting to be rude, had to excuse himself to make ‘script adjustments’. Once he had realized that it was all a prank, he saw the funny side, and all tension and nerves around the team had dissipated. Andrew had been in on it and thought that it was hilarious, especially since he had been dressed as one of the camera-crew. Best acting he had ever done, the director had said to him.

“There’s a call for you, Mr Garfield,” His assistant said, popping up beside him. She was a small, older woman with a very no-nonsense air about her. She hadn’t appreciated the prank, because it meant that she missed out on a few hours of work. “It’s urgent.”

“It is?” Andrew asked, wondering who it could be. You only texted him during work hours, and he’d give you a call at lunch once in a while, otherwise he would wait to tell you about his day once he got home. That way his little girl could listen in and chime in whenever she wanted as well. “Excuse me,” He told the woman who was measuring his shoulders to make an adjustment to the suit. She nodded, and helped him to remove what he had on of the costume, then he changed quickly then finally accepted the phone from his assistant.

“This is Andrew,” He said, just in case it was an urgent professional call. He could hear a commotion coming from the other end of the line. There were men talking, and then a loud siren. Ambulance, not fire truck or police. He knew the difference, having always stayed in hotels in busy cities.

“Daddy?” The six-year-olds voice came through, and Andrew felt his heart sink from his chest down to his knees. He looked at his assistant who looked more solemn than usual. And maybe even a little bit concerned. “Daddy - it’s Mommy.”

“What’s wrong with mommy? Tell me everything - and where are you going?” He took his wallet and keys from his assistant, who had been holding onto them during the fittings.

“Where are we going?” Andrew heard her ask someone, and a man said something in response. “Vancouver General,” The little girl repeated.

“I’ll meet you there, okay? Stay with one of the paramedics until Daddy gets there. I won’t be long.”

It took him half an hour to get to the hospital, and that was with light traffic. He cursed the studio for being so far away, but he knew it was just the stress. His daughter wasn’t able to give him much information, just that you had been in the bathroom, crying in pain, and then told the little girl to call 911. They had taught her the emergency number for every country that they stayed in, just in case. It was good that she knew, but he hated that she had to use it.

You had been feeling fine that morning, he recalled. You went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, had a simple meal of oatmeal and fruits. He was thinking that perhaps you had food poisoning of some sort? He hoped it was something as simple as that, though you wouldn’t have called 911 over something so trivial.

He parked, then ran into the first entrance that he could find. It was emergency, and they gave him directions to the fourth floor. He noticed from the signs around the elevator that it was to ... to a pregnancy floor?

He saw his daughter first, sitting on a bench, reading a book, swinging her legs back and forth since they weren’t reaching the ground. There was a paramedic sitting with her, but not saying anything. Just keeping an eye on her, which Andrew was thankful for. His footsteps brought their attention, and the little girl jumped to her feet. She had been crying, Andrew could tell from the puffiness of her cheeks. She ran towards him, and he leaned down to catch her in a hug. “Daddy! I called just like you taught me to!” She pulled your phone out of her pocket, it looked so massive in her little hands, and she held it up to show you.

He knew the password, there were no secrets between you two. You knew his as well, but neither of you ever went snooping. In fact, this was the first time that he had used it. He saw indeed that your first call of the day was to work, and then 911, and then to him. He turned the phone dark and put it into his own pocket. He scooped up the girl and held her in his arms in a giant bear hug. He looked at the paramedic over her shoulder, took a step towards him and held his hand out. “Thank you so much for staying with her-”

“It’s no problem,” He said, getting to his own feet. “We had to resupply the ambo anyway. And - the doctor said that your wife was stable. I’m sure she’ll be out soon.” He shook Andrew’s hand then excused himself to go back to work, and Andrew sunk down on the recently vacated spot on the bench, still holding his daughter on his lap. There wasn’t much that he could do except for wait for the Doctor, which didn’t take long. The commotion that your daughter made had gotten their attention.

“Hello, Mr. Garfield?” The Doctor said, coming out of the room. She reminded Andrew a lot of his assistant. Same motherly face, same solemn features. Andrew nodded to the affirmative. “Your wife is going to be just fine, though her body had gone through some trauma. She’s going to need to rest, take it easy for a couple of weeks at least.”

“What happened?” He asked, his voice shaky with relief that you were going to be fine. Still, this had seemed to come out of nowhere. And the fact that you were in the pregnancy wing made him nervous.

“Your wife had a miscarriage, Mr. Garfield. She was three months along,” The Doctor’s voice was straight to the point, no emotions at all. She must have to deliver news like this all of the time. “She claims that she didn’t know that she was pregnant, so she is feeling rather fragile. I’d like to keep her for overnight observation, just to be careful.”

Andrew swallowed, but nodded. There wasn’t any other reaction that he felt like he could have. He could only hug his daughter close, thankful that at the very least, he had her. “Can I see her?” He asked the Doctor, who nodded, and motioned towards the open door that she had just come out of. Andrew got back up to his feet, and walked in, still holding his daughter, who was being unusually quiet. He realized as he walked into the room that she had fallen asleep.

You hadn’t, however. You were laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, getting fluids, staring straight ahead of you blankly. Andrew hummed to announce that he was there, and you snapped out of it, your eyes meeting his. They were still filled with tears on your end, while he was still comprehending the news.

“Hey baby,” You said, weakly smiling. Andrew smiled back, and set the little girl down on a chair, where she curled up immediately and continued to sleep away. All that worry and excitement must have exhausted her. He then went to your side, taking hold of both your hands, being careful of the IVs.

“How -” He said, shaking his head. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” You said, blinking away tears. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I swear, I wasn’t keeping anything from you. I had my period and no other symptoms. I mean, I thought I gained a little bit of weight but I thought that was just all of the cake,” You somehow managed to laugh though it didn’t sound sincere. “The Doctor says that happens sometimes.”

Andrew would never dream of accusing you of cheating. The two of you stayed in the newlywed stage of your marriage, remaining sexually active. The math added up enough, three months, you two were definitely intimate three months ago.

“How do you feel?” Andrew asked, caressing the top of your hands with his thumbs. “And not just physically.”

You took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. “I’m devastated,” You admitted, finally admitting your own truth. Tears were fighting to come out and you had stopped the battle, letting them descend freely. “When I heard that I miscarried - I realized... I want that baby. I want to have another one with you and we just lost our chance.”

Andrew felt the same wave of depression overcome him. In an alternate universe, he could just be finding out that he was going to be a father again. He had to be strong for you though. He could let out his emotions when you got home. You were too vulnerable right now.

“We’ll have more chances,” Andrew said, leaning forward and kissed a tear off of your cheek. It tasted salty, it lasting on his lips for a long while. “I’ll gladly give you another baby.”

You chuckled at that, though you were still crying. “You just like the act of making one, mister,” You squeezed his hands. Andrew laughed as well, and nodded.

“Can you blame me?”

#Andrew Garfield #Andrew Garfield x reader #Andrew Garfield oneshot #celebrity #celebrity oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #x reader #andrewg

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subterfugespecialist · 3 years

Text

Stumbled into Anguish Blind

Patton was grateful for his job as a paramedic. Saving people was worth all the stresses to him. But he never thought one of those people would be his own son.

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Ambulance Ride

AO3 Link

Pairing: Familial Moxiety, Prinxiety

Warnings: Gun shot wounds and blood but not terribly graphic depictions of them and the shooting takes place off screen, a character in pain, near panic attacks

Word count: 3032

I am not a medical professional. I did do research but please forgive it if it’s not 100% accurate.

While Patton was grateful for the job he had, he couldn't recommend it to just anyone. Being a paramedic was hard, and incredibly stress inducing. To hold the life of someone in your hands was terrifying. But saving peoples lives - that made it all worth it.

Patton had helped and saved many people during his years as a paramedic - but he never once thought he'd have to save his own son.

That day was supposed to be a happy one. After Patton helped Virgil work through his anxiety of driving, he finally got his license. And with this newfound freedom, Virgil had been able to get a job keeping stock at the art store, with perks such as discounts and limited interactions with customers.

Patton was so proud. Virgil was going to go out with his boyfriend, Roman, and use his first paycheck to look at upgrades for his drum-set. Afterwards, Patton was going to treat them to dinner.

He was glad they weren't embarrassed to spend time with him, like some teens would be. He was blessed with such a great pair of kids.

During breakfast, Patton explained what Virgil needed to do with his paycheck at the bank. After repeating the steps a few times, Virgil felt fairly confident. And Roman was going to be with him, anyways. It seemed that boy was scared of nothing - least of all social interactions.

But how were any of them supposed to know there would be an armed robbery that day?

How were they to know that a gun would be shot?

When Patton got the call and heard the location of the incident, he almost shouted in panic.

"Please," he prayed as the ambulance sirens blared. "Not the kids."

He and the other paramedic, Harley, ran up the ramp with the stretcher as police officers yelled for people to move out of the way.

When they ran inside, it took everything Patton had to not collapse on the ground and scream.

Virgil was on the ground, breathing heavily as he clutched onto Roman's arm. Roman was on his knees, holding his jacket against Virgil's chest.

Patton was grateful Roman's favorite color was red. He thought he would actually faint if he had to see more of his sons blood than was already visible.

It wasn't until Patton knelt next to Roman, now able to hear the soft assurances he was whispering to Virgil, did he notice they had arrived.

"I'm sorry," Roman managed to choke out through his tears when he saw Patton.

"No, no. It's not your fault," Patton manage to say, fighting to speak through the the tension building in the back of his throat. He replaced Roman's hand holding the jacket. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"Dad?"

"Hey, baby. I'm right here. Everything's gonna be okay."

Roman pushed himself back and watched as Virgil was lifted on the stretcher.

"You're okay, honey," Patton found himself repeating as they boarded the ambulance. "You're okay. You're okay."

Virgil grasped at his dad's hand, and Patton had to bite his lip to keep from crying when his son whined as he pulled his hand away.

"Sh, sh, it's okay. I need to put the oxygen mask on you. I'm still right here."

Patton placed the oxygen mask as Harley cut Virgil out of his shirt. He felt Virgil's hand grip tightly on his shirt in place of his hand and Patton really wanted to cry right now.

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. This was his most important patient. He had to be professional.

But it was hard to be when Patton could barely hear himself over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He and Harley replaced Roman's jacket with a proper gauze to keep the pressure, and Patton couldn't help it as a few tears escaped his eyes as he watched Virgil's eyes squeeze shut and his teeth grind in pain. Patton wanted to sob every time he placed a bandage and Virgil winced.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm not trying to hurt you. This is helping, I promise.

It wasn't long after until Virgil's eyes closed and his body went slack.

"Virgil? Virgil! Come on, honey, stay with me," Patton cried as he worked on an IV. Why couldn't he do more? Why was there so little he could do in this ambulance why couldn't he just fix his boy-

"His breathing is destabilizing. We need to give him an endotracheal tube," Harley said as he immediately set to work. Patton's hand moved on autopilot as he helped, and more tears did fall as he watched Virgil's chest move up and down from the tube. That wasn't him breathing it was the machine because the bullet had pierced his baby's lung.

The trip to the trauma center had never felt so long. Had it always been this long? Eventually they were finally able to get the door open and bring Virgil into the trauma center where the waiting doctors took the stretcher from them and rushed Virgil in for emergency surgery.

It wasn't until Virgil was out of sighed did Patton collapse to the ground and finally let himself cry.

His sobs carried down the hallway, and Patton didn't even care that his coworkers were staring at him. The nurses were staring at him. But how could he possibly care when he couldn't be with his son-

"It's going to be okay," Harley said. When had Harley sat next to him? When did he curl into his knees? "You did good. They're going to fix him up in there and everything's going to be okay."

"He's hurt and I can't even help him-"

"Hey, you did help him. No, you weren't able to remove the bullet yourself but you kept your head on straight and got him here in good condition."

Harley pulled Patton up from his knees and held him in a hug. "It's okay, Patton."

Patton rested his forehead on his shoulder. "Thank you. For your help."

"You are very welcome. Come on, now. Let's get you off the floor."

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Patton was, understandably, not on call for the rest of the day. He had paced around the waiting room for the first ten minutes of waiting, but he was exhausted from stress and collapsed into a chair - elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands.

He didn't look up until he heard frantic footsteps coming down the hall. He panicked for a moment, worried it was a doctor with bad news, but saw it was only Roman.

Patton stood as soon as he saw him and the two met in the middle of the room, Patton holding Roman tightly against him as Roman buried his face into Patton's chest.

"I'm sorry," Roman whispered into Patton's chest. Patton felt tears soak into his shirt. "You trusted me with him and I couldn't even-"

"Hey, no no no," Patton murmured as he led Roman to the chairs. "None of this is in any way your fault."

Roman let out a sob, and Patton pulled him back against him. Roman was a tall boy, but here in Patton's arms he seemed so small.

"And you knew exactly what to do. He was hit in a very critical place, and you saved him from a lot of blood loss by putting pressure on it. I- I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't done that. Roman, you helped him as much as I did in that ambulance."

Roman's tears turned into quiet sniffles, and Patton lifted a hand to gingerly wipe the tear streaks off the boy's face.

"Is he okay?"

Well, no. But he was okay as he could be.

"He's doing fine," Patton assured. "The surgeons are going to take good care of him."

That seemed to finally make Roman relax. He nodded and sat up, wiping his eyes of the last of his tears.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Patton asked.

"I took Virgil's car. He gave me the keys because he didn't want to drive from the bank, since traffic was going to get worse in the afternoon. You know how busy Main gets. I hope you don't mind."

"That's just fine, Roman."

Patton wasn't going to chastise him for driving with only a permit. Not now.

About another hour passed. At one point Roman rested his head on Patton's shoulder, and of course Patton didn't mind. It was nice to have the grounding weight resting on him as he texted family members about what happened.

He felt guilty for not calling, but there was no way he could talk about it and not break into tears again.

The two snapped their heads towards the entrance when they heard footsteps walking down the hall. A doctor walked in and saw them.

She was one of the doctors that took Virgil from him.

"Mr. Sanders?"

Patton nodded.

"The surgery is finished. Everything went fine. He should wake up soon. I can show you to his room."

Patton and Roman quickly stood, and the doctor grimaced.

"And what is your relation?"

It took a moment for the dazed Roman to realize she was talking to him.

"Oh, uh, I'm Roman. I'm his boyfriend."

The doctor, who Patton was now close enough to he could see her name tag read Dr. Taylor, shot him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but only family is permitted in before he wakes up."

Patton saw tears build back into Roman's eyes, but he just nodded.

"Okay. Yeah, sure," he said, mouth trembling as his fists clenched his jeans.

"I'll come get you after he wakes up," Patton said, placing a hand on Roman's shoulder.

Roman nodded again, and Patton gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before following Dr. Taylor out of the waiting room and down the hallway.

Patton couldn't ignore the sound of Roman crying as they walked away.

"The bullet shattered one of his ribs, but besides that, and the penetration into the chest, thankfully no other major damage occurred," Dr. Taylor said. "We had to give him a chest tube due to some internal bleeding, though the endotracheal tube we were able to replace with an oxygen mask. So he should be able to speak when he wakes up."

Patton had to focus on counting the clicks of his shoes on the tile to keep his breathing steady.

The two stopped in front of a door and Dr. Taylor put her hand on the handle.

"He's on some pretty strong painkillers, but he should still be cognizant when he wakes up. If anything happens, press the red emergency button by the bed and me and the other doctors will come rushing back."

"Thank you," Patton managed to say through the rising dread in his throat. Dr. Taylor opened the door for him.

Patton stood in the entryway until he heard the door click shut behind him. Once the click snapped him out of his trance, he rushed towards the bed and immediately burst into tears.

There was his baby. Virgil's face was pale but thankfully no longer grimaced in pain. His chest was gently rising and falling, no longer due to a tube down his throat. And though Patton had seen similar sights before plenty of times, seeing all the tubes stuck in his baby's body made Patton collapse on the chair by the bedside.

God, what he'd give to take Virgil's place. To take all his pain away. Patton rested his head in his hands, trying yet again to stop his crying.

"Come on," he thought. "You have to be strong. For him."

He took a deep breath, and the pressure in his throat weakened slightly. He could do this. He could be strong.

But all that resolve fell as soon as he heard a soft, weak voice say “Dad?"

"Virgil!" Patton cried as he leaned towards him, being careful to be gentle as he took hold of Virgil's hand. "Hey, sweetie. I'm right here. I'm right by you."

Virgil's eyes blinked as he got used to the lights. A slight grimace of pain was back on his face, but at least he was awake.

Patton barely managed to catch the hand Virgil lifted towards his oxygen mask, being preoccupied with wiping his tears. "No, kiddo. You need that."

Virgil's hand dropped against the crisp bed sheets. Virgil looked at his hospital bed and all the tubes stuck in him, and Patton's heart shattered as he started crying.

"Shit," Virgil hissed as he lifted his arm with his IV.

"You know, we were just leaving when they ran in," Virgil said, a pained smile on his face as he laughed, though there was no humor in it. "If I hadn't been such a chickenshit and just went in when we got there instead of needing a pep talk from Roman to go into a bank then I wouldn't have-"

"Honey, deep breaths," Patton said as he stood and very gently wrapped his arms around Virgil, holding him as tight as he could without fear of hurting him. "Do not blame yourself." Matching tears fell down Patton's cheeks. "None of this was your fault. There was no way you could have known this would happen. I will not let you continue to beat yourself up about this, understand?"

Though Patton could feel tears falling onto his shoulder, Virgil nodded.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Patton whispered. "I love you so much, you know that?"

"I love you, too, Dad."

There was nothing Patton wanted to do less than let Virgil go, but he could imagine the hug couldn't be the most comfortable for him. So after placing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head he sat back down, but grabbed hold of Virgil's hand again.

"At least I don't have to run the mile in gym anymore," Virgil said after a beat.

Patton started laughing. It was hardly from the joke, but more so from the relief that was washing over him that yes, Virgil was hurt, but he would be okay. He was awake and joking. Virgil started giggling along with his father, and once they would stop, one could start laughing again and the cycle started all over.

Eventually, they both calmed down.

"No, I suppose you don't," Patton smiled. "I have yet to contact the school. But I'm sure they will understand your... predicament. And I'm sure your friends will be more than happy to help you with your notes.”

Virgil's smile suddenly dropped and his eye's widened as he jolted up, wincing from pain but not retreating.

"Roman. What happened to Roman??"

"Roman is fine," Patton assured. "He's in the waiting room right now."

Virgil visibly relaxed and sank back against the bed.

"Would you like me to go get him? He's anxious to see you."

"In... in a minute," Virgil said as he closed his eyes. "I want to see him, really, but you know he can be..."

"Enthusiastic?"

"Loud."

Patton chuckled. "Okay, baby. Just tell me when.'

One of the nurses walked in, and he was delighted to see that Virgil was awake. While another nurse came in to talk to Patton about Virgil's road to recovery, the first nurse checked some vitals, seemed satisfied, then gave Virgil a bit more painkillers. The painkillers seemed to help Virgil's mood, and he sent Patton to fetch Roman.

Roman's head was in his hands when Patton walked in. He looked up as Patton walked towards him, and when Patton nodded, he bolted out of the chair down the hallway. Patton had to hurry to catch up.

After opening the door for roman, roman rushed to Virgil's bedside, and Patton came in to see Roman pressing kisses all over Virgil's face while crying.

"Oh, Virgil, thank God you're okay," Roman said, openly crying as he placed his hands on Virgil's cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart, darling, love, I was so worried about you-"

Patton didn't even listen to the rest of what Roman said - He had to keep himself from laughing at the two of them. Roman was waxing poetic while Virgil sent mortified glances to his dad. But Patton thought it was pretty adorable, to see a teenager talk that way.

"Yes, I'm fine," Virgil said as he made weak attempts to push Roman off him. "I'm happy to see you but please stop, you drama queen."

Roman laughed and pressed one more kiss to Virgil's cheek before stepping away.

Roman didn't even seem embarrassed as he turned back towards Patton with a large grin. He just put a chair right next to Patton's and promptly sat to take Virgil's hand.

"Remus wants to come see you, too," Roman said as Patton went to sit next to him. "He's on his way with Janus. And he already asked if he could keep the bullet."

"Nope. If anyone gets to keep the bullet, it's me."

Patton shot him a look as he sat next to Roman.

"What?" Virgil asked. "It'd be badass."

"Okay. I excused the first swear word, but you are very much nearing the swear jar again, mister."

Patton was going for stern, but he just couldn't stop smiling. And he wasn't really upset - not when he got Virgil to smile.

"Remus may fight you for it," Roman continued.

"He can't fight me. I was shot."

"I don't think that'd stop him."

"True. He did throw Jason down a flight of stairs even after he broke his leg."

"He did what?" Patton asked. Virgil smirked at the horrified look on his face. "Why would he do that?"

"He was making fun of Janus.”

While Patton didn't dislike Remus, and he was glad Virgil had such a good group of friends, he was very happy Virgil was dating Roman and not his twin.

"And don't let him know I told you this, but he was really worried about you."

"Aw. I knew he loved me."

Virgil looked at his dad with a large grin on his face. And seeing Virgil smile again, really smile, well, that was enough to let Patton know that everything was going to be okay.

Prompts are open for both Bad Things Happen Bingo and general prompts :)

#sanders sides #moxiety #familial moxiety #prinxiety #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #my writing #virgil #patton #roman #virgil fic #roman fic #patton fic

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mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

Text

Old Wounds

Hidden Scars: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - XIX - XX

Bonus Chapter (21):

Three years ago, you broke up with Miranda.

Or, to better say, three years ago, Miranda broke up with you.

After escaping Victor’s grasp and embarking on the flight headed to England, Miranda thought it was best for the two of you to be constantly moving around.

She easily procured fake IDs and documents and, as Mrs. & Mrs. O’Brien (so lame that you loved it), you checked in the most expensive hotels and made a mess of the room, only to be off the next day. Every bill was paid and the staff generously tipped, even though the money didn’t certainly come from your pockets as you didn’t have any: you found out it was fairly easy to transfer money around and trick the systems; at least all those hacking software lessons had proven useful, though you weren’t up to anything illegal - it was a matter of survivance, that was what you told yourself.

Life was wild and exciting, every morning you were someone slightly different while remaining the same, every night you got lost in the scent of her, only to be woken up by her fingers exploring your body.

Miranda was never satiated. And while it was only a matter of sex, before, there was something addicting, now, that flickered between the two of you.

It was something you thought was unbreakable. Something so rare to be born in such a hostile condition that it would be so hard to kill that nobody would even try to.

You thought.

Miranda lit up the day you reached Glasgow.

You could see her eyes gleaming, you could see her sharp fangs shining at the pale light of the sun as she dragged you around, showing you this and that, telling you about her childhood while turning a child herself, innocent and carefree and happy enough to be pulling you in and kiss you in the middle of the road.

You stayed in Glasgow for five months after that, because she thought you were both safe.

You decided to rent a small apartment next to the theater because, apparently, Miranda loved the theatre and you loved discovering things about her just as much as you loved watching her glow as she watched the show and the people acting or the orchestra playing.

You even convinced her to take yoga classes and, except for a couple of smashed glasses when she thought a waiter was ogling you, and an exploded pillow when her football team lost to the rigors, she seemed to have learned how to manage her anger pretty well.

Even her part-time job as a dog-sitter helped her keep her calmness, even to balance with the frustration she would accumulate during her other job as a consultant; of what, you never worked it out completely, you simply knew it was something to do with finance, probably internationally. Miranda didn’t like to talk about it excessively - the pay was good, she seemed satisfied with it - so you let her be.

As for you, when the first opportunity came out, you accepted it right away: as a receptionist of a luxury hotel, you had a fair amount of working hours, perfectly timed with Miranda, and you were able to bake breakfast for the both of you, pack your lunch boxes and be back before her to prepare dinner when Miranda didn’t surprise you, instead, with some take out and a lit candle.

She uncovered a nice, unexpected side of her, but sometimes she still was the scary old Miranda, even when it wasn’t necessary, to your opinion.

Whenever she acted bad, you served her a banana on a plate instead of a nice dinner you baked, to commemorate the first meal she had you eat. Miranda would pout, eat the banana in silence, and ask for forgiveness between the freshly cleaned sheets. This worked the other way around too, of course, with the exception that she enjoyed herself a little too much, sometimes, prolonging the punishment to something more than just a banana for dinner. Either way, everything was solved in bed. Not that you complained about this method, of course.

You thought you couldn’t be happier; but you thought you could never be any less happy either, and, of course, you were wrong.

It was a casual question you blurted out without much thought.

One night, you were watching a cheesy movie on tv, just for the fun of hearing her complain while she had her legs slung over yours, silently demanding for cuddles she would never admit to be requesting. As the couple on the screen kissed and cried happily, you said “have you ever thought about marriage?”

Miranda froze. You tried to explain that it meant nothing in particular, it was just conversation, but something in her eyes had changed.

She never answered the question.

Days went by and you could tell that something had painfully shifted between the two of you.

You tried to take it back, make her forget with some rough nights, just like she used to like it, but nothing worked.

Miranda wasn’t the same.

And then, one morning she was simply gone, without a single explanation.

After twelve days of waiting, you made peace with yourself that Miranda wouldn’t be coming back.

You started to hate everything you loved so quickly that even going out in the streets and hearing all those people talking Scottish made you sick, so taking the next decision wasn’t too hard, after all: you told Cecilia to mind the tabby cat Miranda pulled out a stray dog’s jaws and brought home for you to heal, vacated the apartment hotfoot and accepted the job as head manager of the hotel subsidiary in Rome, Italy.

After a few weeks, you realized the change was exactly what you needed: Rome was amazing, you like the people and, most of all, the food. You even decided to join a gym so you could keep eating the delicious meals the hotel chef cooked for the staff and when the weather was good, you went for a run, early in the morning, enjoying the sight of the city lazily waking up. Late in the night, before going to bed, you would flick your tear-drop-shaped dagger and put it in the top drawer in the nightstand, only to wear it the next day, because now you felt naked without its cold blade pressing against your leg. You dropped the habit of wearing it on your thigh - it wasn’t practical with your work attire - but strapped to your calf or pocketed inside your boot. You hated yourself for it, but it couldn’t be helped. You tried to convince yourself it was just in case you had to defend yourself - it was sensible since you had to walk by yourself most of the time.

All things considered, you fit in well.

Your apartment is good, with a nice view on the Tevere, the pay is almost double the one in Glasgow and you can allow yourself some treats, from time to time, whenever you feel too blue to stay in the apartment by yourself.

You contemplated the idea of getting a pet for a time, but you decided against it since that too would awaken sour thoughts.

You tried to date for a while, but nobody was enough.

Nobody compared to her.

Despite everything Miranda did to you, her memory was latched to your brain like a plague.

It still is.

Sometimes, only some heavy drinking can get her out of your head.

You weren’t on duty tonight, and while you’re coming back from a peaceful stroll, your colleague calls: there has been a great fuss in the hotel; he tells you about ambulances and police cars hurrying with the sirens blaring to arrest some psycho that attacked a woman in her room. A guy was shot, but you don’t register much about the events, nor do you ask for further information, eager to drop the argument and avoid some unpleasant memories rising in your mind. Guns, people attacking other people, blood… It’s all in the past.

Hurrying up the stairs and fishing in your purse for the keys, you barely notice that the door lock is slightly scratched.

You don’t pay attention to it, nor the way your key slides inside the hole, until you step inside your home, pawing at the switch, and the light doesn’t work.

Immediately, all your senses turn on, your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, your ears eager to capture the smallest sound.

It’s the hair on the back of your neck that puts you in alarm. Rising for an imperceptible breath of wind, they notify of the imminent danger.

The next thing you feel is a strong arm wrapped around your throat, and a warm body pressed against your back.

The attacker clearly knows what they’re doing, but you do too.

Everything she taught you is stuck in your brain, branded on your bones.

In a flash, you lift your dominant leg just enough to grab the knife.

You plunge it into your attacker’s thigh without hesitation.

She - it’s a she - grunts in anger.

The hold of her elbow softens, her arm slides from your neck, her body moves abruptly from yours as she limps away, leaving you alone and scared, but in complete control of yourself.

“My, my. I am getting sloppy.” The voice sends chills down your spine. It’s warm, it’s smug, almost amused, and familiar. Terribly familiar.

Your heart, despite yourself, throbs painfully.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes from your lips.

“Good.” She says, “very good, m’eudail.”

Whatever doubt you might’ve had, now it’s completely gone. It’s not your mind playing tricks, associating a familiar event with a lost person, this is happening for real. Running away from England to another country, taking a new name, a new identity, rebuilding your life almost from zero has served you nothing: she still has found you.

“Miranda?”

Three years.

Three years you haven’t heard from this woman.

Three years you’ve tried to push it out of your head.

Three years of pretending it was just a nightmare.

Three years and she’s back as if it’s nothing, standing in your apartment like she owns the place. She does, in a way. Miranda still owns you, in the first place, whether you like it or not: it’s not your choice to make. Until Miranda decides to let you go, you’re hers. It’s inevitable. And you know, you feel it in your guts, that Miranda will never let you go.

Some exchange rings, some jump over an old broom; your ‘until death do us part’ was a carving in the shape of an M - not on wood or marble, but on flesh - and you wonder how could she be so scared of marriage in the first place if she, too, has made a promise for life.

She comes into the light pouring in from the windows: it’s sunset, and the streetlight has just been lightened up.

Like it’s no big deal, you watch her bend down and wrap her fingers around the handle of the knife and, with a quick motion, she pulls it out from her wounded flesh with minimum bleeding.

With a wince, you notice that her trousers are already stained with dried blood, mixing with the fresh one.

She straightens her back and bares her teeth into a crooked smile, her split lip glistening with droplets of crimson. It looks painful. She doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Her cheekbone is blooming with blue and purple, her throat bears a sore line around. Miranda wears her bruises as if it was makeup, proud and confident. And, oh, so beautiful like the night before she left.

You can’t help but feel concerned, which only adds to your frustration: you shouldn’t care about her, you shouldn’t feel so strongly about the blood running down her chin - she probably deserves it, and more - but you do care.

You watch her, powerless, as she stumbles toward the couch and lets herself fall unceremoniously on top of it, grunting as her bruised body slackens against the soft pillows. Her shirt is stained as well, her knuckles scraped.

“You’re beaten up.” You dumbly point out.

She lets out a dark chuckle and lolls her head back. Your eyes are drawn to the rhythmic movements of her throat as she swallows. You can almost taste the iron inside your own mouth - how many times she’s kissed you after a training session, how many times your sweat mingled with hers when you wondered if you were fighting or fucking.

It all felt so long ago and, still, it hurt like it was yesterday.

“Tried my best, but you can’t expect the featherweight to win against the heavyweight without a significantly favorable weapon. He was just a bigger psycho than me: came out on top, in the end.” Miranda murmurs, a smug expression deforming her features. “Victor, on the other hand-”

The name has your head spinning. His ugly mouse-face comes to visit on the blurry surface of your mirror every time you shower, the rough lines crossing your back are a distant yet a painful reminder of those days of imprisonment, confined in that small room with Miranda, uncovering her past, her job, her boss and his despicable ways. Those marks hurt, but not as much as it hurts the one on your left shoulder - not until now.

“You’ve gone back to work for him?”

After all you’ve been through, after all the pain he inflicted, after she promised to have him killed because he took it out on you, Miranda decided to still work with him. Betrayal didn’t even compare to what you felt.

How many things can change in three years? You lived a lifetime in two months, since Miranda kidnapped you. Three years, right now, are an eternity.

Miranda’s smile drops. Her blue eyes wander aimlessly around the room, stopping in a dark corner. They aren’t focused, but it’s easy for you to see the regret blaring in her lost gaze.

“It was what I am,” Miranda murmurs, her voice emotionless, “it was the only thing I knew.”

There’s a pregnant silence between the two of you. It feels like forever before you move your first step toward the couch, your gaze fixed on her as if you were trying to control a snake about to snap its vicious attack.

You know Miranda won’t move, not to attack you anyway, but you’re cautious when you speak.

“You’re talking in the past tense.”

“He’s dead now.” Miranda breathes out heavily. Her voice almost overlaps yours, as if she’s completely zoned out, not listening at all, unaware of her surroundings, as impossible as it seems. “I killed him, gave him what he deserved.”

The sheepish look she gives you is the sparkle that lits your flame. It doesn’t matter if Victor is dead now, the memories still haunt your dreams, and Miranda has gone back to work for him.

You feel cheated on, betrayed, and you still don’t know what she wants from you. Frustration builds up from within until you feel like exploding.

You would smack her and shake her by her shoulders if she wasn’t so bruised - and if she’d let you, of course, before succumbing to her strong arms and be stopped by force.

“Miranda, why are you here?” You would ask her to leave, tell her you can’t stand her sight… if only that was true. Angered beyond words by her persistent silence, you walk to her with heavy steps, until you’re in front of her, for the first time, towering her small figure on the couch. She looks frail, harmless, submissive, but you know she’s not any of those things. “Miranda-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know how she’s managed that - if she’s pulled you down by the collar of your shirt, or hooked her fingers in your belt, or even hit the back of your knees with her foot - but you’re falling right onto her, like the controlled destruction of a building, collapsing right where the demolition expert planned. You try to catch yourself with one hand on either side of her head, fingers clawing the soft pad of the back cushion, even if it’s not necessary: of course, Miranda has caught you first.

Although ‘catch’ is not entirely correct. Her greedy fingers are grabbing your head, pulling more than supporting, and before you can realize what’s happening, her lips are on your mouth.

Oh, God, how much you missed her.

It’s not a nostalgic kiss, she’s not asking for forgiveness or awakening long-lost memories. Her lips are urgent, almost aggressive.

It’s like those three years never went by, as if a lot of things never happened: this one isn’t Miranda, but the mysterious woman who kidnapped you in the alley; she’s back to that unhinged creature that tortured you in the most pleasant ways, who turned a cage into paradoxical heaven where wrong was right and the pain was pleasure.

Too easily you fall back into the addicting spiral that bound you to her. You’re completely at her mercy, once again, with no power nor will to pull yourself out of it. Despite everything, you want more of her kisses, you want more of her touches, you want more of her, no matter if she’s rough or brutal - something of Miranda is still better than nothing.

Hungry hands travel fast from your face to your neck and, for a moment, you prepare to hold your breath thinking she will wrap her fingers around your throat to have you squirm in her lap, desperate for air, just to assert her total control, but you’re wrong. Miranda doesn’t stop: she paws possessively at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the coarse fabric - you hate a little how your body seems to react regardless of your mind, answering to her touch in all the right ways.

You always take minutes to remove your uniform, Miranda hasn’t taken more than one to leave you in your undergarments, confused and wondering if you were actually wearing something before she claimed ownership over you and your body, like always, like she was entitled since the beginning.

Her mouth travels fast, in tow, she nibbles and lavishes, sending electric sparks to your core.

You don’t dare speak, afraid that the spell will break, that you’ll wake up from a dream even though you don’t remember falling asleep, even if it feels real, so real, almost too real that you can’t bring yourself to renounce it.

The tip of her nose tickles the valley of your breasts when she kisses her way down your stomach and belly, her nails scratch dully at the small of your back, pulling your knickers down in one move.

You’ve never noticed how chill your apartment can be. Or maybe you’ve never been so hot before, within these walls.

Her mouth knows exactly where to tease you, her tongue touches all the right places and only in the right ways. Her body remembers everything, and at the same time, it feels new. She tastes you, pursuing the depths of you, almost as if she wants to drown right there and then.

Bare and vulnerable, you don’t even perceive the typical powering position on top of her; Miranda is always on top, also when she’s not.

You can only arch over her as she draws a hurried orgasm out of you, leaving you raw and trembling, your mind spiraling from contentment, nostalgia, and a deep sense of guilt and then back again, when her tongue doesn’t stop until she isn’t satisfied with a second climax, and a third.

It’s easy to lose count when Miranda is having her way. It’s easy to get lost and losing track of time and of yourself, it’s easy to set aside everything to chase her with your hips, desperate for everything and in everything.

She doesn’t allow you to catch your breath when she’s done. You barely catch a glimpse of her when she pulls away, working her jaw to relieve the soreness that has surely set in her muscles, but her eyes are elusive, disappointing you when you hoped to look at her and find the woman you know.

It’s just another confirmation that she is still somewhere else, at least in spirit.

You’ve learned to know her strength, despite her petite size, and yet you can’t prevent the surprised gasp that escapes your mouth when she pushes you off of her and into the couch on your front, so fast that you gape at the pillow below.

You struggle to adjust your head and tilt it to the side when you feel her climb on your thighs, her ripped legs grabbing yours with vicious force when she lowers herself, and despite being fully clothed, you can feel the heat from her core right below your bottom, where she sits.

You swallow in anticipation, shiver when her nails rake at your skin, and then, then everything stops. She pauses.

You feel all the tension leave the room like the fog lifting from the streets.

Her legs are looser when she shifts lower on your thighs, her hands are softer when she glides her fingers up the small of your back and they linger, for a moment too long, across your shoulder blades.

You want to say something, even say her name again, listen to your own voice calling Miranda while still striving to breathe, wearied by the pleasure her skilled tongue has brought you. But as soon as you take a small breath to speak, a startling weight on your back knocks the air out of your lungs.

You take a moment to comprehend that Miranda has leaned on the top of you, her chest rises and falls rhythmically against your back, her breath tickles your left shoulder and you blink at the fact that her cheek is probably resting on her carved initial, and not just by chance.

You mentally count three seconds in, three seconds out. Her warm breath sends shivers down your spine.

“Had to find you.”

It’s a murmur, barely a whisper, so small you even doubt you heard it for real or just in your head.

“What?”

You try to squirm from below, eager to watch her face, read in her eyes if she’s making fun of you in the cruelest of ways or not. Her voice has tricked you on many occasions… or not. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it’s better for both of you if you can’t cage into each other’s eyes.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, relax your muscles, stop your hands from scrambling in the purchase of a steady surface to push yourself up and Miranda off of you.

It’s better this way: she won’t talk, otherwise.

“Thought I could do it.” She sighs, her lips move on your skin, leaving a moist halo around her lips. “Thing is… that I could.”

“You’re talking about-”

“Glasgow.” She snaps. You feel her clenching her jaw tight. “When we lived together.”

“You’re scared that you could live normally?”

Silence.

“You don’t understand.” She huffs. “People like me can’t usually walk away whenever they please and forget about their pasts.”

“But you did.” You retort. “We were fine.”

Miranda chuckles. It’s a bittersweet one, and it ends quickly.

“I was doing fine before you came.” She clarifies. It clarifies nothing, but you don’t dare to interrupt, fearing she’ll just walk away for good. “There’s a reason why so many have failed. No one was able to ruin me while I ruined them. No one was you.”

You can breathe easily now that Miranda has rolled off of you.

You turn to your side quickly, eager to follow her with your eyes and make sure she won’t take the door and never come back after such a declaration. Rare have been the times you’ve heard Miranda talk in such ways and you can only imagine what is the prelude for: something fatally bad, or something impossibly good.

In the forced darkness of your apartment, the blue of her eyes glows at the dim reflection of the streetlights.

Her voice echoes in your head.

When you initiate the kiss you’re surprised she doesn’t pull back. She doesn’t even complain. She doesn’t grab your face or the back of your neck, she doesn’t claim the lead.

It’s startling, and it’s a foreign sensation you’re not used to, at all.

You barely register the soft rustle of fabric as you chase her taste and mingle it with yours.

And then finally you feel her hands on yours, her slender fingers reaching for yours and sliding almost perfectly in between, like pieces of a puzzle.

She swallows your breathy moan.

You haven’t expected your hands to be drawn closer to the warmth of her body. She lets her fingers move to your wrists, she lets them loop around the protruding bone there - she doesn’t squeeze, she doesn’t pull nor push - leaving your pads free to roam over her stomach, through the small crack of her shirt, gliding over the taut skin of her abdomen. You feel new bumps, new scars perhaps.

She squirms when you push a little too hard against her hip bone.

Or, maybe, she doesn’t exactly squirm.

You feel her adjust, raising her pelvis off the couch, but not to ease discomfort.

Your fingertips slip easily beyond the band of her high-waist trousers.

Miranda doesn’t move.

She’s even stopped the kiss, letting you decide.

It’s an open invitation - a request, perhaps - to touch her, properly, like you’ve been asking, for weeks, silently, before you decided to voice your thoughts and your feelings.

Everything went downhill from there.

Your breath catches, the long-awaited moment feeling so terrifying, now, that you can’t bring yourself to just stop thinking and follow your guts, your innermost desires, to claim what has been denied to you for so long.

Miranda wouldn’t have hesitated. She didn’t hesitate to take when she wanted and could.

Thing is, you’re not her.

You pull away from her in a blink, your fingers tingle with unsatisfied electricity when you hide your face in your hands.

“Miranda.” You growl. Your voice comes out muffled from behind your palms. You’d want to yell at her, berate her, but it only comes out desperate, you sound on the verge of crying. Maybe you are. “What are you doing?”

Her hands are touching your wrists again. She’s gentle. More than she’s ever been. She forces you to unpeel your hands from your face.

In the dim light from the streetlights, her eyes shine again. They seem full of unshed tears, but you don’t want to fool yourself with dull illusions that don’t belong, with every possibility, to either of you.

Miranda doesn’t talk. You know it, you can see it, there’s a whole universe of things she’s dying to say, and still… she doesn’t speak.

You let out a shaky breath, sit lower on her legs, your gazes locked.

“Miranda, what’s your point?” You try again, softer this time.

She opens her mouth to speak then, only to close it soon after with a frustrated sigh.

You can’t endure more of it. You’re too spent to keep playing.

Miranda speaks only when you push yourself off of her, trying to stand up.

“My point is- I’m done.” She huffs out a disbelieving chuckle as if it’s the first time she’s told that, to herself even; the first time she’s truly grasped the idea and made it final. “I’ve got tons of money now and I can leave it all behind.”

“Miranda-”

“We can leave it all behind.” She corrects. One of her hands slithers to the small of your back, pushing you down to keep you near. It’s confident but for the first time, somehow, it’s not possessive. “Start over, for real.”

You swallow a mouthful of sand. Your head is spinning. You even wonder if something has possessed Miranda’s body and has turned her into some normal person who is actually repentant and is willing to start over.

How much can a person change in three years? Does it also apply to Miranda? The rules of mortals apply to such mysterious creatures like her?

You’re about to ask for a moment when you hear a distinct mew.

“What the fuck-” You startle, snapping your head toward the kitchen. It’s hard to see, but there’s definitely something on the counter. A box, maybe a crate. With something furry poking out. “You brought the cat?!”

Miranda’s lips are crooked into a sheepish smile when you look back at her.

“Please?” She whispers. Her voice is velvety against your lips, so close you could answer with a kiss. “What do you say?”

Maybe you will answer with a kiss.

Maybe.

#miranda croft x reader #miranda croft #tfa #the flight attendant #fanfiction #reader insert #ao3 #archive of our own #bonus chapter #complete #four lines #hidden scars #old wounds #michelle gomez

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let-me-luve-you · 4 years

Text

Accidental Hurtful Words

Tom Holland x sister

Summary: Tom just wants to do a movie on his own but his siblings have other plans. This leads to words being said that he regrets saying and even thinking.

Warnings: Angst, car accident, rude sibling, hurtful words, probably crappy ending

A/N: I’m not from England so I apologize for anything that’s wrong. I also just pulled up a map of Kingston and picked two random roads to put in the story.

MASTERLIST BUY ME A COFFEE

One month. That is how long your brother, Tom, had off between movies. Sam and Harry had been with him on the last one. He loved his brothers, but he wanted one movie where it was just him. Where he could focus on himself and not constantly have thoughts of “are my brothers okay?” or “Are they bored being here or are they keeping themselves entertained?”

Tom had two weeks left before he went to America to film his next film. He had yet to have the conversation to his brother, Harry, that he didn’t want him to come along this time. He was dreading it because he didn’t want to hurt his feelings. After many pep talks to himself, he finally decided today would be the day that he would tell him.

It was late morning. Tom had just gotten out of bed. He went into the kitchen and fixed himself some tea. He saw Harry pacing outside in the garden on the phone. When Harry hung up, he walked back inside with a big smile on his face.

“Morning Tom.” Harry smiled. “Got some good news.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Tom said.

“I got a gig on your next movie. They are going to let me help the director.” Harry basically beamed. “They said they got you a house and I can crash in one of the rooms since they are paying. I’ll be flying out with you in a couple weeks.”

“Oh.” Tom said trying to sound excited. “That’s amazing. I’m proud of you man.”

“Oh and I think Y/N had some news or something. She said she was stopping by for lunch.” Harry mention Tom and his little sister.

Y/N is seventeen. She has been trying to get into acting. Just like her big brother. She has always looked up to him. She has always wanted to be just like him. Be just at good at acting as he is, be as kind-hearted, and all around decent human being. It had been your goal since you were 3 years old and he was 10 years old.

“Do you know what she’s wanting to tell us?” Tom asked.

“No idea. I knew she had auditions this week. And I think she had a meeting with her manager yesterday. Maybe she found a part.” Harry said.

Tom nodded and finished his tea. He felt annoyed. He just wanted one project for himself. One project he didn’t have to have any of his family members there. Every project since ‘The Impossible’ he had someone with him.

He got up and put his mug in the sink before going to his room to get ready for the day. About half a hour later, Tom was sitting on the couch scrolling through Instagram. He was trying so hard to relax and get rid of this tense and angry feeling to go away. He heard a knock at the front door before he heard it open and a soft “hello?” followed.

“In here.” Tom yelled. Y/N walked in and smiled at her brother. She ran over and gave him a hug. Over the past week, she had been trying so hard to get a part that she hadn’t seen much of him. “What’s got you in such a good mood? Harry said you had some news?”

“I do. I finally got my first big part in a movie!” You smiled. Tom felt a sense of pride swell in his chest. You had been working so hard to get your first part.

“That’s amazing Y/N/N! I’m so proud of you” Tom said as he wrapped you in a hug and kissed you on your forehead. “What movie is it?”

Y/N smiled shyly. She was nervous to tell him it was his movie. She had heard Tom talking to Harrison before the last one he filmed saying he wanted to go to a movie alone.

“It’s uh..” you stuttered. “It’s Left Drowning.” You kept looking at your hands. You heard Tom sigh. You looked up at him and he had a tired smile on his face.

“That’s great. We’ll get to work together.” Tom smiled as he stood up. “I’m going to go hit the gym. I’ll talk to you later.” Tom kissed the top of your head and walked towards his room.

Hours later, you had texted Tom to see if he wanted to grab dinner with you. You just wanted to make sure he was okay with you going. You didn’t want to upset him by not letting him go work on his movie alone. It had been 30 minutes and Tom still hadn’t text you back. You decided you would drive over to his house.

When you arrived, you knocked and let yourself in. You could hear murmuring in the kitchen and you followed to the sound. When you were just outside the door you heard Tom’s voice.

“Man I know I should be happy, but I really just wanted one movie where I didn’t have family on set. I would be okay with them visiting or something, but staying the whole 3 and a half months. I don’t know. I had it in my head I was going to be alone this time and it’s taking time to adjust.” Tom said on the phone as he leaned on the kitchen counter. You were trying so hard not to make a noise but you also didn’t want to eavesdrop. You were just about to make your presence known when Tom said something that made your heart drop.

“I’m pretty sure she only got the role because I’m her brother. No way she would of gotten this big of a role for her first time if it wasn’t for us being related.” Tom said.

You felt tears start forming and had to get out of there. Someone you loved and trusted just said the thing you were afraid of since you got the part. You were worried others would think that, but you didn’t think your own family would. You turned to run out of the house and accidentally hit a chair. You looked up to see Tom had turned and saw you. He paled noticing you had heard what he said.

“Y/N.” Tom whispered. “Haz, I’ll call you back.” He tried to slowly walk towards you but you ran towards the front door. When you got outside you sprinted to your car and locked yourself in. By the time you got it started, Tom was knocking at the window.

“Y/N/N. Don’t go. Let’s talk this out.” He shouted. You shook your head and put your car in reverse. You drove. You wanted to be as far a way from him as possible. Tom had let Sam borrow his car that afternoon so he took off after you on foot.

You drove a few blocks before you blacked out. Tom slowed as he saw the car run the stop sign. He saw it crash into the drivers side of the car.

“Y/N!” Tom yelled as he sprinted to check on you. He pulled out his phone and dialed 999. “Help! My sister has been in a car accident.”

“Whats the address sir?” The emergency lady asked. Tom looked around to find the intersection.

“At the intersection of Geneva Rd and Grove Lane.” Tom reached your car and saw that you weren’t moving and your eyes were closed. “Hurry she’s not moving. Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me?” Tom yelled as he tried to open your door.

“Sir, emergency services are on their way. Please try to remain calm. Is anyone else involved?”

“Uh. Yeah the other driver. She uh...” Tom stuttered as he watch the other driver get out of her car. “She’s out of her car moving.” Tom watched as the lady lifted her arm and took a drink out of a bottle. “I think she’s drunk. It looks like she’s drinking alcohol. Please hurry. I can’t get my sister’s door open.”

Finally Tom heard the sirens. They immediately parked and ran over to Tom to see if he is okay.

“I just witnessed it. I’m fine! Please. You have to help her.” Tom said as he started to cry. The situation finally fully hitting him.

“We will do the best we can. Please step aside. We have to pry this door open.” Said the firefighter who was bringing out the jaws of life.

Tom stepped back to watch as they cut the door off his sister’s car. He had bought that car for her for her sixteenth birthday. She was so proud of that car and took extra care of it. Tom sighed as he watched them put a neck brace on her and put her on a stretcher.

“Do you want to ride with her to the hospital?” The EMT asked.

“Yes. Let me grab her bag from her car.” Tom said as he ran to the car and then to the ambulance. He hopped in the back and immediately grabbed your left hand.

When they arrived at the hospital, they rushed you into a room so a doctor could look over you. You still hadn’t woke up. Tom was stopped and was told he had to stay in the waiting room. He paced for ten minutes before he called his parents and his siblings to tell them what had happened.

When Dom and Nikki arrived, Tom hugged his mother and cried. Saying it was his fault. She hugged him back as Dom went over to the front desk to see if there was an update.

“Okay so in about half a hour we should be able to go back to see her. They are just doing some x-rays and a CT scan. When they finish that we can go to her room and sit with her while we wait on the results. They also said she is now awake and alert.” Dom said walking back to his wife and oldest son.

“Oh that’s great.” Tom said with a sigh feeling so much better knowing she was awake and alert.

By the time Paddy, Sam, and Harry arrived, they were being let into Y/N room.

You were sitting up on the bed with a cast on your left foot and a sling on your right arm. The whole family walked in and gave you hug saying how glad they were that you were okay. Tom stayed back in the corner of the room just watching.

“I’ll be okay guys. Just some scratches and bruises and maybe broken bones, but I’ll be okay.” You smiled at your family.

“Y/N, what happened?” Nikki asked as she sat on the side of your bed.

“I don’t know. I was driving and then nothing.” You told her.

“Knock knock.” A police officer said as he leaned into the doorway. “We have some questions for Y/N and Tom if that’s okay.”

The family looked confused as to why they needed to question Tom but they all stood up and waited outside the room. The police officer left the door open so Harry stood by it so he could hear the conversation.

“Y/N, my name is Officer Johnson. I arrested the woman that hit you for drinking and driving. She was way over the legal limit.” You looked at him shocked. “You were very lucky that this wasn’t worse. Also that your brother here witnessed the accident and was able to call for help immediately. The woman that hit you has done this three other times, but somehow keeps getting released. It is now my personal goal to make sure she stays in so she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Wow.” You said shocked at the news of what he just said. You looked over at Tom. “You saw it happen?” Tom nodded his head.

“We will keep you updated on if anything changes. You can stop by the station in the next few days to go to your car and get anything out of it that was left behind. Here is my card. Just call me and I will help you arrange getting your stuff.” He smiled at you and then walked out.

“Y/N. I’m so sor...” Tom started to say.

“What does he mean you witnessed the wreck?” Harry asked as he walked in the room. The rest of the family following looking between Harry and Tom.

“I saw the car hit her. I was chasing after her.” Tom said looking down at his shoes.”

“What did you mean it was your fault?” Nikki asked.

“I... I said some things to Harrison. Just to vent. I don’t... I don’t even know why I thought them.” Tom said as he turned to you. “but I am so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I.. I just had a rough day and I was venting about everything and you just happened to hear the part about you. Which isn’t true. I don’t think that because you are so much better than me.

“You are going to be way bigger than me and I’ll just be known as Y/N Holland’s older brother. I won’t even be remembered for my movies once you make it. Y/N/N you are incredible and got this role all on your own. I had no idea you were auditioning for this movie. They hired you because you killed it and they want you to be a part of this movie that is going to touch people’s heart.” Tom grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s okay Tom. I forgive you. I was over there to talk to you about the role. I was going to back out if you didn’t want me to go. I heard you talking Haz about doing a movie without anyone being there with you. Wanting a movie you could just focus on yourself and not worry about anyone else.”

“And that was wrong of me. I think I was just feeling overwhelmed and put the blame on everyone else. I’m sorry for all of this.” Tom leaned over and kissed your forehead. “I promise I will take care of you until you get better. Then I’ll just take care of you because I love you.”

You smiled at your brother and reached up to give him a one armed hug.

“I love you too Tommy.” You kissed his cheek as you left his embrace. You leaned back and looked at your family. “I love all of you.”

#tom holland #tom holland sister #brother!tom holland #tom holland x sister!reader #tom holland x reader #tom x sister!reader #holland!reader #tom holland x holland!reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #holland!sister

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imagine-lcorp · 4 years

Text

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too (One Shot)

Request

Can I request something with a Paramedic reader attending to Lena's wounds after a car crash. Reader was on her way home from work still in her uniform when she sees the crash at night. Lena gets hurt and the other driver vanishes from the scene. R tends to Lena's broken arm or something. Drives them to the hospital, stays by Lena's side the whole time in the ER and then drives lena home. Lena is smitten by the woman in the uniform and offers R morning coffee since it took all night in the ER

A/N: Hello, my dears, back again with this one shot, as always thank you to the anon that sent this one, I hope I’m not to late (I know I am but pls forgive) and I hope that you like it! Let me know what you think, guys. I love y’all c:

Lena Luthor x Paramedic Fem!R//Word Count: 2,540 -------------------------------------------------------

When people asked you what was the best part of your job, you would always say it was being able to help people. Which came with its own reward as you could meet some amazing people along the way. The downside of it, however, was that your work was never done. Especially in a place like National City, between the usual medical emergencies, the occasional super-powered villain wreaking havoc and the rare alien invasion, you always had to be ready for anything. Including the car crash you had witnessed while heading home.

It had been a relatively quiet day at the station, your shift had ended at midnight and the only thing you wanted then was to go home, grab some dinner, strip yourself of your uniform, and go to bed early as your day off was waiting for you the next morning. The last thing you had expected once you got off work was to go right back at it.

You had been waiting for the light to turn green at an intersection when a blur to your left startled you, followed by the sound of tires squealing and the loud crash of metal against metal. A moment later, you saw two cars ahead on opposite sides of the road. The black one had a broken windshield, and the driver side doors were dented from where you guessed the red one, with the bent bumper and broken right headlight, had impacted.

When you finally caught up on what was happening, you didn't waste more time. All thoughts about rest and relaxation were forgotten as you started to assess the scene. You turned your blinkers on and moved your car, making sure there were no other cars about to crash on you and close enough to have a better view of the damage. Unfortunately, you didn't get the chance to examine both cars further as you watched the red one take the road again and flee the scene. You stopped your car and got out to check on the people inside the black car.

Approaching carefully, you went to check first on the driver's seat. Inside the black car was a single person. The woman, probably in her mid-twenties, wearing a sleeveless dress, with dark hair, pale skin, and who looked strangely familiar, was lying back on her seat with eyes closed. You took your phone from one of your pockets and called the emergency number.

As you described what had happened to the dispatcher, you examined the woman's condition as best as you could giving them a picture, as clear as possible, about it. She didn't seem to move but her breathing was steady. The crash might have not been as severe as there were no signs of cuts or wounds visible. However, with the airbag in front of her already losing it's shape, you noticed her left arm had a purple bruise. You moved the rest of the airbag with care and grimaced as you watched how big it was. It could be a sing of fracture.

The call was quick and after confirming your location the dispatcher told you there was an ambulance already on its way. In the meantime, you did what you knew best.

"Miss, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" You said before trying to move the woman. When you didn't get a response, you opened the door and tried shaking her gently in the shoulders. A pair of dazzling green eyes fluttered open, focusing with some difficulty on you. You put your hands on her neck and face for support. "Do you know what happened to you?"

The touch of your hands seemed to shake her a bit, her eyes closing and opening again as if thinking this was some kind of hallucination. Something you imagined was the effect of the shock.

"Oh, you're pretty." The woman said with a drowsy voice.

A little smile formed in the corner of your lips. It wasn't the first time you had received a compliment like that. She was also an undeniably beautiful woman and you would have responded accordingly, had it not been for the current circumstances. Now you feared she had suffered a concussion.

As she saw the little smile in your face, the woman's clouded mind cleared in an instant. Her eyes grew bigger with surprise. It wasn't a thought she was supposed to voice out loud. Her head had felt foggy, as if waking up after a long nap in a bed made of rocks and rusty nails and it didn't help that she had started to feel a little headache, making her almost incapable of forming orderly thoughts, until she realized what she had said.

"Thanks." You managed in the end. "What's your name?"

"Lena." She said with a grunt, like she was finally realizing where she was and what was happening. "Lena Luthor."

At the mention of her name something clicked inside your brain. Of course you recognized Lena Luthor. Besides being one of the richest people in the planet, she was a very active philanthropist. She had made great donations and participated countless times in the charities the hospital you worked in organized. You made a mental note to thank her after all of this but, in the meantime, you proceeded like any other case.

"Alright, Lena. My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I'm a paramedic. An ambulance is already on the way, so I need you to stay with me, okay?"

All my life if you want, Lena thought along with some other things she was aware enough to keep to herself, only giving a small nod in understanding.

You started placing your hands in her neck, her shoulders, her back, and so on, asking if she could feel anything or if she was feeling any pain or discomfort. Most of the time the answer was negative as she only seemed to have a mild headache and some pain on her neck but, as the adrenaline and shock were wearing off, she slowly came to notice the the actual amount of pain in her body, especially in her left arm.

"Any pain here?" You said once you reached her arm.

She winced with a little yelp and for a second tried to pull her arm away.

"Sorry, sorry." You took her arm again in a gentler way, trying to move the rest of the airbag out of the way, placing her arm to a better position and your other hand under hers. "Okay, we are not gonna move from there. Can you feel your fingers?"

Lena nodded, trying to close her fingers around your hand. "Yeah, I can feel them."

"Okay." You moved your other hand, feeling her arm with soft touches. You still weren't sure if her arm was broken but anyway you needed to cover it. "I need to go get some padding for-"

"No, please." Lena quickly said. "I-I don't want to be left alone."

There was fear clear in her eyes and you almost hit your own forehead. For what you had heard around, most of the visits Lena Luthor had ever made to a hospital had been after a direct attempt on her life. With a crazy family and half the city against her, of course, she was scared.

"Alright, don't worry. Once the ambulance is here, we are going to give you something for the pain, get your arm splinted up and take you to the hospital. I promise I'm not leaving, okay?" You said with another little smile, reassuring Lena as much as possible.

"Thank you." She stopped holding her breath.

You tried to make some small talk as you waited, making more questions about trivial things to make sure she was alert and hadn't suffered brain damage. While doing so, you learned that Lena Luthor, for all the things the media some times tried to feed you about her and her family, was a nice person. She was answering every question you threw at her as best as she could, even making some charming remarks from time to time that you found kind of cute. Mostly, you were relieved to confirm she was in good shape.

The ambulance and police sirens could be heard on the distance and a moment later you had to step away to let the team of paramedics work. You recognized your coworkers as they came to your aid. You had to step aside to talk to the police about the incident, giving them the best description you could about the hit and run before some details faded from your memory and were glad to leave them to their own thing as you watched the other paramedics finally pull Lena out of her car.

They were moving her to the stretcher and towards the ambulance when you went to do a final check on her. She seemed calmer, probably thanks to the painkillers they had provided her, and a bit paler, which made you a little worried, but you were relieved to see her arm was already being taken care of. You had thought that was the end of your night and were about to leave Lena's side when she called you.

"(Y/N)?" She said as she was about to be loaded into the ambulance.

"Yes?" You frowned for a moment in confusion but got a bit closer to hear her through the sound of people moving around.

"Could you stay with me?" She asked with pleading eyes.

Somewhere, on the back of her mind, Lena knew this was nothing more than the effect of the drugs in her system. There was no other reason to keep you there, you had helped her so much, calling for help, attending her injuries, and making sure the medical team could take another look at her. And maybe that was the exact same reason she wanted you around for a little longer.

You raised both eyebrows in surprise, and the couple of paramedics did the same as they looked at each other and then at you.

"Well, I-" You hesitated for a moment but considering who was asking, and that the cutest puppy eyes you had ever seen were looking at you, you gave in. Part of you wouldn't admit it yet, but you had somehow grown fond of Lena in such a little time and you still had to thank her for all she had done. "Sure."

Since you couldn't just leave your car behind, you decided to follow the ambulance to the hospital where Lena was brought into the ER. She was placed in a bed and you sat by her side, waiting for the nurses to do a check up.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this." Lena spoke after an awkward moment of silence, realizing she may have overstepped your boundaries.

Considering her state of mind, she hadn't really thought this through but your presence seemed to soothe her better than the painkillers and that was all she had known at the moment.

"Don't be. I figured it was the least I could do for our biggest sponsor." You said this time with a bit of a tired smile, feeling the exhaustion of the night.

Your weary expression didn't go unnoticed by Lena who also didn't have the chance to ask what you had meant as the nurse and doctor entered the room. They started by asking her more questions and checking her vitals. When they noticed you there, still in uniform, the doctor figured you were one of the paramedics that had brought Lena and told you they would take it from there.

"She can stay, doctor." Lena's tone made it seem almost like and order. "She's a friend."

You were a bit surprised by her answer but both nurse and doctor nodded their agreement and moved on, probably because they knew by now who they were treating.

They moved Lena's arm again to take some x-rays and, through all the wincing and grunting, you instinctively took her hand in yours and you had no idea how much she appreciated the gesture. It had been a long time since another person had offered her a hand in comfort and even a longer time since she had let someone take care of her like this.

It was early morning when after all the necessary medical checks were done, you left the ER pushing a very tired and very beaten up Lena, with a cast in her arm, in a wheelchair through the hospital doors and into the chill of the night. As you pushed the chair outside, you took a moment, taking of your jacket and putting it over her shoulders.

"Here." You said and started pushing the wheelchair into the parking lot. "Now, we better get you home before it gets colder."

"Wait, (Y/N)." Lena said as you were approaching your car. "You don't have to, you have already done so much."

"It's okay. Like I said, it's the least I could do."

"For your biggest sponsor?" Lena asked.

"Yeah, I guess." You said remembering you wanted to thank her for that. "You may not remember but, last year, you made some big donations to every hospital in National City, Miss Luthor. Including the one I work for. That helped a lot of people so, yeah, this is just me trying to repay for all those you have helped."

"Then, if that's what it takes for you to take me home, I'll make sure to make more of those donations." Lena said, forgetting to keep those bits of inner thoughts to herself.

You stopped then, like finally realizing how unusual the situation was. An off-shift paramedic taking care of a car accident patient, accompanying her all the way to the ER, waiting all night beside her as her medical test were done, and taking her home afterwards, like it was the most natural thing to do.

You rounded Lena's chair and crouched in front of her. "It's not just the donations, Lena."

She got worried she had overstepped again but seeing the way your eyes were looking into hers, and the way you had said her name, made Lena feel secure once more.

"I cannot tell you how or why but I have ever done this with anyone I have ever met." You said with a sheepishly smile.

"Maybe we could discover it together." She tried. "Around a cup of coffee, once we reach my home? I mean, since you already have been with me all night. How does that sound?"

You seemed to ponder it for a moment and then you offered your hand. "Sounds like a good deal."

Lena took your hand in hers once more, closing what felt like the best bargain she had ever done in her life and hoping it would last exactly that.

"And now that I'm sure you don't have a concussion I can also tell you. I think you're pretty too." You saw Lena's cheeks turn red and didn't give her time to respond as you returned to the back of the wheelchair, with a grin plastered in your face and excited to star the new day with her.

#lena luthor #lena luthor imagine #lena luthor imagines #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor x you #lena luthor x female reader #Female reader #fem!reader #fem reader #one shot #request #take my hand take my whole life too #lena x you #paramedic reader #emt reader

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bluegarners · 3 years

Text

Dick comforts a dying civilian. He wishes he didn’t have to lie to do so.

~oOo~

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

That’s what he says. What he swears. The dying man, hardly a man, couldn’t be a man, he’s barely an adult, he’s so young, so young, only nods his head at the lie. It’s a sure movement, confident and trusting, and Dick has to force his mouth shut in order not to take it all back.

The asphalt is cold, it’s barely eleven thirty, but there are no stars or street lamps to help soothe the roughness of it all. The ink that oozes out and stains the black is staining his suit as well. It coats his hands and fingers, breaks through his knees, slides under his feet. Despite the pebbles that press into his shins, Dick can only focus on how soft and slick blood is.

Blood is soft.

“My name’s John,” the young man offers. Red stains his teeth in a grin that reminds Dick of his own. “Nice to meet you, sir, uh, Nightwing.”

He knows he’s not really supposed to listen to the scanners. Old habits die hard, and even though Batman’s disapproval is almost enough to keep him away, Dick’s fingers still twitches to his retired radio. It’s how he got here. It’s why he’s here now.

“Hi, John,” is all he can really offer, too focused on keeping his hands in position. Too focused on trying to slow the stream, the bubble of life that keeps pouring out. Upper left side of the sternum. Exit wound out from the third left rib. Estimated time of sixty, maybe ninety seconds, since the shot. Too late. Too late.

“My sister’s name is Rita,” John says, and his eyes are wandering across Dick’s masked face. “She’s thirteen.”

Dick nods. Digs his fingers into the small hole further. The ambulance is maybe two minutes out. Maybe more. The call only just came in.

“What’re you doing?”

Finally, Dick shifts. John has brown, unremarkable eyes. “I’m stemming the blood flow. You were shot.”

“Really?” John is genuinely surprised. “When?”

Dick presses his hands down a little harder. “A few minutes ago. Tell me more about your sister, John.”

“Why was I shot? Who did it?”

“I don’t know,” Dick responds. “You said Rita was thirteen?”

John smiles, eyes scrunching up. “Yeah,” he sighs. “She’s going to turn fourteen next month. An actual teenager.” He adds, softer, “She’s growing up too fast.”

“I know the feeling,” Dick agrees, thinking of his own teenager. Damian, indeed, was growing up too fast. He was almost up to his shoulder now. “Any plans for a birthday party?”

The blood isn’t stopping despite the pressure. It keeps seeping through his fingers, a warm envelope compared to the dry cold.

“She wants-” John coughs, chest caving. “She wants to go to Disney World. Go see Mickey Mouse.”

“That sounds like fun,” Dick cheers, trying to calculate how much time is left. John’s green coat is soaked, drenched, and Dick knows if he were to squeeze the front, it would dribble.

John jerks his head and his eyes are roaming. There is little color in his face, lips parted in desperate gasps. The shock from before is steadily going away. The adrenaline is leaving, but everything else is fixed in place.

“Am I,” his voice cracks, “Am I dying?”

“No,” Dick reassures. “You’re going to be fine.” He presses down harder.

John whimpers. “Stop, stop. That hurts.”

“I know,” Dick soothes. “Everything is going to be okay, John. Look at me. You’re going to be okay.”

A lie.

The younger man doesn’t look at him though and he bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t feel my hands,” he admits. “I-I don’t feel very good.”

“Help is almost here, John.”

Another lie. He can hear the orders going back and forth in his ear. There’s traffic. It’ll be another three minutes until an ambulance is free.

“Just stay calm. Deep breaths. Breathe with me, okay? In and out.”

John is trying his best to copy the exaggerated movements, lungs stuttering and shaking. The panic is setting in though. The panic and the desperation.

“What am I gonna tell Rita?” he asks like he’s expecting an answer. “What am I gonna tell mom?”

Dick doesn’t know.

“We were-- We were all gonna go together, you know? She’s turning fourteen but she still wants me around and I don’t understand why but-”

John coughs again. It’s weak.

“I’m scared,” he whispers. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Dick opens his mouth again to spew some half-hearted reassurance or answer that’s just lies with a pretty bow atop. He stops though. John is staring at him with dirty brown eyes. There’s nothing special about them. Nothing notable. There are no flecks of gold or amber in them that catch the light. There’s no stony wall of indifference built behind them. The whites of his eyes are splattered with burst vessels and strain, and they hide nothing.

But John has brown eyes that stare at him, stare into his soul, and beg for honesty. Truth.

Dick can’t bring himself to use harsh words though. Can’t bring himself to form the sentence ‘You’re going to die,’ because that’s cruel and too blunt and death is so personal. Dying is too intricate to be put like that. You can’t explain death.

Dick’s died before. Only a minute or two of complete nothingness, but death nonetheless. He remembers the moments leading up to it more vividly than he does the moments after. His body hurt, ached in a way that he was sure he’d never feel the same again. His throat was sore, deep gouges and scratches still oozing blood. He could barely see out of his left eye, nearly swollen shut, and his wrist were throbbing.

Most of all, though, Dick remembered suffocating. Remembered Luthor’s clean, clean face. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or blemish on that man. His teeth were a perfect white and his eyes were filled with apathy. Luthor’s metal gauntlet smelled like oil, and he could sometimes taste it on his tongue during the worst nights. The pill was small, shoved down his throat so efficiently, but the very idea of medicating like that again leaves him shivering.

He struggled. He did. Dick struggled as much as he could, muscles screaming and heart crying out. At some point, he recalls looking for Bruce. Looking for a small comfort in his despair. A familiar face to ease the panic.

There was only Luthor though. Luthor and his pearly white teeth and apathetic eyes.

His lungs had burned and it had spread to the rest of his body like he was on fire. Dick’s last moments, his death, his murder, was filled with nothing but horror and pain.

Dick hadn’t wanted to die. Dick hadn’t wanted to know he was going to die. There was no hope with that. No sense of faith for another outcome. Fruitless as it may have been, Dick had wanted to dare for a savior.

No, Dick would not be cruel. He could not be.

“Nightwing?”

His name is hardly a breath out in the open air. The wheezes have stopped. Blood still pours and pours and pours. His suit is stained. The ground is soaked.

“It’s not scary,” Dick says, leaning closer. It’s truthful, this time. Dying wasn’t scary. Everything up until death was. “It’s like falling asleep.”

“I’m not ready,” John rushes to say. “I--I don’t wanna be alone.”

His eyes keep flickering closed, slowly fluttering open every few seconds. Carefully, cautiously, Dick removes his hands. Alleviates the pressure. There is an awful suctioning noise as he releases his fingers from the wound. John doesn’t notice.

“You won’t be,” Dick whispers, taking the other man’s trembling hand into his. “I’m here. You won’t be alone.”

“You said it’s like falling asleep?” His voice is hardly a rasp. “I go to sleep and it’ll all be just a dream?”

Death was a dream for Dick. A nap in oblivion. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and then opened them and gasped. That was it.

“Yeah, just a dream. That’s all it is.”

“And after...” John trails off, pausing for such a long time that Dick doesn’t know what to do except to continue to hold his hand. He speaks up again though, eyes flickering to find opaque lens staring back at him. “What happens after?”

There’s a wailing in the distance, close enough where the high pitched whines sound like hope and the flashing blue and red lights look like safety. There’s too much life around him though. Too much of it leaking into the asphalt and draining out of that green winter coat. John stopped shaking awhile ago. His grip lessened, and even though his eyes were meeting Dick’s own, Dick knows that he was no longer seeing.

On some level, Dick knows it’s too late. It was already too late when he arrived. John, this man that barely looked over twenty one, with a chipped tooth and boring brown eyes and a thirteen year old sister named Rita, had the misfortune of Nightwing arriving too late.

“After?” Dick repeats, squeezing the man’s hand. “Well, that’s the easy part. After, you wake up.”

He doesn’t see the exact moment brown eyes become dull, doesn’t look at his watch to confirm the precise second of when John takes his last breath, but he does know that sirens flood the dim street thirty seconds later and that it is much too late to do a thing about it.

He lets go of John’s limp hand, briefly considers wiping his gloves onto his already smeared suit, and allows two paramedics to swarm the quickly cooling body. He waits for police to arrive, watches as they drape a black tarp over Rita’s older brother’s body, and declare it a homicide. Even throughout the questioning, of which they let him off relatively easy considering the sheer volume of-- of life splattered all over him, Dick lets them do their jobs.

He leaves with little fanfare, grappling away from the scene and flipping through rooftops.

The radio in his belt feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. The static in his comm is loud and screeching, and for a moment, Dick entertains the notion of flinging it out into the night. Throwing the cheap device into darkness, watch it plummet and shatter.

The sirens are soft, muffled with distance, but the taste in his mouth takes him back as if he never left. Copper. Oil. Dirt. His own sweat. A dry pill.

See, the thing is, Dick isn’t very good about being honest. He’s tongue and cheek most of the time, quipping and tossing around puns as distractions and ice-breakers. When people go to him for guidance, they aren’t looking for his honest thoughts. They’re looking for leadership. They’re looking for advice that’ll help them through their trials. Most of the time, they just want hope.

John was looking for hope.

Call him an optimist. Call him a pessimist. At the end of the day, there’s still water in the cup, and that’s all that matters, right?

Dying was not like falling asleep. It wasn’t taking a little nap and floating in forever. You don’t wake up from death. It wasn’t a dream that you don’t remember after opening your eyes. It wasn’t a nightmare that leaves your heart beating out of your still chest.

Death was nothing. Nothing.You aren’t supposed to come back from nothing.

You aren’t supposed to wake up either, and yet here he was.

Dick isn’t very good about telling the truth. He’s a very good liar. A good actor. Manipulative, some would say. He prefers to see the other half of the coin. He doesn’t like the darkness or the grim. He tolerates it all, yes, but he’s a good liar. Good enough to fool himself.

Sometimes, Dick wonders if he ever actually woke up.

Thoughts like these are dangerous. They lead down a rabbit hole that’s difficult to claw out of. He’ll do it again, shovel through his own thoughts until his nails are broken off and the tips of his fingers are raw, but he can’t let himself ever succumb to it all again.

Death wasn’t like a dream, but it took all the same. It took memories from him. Those short, precious, important minutes he spent dead took away a lot of things. And he gets so angry when he can’t remember the good things.

He gets so furious when he has trouble recalling his first birthday at the Manor. He feels an unbridled rage when he doesn’t know off the top of his head when Jason got adopted. These dangerous and purging flickers of loathing for himself shove everything else aside when Tim talks to him about certain missions that he knows he should know like they happened yesterday, and yet even the thoughts of it are fuzzy and woven with cob webs.

He’ll never forgive himself for forgetting what it was like to hug Damian for the first time.

Death, trauma, it all stole from him, but he was also lucky enough to wake up.

Blink. Gasp. Breathe. Taste ash and inhale smoke.

John had brown eyes. Rita is turning fourteen next month.

The radio call requested emergency services for a neighborhood disturbance at eleven twenty five. Nightwing arrived on scene at eleven twenty eight.

The blood under his fingernails will take three showers to get out.

John bled out and his life now stained every part of Dick Grayson.

These are things Dick will remember.

Death is not a dream, so this is the price for making it one.

#dick grayson #dick grayson needs a hug #nightwing #dc #fanfic #late night drabbles #angst #cw:death #tw:blood #mentions of the following characters:#bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #dick grayson centric #honestly no idea where this came from #just kinda happened and now i'm too tired to do anything about it #hope ya enjoyed my angst fest #my fic

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rileysramblings · 3 years

Text

Dilemma 5/5

Hvitserk x Unnamed Female Character

Summary: It is finally time to go home and face reality.

Warnings: mention of car accident and injuries.

Side Note: Here it is. The end of Dilemma. Thank you all again for the lovely feedbacks. I hope the last chapter of this serie won’t disappoint. Please feel free to share your thoughts, I would love to hear what you are thinking about it all!

// Masterlist //

Chapter 5: Home.

Today was the day. She was finally leaving. After a few days in the hospital, her doctor had finally authorized her to go home. As she made her way to the exit she smiled at the nurse that had taken care of her, silently thanking him for his attention, and she hopped in a taxi.

She didn’t remember the actual accident, everything about that night was a blur. She remembered her phone screen lighting up with the name of her boss and she could see her fingers accepting the call but couldn’t recollect anything about the phone call in itself.

She remembered leaving her apartment and running. She remembered but, for some reason, it felt different. She could tell she had been out of breath but while running, she couldn’t feel the weight of her coat on her shoulder or the awkwardness of running without sneakers on her feet.

If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could remember the light of the emergency cars. The ambulance. The police. The red. The blue. If she focused even more, she would hear the sirens, at first in the back, as if far away but as the seconds passed, the noise would grow to become almost violent and that would be the moment she started to panic and open her eyes again.

“I need you to stay awake!”

The taxi stopped in front of her building and she exited the vehicle, slightly surprised by the quick ride. She stayed where she stood on the pavement, looking at her building for a while. She was glad to be out of the hospital, she had been looking forward to this moment: finally going home. But now that she was facing it and she couldn’t move.

It felt different. It looked different. She even lowered her gaze to verifiy the building’s number. Yes. That was it. That was home. She took a big inhale and ignored the sting in her chest.

The flat looked exactly as she left it, as if nothing had happened. Books on shelves, various cables and almost finished candles on the side table, dry food on the counter and the remote control of the tv on the armchair. And, obviously, no one in sight.

She sighed. Her flatmate was probably sound asleep. She spent a few minutes trying to convince herself to eat something to pass the time, until the flatmate she had only talked to a handful of times would come out of hiding, but resolved herself to check her room.

Not so long ago she would have spent all her time in there, awaiting for the flat to be empty so she could roam free. Now, it was a reminder. Not of the accident, she could go past that and she eventually would.

The fondness for the room that only gave her comfort in the past transformed into anger and sadness. Ever since she had woken up in the hospital, dazed and disoriented, she would awake sad.

She was hoping that feeling would disappear now that she was out of the hospital but something inside herself was telling her it would not be the case. Her big sad empty bed was staring at her making her feel uneasy, like something was missing, something important.

She heard the door slam shut and she almost ran to the living room area hoping to find someone there. But the door that had slammed was the front door and the flat was empty once more.

She sighed.

She didn’t use to feel like that. She used to relish being on her own. She would always have work to get done or a hobby to turn to. But as she looked around in the flat, she didn’t feel like anything.

She sat down on the couch and sighed once more, her gaze falling on her hands. She needed to get over whatever feeling that was and do something, anything. She was alive. She could have died and she didn’t. She was alive. She wasn’t allowed to feel sorry for herself. She was lucky.

Wasn’t she?

She closed her eyes as a groan escaped her lips, her head falling on a cushion. Maybe she needed to have an uninterrupted full 8 hours of sleep and then she’ll feel like her old self again.

No.

Her head snapped back up, her eyes wide open, she stretched out her arms as much as possible, as if to fight the sleepiness that wasn’t quite there yet. Her gaze went directly to her phone and she selected one of her favorite songs. When the first notes started to echo in the living room, her leg started to move getting into the rhythm.

Act like you want to feel.

She forced a smile on her face and even started singing along, swaying her head from side to side, her hands joining the movement, the smile on her face still present.

Fool your body into thinking you’re happy.

She was still suffering from the injuries of the accident but her mobility was quite not as weak as she thought it would be, she was healing fast. It allowed her to leave the hospital faster than anticipated and to only be slightly limited in her movements after those days spent cared for 24/7.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts and excitement finally appeared on her face. She stood up and made her way to the door as fast as she possibly could. When she opened, a young man smiled at her, surprise gracing his features for a second. His gaze left hers to check the number on the door, then came back to her.

“I’m sorry, I thought- Does Margrethe still live here?” he asked, obviously taken aback.

“Yeah, I think she left for work though,” she replied with a genuine smile.

“Right. Yes, of course.” He looked around and sighed. “I live in 410 and I locked myself out. I’ve met Margrethe before and I thought we could hang out until my brother comes with his set of keys.”

“How did you get into the building without keys?” she asked with a frown, the fact she was desperately needing to have some company didn’t mean she wanted a possible strange psychopath in her flat… a cute one but still.

“Amma was coming out when I was coming in.” he explained but she only raised an eyebrow. “519?”

She facked recognition as her gaze fell to the floor. This Amma information would have been useful if she actually knew her neighbors. Any of them. She had no clue who he was talking about. Was she the tall bad ass blonde who, she thought, lived on the 5th floor? Or was she the tiny long haired brunette she’d crossed paths a couple of times?

No idea.

In any other scenarios, she would have excused herself and locked the door. Yet, for unclear reasons, she looked into his eyes and felt safe. That was a new feeling. She never felt safe or remotly comfortable with people she didn’t know. Instead of thinking about the reasons behind all of it for too long, which she usually would have done, she accepted it and she smiled.

“Well, you can wait here if you want!” she offered and a genuine smile appeared on her cute neighbor’s face. “I was about to attempt baking,” she lied, not wanting to divulge her state of mind to a stranger. He entered the flat but before she couldn’t see his face anymore she definitely saw a twinkle in his eyes and her smile grew. “Cookies?”

“I can help!” he exclaimed enthusiastically and she chuckled.

She made her way slowly to the kitchen area hoping she had everything to bake not noticing he was looking at her.

“Are you ok?” he asked and she directed her interrogative gaze towards him. “Margrethe said something about her flatmate having an accident or something, she didn’t go into details.”

She chuckled. “Oh right, I just- I had a little- hum- yes, a little accident.” She turned her gaze away from him to the wall cabinet. He didn’t ask anymore questions but she could feel his gaze on her and she closed her eyes for a second. “Car accident. It’s actually my first day back from the hospital. I’m fine though, so it’s- fine!” she blurted out and his eyes grew wider.

“Let me,” he simply said when she tried to take the flour from one of the top shelves and she did. As a matter of fact, before she even tried to grab a bowl, a whisk or any ingredients, he was already reaching for it or asked her where it was before she made one move.

“By the way, I don’t know your name!” she said after they had discussed what they did for a living, what kind of music they liked, what kind of book they read and what was their favorite movie.

He chuckled and smirked, his gaze then on the oven where the cookies were baking now on her, his green eyes looking deep into hers. “I’m Hvitserk.”

@solinarimoon, @ecarroll1978

#vikings #vikings imagine #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk imagine #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #dilemma #long fic

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potts89 · 3 years

Text

By @potts89 for @hold-our-destiny, written for the fourth @friendly-neighborhood-exchange.

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Summary:

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?” “What do you mean what did you do?” “You’re giving me the look.” He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why. “Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?” “See him for what?”

It started out as a run-of-the-mill, after school patrol... until Peter was reminded of a different alley, from a different time, but a very much familiar scenario.

Read it here (full fic under the cut) and on AO3.

“You’ve got the board meeting at four o’clock today, and Morgan’s ballet recital is at ten tomorrow morning and we’re supposed to meet Jim for lunch afterwards.”

Pepper went through Tony’s schedule as she waltzed into his workshop that afternoon, the measured clicking of her heels somewhat making him nostalgic for those days back when she was still his personal assistant and she would always harangue him about his meetings. He smiled distractedly at the thought that his wife and CEO, even after over a decade and a half, still refused to delegate his schedule to someone else. Not that he was complaining (because, really, he much preferred it this way), because Pepper, Tony knew, happened to be very hands-on after all. That and the fact that she probably knew that, except for Morgan, no one else could pry Tony away from whatever new project he was currently obsessing on. So it made sense that if Pepper wanted him to actually adhere to his schedule, she really should take the reins herself.

Tony threw a cursory glance at his monitor just to check the time, because Pepper was standing in front of him with her arms crossed in front of her chest, impatiently waiting for him to say or do something.

He noted that he still had about an hour to wash up, get dressed, and take the elevators to the conference room which was just twenty floors down, so unless he forgot their wedding anniversary (which, to his credit, had never happened), Pepper shouldn’t be giving him that ‘Drop whatever it is you’re doing right now,’ look.

“Honey,” Tony coaxed her, purposely not taking his eyes off the monitor in front of him. “What did I do?”

“What do you mean what did you do?”

“You’re giving me the look.”

He could hear Pepper sighing but Tony simply assumed that she must have had a long, tiring day, that’s why.

“Tony, when should I pencil you in to see Peter?”

“See him for what?”

Ever since he got the kid back, Tony had been consciously trying to keep some distance. Sure, not a day went by that he didn’t worry about Peter – the anxiety over something happening, again, that could take the kid away from him, again, never truly completely disappeared – but he didn’t want to suffocate the boy either. So as much as Tony wanted to be a helicopter doting (pseudo-) parent, he kept his distance. He no longer required daily patrol reports, he disabled the Baby Monitor Protocol (at Peter’s request and much to his disapproval, although they did reach a compromise that Karen would automatically ping FRIDAY should Peter be fatally injured (they had a long discussion on what Tony actually meant with fatal afterwards)), and he didn’t mess with Peter’s patrolling unless the kid specifically asked for his help and advice.

The adjustments were difficult, but Tony knew that he wouldn’t be around to hold the boy’s hand forever so he endured the changes. Plus, Peter seemed to appreciate this new sense of responsibility and independence, and Tony could only imagine that this was probably what it would feel like when the kid would finally leave for college at MIT.

God, he could feel the separation anxiety already.

“Michelle called…” Pepper trailed off and Tony would later on realize that he really should’ve noted the worry in his wife’s tone. “Something happened during his patrol.”

That surely caught Tony’s attention. He quickly glanced up at Pepper while the screwdriver he had been working with clattered to the floor.

“Is he—”

“He’s not hurt… physically.”

“Right, of course. FRIDAY would’ve alerted me if that’s the case.” He breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived when he finally actually noticed the frown creasing Pepper’s features. “Wait, Michelle called? Where’s the kid?”

“He was on patrol. He tried to stop a mugging incident but by the time he got at the scene, a young boy’s father was already shot and—”

“He’s been blaming himself for it,” Tony finished for her and he knew just exactly what’s going on in Peter’s head right now.

Pepper reached for the rug that was lying on his worktable before walking up to him and giving it to him to wipe the grease off of his hands. “Michelle has been trying to convince him otherwise. Now I’m telling you this because Peter knows that Michelle’s the one person who will comfort him no matter what—”

“Which means he won’t believe it when she says it wasn’t his fault.”

Pepper nodded while Tony sighed tiredly, hating the fact that Peter seemed to have picked up on his own tendency for self-reproach. He handed the rug back to Pepper who seemed pleased that her husband appeared to be finally on the same page as she.

“Pep, honey, how important is today’s board meeting?” he asked, even if he knew that Pepper wouldn’t keep him anyway.

“Well, R&D is presenting that tech that you wanted the patent on.”

“Tell them I’ll have to reschedule.”

She smiled at him, a knowing smile that he had gotten so familiar with and so thankful for over the years. “I already did.”

He really did marry the perfect woman, didn’t he?

“You’re the best,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her and it did amuse him to note that she didn’t make a comment on how the grease would most likely get on her own clothes. He kissed her, deeply though hurriedly. “I love you.”

“Go and be a good dad. I love you, too.”

---- --- ----

“I thought we already agreed that you’d disable the tracker in my suit,” Peter muttered without glancing, long before Tony could even announce his arrival thanks to that thing he really didn’t like to call ‘Peter tingle.’

He had been sitting there alone all afternoon, deep in a quiet, one-way conversation with the headstone in front on him which bore the name of the uncle that pretty much raised him as his own. The same uncle who, up to this day, Peter still felt guilty and responsible for.

To say that Peter was having a terrible day was definitely an understatement. It started out like any normal afternoon – he nailed that physics test, he listened (enraptured) while MJ discussed the women’s suffrage in great detail over lunch, and he swung by Stark Tower to drop a new toy for Morgan sometime after class – there was nothing out of the ordinary, at least until a few minutes into his patrol.

He was swinging by some of his usual hunts in the city when his hyper-keen senses caught the scream of a young boy just a few blocks away. Peter rushed to the scene without second thought, but what he initially anticipated as a run-of-the-mill mugging incident in one of New York’s quiet alleys turned out to strike too close to home.

Peter just stood there, unmoving, rooted to the spot as the bandit fled the scene of the crime leaving behind a young boy quite possibly no older than nine, a man in his mid-forties lying on the pavement and possibly bleeding to death, and Peter who seemed to have been transported back to a different alley, from a different time, but in a very much familiar scenario.

Peter felt numb, so much so that for a while there, he completely believed that he was watching a younger version of himself, helplessly crouching over the bleeding man, while the police and ambulance sirens sounded nearer and nearer and nearer…

“What happened here?” one of the EMTs shouted but Peter was too stunned and completely trapped in his own head that he was practically the most useless person on the site. “Spider-Man?” the EMT prodded but Peter was too out of it (or maybe, too into it) that he barely registered the question at all.

Everything was a blur afterwards. He barely recalled the EMTs loading the victim and the young boy into the ambulance, he was quite unaware of the many people looking his way wondering why Spider-Man was standing there, motionless in an alley. He barely recalled clutching his phone to his ear and hearing MJ’s confused and worried voice as he muttered “It’s my fault,” over and over and over again.

He couldn’t even exactly remember how he managed to end up in this place, or how long he had been sitting there on the ground apologizing to the indifferent headstone that offered him neither forgiveness nor reassurance.

For hours (he wasn’t really sure if it had been hours, but it certainly felt that way to him), he kept having those dreaded flashbacks in his head… The image of the boy crouching over his father’s body merging and morphing into looking more like Peter, while he himself applied pressure on the man’s wounds with his bare hands, the same man who was beginning to look more and more like his—

“I did disable your suit’s tracker, but I didn’t exactly need one to know where to find you.” Tony’s voice was grounding, pulling him back to the present… to what was real, to what was happening.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Peter asked, not really knowing what was the point in asking. Still, he avoided Tony’s gaze, choosing to focus his eyes instead on the headstone in front of him even as the older man took a seat beside him. “You didn’t need to come and pick me up, I was heading back anyway—”

“Of course I know you’d be here, you give me so little credit, kid.” Peter felt that gentle, reassuring pat on his shoulder and the gesture alone was enough to break what little composure he had left. “And I also know that I didn’t need to come, but I wanted to.”

He didn’t really know what to say to that, not out of shyness nor awkwardness because he and Tony were definitely past that point by now, but more because he was once again reminded that Tony actually cared… that the man was in his corner and would always be, come hell or high water.

Even after all these years, Peter still couldn’t wrap his head around that idea, that he actually had someone, that he wasn’t truly completely alone.

“Alright, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

“Who says there’s anything on my mind?” Peter deflected, easily picking up on Tony’s usual modus operandi when confronted with something that he wasn’t really keen about discussing. Peter learned from the master, after all.

“There’s always something on your mind,” Tony’s tone was patient with a hint of chiding, and Peter wanted to stop himself from thinking that the tone was almost paternal. “The only time it doesn’t pop right out of your mouth is when you’re not sure you should say it… that and when you were still trying to tell MJ that you actually like her. So?”

“I’m fine,” Peter mumbled, but he knew it would be pretty naïve of him if he were to believe that Tony would actually let him get away with not talking about it. Still, he could try, right?

He almost did believe that Tony had decided to drop the issue because the palpable silence stretched between them, with Peter not really wanting to relive the afternoon and with Tony probably waiting for that conversation opening that Peter would be absolutely unwilling to give to him. Still, Tony, Peter knew, was nothing if not persistent.

“Pete, you can’t save everybody.”

It was said so simply, so fatherly even, that Peter could really do very little to stop the dam from finally breaking. He knew that Tony knew that he never really felt comfortable talking about his uncle, and Peter was actually thankful that Tony had opted not to pursue the topic directly at least.

Still the thought didn’t do much to alleviate Peter’s guilt from what happened that afternoon. He kept thinking that if he had only been a bit faster, a little braver, a bit tougher… if he hadn’t let the ghost of his past failure haunt him at such a very crucial moment…

Peter cringed at the possibility that another kid could be orphaned by now all because he got scared and stunned, exactly like the boy he once was the last time he actually saw his uncle breathing and living…

“Kid, it’s not your fault. We try and we try but we can’t save them all.”

“But you did, and granted that it cost you a lot,” Peter paused, his red-rimmed eyes quickly darting towards Tony’s prosthetic arm, making him feel so small and unsure and inept. “But you did… you did save us all.”

“I didn’t, kid.”

“No, you actually did—”

“I didn’t, kid, at least not during the first time. Else, I would not have spent a lot of nights imagining, dreaming that I saved you in Titan. Because every night before I go to sleep, in the last five years I keep thinking about the things I could have done differently… Kid, every night I save you, in my head and in my dreams. But when it mattered the most, when it actually counted, I failed. I didn't save you.”

“No, Mr. Stark... Because when it mattered the most, you brought me back.”

Peter didn’t really know what else to say other than that, but he hoped that it was enough for now. He was, after all, very much aware that no matter how immensely grateful he truly was, his thanks wouldn’t even begin to give justice to what Tony had to do, had to gamble with, just to get him (and the others) back.

To tell the truth, he would have dwelled on the thought, on the more appropriate thing to say, but his mind was basically elsewhere at the moment and he blurted out his worries before he could even stop himself.

“I just… I froze earlier because I know what it’s like to be orphaned young, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Touché.”

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean…”

He glanced at Tony but there was nothing but understanding in his old man’s eyes, the memory of his own loss clearly still as saddening but time had clearly played a factor in healing past wounds.

“I know what you mean, kid, more than anyone, really. I was twenty one then, technically already an adult, but I was very far from being one.”

“It’s just, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy… And to think that I could’ve done something earlier today had I been faster, stronger, braver…” Peter trailed off, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat as he thought back to his own parents and his uncle. “I know what it’s like to be alone, to be on your own… It was difficult, it still is.”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Peter furrowed his brows at the way that Tony’s voice broke. “Sorry for what?”

“I try so hard… so hard to make you feel that you have someone, that you’re no longer alone, that you’re not an orphan, at least not anymore. And I really thought that giving you some independence was what you wanted, but I guess I wasn’t doing enough if you still feel that—”

“But you are,” he cut in, only realizing in that moment that he had inadvertently made Tony feel inadequate, when the truth was Peter actually felt so indebted to him. Peter knew that he owed him his life, so much so that he actually felt shy being around the man, especially whenever he would see Tony’s prosthetic arm because if not for him…

“You’re doing more than enough,” Peter assured him, wanting to tell him that he actually filled that paternal void just exactly when Peter needed him the most. “Mr. Stark, you’re like the—”

Peter caught himself, stopping before he could even say anything more… because doing so would be impolite, would be imposing, would be asking for too much.

“I’m like what?”

You’re like the father I wish I had.

Peter bit his lip as he tried to grapple not necessarily with the right words but with more appropriate ones, less assuming ones, because he was still so uncertain about his place in Tony’s family. Never mind the fact that Pepper would regularly set a place for him on the dinner table and Morgan would ask him to read her bedtime stories and Tony kept calling him kid but…

He didn’t feel worthy.

Because if he couldn’t protect them in the end just like the way that he failed with his own uncle, he would never be worthy. If he couldn’t keep that kid’s father from earlier that afternoon safe, how would he be able to keep this family safe?

You’re like the father I wish I had.

“You’re my mentor, Mr. Stark,” was what Peter settled for in the end. “And I’m very lucky because you’re doing more than enough for me.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Tony smirked at him when Peter threw a sidelong glance in his direction, the obvious chagrin in his voice making Peter curious about his remark. “Because I thought you were going to say that I’m like a father to you, but mentor’s fine, I guess. I’ll take it.”

Peter gazed at him, his brown eyes so full of wonder while Tony simply grinned in that patented smile he usually reserved for the adoring public.

“So let me get this straight. You see me as a son-figure?” Peter asked, forgetting all about his earlier reservations.

“Well, Morgan did tell her teachers that she has an older brother so—”

“That’s Morgan. How about you, though?”

“—and Pepper’s still about twelve percent convinced that you really are my secret lovechild from back in my playboy days—”

“Would it kill you so much to say it out loud?”

Tony laughed and Peter honestly thought that it would probably be better if the ground simply swallowed him up at that point. This was just so embarrassing but he figured that his need for affirmation outweighed his sense of shame, at least in that moment.

“You’re my kid, okay?” Tony reached out to put an arm around his shoulder and somehow, Peter felt lighter, safer, in spite of the day’s events. “Mine and Pepper’s, Morgan’s brother. You’re family, Pete. You always have been. Why do you think you have a room at the Tower and at the lake house?”

“I just thought they’re guest rooms,” he mumbled quietly, eyes downcast because he could feel the tears now streaming down his face.

“Those rooms have photos of you with Morgan, and Star Wars memorabilia, and clothes and shoes in your size. Guest rooms can’t be that specific.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“And it’s not your fault. What happened today and what happened with your uncle, it was never your fault, Pete. You’re just a kid.”

Peter couldn’t help but wipe his eyes with the back of his hand while Tony pulled him into a tighter side-hug. He wished he could tell Tony thank you, but he was quite sure that words would betray him at this point. He honestly didn’t know what happened back there at the alley – he had, after all, been to space and fought his fair share of nemeses – but the familiarity of the situation caught him off-guard, hitting too close to home and trapping him in his own mind and with his own memories.

Peter realized that maybe it was because he had not really forgiven himself… for what happened with his own uncle and for Tony having to make a sacrifice. But if Tony never really blamed him, then…

“Pepper asked me to tell you that the boy’s father is now out of the woods and that he will make a full recovery,” Tony told him after some time, reading the message Pepper must have sent him on his phone. “And that she’s expecting you at dinner tonight, at the tower.”

Peter furrowed his brows, frowning in confusion as he did so. “How did she know about…”

“Who do you think Michelle called?”

“Of course.”

“So let’s go? Home?” Tony stood up, tossing him the keys to the Audi. “You drive. Slowly. I’m gonna guide you, but drive slowly.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t feel alone anymore. After all, he never really was, and he never really would be.

He grinned just as he started the engine, the way that Tony gripped the edge of his seat was not lost on Peter at all.

“You know, Mr. Stark, I think as long as I drive slower than you do, we’ll be fine.”

“Pete, driving slower than me doesn’t automatically mean that you’re driving within the speed limit.”

“I merely said—”

“Just drive. Slowly.” Tony cut in, sighing as he closed his eyes beneath the tinted glasses he was sporting. “Before I change my mind.”

Peter smiled, stepping on the gas and speeding off, within limits, of course.

***

#The Friendly Neighborhood Exchange #peter parker #pepper potts #tony stark #irondad #spider son #Peter Parker is having a bad day

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hacked-by-jake · 3 years

Note

hi and also can you write this prompt 37 so youre just going to leave me here to die pair man without the face x mc thank you

Finally

A/n: Hi and thank you for your request. I have been waiting for this pairing, thank you! I hope you like it and please apologize the mistakes. Have a good day and stay healthy.💕

Prompt: “So you’re just going to leave me here to die alone?”

Words: 1,9k

Warnings: (Unfortunately, I am really bad when it comes to warnings, should anything be added, he will gladly tell me)

⚠️Mention of death. Use of weapons, blood.

"So you’re just going to leave me here to die alone?" choked the disgusting man lying at your feet. You really did, you shot the man who’s been making your life a living hell for months. Your life, your friends life, and all of Duskwood. The man who brought so much suffering and hatred upon you all.

Speechless, you stare at the gun in your hand, but you feel no remorse, no guilt. Honestly, you feel satisfaction. Because you didn’t shoot a man, you shot a monster. A disturbed monster that is free of any morality, any humanity.

"Yes, yes, I let you die alone, because you deserve nothing else! You attacked my family. And when you attack my family, you attack me, "you hiss with a mocking grin on your face.

You feel like you’re in a movie, the weather suits your situation. Light raindrops fall through the thick treetops around the forest. All around you you can hear ravens croaking that bring a gruesome mood. The flowers and trees look sad and let their heads hang. Further away stands a roe deer, frightened and on guard because of the loud bang as the bullet flew out of the gun. Well, and the most striking of course, the Bleeding Man. The Kidnapper. The Murderer. You snort bitterly and you get over the urge to want to kick him in his face. You had to shoot of him to defend yourself but if you kicked him then it would be another matter. You managed to stop him and everything you would do now wouldn’t make you any better than he is.

"Do you - don’t you want to take off my mask?" his hoarse voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He tries to straighten up his upper body a little by leaning on his left arm. "Stay lying down!" you growl and take a step back. You raise the gun and aim at his belly to protect yourself.

Luckily, he takes you seriously and immediately he sinks back to the ground and groans painfully from the fast movement.

"So? You have always been so curious, take off the mask," he demands and you can hear a little amusement.

"MC?" sounds a voice through the dense trees of the forest and attracts your attention. The others found you. When you made your way to the forest, you thought about informing them. You decided not to let them know until you reached the forest so that none of them could stop you. For whatever reason, you wanted to talk to the man alone first. Jessy sounded very angry on the phone and wanted to stop you from going into the woods alone. But you couldn’t listen to them, you were blind with anger and the need for revenge, and you were lucky because everything went well.

He’s on the ground, not you.

He was defeated, not you.

You won, not him.

You look back at him shaking your head, "No, I’m not gonna take that ugly sack off your head, you want to know why?" you don’t wait for his answer at all but continue talking directly. "Because you are nothing more than this ugly mask! Because you are nothing. Because I don’t care who you are! Your plan to get attention has worked out for a short time. But now, I don’t care who you are under this mask. You are disgusting and no longer relevant to this world".

"Uh outch, you hurt my feelings" he chuckles, pressing his hand on the bleeding part of his chest. "But, you played well. You have my appreciation, it was fun, a worthy opponent".

"You still think this is a game?" you spit at him with disgust.

"Yes, when you showed up, it became a fun game, before that it was almost boring. But thanks to you it really became a nice little pastime"

Your eyes narrow and you feel like you’re getting hot and cold.

You shouldn’t let him provoke you any further, not really listen to what he says, but your hatred of this monster was too great. Blinded by the rage, you kick some of the earth and the broken leaves from the ground on his damaged body .

"You’re dirt" you hiss, "Have fun dying" you give him another superior grin.

"MC where are you?" again you hear a loud voice roaring through the forest.

Without paying attention to the kidnapper again, you run in the direction from which the voice comes.

You run as fast as you can, full of adrenaline, full of joy, full of hate. So many mixed feelings rushing through a body and pounding in your ears. You’re running for your life, happy to be with your friends now.

But there is one feeling that stands out especially and drowns out everyone else. The feeling that he was finally stopped by your hand. You made the promise to stop him and you kept it. Whether he dies or not, he will never be able to hurt anyone again. And that’s all that matters.

After about 500 meters you see them all, the whole group, and additionally at least a dozen policemen with a dog squad. All worried and looking for you.

"I’m here!" you yell as loudly as you can, "here!"

Immediately, all heads turn in your direction. Jessy is the first one to run towards you. Breathlessly you fall into her arms and the first tears break out of you. Tears of joy and relief.

You know these feelings will be short-lived. Because no matter who the man is or what he did, you shot a living person. Once the adrenaline of the last 20 minutes disappears from your body, you will realize correctly what happened. And it won’t be easy to process. But the fact that he’s the man with no face will help you not feel entirely guilty.

But at this moment you cannot think about it, at the moment there is only reason to rejoice.

"Oh God MC, we were so worried about you!" Jessy sniffed at your ear.

"Oh, thank God you’re alive" you hear Richy next to you and feel him also laying his arms around you both.

The others also join your group embrace.

And so you stand here in the middle of the forest as you cry like a waterfall with the knowledge that is all good now.

You still hold the gun in your hand as you detach from each other.

A deep voice shouts, "Put the gun on the ground immediately, and move away".

Only now do you notice how the policemen’s weapons are directed at you for safety. The others quickly step away from you and obey the request of the cops.

Of course you also do what they say and put the gun on the floor to kick them to the cops. One of them takes the gun and removes the already empty magazine. Since you had no intention of shooting someone, you only had one bullet with you to save yourself when it was necessary. And it was necessary. Luckily you have at least a little idea how to shoot, even if your hit was more luck than reason. But it wasn’t very hard because the man without a face was pretty close to you when you pulled the gun and pulled the trigger without really thinking about it.

"All right, it’s not loaded," you assure.

And then you remember that maybe you should clarify that the raven man is still lying in the back of the forest, bleeding to death.

"The- the kidnapper is injured and out of action about 500 meters from here. He’s probably still alive, but he’s bleeding a lot. I had to defend myself and shoot him, but he’s gonna need help."

Four policemen set off without hesitation in the direction you showed them. One of the others reaches for his walkie- talkie and orders an ambulance.

"You shot him?" Richy asks in amazement.

"He attacked me, I couldn’t defend myself in a other way," you say.

"Never again, do you go into this forest alone! How do you get the idea to come here alone?" Jessy hisses, "Why don’t you tell us before? We would have accompanied you immediately".

"I had to do it, I heard the conversation from a policeman and Hannah, and I was afraid the officers would wait too long. So the best way, before he can escape, was to come here himself, and I wanted to talk to him before he is arrested. But then he wanted to attack me to escape. I’m sorry you had to worry about me." you look at your friends with a slight smile.

From further away you can hear sirens of the ambulance that was ordered.

"Do you think - do you think he’s dead?" Jessy asks carefully and pays attention to your reaction. She was afraid of how you’d react to that question.

"No, I’m pretty sure I can’t shoot that well. And honestly, I’d rather he rot in prison," you clench your hands into fists and tighten your jaw as his words come back into your head. 'A funny game'

"Let’s not think about it now, it’s over, we’ve done it," Cleo reassures you immediately.

"And we should talk to the police now, Hannah wants to meet her savior," Dan grins and winks at you.

"How is she?" you ask carefully.

"She has to stay in the hospital for the next few days, but she’s doing fine. Especially when we give her the message that it’s finally over," Richy looks proud at you.

Through the forest two paramedics come running towards you and at the same time they pull a stretcher behind them.

"Where do we have to go?" asks one of the helpers and at the same time you point in the right direction.

All but Dan, he’s pointing in the wrong direction, pretending there’s nothing going on. You held back a small grin and watched as the paramedics continued their way.

"Dan" hisses Jessy and has herself on her lips in a small smile.

"What? I saw about the bird in the hospital, I wouldn’t miss him," he shrugs.

"None of us would miss him," Cleo agrees.

During your conversation, some of the policemen had left and only Alan was standing a little off and waiting for your quiet moment.

"So sorry to interrupt you but we have to ask MC some questions before you can go to Hannah" slowly he came up to your group.

"Will MC get into trouble now? So, because of the gun and because she shot?" asks Jessy and clings afraid to your arm.

Yes, and then..the realization hits you like a punch.

You didn’t even think about, that you shouldn’t have that gun. And of course shooting people wasn’t legal either, but you had to defend yourself, who knows what else he would have done to you.

"Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out, I’ll make sure MC isn’t to blame. I’m standing on your side" he assures us, that we can do this together and smiles kindly.

Over time you have joined with him and found out some more details. To have Alan on your side, will become a really important plus point, in the course of time.

Relief spreads within you and you nod to him gratefully.

And as if the world had waited only for this moment, just now, the sun breaks through the treetops and shines directly on your small group.

The unpleasantly croaking ravens fall silent and are replaced by the singing of lovely birds.

The light wind warms up and the clouds fly by and leave a clear blue sky. The smell of rain and muddy forest soil is replaced by the fresh smell of flowers and bushes. Now.. now it’s finally gonna be okay.

---

🌹

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood prompt #duskwood mc #man without a face #duskwood mwaf #duskwood jessy #duskwood richy #duskwood dan #duskwood group #duskwood everbyte #everbyte studios

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aomine-ryo · 4 years

Note

Hey! Can you do a scenario where Aomine is a cop and gets called to a scene of an accident and notices it's involving his gf?? Love your blog 💕

Ahhh this is such a good idea!! I’m so happy you like my blog and I hope you enjoy this! x

Scenario: Cop Aomine gets called to an accident involving his girlfriend

It was a rainy evening and you were driving back home after work in silence. You’d normally play some songs from your phone, but after the stressful day you had, you just wanted to collect your thoughts and relax yourself with the sounds of the raindrops hitting the roof of your car. As you patiently waited at a crimson traffic light, you thought of what you should make for dinner. You weren’t all that hungry, but you figured that you should make some food for your boyfriend since he comes back home quite late and he’d probably be starving.

The second the light turned green, you began to drive forward, making sure not to drive too fast because the roads were slippery, about to turn left to pursue your usual route home. However, right before you took the turn, you heard a loud screeching noise and before you knew it, a silver car was hurling towards the passenger side of your car. The last thing you saw was the large white airbag in your face before everything suddenly went blurry and you passed out.

Aomine, who was patrolling nearby, was instructed to tend to an accident at the intersection. As he drove his police car closer to the scene, where a small crowd had now gathered, he immediately recognised the number plate of one of the cars involved, which sent a wave of panic coursing through his body. He quickly hopped out of his car and rushed under the caution tape that was set up by another officer, who had arrived before he did.

“Aomine! Help the person in the black car,” his colleague, who was heaving a person out of the other car, called out.

Aomine hastily did as he was told, realising that you were still inside the damaged car. Upon seeing you passed out in the driver’s seat with blood dripping down your face, your boyfriend hoped and prayed that you were okay as he carried you out of the car.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Y/N?” He hollered at you, who he had placed carefully on the sidewalk, his trembling hands gripping onto your wrist in search of a pulse as his eyes were on the verge of tears. The moment he felt a pulse, he let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh thank God.”

He took you in his arms again, wanting you hold you close and keep you safe until the ambulance arrived. “Hey you called the ambulance, didn’t you?” Aomine called out to the other officer, trying his best to see through the wet blue hair that was in his eyes.

Just as he said that, he heard sirens, and the ambulance arrived at the scene. You began to regain consciousness, your head pounding as the noise of the blaring ambulance filled your ears. You couldn’t remember what had happened, but you knew you were in the arms of someone familiar, which put you at a slight ease. “D-Daiki? W-What’s going on?” You mumbled, not quite able to see clearly, though you could smell his cologne.

The sound of your voice caused Aomine to light up as he held onto you even tighter. “You got into an accident,” he informed as he took you towards the ambulance. “But it’s fine now, I’m here.” Aomine carefully placed you onto the stretcher before heading over to his colleague. “Hey, I’m going to follow the ambulance to the hospital. My girlfriend was in the black car,” he explained. “Can you handle things here?”

“Yeah of course. Backup should be on its way here soon,” his colleague nodded.

The navy haired boy thanked him before getting back into his car, following the ambulance to the nearest hospital, where he anxiously sat in the waiting room for about an hour until a nurse informed him that you were awake and he could visit you.

“Hey, it’s my hero!” you said in a weak yet cheery voice as your boyfriend entered the room. The sight of Aomine in his police uniform always brought a smile to your face because you thought he looked extremely sexy in it, and this time was no different.

“You’re such an idiot,” Aomine scoffed, shaking his head as he took in your state. You were lying down on a hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around your forehead, a cast on your right arm and an IV connected to your left arm.

You let out a small chuckle. Even after you were in an accident, he had to find some way to tease you. “Hey, it wasn’t even my fault!” you said defensively as Aomine moved in closer and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I was scared shitless when I saw your car, you know?” He said to you softly as he began to run his fingers through your hair, which calmed both you and him down.

“I wish I could’ve seen your face. I bet it was funny,” you teased.

“It wasn’t funny, Y/N,” he said, making your smile fade as you realised that he was actually serious. “I thought I was going to lose you,” his fingers were still tangled up in your hair as you noticed him fighting back tears, which pained you more than any of your injuries.

You took his hand in yours and squeezed it tight. “Hey, I’m okay now. You didn’t lose me,” you said reassuringly before you placed a kiss on his hand.

“Good,” he said, the corners of his lips beginning to curl as the tears managed to stay held back. “I can’t lose my idiot just yet.”

#kuroko no basket #kurokos basketball #aomine daiki #aomine daiki x reader #aomine x reader #aomine

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Until Death Do We Part

Truce gift for @anthropwashere! Sorry I'm late, but I hope the wait was worth it!

Summary: For someone who fights ghosts, literal dead people, on a near-daily basis, you would think Danny could handle death better than this. He faces mortality every day, every time he goes ghost. So why can't he face this? Why is this any different than any other day? Because it was his Valerie, and he saw it, and he couldn't stop it. Because it was his fault.

(links to ffn and ao3 on my bio)

Warnings: gore and blood, panic attacks, murder

Word count: 24011

By the time the ambulance arrives, Valerie is already dead. The fight is over, Spectra and Bertrand long gone, and Danny—in human form—cradles her head in his lap. He doesn't know who called the ambulance, or when. Everything after Valerie's fall is a blur. He remembers a scream, his own most likely, and Spectra's victorious cackle, but not her retreat. The citizens had fled at some point near the start of the battle. How long was he holding her before someone returned, saw what happened?

After years of dealing with ghosts, the people of Amity Park had formed a simple routine. Run from the fight, don't get in the way or put yourself in danger, wait for the noises to end, wait a few minutes more, then trickle out of hiding once you know it's safe. The entire city knows the choreography by heart, follows every step with military precision. It's one of the main reasons no one has died during a ghost attack before. At least, until now.

The ambulance's wailing sirens cut out abruptly. Danny barely registers their absence, focused entirely on Valerie's face. If he lets himself get distracted, he might be tempted to look lower, at the wound that took her life a gaping mess of blood and shredded organs in the middle of her chest, covered by his jacket. Don't look at it. Don't think about it. Keep your eyes up.

People talk about peace in death, but he only sees agony on her face. Blood smears her lips, fills her mouth. Her wide eyes stare up at him, dull and empty. Shaking, Danny passes a hand over her eyes, trying to close them. As soon as he removes his hand, her eyelids slide back open. He tries again. They still don't close.

One of the paramedics comes up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, kid. It's not... it's not like the movies. That's not how it works." The paramedic glances back at her partner, a helpless look passing between them.

"I called dispatch," her partner says, speaking softly, but still loud enough for Danny to hear. "Coroner's on the way."

She nods, then turns her attention back on Danny. "I'm sorry but you need to let her go."

Danny squeezes his eyes shut and sobs. Oh, god. Oh, god. He doesn't know what to do. He can't let her go, can't leave her, but she won't stop looking at him with those dead, accusing eyes. Another sob tears through him, and another, each cry ripping him to smaller and smaller pieces. He presses a hand to his mouth, clamping down hard as if he can force the sobs back down his throat if he pushes hard enough.

Belatedly, he notices the taste of copper on his tongue. Danny scrambles away from Valerie, her head dropping with a thump that makes the paramedics wince, and barely makes it two feet before his stomach heaves and he pukes in the street. A hand rubs his back; a soft voice whispers empty reassurances. When Danny finishes puking, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and gasping for breath, he leans back on his heels and looks up at a paramedic. Blinking through his tears, Danny catches her nameplate, C. Vaughan.

"Hey, you're okay," she says.

Danny stares at her incredulously. Okay? How is any of this okay? Valerie is dead. His mind is still reeling. Despite seeing it happen, some part of him can't believe it's real. Someone died during a ghost attack. Not just someone, but Valerie. And she wasn't killed by any old ghost, either. Nothing is okay, and it never will be again.

Because Danny Phantom killed Valerie Gray.

—

It takes nearly twenty minutes for the coroner to arrive. That whole time, Danny refuses to move or even talk. He doesn't approach Valerie's body again, but he can't walk away either. A handful of cops—he's not sure when they arrived—have set up a perimeter around the scene, keeping curious onlookers back. Looking over the line of people crowding against the police tape, disgust swells in Danny's gut. They're treating it like a show, pointing and whispering. Danny, grinding his teeth, glares at them, wanting nothing more than to blast them down the street.

In the throng, he catches a glimpse of Lance Thunder's perfectly coiffed hair.

The scrape of boots on asphalt pulls his gaze from the reporter, and he looks to his right. Vaughan approaches him, a water bottle and a cloth in her hand. She offers both to him. "You should get yourself cleaned up."

Danny stares at the offering blankly.

"Unless you want me to do it for you?"

At eighteen years old, Danny's entire face goes red at the thought of someone cleaning him like that. He snatches the items from Vaughan's hands, soaks the cloth in water, and scrubs at his cheeks. By now, the blood has long since dried, dark red streaks stretching across his cheeks. He remembers how warm it felt when it first splattered across his face.

Danny flinches, hands freezing. It takes him a moment to compose himself, shoving the sensation to the back of his mind, before he finishes scrubbing.

"Careful, or else you'll start peeling for skin off." Vaughan laughs weakly at her joke.

Danny doesn't even crack a smile. His face still feels dirty, but the cloth is more pink than white now, and it doesn't seem to be getting any darker, so he must have gotten all of it. Unsure of what to do with them, he offers the cloth and bottle back to Vaughan.

She takes them, then sits on the curb beside him. Her presence is neither comforting nor annoying, she's just there, a warm body next to him, soaking in his misery.

"It's never easy, finding a body," she says.

Danny holds back a snort. Right. Finding. As if he didn't watch it happen. As if it wasn’t all his fault.

"You're the Fenton boy, right?"

"One and only, last I checked."

"Marty called your parents." She nods toward the ambulance. For a second, Danny thinks she means her partner, the other paramedic, and he's confused about why they would call his parents. But then he realizes she's motioning to the cop standing beside her partner. Every few seconds, Marty the Cop glances his way. "I told him to back off for a bit, but he's gonna ask you a few questions about what happened before you can go."

Danny frowns. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you just found a dead body, and that's a horrible experience to go through, but it also means a bunch of strangers are going to ask you questions about what happened, and I think you should know what's happening before you get into it."

"I didn't find her."

Vaughan raises an eyebrow. "But dispatch said–"

"I was there. I was with her. We were friends."

Vaughan goes silent. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, letting it out slowly. "Oh," she says, packing so much emotion into one soft syllable. Pity, distress, world-weary exhaustion. A hint of anger. Hearing it makes Danny flinch, leaves him winded as if she punched him. Just another ache on top of all his growing bruises. He gets the feeling he's not the first kid she's had to deal with who watched someone die, and he probably won't be the last.

"Yeah," he says.

"Was that your jacket on her?"

Danny nods.

"That was a good thing you did. I can't imagine what's going through your head right now, but I think she would have been happy to have someone with her at the end."

Bracing his elbows on his knees, Danny clutches his head. Vaughan's trying to comfort him, but he finds no solace in her words. She has no idea what she's talking about. The look in Valerie's eyes at the end, seething even as the light drained out of them. His presence brought her no comfort, and he won't be forgetting that any time soon.

Vaughan nudges Danny. "Marty incoming."

He looks up and sees the cop approaching them, beady eyes narrowed on Danny. Marty the Cop keeps a hand on his belt, fingers drumming against his thigh. Inches away from his stun gun, Danny notes. Real quality cops in Amity Park, he thinks.

"Daniel Fenton?" Marty asks.

"No."

"Funny. I know your parents, and I hope you'll be a lot easier to deal with than they are."

"Marty!" Vaughan hisses. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hey, just saying. You know how the Fentons are."

"Have some compassion you heathen."

Marty rolls his eyes. "Daniel. We don't have a procedure for something like this, but I'm gonna need you to come down to the station so I can get a statement. Your parents," he sneers, "will meet us there."

"But Valerie..." Danny trails off. The coroner already has her in a body bag on a stretcher. They're in the middle of loading her into the van, taking her away. Danny watches, numb. A protest nearly rises to his lips, but he holds it back. What does he think that's going to do? They can't leave her in the street, and he can't sit here forever. She's gone and nothing's going to change that.

Marty taps his foot impatiently, staring down at Danny.

Danny waits until the coroner slams the van's back door before answering. "Okay. Let's go."

—

The interrogation room is cold, the metal table raising goosebumps along Danny's arm as he leans against it. Marty brought him here "for privacy." Danny thinks the guy just hates his parents and wants to see him squirm. Danny relishes in disappointing him, far too numb to react to the sombre setting.

"Name?" Marty asks.

"Daniel James Fenton." Danny answers.

"How did you find the deceased?"

"I– I was there. I watched the fight. Um." Danny scrambles for an explanation. "I got stuck in the street, and I saw it."

"Can you describe what happened to me?"

"She and Phantom were fighting some ghosts. I didn't see exactly, but something happened, and Valerie fell off her board. And she–"

"Are you confirming the deceased's identity?"

Danny stares at Marty, confused. The cop had to see her face. She hadn't been wearing her visor when it happened, her head exposed for anyone to see. A good few seconds pass before Danny realizes his mistake. To Marty, Valerie wasn't anybody, just a face behind a mask. Only now does it dawn on him that none of those bystanders were looking at Valerie Gray, a high school student killed tragically. When they saw the body, they saw Red Huntress, a local hero brought down by a foe.

"Yeah. Her name is Valerie Gray. She's a senior at Casper High." Danny says.

Marty's eyes widen minutely. "Your relationship with her?"

Danny starts to say friends, then stops. Would she call him a friend now? He settles on, "Classmates. We were classmates."

Before Danny's eyes, Marty's whole demeanour changes. "Shit, kid," he says. He frowns and rubs his eyes, sighing in a way that makes Danny think of Vaughan. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to see that, and I shouldn't have– just, sorry. I know it must be hard, but can you tell me what happened?"

Danny spares a moment to collect himself. "She, uh. Something happened and she fell, and one of the ghosts. They, it could shapeshift. And it st–stabbed her." Danny swallows, trying to wash away the bitter taste the lie leaves in his mouth. He almost wants Marty to call him out on it, point out the way his fingers twitch or how his gaze jumps around the room as a subtle tell.

Tell me I'm lying, Danny thinks. Make me tell the truth. To his disappointment, Marty just hums and writes Danny's words in his notepad.

"I'm sorry I had to bring you down here," Marty says when he finishes. "Your parents should be here by now."

Danny nods.

Marty doesn't move, staring intently at the table.

"Are we... are we done?" Danny asks.

"Huh?" Marty looks up. "Oh. Yeah, you can go." He still doesn't move.

"Okay..." Danny stands up, shoving his chair back. The metal legs screech on the concrete floor, but Marty doesn't react beyond a reflexive wince. On his way out of the room, Danny hears Marty mutter.

"A high school senior? Damn."

Danny doesn't stick around after that, quickening his steps and hurrying out to the bullpen. As he nears, he hears a commotion, raised voices.

"Where's our son?"

"Sir, he's just being questioned right now."

"Questioned? What for? He's not a criminal."

"It's the procedure, please, sit down."

"It's ghosts is what it is, and that's our business!"

At the end of the hall, Danny lurches to a stop. "Dad!"

Jack turns toward his voice and beams. "Danny!" He puts down the cop he was harassing, setting them back on the floor. Danny's surprised no one tried to cuff his dad for that stunt. Then again, Jack is a good foot taller than the tallest person here, and at least twice as wide. He engulfs Danny in a crushing hug, thick arms wrapped around his shoulders. "They told us something happened with a ghost and the Red Huntress."

"What were you doing out of school, young man?" Maddie scolds from behind Jack. "You can't afford another tardy."

"Valerie's dead," Danny says.

Danny can't see his parent's faces, not with his own pressed against Jack's chest, but he feels Jack tense and hears Maddie gasp.

"Oh, sweetie. That poor girl." Maddie's hand finds its way to Danny's head, brushing his hair softly. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"There was a ghost–"

"A ghost!" Jack releases Danny and steps back, pumping his fists. "Damn ghosts! Which one did it? We gotta get 'em, Mads."

"Of course, dear. But perhaps we should take Danny home first?" Maddie gives Jack's arm a placating pat and tilts her head towards Danny.

"Please?" Danny's voice is soft and pleading to his ears. All he wants right now is to collapse in bed and shut everything out for a few hours. He'd take days if he could manage it, but with his family, tough luck. A part of him hopes no one tells Jazz any time soon, at least not until he's unconscious.

They head out to the RV, Maddie and Jack claiming the front seat while Danny curls up in the back, thankful for the meagre amount of solitude it provides him. His parents' murmuring voices wash over him, lulling him into a daze as they drive—Maddie at the wheel, thank god.

Danny barely believes Valerie's gone. He glances out the window, half expecting to see her streaking across the sky on her board, a blur of black and red. Not even an hour ago, they were exchanging taunts and banter as they beat Spectra and Bertrand back. Neither ghost was much of a fighter. Together, he and Valerie should have taken them, easy, but all their guns and ectoblasts couldn't stop the mental hits from catching them. Out of all his enemies, Danny's never feared anyone like he fears Spectra.

Pariah Dark and Dan? They might be three times his size and ten times as strong, but he knows how to fight ghosts like them. A well-placed hit, a lucky shot, and victory is his. But Spectra? She leaves scars so much deeper than any ecto-burn, ripping him open and dragging every flaw to the surface. Too weak, too pathetic, too confused to fight against her, she overwhelms him more often than not. And now... every taunt she's ever tossed his way comes to mind.

I'm sure you're only half the monster your parents think you are.

Everyone's afraid of being weak, but I've never seen someone meet those expectations so well!

Not everyone is cut out to be the hero.

Turns out, Spectra was right all along.

—

Maddie pulls up outside Fenton Works, idles long enough for Danny to step out of the RV, then peels out with the sound of shrieking treads. "Let's get that ghost, baby!" Jack bellows. And then they're gone, around the corner and out of sight.

Watching the dust settle over the road once more, Danny isn't sure what to feel. He's pretty sure that normal parents wouldn't just leave their freshly grieving son at home alone so they can go hunt ghosts, but when have his parents ever been normal? At this point, Danny doesn't think he could function with regular parents. Growing up, he wished Maddie and Jack were less Fenton, but after nearly two decades, Danny knows how to deal with Fentons. He knows how to be alone when his parents set out seeking vengeance on the local spectres.

Danny heads inside, kicking off his shoes at the door, and instinctively goes to set down his backpack, until he remembers it's still at school, probably in Lancer's classroom. Unless Sam or Tucker grabbed it for him. He flexes his empty hand before letting his arm drop to his side. It's Friday, anyway. He has all weekend to get his backpack back, no matter where it ends up.

Danny goes straight to his bedroom, flopping onto his bed. He should change out of his clothes, still smeared with Valerie's blood, but he doesn't have the energy for it. The thought of getting up and digging through his drawers makes his limbs heavy. But sleeping in the shirt Valerie bled out on... that thought has Danny lurching out of bed. He fumbles about in his laundry basket, grabbing a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. In seconds, he's stripped off the bloody clothes and dressed himself in, at least relatively, clean new ones.

The bloody clothes get shoved under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind. And right now he wants to be out of here. A few hours of sleep where everything else can just fade away sounds great right about now. Finally, Danny slips into bed, pulling his covers up to his chin, and lets sleep take him.

—

Snow crunches under his boots. The afternoon sun glints off the sparkling surface, nearly blinding him. He has to squint and shade his eyes to see properly. Even then, it hurts. Danny shivers, drawing his arms in close. He puffs out frosty clouds with every breath, crystals of ice hanging in the air for a moment before they melt, droplets falling to the ground.

Scanning his surroundings, he tries to find some kind of marker. A building, a sign. He'd even take a tree, anything that isn't snow. But no such luck. It's a flat white field in every direction, stretching well into the horizon.

"Great," he mutters. Of course, he's lost. He can't even remember how he got here. Flying, maybe. Chasing a ghost. Looking down at himself, he sees his familiar white and black jumpsuit, so he already went ghost.

Danny shivers again, his whole body trembling. His jumpsuit might be great against hazardous ectoplasmic materials, but the black boots and gloves, designed for lab work, provide little warmth. His fingers and toes are already numb. The heavyweight fabric making up the rest of the suit is a little better, but not much. He can't remember the last time he felt this cold. Not since before he got his ice powers, at least. Back then, it felt like a blizzard raged within him, full of furious winds and freezing air.

This feels like sinking into the bottom of a frozen lake, where there's nothing to feel but cold and crushed.

"I can't stay here," he says, receiving no answer. Not surprising. Who would answer him out here? Sighing, he gives the horizon another speculative glance and picks a random direction. No matter what way he goes, he has to find civilization eventually, especially if he flies.

Danny takes off into the air, makes it two feet up, then plummets back down and faceplants in the snow.

It takes him a moment to realize what happened. When he does, he jerks his head back, spitting out snow, and stares at the imprint of his face in the ground. Glancing at his chest, he checks again to make sure he's in ghost form. Jumpsuit? Check. Ghostly aura? He can't tell, thanks to all the snow. Even the white of his jumpsuit blends into the field. If anyone is out there, all they would see of him are the black pricks of his boots and gloves.

Pushing himself back to his feet, Danny tries again. And again. And again. Each time earns him the same result, a moment of weightlessness at the apex of his jump, followed by a lurch as he drops back down. After the fifth try, Danny finally admits it. He can't fly. If he wants to go anywhere, it has to be on foot. Dreading the trek ahead, he sets off.

With every step, the cold digs in a little more, sinking its sharp claws into his chest. Breathing hurts. Every inhale he feels ice coating his mouth. Every exhale, crystals sting as they drag across his tongue. Blood wells in his mouth, tinting the mist leaving his mouth pink.

Still, Danny presses on. He can't tell how long he walks for. The sun stays rooted to its place in the sky, almost directly above him, shining pale and blue. He's gotten used to staring at the bright snow, at least, able to keep his eyes open without them hurting, so that's a bonus. Squinting into the distance, Danny finally sees something. It glitters, bright and blue, although that might be the sunlight. Either way, it brings a relieved grin to Danny's face. Bolstered, he takes off running.

At first, it looks like a giant mass, but the closer he gets, the better he can make it out. Spires of ice, hundreds of them, protruding from the earth, like a giant's icy fingers poking through the grave. They sharpen into needle-thin claws at the tips, far above his head.

Danny slows when he reaches the first one. It's as thick as the Fenton RV and taller than any building in Amity Park. He can't help but feel awed, tipping his head back as he stares up to the top. Something tells him this isn't a natural formation. He looks at it and sees an awesome display of power.

"Jealous?" a voice whispers in his ear.

Danny spins toward the noise, but the space beside him is empty. He backs away, eyeing the open air with suspicion. "Who said that?"

Something rushes at his left side. He stumbles back, bumping against the ice, and nearly tumbles into the snow. "Who's there?"

"Imagine what you could do with this kind of strength."

Danny swings at the voice. It cackles and flies away out of reach, but not fast enough for him to miss completely. His knuckles skim something, telling him this isn't in his head. It's real. It's real and he can fight it.

"Just let it out, you'll feel better."

Danny snarls and lunges after the voice. He chases it through the spires, spitting curses and swinging his fists. Every hit misses, but he gets tantalizingly close, feeling cloth and skin brush his knuckles more than once. He loses himself deeper and deeper into the maze, kicking up snow, slipping on the ice.

All the while, the voice taunts him.

"If only you had this power. No one could stand up to you, could they? But you're just so weak."

"I'm not weak!"

Stale breath wafts across his face. Danny recoils, lips curling in disgust at the smell. The figure, inches from him yet still unseen, whispers, "Then why couldn't you save her?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Leave. Me. Aloooooooooooo–" Danny's cry pierces the air. It reverberates throughout the icy maze, shaking spires and cracking the ground beneath his feet. Jagged fissures split the ice, shattering the spires into pieces. All around him, they fall in chunks, smashing against the ground.

The wail echoes long after his breath runs out and the spires have crumbled, leaving him in a field of ruin. He gasps, hungry for air, chest tight and mouth numb. Something drips off his lips. Red drops litter the snow at his feet. Reaching up, he touches his mouth and his fingers come away bloody. It spills down his chin rivulets, fills up his mouth and lungs until he's drowning in it. Choking, Danny stumbles forward. His foot catches on a chunk of ice and he falls forward, barely catching himself on his hands. Blood sprays from his mouth.

"Pathetic."

Danny raises his head. Everything's blurry, but he can just make out Spectra's dark form in front of him.

"No wonder you died," she sneers. Turning her head, she glances at something off to the side.

Danny follows her gaze and sees a single spire still standing, this one far shorter than the others were. He swallows, struggles to take a breath. It comes out raspy and wet. Pushing through the agony, he crawls forward until the spire is inches away. The white of his jumpsuit is stained red, looking more like Valerie's old suit than his. Reaching out, Danny lays his hand on the spire. His reflection doesn't reach back.

Trapped in the ice, lips blue from the cold, Valerie opens her eyes.

—

Danny's head is thrumming when he wakes. The room spins. Blood rushes in his ears. He feels his heart beating against his temple, his chest, his throat. It takes a good minute for everything to settle down, leaving him flushed and dizzy. He throws an arm over his eyes, the fading image of Valerie's glare piercing the darkness.

It was just a dream.

Danny scrubs his face and pushes himself upright, sparing a glance at his alarm clock. Nearly eight a.m. He slept through the whole afternoon and night, and yet exhaustion still drags at him. Too bad, he won't be sleeping again any time soon. Not if that's what waits for him.

As his pounding heart finally quiets, slowing to a steady pace, he hears a soft buzzing. Danny's head swivels, his gaze searching the room for the source. It must be his phone, but he left that at school with his backpack yesterday. And yet, there it is, sitting just inside his bedroom, leaning against the wall by the door. His friends must have brought it for him after all.

He grabs his backpack and digs through the main pouch, finding his phone soon enough. Sam's name appears at the top of the screen. He hesitates before hitting the answer button.

"Hey, Sam," he says.

"Danny! I wasn't sure if you'd be awake. When you didn't come back to school, we thought you had gotten hurt during your fight, and we couldn't call you to check."

"Not quite, I guess." Danny makes a noise, not quite a laugh, less than a groan.

"No one answered the door when I dropped off your bag, so I left it in the flowerbed and texted Jazz. I just found out what happened."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Um, Tucker's with me, actually. Hold on."

Sam goes silent for a moment. As she's distracted, Danny sets his backpack on the floor again and backs up to his bed, dropping on the mattress with a bounce.

"Okay, it's on speaker."

"Hey, Danny," Tucker says.

"I texted him as soon as I heard. We're on our way over now, but I thought we'd call first. See if you were, you know. Okay."

"I'm–" Danny falters. Of course he's not okay; how could Sam even ask that? What does she expect him to say? I saw Valerie die, and it's all my fault, but sure, I'm great! "No, Sam. I'm not."

"Man, I'm sorry you were alone. We should have gone with you," Tucker says.

Danny pales. "No! Oh, god, Tuck, no." He runs the scenario through his head. Sam and Tucker by his side when it happened. Sam and Tucker dead, just like Valerie. If not dead, then... witnesses to his lowest moment. He wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes if they had been there. He's not sure he can look them in the eyes now. "It's better for you that you weren't there."

"But not for you! We should have asked if you needed our help before you left. Maybe we could have–"

"No. You couldn't have known, Tuck. Look, I thought it was the Box Ghost or something, not..." Danny presses a hand to his eyes and takes a sharp breath through his nose. "It doesn't matter. It happened. She's gone."

In the silence that follows, Danny perfectly pictures Sam and Tucker trading worried looks.

"Danny." Sam takes over. "It must have been horrible."

"Yeah, it was." He can practically hear Sam grimacing at that.

"It must have been horrible," she repeats. "It shouldn't have happened. And you never should have seen it. We're still sorry we couldn't be there for you."

Danny squeezes his eyes shut. Why, why are they apologizing? Why are they being nice? They should be screaming at him for letting Valerie die. Four years of ghost fighting and he loses someone now when he's supposed to be at his best, his strongest. Not only couldn't he save her, but he's also the reason she's dead. If anything, Sam and Tucker should have been there in his place, then Valerie would have survived.

"Guys, it's... it's fine."

"No, it isn't. We can talk when we get there if you want to. It might help."

"Actually, I think I want to be alone right now." Guilt pricks Danny's heart, but he means it. He doesn't want to talk about it, and if they're just going to pity him, then he doesn't want his friends with him. At least not right now. "Maybe tomorrow or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just. Need time to myself, to process," he says.

"Okay, if that's what you need."

"Just don't shut us out, okay, man?" Tucker says.

Danny nods, then remembers they can't see him and promises just as much. "I'll be okay."

Sam and Tucker say their goodbyes, neither of them sounding confident. Danny hangs up before they can apologize to him or offer any more condolences. He doesn't deserve their pity.

Tossing his phone away, he stays rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to swallow down the tightness in his throat. It doesn't help much. Instead, pressure builds behind his eyes, and no matter how much he tries to fight it, the tears come unbidden. He cries quietly, biting his tongue to stay silent, like a child fighting not to be heard. He doesn't hear the usual clangs and bangs signalling his parents' presence—perhaps they're out hunting for Valerie's killer once again, unaware he lies in their own home—but Jazz could be here; it was the weekend. He doesn't want her to hear him and come knocking on his door.

So, he turns and falls onto his side, shoving his face into his comforter, and makes as little noise as possible as his entire body shakes. Jazz says crying is supposed to make you feel better, once you're done feeling terrible. Somehow, he can't imagine any good feelings coming from this. The tears stop soon enough, leaving him with a pounding headache, puffy eyes, and, just as predicted, feeling no better than before.

As he struggles to pull himself together, rubbing the tear tracks from his face, he hears footsteps outside his door. He pauses, holding his breath, hoping they will pass by.

They don't. A light knock comes.

"Danny?" Jazz whispers, her voice soft enough that he can barely hear her through the door. For one terrifying moment, he thinks he heard her after all, but then she goes on. "Are you awake?"

He doesn't answer.

Jazz waits for another second or two, then leaves. Danny lets out the breath he was holding and sags in relief. He will have to talk to her eventually, but for now, he wants to be alone. Assured that he will get his wish, for a little while longer at least, he crawls back into bed. With the nightmare fresh on his mind, he has no plans to fall asleep again, and settles on staring at his phone, grabbing it from where he tossed it away by his pillow. Today is a day for being numb.

—

Danny stays in his room all day. At noon, Jazz comes around again, knocking on his door and asking to be let in. He turns her away.

"I just want to be by myself right now," he tells her.

She gives in easily enough. "Okay, that's fine. But don't forget to eat. I'm going to the library and I'll be back later."

"I won't forget," Danny says. And he doesn't. He thinks about it, a lot, but he doesn't have the energy to go downstairs and raid the fridge for food. There might be something in the cupboard, some crackers he can snack on with little effort, but even then, the prospect of heading all the way downstairs stops him. One day of wallowing won't hurt. He's gone longer without food the few times he's gotten stuck in the deepest parts of the Ghost Zone.

Sam and Tucker send him a few texts throughout the day. Word has spread fast about Friday's events. Practically the whole town now knows that Valerie Gray was the Red Huntress, and that Fenton boy was there when she died.

Danny doesn't like Amity's rumour mill, never has. More often than not, the churning gears spew out harsh words about his family. He's heard everything from jabs at his father's intelligence—completely incorrect, Danny would like to see anyone else design a ghost portal—to sly suggestions about Danny's parentage—thanks, Vlad, for gleefully fuelling those—to whispers about how neglectful his parents supposedly are. He can't entirely argue against that last one, but he still doesn't like to hear it.

Horror fills him at what things they might be saying on Valerie's death.

As night approaches and Jazz returns home, Danny has barely moved from his bed. He got up once to go to the bathroom and ended up huddled on the bathroom floor for a good hour, afraid to look in the mirror, plagued by visions from his nightmare. Jazz knocks on his door again, and, again, he feigns sleep, pulling the covers up over his head. Good thing, because this time, instead of walking away when he doesn't respond, she opens the door and peeks inside.

"Oh, Danny," she says. Danny struggles to keep his breathing even as she walks closer, her steps signalled only by the creaking of his floorboards. The bed dips when she sits on the other side, at his back. Her hand rests on his hair, nearly making him flinch.

"I hope you know I'm here for you. It's only been a day, but don't lock yourself away in here. It won't make you feel any better."

He wonders why she's saying all this when he's asleep, as far as she knows. If he hadn't been awake, her words would mean nothing to him. He scowls into his pillow, suddenly decided that they do mean nothing to him. If this is her version of helping, comforting him when he isn't even awake to hear it, then he doesn't want her help. Danny's glad when she leaves.

Sometime later, he's not sure how long, Maddie and Jack come home, too. They make far more noise, or Jack does, stomping around downstairs, grumbling his disappointment at catching no ghosts. They come to check on him, too, but unlike Jazz, they stay at his door, saying nothing, slipping away when they realize he's 'sleeping'.

Danny almost laughs. Sleeping, right. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Valerie falling, hears her scream. Relives the moment over and over again with Spectra's laughter echoing in his ears. If these are the kinds of things plaguing him while awake, he doesn't want to know what else lies waiting in his nightmares, especially after last night. He sits in his room, curled on his bed, and stares at nothing. More than once, he hears Jack and Maddie groaning about the ghost they failed to catch.

"We'll get them, Mads. Don't you worry. No rotten ghost can escape the Fentons for long!"

"That poor girl. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened."

Then why didn't you try and stop it? a traitorous part of Danny's mind whispers. If you knew, why didn't you save her?

A more rational thought breaks through the bitter hisses. And what could they have done? Hunted ghosts more than they already do? Built a permanent containment system so Danny could keep his enemies locked away forever? Put a shield around all of Amity Park to keep the ghosts out?

Yes.

Danny stairs up at his ceiling, blinking slowly as he ponders that revelation. Yes, they could have. If they thought ghosts were so dangerous, if they expected someone to die at their hands eventually, then they should have done something, anything, to stop it. Make something to ward ghosts away, arm citizens with protective gear and weapons, close the fucking portal. They had so many options and they did nothing.

Danny has never hated his parents before. Been mad at them? Yes. Embarrassed by them? Definitely. But hated them? The feeling is so foreign, yet it rushes quickly to fill his entire being, a burning rage that has him clenching and unclenching his fists, holding back a blast of ectoplasm. Furious accusations ring through his head. Why didn't you; how couldn't you; you could have stopped this!

They could have stopped it.

They could have stopped him.

Danny chokes on bitter laughter. It's not funny, but he can't help it. His parents are putting in all this effort to find Valerie's killer, but little do they know, he's living right above their heads. Maybe if they looked at him with the same accusing eye they cast on Jazz whenever she acts a little out of the ordinary, they could have prevented Valerie's death long ago.

He resists the urge to call out, "I'm here! Come get me!" As much as he wants them to turn their weapons on him, the image fills him with terror. It's bad enough staring at them from the bad end of a barrel in ghost mode, but doing it as a human? Telling them he had killed someone? He wants someone to hate him, to scream at him, but at the same time, he can't stand seeing the betrayal in their eyes, realizing that he'd been a ghost all along, the one thing they hate above all else.

Danny whimpers. This is pathetic; he's pathetic. Forget hating his parents, he doesn't think he's ever hated himself this much before. But it still doesn't matter, because it won't bring Valerie back.

—

There's a shadow in Danny's room. He finds it the second day after Valerie's death, when he's nearing forty-eight hours of no sleep. He hasn't tried since yesterday, too afraid of his nightmares, occupying himself with his phone instead. Hell, he even picked up his textbook at one point, when playing games got too boring.

He hasn't eaten yet, despite Jazz's efforts, and barely had anything to drink. Stomach cramps come and go, but the headache stays with him, a combination of dehydration and exhaustion as the fortieth hour without sleep slips by. It's no surprise, then, that he doesn't notice the shadow right away, not until it's solid enough to block out the glow-in-the-dark stars on his wall even though he stares right at it. Each cluster of stars, lovingly placed by his hand, forms a constellation. Together, they mimic the night sky, as well as plastic stars in a square room can mimic the infinite expanse of space. Danny knows the patterns by heart, can trace them with his eyes closed. When he sees two of Cepheus' stars are gone, he realizes something's wrong.

Dragging himself out of his trance, he rubs his eyes, scratchy and dry from staying open so long. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and even then, he has to strain to see... something. It doesn't look like much; a dark cloud blending into the shadows of his room. The shape isn't human, or even ghostly. Just there.

Reaching over to his bedside table, Danny switches on his lamp. Soft orange light fills the room, illuminating the corner. The shadow is still there.

"He–" Danny's voice cracks. He swallows, grimacing at how dry it is. It's been a while since he had something to drink, or eat for that matter. "Hello?" he tries again, once it doesn't hurt to talk.

Anyone else might feel ridiculous talking to a cloud, but Danny's had entire conversations with less. You get used to that sort of thing when you talk to ghosts more than living people.

The cloud doesn't respond or react in any way. Hesitantly, Danny scratches ghost off the list of possibilities. Some kind of Ghost Zone anomaly? Not impossible, considering he lives ten feet above one of the only stable ghost portals in existence. A ghost messing with him? His ghost sense didn't go off, but it only works when an actual ghost is nearby, not an offshoot of their powers.

He can only think of one thing ghost-related that might show itself to him now of all times. He doesn't want to feel hope, but it swells in his chest anyway, bubbling up his throat until a single name bursts from his lips. "Valerie?"

The shadow quivers.

Danny clambers off his bed. "Valerie? Is it really you?"

When he gets close, the temperature plummets. A shiver seizes him, cold fingers curling around his spine.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!"

Something cracks. Danny cries out as pain shoots up his back. He crumples, falling to the floor. It burns the same way sticking your hand in a bowl of ice water burns. He thinks he might shatter any second.

The shadow drifts closer.

"Stay back!" Danny shouts. Rolling onto his stomach, he crawls away, each movement sending searing pain up his back. Fighting back gasps of pain, he manages to drag himself up with his bed and turns on the shadow, still formless, but he has no doubts about its identity now. Valerie's hateful gaze stares out from the darkness.

Danny flees. It hurts, both running from her and just running. Every step feels like someone is driving a dagger deeper and deeper into his back, but he doesn't stop. He darts down the hall to Jazz's room and bangs on her door. Going ghost doesn't even cross his mind. He just needs someone else to see, needs to know this isn't all in his head.

"Jazz!" he shouts quietly.

Jazz rips the door open, a relieved look on her face. "You're out of your room." She takes in his panicked expression and turns serious. "What happened?"

Danny grabs her hand without saying anything and drags her to his room. "Look in the corner."

Jazz stops just in front of his door, glancing back at him; Danny has to prod her back to get her to step forward. She peeks her head in first, moving slow and deliberate. A few more steps and she slips into the darkness of his room. Danny bites his lip, afraid to go after her, slumping against the wall instead. Standing up hurts. Moving hurts. Everything hurts. He tries to slide down to the floor, but that hurts, too, and he resigns himself to standing perfectly still, waiting for Jazz's reaction.

She sticks her head out of his doorway. Rather than looking shocked like he expected, she stares at him with worry. "There's nothing here."

"What?" Danny jerks forward, biting back a wince of pain. Shooing Jazz back, he takes her place, clinging to the doorframe as he leans inside. The corner of his room is empty. A quick scan reveals no shadows out of place. "But..."

"Danny, are you okay? You haven't come out of your room in two days; that's not healthy. Have you been eating?" Jazz raises a hand to his forehead, but he flinches away from her touch.

"It was Valerie. I saw Valerie's ghost."

"Did you ghost sense go off?"

"Well, no. Not really. But it was her!"

Danny hates the way Jazz stares at him, a trace of a frown on her lips, her gaze critical, judging him, analyzing every twitch.

"Danny, you're distraught."

"No shit I'm distraught! Valerie's haunting me, apparently!" And she should. She has every right.

"Is she haunting you, or are you haunted by her?" Jazz asks.

Danny reels away from her, scowling. "What?"

"You're exhausted. You haven't been eating. Have you even changed your clothes since yesterday? Of course, you're thinking about Valerie, but you need to think about yourself, too." She reaches out again.

This time, Danny slaps her hand away, staring at her in disbelief. His lips curl back in a snarl. "That's not what this is. Jazz, I killed Valerie!"

"I know it feels like that, but it's not your fault. Just because you couldn't save her doesn't mean you did it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do, Danny. Stop shouting, you're gonna wake Mom and Dad."

"No, I'm not shouting. You're not listening to me!

"Danny!"

His chest heaves. Breathing through his nose, Danny struggles to contain himself. The hall goes deathly quiet without their voices to fill it.

Jazz's face crumples. She rubs her eyes, wet and on the verge of tears, and stretches toward him once more, but gives up. Her hand hovers for a moment, then drops limp at her side. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. But you need to sleep. You've been in her room alone for too long. Have you even talked to Sam or Tucker today?"

He meant to. He honestly did, having promised the day before to see them today. But when the time came, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He ignored their texts and calls

"Get some sleep. You'll feel better after, and then we can talk tomorrow, okay?" Jazz says.

Tomorrow. He has school tomorrow, doesn't he?

"Goodnight, Danny." But Jazz doesn't leave right away. She shuffles her feet, contemplating something. Before Danny can react, she pulls him into a hug and kisses his forehead. "I love you, little brother."

She lingers for another second, then slips by him and heads back to her room. It isn't until Danny hears the sound of her door closing that he realizes she was waiting for him to say it back. Guilt rushes through him, briefly. He could go say it now, but... he doesn't. He trudges toward his bed instead, pausing just before he reaches int. Turning his head, he peers over his shoulder. The corner is still empty. His gaze slides to the tall mirror beside his desk, leaning against the wall rather than hanging from it.

Slowly, and with shaking hands, he pulls up his hoodie to expose his lower back. There's no mark. It doesn't hurt anymore, either, stopping sometime while he was shouting at Jazz. He didn't even notice.

Danny shakes his head. "You're just seeing things. You're tired. It's been... rough." Valerie's bloody torso flashes through his mind. He hunches forward, a shudder running through his body. "Fuck." He grabs his head, tangled hair catching on his fingers. His scalp stings as his nails dig in, but he doesn't care.

Eventually, he lays down, too tired to hold himself upright. He still tries to fight against sleep's tempting hold, gripping his arms so tight it hurts, clinging to the pain to keep him awake. No matter what, he won't let himself fall asleep.

—

Shards of ice slice his tongue and lips as he breathes. In, out, they glide across his mouth until all he can taste is blood, the shards slowly shredding his throat. He tries to grip his chest but finds a gaping wound instead, wider than his fist. Inside, his heart thumps weakly. One of his lungs, ripped open and slowly filling with blood, sags through the hole. Blood and gore spill down his chest, staining the snow all around him. All at once, he's drowning and bleeding out. Which one will kill him first? He doesn't know.

The lonely spire looms ahead of him, Valerie still trapped inside. She's wearing his jumpsuit. Looking down, Danny sees he's wearing hers. Or maybe he's Valerie, and Danny is the one caught in the ice. Drowning, bleeding, freezing to death.

"Why didn't you save me?" Valerie asks the reflection.

He gurgles in response. Unable to move, he watches, helpless, as his heart stops beating.

—

Danny jerks upright so fast that he tumbles out of bed, smacking his face on the hardwood floor. He barely registers the pain, too busy pressing his hands to his chest. The panic doesn't fade until he feels his pounding heart, strong and steady. There's no hole in his chest, no blood in his lungs. He swallows, pressing a hand against his mouth.

It was just a dream. He fell asleep on accident, that's all. He's fine. He's not hurt. There's no blood. Right as he finishes that thought, he notices the scarlet splatter on his floor.

Danny's stomach lurches. Scrambling to his feet, he rushes to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He barely makes it to the toilet before his stomach heaves, acid burning his throat as it makes its way up. There's nothing in his stomach to throw up, but that doesn't stop the heaves from coming, dry wretches tearing at his throat. Nearly a minute passes before Danny finally stops, able to catch his breath at last. Blood and bile swirl in the water and the sight of it almost has him throwing up again. He looks away from the bowl and scoots back to the wall, unable to take the smell, but unable to stand. His legs tremble too hard.

Shaking fingers rise to his mouth and touch his lips. No ice. No cuts. The only taste on his tongue is vomit. Danny swallows, and the motion makes his nose ache. Wincing, he raises his hand a little higher. His nose is bleeding, not his mouth. He swallows again and rubs his nose on his arm, leaving a bright red streak behind.

Danny can't bear to look at it. He's used to blood, especially his own after fighting for so many years. But right now it makes his stomach churn. It makes him think of that fight, of Valerie and watching her fall. He swallows again and breathes, heavy, through his mouth. His nose feels stuffed and warm, and it's definitely still bleeding. Rather than taking care of it right away, he closes his eyes and shudders. It happened so fast. He barely had time to move, much less to try and catch her. By the time he realized what was happening, it was already too late. He saw her body plummeting, and then...

Phantom blood sprays across Danny's face, hot and thick. He jerks back, thumping his head against the wall. His cheeks grow warm. Blood drips from his nose onto his lips, and the taste of copper fills his mouth. Valerie's blood is everywhere. On the ground, on him. Soaking into his gloves and staining his face. Danny wheezes, struggling to take in air. His chest heaves, and he can feel his body going through the motions, but it's like the air disappears somewhere between his mouth and his lungs. No matter how much he gasps and gulps, it's never enough. His lungs burn. His head aches. The bathroom tiles are slick and red, and the whole room tilts around him.

Fighting back a sob, Danny crawls forward. He grabs the counter and drags himself up. His legs, quivering, barely hold him, but it's enough. He fumbles with the sink tap, twisting it hard and nearly yanking it off the faucet. Over and over, he splashes water across his face. Scrubbing around his nose hurts, but he keeps going, rubbing furiously to get rid of all the blood. He doesn't stop until the water, on the coldest setting, makes him shiver. By then, the front of his shirt is soaked, and his hair is dripping wet.

Leaning over the sink, Danny takes a moment to breathe. It comes easier now, the air finally reaching where it's supposed to go, although his face still hurts. After a moment, he looks up at his reflection. His nose is a little red, but there's no more blood on his face.

Danny's cheeks flush. It was never Valerie's blood, just his own. He feels ridiculous, embarrassed, for getting so panicked over a bloody nose. Shifting his gaze to the floor, he sees only a few small spots on the tiles, not the seeping puddle that plagued his imagination.

"You're being stupid, Fenton," Danny says. "And now you're talking to yourself. Like an idiot."

He washes his face one more time, using warmer water and less frantic movements, as if that erases the panic he felt moments ago. Cleaning up his mess doesn't take long. Wipe away the spots on the floor with a few squares of toilet paper; toss that in the toilet and flush it away, along with the vomit. A quick swipe with the hand towel takes care of the water on the counter. He squeezes out his hair and strips off his shirt, too, bundling it up in the towel, and chucks both in the hamper. He's too exhausted to clean the blood out of it now, especially with the prospect of school looming over him. Maybe he'll get to it later. Or, worse comes to worst, he can just throw it away if the blood won't come out.

Before leaving the bathroom, he presses his ear to the door, listening for movement outside. He can't hear his parents. Chances are they already left, out for ghostly blood in the pre-dawn hours. It doesn't sound like Jazz is home, either. It is Monday, and she likes to leave early for college, spending the whole day on campus to focus on her work.

Holding his breath, he eases the door open and peers into the hall. Empty. He almost smiles, thankful no one was home to hear his breakdown, and shoves the door open the rest of the way.

Jazz stands on the other side of it, arms crossed. "Danny. We need to talk."

He grimaces. "Do we?"

"I could hear." She gives the bathroom a pointed look, a flash of guilt passing over her face; it's gone soon enough, almost too fast for Danny to catch it. "Whatever you're doing to yourself, you can't keep doing it. Hiding away and keeping everything locked up won't help.

Danny opens his mouth, then closes it. What do you say to someone who heard something so private when you didn't want them to? "You were listening?" Immediately, he decides that was the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words leave his lips, Jazz's shoulders sag and she gives him a pitying smile. He should have played dumb.

"It's okay to cry. You saw something terrible, and you're hurting. I'd be more worried if you didn't cry. But don't think I forgot what happened last night. You're allowed to be alone, of course, but shutting everyone out isn't healthy. Especially not if you're... seeing Valerie." She wrings her hands, a familiar nervous habit. She does it every time she's about to launch into one of her psycho-babble spiels and isn't sure if it's welcome or not. Well, it isn't.

Danny's eyes narrow. "Unhealthy?"

"Personal space is good, but total solitude after a traumatic experience can be damaging. I don't want you to be alone."

"Unhealthy?" he repeats. "I think ki– I think watching Val-Val-Valerie." He swallows down the stutter, cursing how much his body still shakes. His mind, a jumbled mess, can barely string two words together, much less deal with Jazz right now. "I think that watching Valerie fall. To her death. Is unhealthy. You know? I think that's a little fucked up, don't you?"

Jazz steps closer, reaching out, but seems to think better about it a second later, drawing her hands back. "Danny, just listen to yourself. If you need time, that's okay, but don't forget that I'm here for you."

"It hasn't even been two days!"

Jazz flinches away from his shout.

"I'll be fine." Danny lowers his voice but keeps the hard edge in his tone. "Just let me deal with it however I want to. If I want to talk, I'll talk to you, okay?"

"Danny, don't be like this."

"You're gonna be late for class, Jazz. And so am I." Danny turns away from her. "I have to go get ready."

She steps after him, but Danny doesn't turn back, shutting his bedroom door and locking it behind him. He hears Jazz make a distressed noise, halfway between a whine and a groan. After a moment, she thumps down the stairs. The front door doesn't open, meaning she's still in the house, but Danny will take what he can get. If he leaves quick enough, it won't matter.

He dresses fast, replacing his sweatpants with a pair of jeans, but keeps his hoodie on. He hasn't taken that off for three days, now, but it smells fine to him. And it's dark enough that you can't see the blood from his nose.

Danny scrubs his eyes. He may have preferred not sleeping at all, but he can't deny that he needed rest. Although, he at least would have liked to choose to sleep. Last, he remembers from the night before, he had no intentions of falling asleep. Danny frowns. Why didn't he want to sleep? Besides the obvious nightmares. Wasn't there another reason?

He runs his hand over his upper arm, gently brushes the bruises there, struggling to remember why he did it in the first place. He presses one of the purpling spots, wincing at the way it throbs, then freezes. The shadow.

Danny's head snaps up and he zeroes in on the corner of his room. It's empty. Cepheus' constellation meets his gaze unbroken. In an instant, he wilts with relief, shoulders slumping and head dipping down. He must have imagined the whole thing, exhausted as he was. Thank god. Now is not a good time for strange shadows in his room.

He gladly shoves the entire debacle into the back of his mind and rushes out of the house before Jazz can catch him again.

—

Danny miscalculated. Avoiding Jazz is easy, thanks to school. Not that he wants to go in the first place, but he can't afford to skip, and there's no way Jazz would protest against him going, not with his bad grades. So, school doesn't have Jazz. But school does have Sam and Tucker, who Danny has been ignoring.

Peeking at his phone, Danny winces at the overwhelming amount of missed calls and unanswered texts. He feels guilty for not answering them, but... he didn't want to. He just wanted to sit in his dark room and forget. Even now, that's all he wants. If it weren't for Jazz and his already disappointing attendance record, he would still be at Fenton Works, curled up on his bed. Which probably isn't good. His sister is a psych major, he knows harmful behaviour when he sees it. Primarily because Jazz points his harmful behaviours out all the time. You throw yourself into danger too much. You're stretching yourself too thin. You need to take a break.

He sneers at the sidewalk. Right. A break. Because that would have kept Valerie alive. Not that Danny's presence did anything to save her, either. He bites the inside of his cheek, not hard enough to draw blood—he doesn't want that taste back in his mouth for a long time—but enough to be distracting, cutting off that thought before it can go any further.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Valerie's gone and that's it. There's nothing more to it. She's gone and she's not coming back. For someone who fights ghosts, literal dead people, on a near-daily basis, you would think Danny could handle death better than this. He knows most of his enemies were once living, breathing people who died in tragic ways. Danny was once a living, breathing person who died in a tragic way. He just skipped out on the "stop breathing" part of things.

He faces mortality every day, every time he goes ghost. So why can't he face this? Why is this any different than any other day?

Because it was his friend, and he saw it, and he couldn't stop it. Because it was his fault.

Danny cups his mouth and chokes on a sob. He doesn't want to do this here, in the middle of the street. Or at all, if he could just not. But apparently, the rest of him thinks this a great time to breakdown, because the tears come unbidden, spilling over his cheeks. Ducking his head, he hurries forward. The faster he gets to school, the faster he can lock himself in the bathroom, or the janitor's closet, or anywhere without prying eyes.

The tears blur his vision, turning his feet into red smudges against the grey sidewalk. He doesn't dare lift his head, just in case anyone sees him. Thankfully, he doesn't need to watch where he's going to make his way to school. After four years, the route from Fenton Works to Casper High is firmly etched into his brain

Danny wipes some of the tears away with his sleeve when he reaches the school grounds, pausing to compose himself as much as he can. After a few deep breaths and swallowed sobs, he feels well enough to storm the student body. With any luck, he can hold himself together long enough to make it to the bathroom.

Before he can step from the sidewalk onto the schoolyard, someone grabs Danny and pulls him aside. Stunned, it takes him a moment to realize what has happened, even as Tucker's arms wrap tightly around him.

"Dude, we've been so worried." Tucker squeezes Danny tighter. His voice is thick and watery. "Jazz said you wouldn't come out of your room, and you wouldn't answer our texts. Just– god, it must have been so awful. Man, I can't imagine."

Finally, Danny registers what's happening. Tucker's hugging him, and crying into his shoulder. This is bad. Tucker shouldn't be doing that. Tucker is... Tucker is good, and Danny did something horrible. Tucker shouldn't be comforting him.

"I–" Danny falters. Inside, he's screaming. Say it. Say it's your fault. Make him hate you. You deserve it. "Tuck, you–"

He can't say it. Instead, Danny reaches up, grabbing Tucker's arms, and carefully pulls them off his shoulders. He steps back, squeezing Tucker's wrists once, before letting go and looking away.

"I'm okay. You, I know you liked her. And she was our friend. How are you?" Danny asks.

"Dude. You liked her too, and you were actually there. You're not okay."

Danny bites his lip, unsure how to respond to that. It's true, but he deserves this. Tucker doesn't. "But you–"

"Guys!" Sam—when did she even get there?—cuts him off. "Just be sad together, okay?"

Danny glances at her, then away, then back again, shocked. Her eyes are red. In all the years they've known each other, he can't remember ever seeing Sam cry, even when she broke her ankle fighting Technus that one time. The most she did then was swear up a storm before punching the ghost barehanded. It didn't exactly do much to Technus, but Sam looked damn proud of herself afterward.

Right now, she looks downright distraught. Danny wonders how many of her tears were for him, and how many were for Valerie. They may not have gotten along a lot of the time, but they were still friends. He hopes she cried for Valerie more, although he'd rather she not cry at all. He doesn't know what to do when a girl cries

"But," Sam shares a glance with Tucker, one Danny doesn't like, "seriously, Danny. Are you okay? We heard how it went down."

Danny pales. Did they know? How? By the time anyone else arrived, he already had Valerie in his lap, her skin cold as ice.

"It was Spectra and Bertrand, right?" Tucker says. "They said that one of them... well, they..." He motions vaguely around his torso.

"Tucker!" Sam slaps his hands down.

Danny looks away again, hiding the relieved look on his face. They don't know. Guilt and shame quickly wash the relief away. He should tell them. Or Valerie's dad. Danny rubs his eyes, a new tension pressing down on him. He hadn't even thought of Valerie's dad.

Did Marty the Cop call him? He must have, after Danny left. By then, Mr. Gray may have already seen the news. God, that must have been horrible, turning on the TV to see Lance Thunder reporting his daughter's death before he even knew about it. Although Sam and Tucker hadn't known until the day after. Maybe Mr. Gray remained ignorant, too, until Marty could break the news gently. He hopes so.

"Danny?" Tucker reaches out and touches Danny's shoulder.

Danny steps away. For a moment, he's glad he's not looking Tucker's way. He doesn't want to see the hurt expression on his best friend's face.

"I'm okay," Danny says because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head, perhaps a little too aggressively.

"It might help," Tucker presses. "Doesn't Jazz say–"

"Fuck what Jazz says."

Tucker and Sam recoil at the harsh words. Danny feels another stab of guilt but doesn't apologize. It's only been three days and he's already such a mess. The thing in his room yesterday, the nightmare, his panic attack in the bathroom this morning. That’s what it was, wasn't it? A panic attack? He's had them before, but not like that. Usually, he feels empty and distant, like there's a gaping hole growing inside him, slowly swallowing him up. This time, Valerie's the one with the hole in her chest, and it's left Danny a shaking mess.

"You don't have to tell us anything," Sam says. Her tone is soft and understanding, as if she understands any part of what Danny's going through. "But if you ever want to talk about it, we're here for you."

"I don't," Danny says. "I can't. Just drop it, please?"

Sam and Tucker share another look, just as bad as the last, but say no more. A small mercy in Danny's eyes. He gives them an hour at most before they bring it up again, and that's being generous.

"Okay. But I'm sorry we weren't there," Tucker says.

An hour was very generous.

"It doesn't matter now. It's better you weren't there." Danny runs a hand through his hair, only able to meet Tucker's sad stare for a moment. He still wishes he had made it into the school before Sam and Tucker found him, but their little confrontation drove back his tears, at least. Now, he can't quite figure out what he's feeling. Sad? Yes. Guilty? Always. A little angry, too, but he doesn't know why. His friends haven't done anything bad.

A sourness fills Danny's mouth, making his lips pucker. Bitter feelings squirm through him, like a worm eating its way through an apple. He can't control it, but he's constantly aware of its wriggling presence. Talk about being a bad apple.

"Class is gonna start soon. Let's just go inside." Danny turns his back on them and sets off, ignoring the sting behind his eyes. The faster this day gets over with, the better. Then again, he's not looking forward to sleep tonight. He should go for a long flight instead, or maybe dip into the Ghost Zone to visit his allies, as few as they are. Anything to keep him from having more nightmares.

Danny keeps his head ducked as they walk. Sam and Tucker fall into step beside him, their elbows brushing his from time to time. He doesn't pull away, but only because the hallway is cramped and there's nowhere for him to pull away to. Eager to escape the crush of teenage bodies, he heads straight for Lancer's classroom, skipping a visit to his locker even though there are books inside that he needs. His only plans for class today are to duck his head and get through it without any more crying, and books won't help with that.

Sam and Tucker stick with him, much to his disappointment. He hoped they would break away and stop at their lockers, giving him a short reprieve from their presence. Unfortunately for him, they seem content without their books for now, or they already grabbed them before Danny arrived. The last thought doesn't sit well with him. It means they were lying in wait outside the school for his arrival. While he knows they worry about him, he doesn't enjoy falling into traps, no matter how emotionally supportive they're meant to be.

The halls are still full, thrumming with chatter, by the time they reach Lancer's classroom. It will be a good few minutes before the warning bell rings, so most students haven't bothered moving away from their lockers, instead gathering in tight-knit groups. Before stepping into the classroom, Danny pauses, lifting his hand, and gives the hall a once over. He's not surprised by what he sees. Curious, pitying eyes staring at him. Hands cupped around mouths, carrying whispers between friends. Valerie's name floats in the air.

"Did you hear–"

"–found her–"

"Totally gutted."

"–the Red Huntress all along."

Danny looks away all too quickly, their stares too heavy for him, and hurries into the shelter of Lancer's classroom.

Lancer looks up when they enter, his eyes widening in surprise. "Mr. Fenton?" His chair squeals when he pushes away from his desk too quickly.

"Yeah?" Danny shuffles his feet. Lancer has this way of looking at Danny like he knows much more than he should. It sets him on edge on the best days. Right now, it makes Danny's heart pound, each thump beating out a damning he-knows, he-knows, he-knows.

"You're here?"

"Uh..." Danny glances at the clock. "I know I'm earlier than usual."

"No, no, I mean." Lancer shakes his head. "Are you...?" He looks between Sam and Tucker. "May I speak to Mr. Fenton alone?"

Danny hopes his nod doesn't look as eager as it feels.

Lancer waits until Sam and Tucker leave, closing the door behind them, before turning to Danny.

"Daniel," he starts, then hesitates, which is never a good sign. "How are you?"

Danny opens his mouth, the words I'm fine already resting on his tongue. At the last moment, he pauses. Lancer looks concerned, yes, with his furrowed brows and tight frown, but it's different from how everyone else has looked at him. Not like Jazz trying to tell him how feels and what he should do. Not like Sam and Tucker pretending they understand when they don't. A far cry from his parents, who have barely spent two minutes with him since it happened.

Lancer doesn't elaborate, doesn't try to placate him. Doesn't offer shallow words of comfort. He simply asks.

"I–I'm, I'm not okay," Danny says.

Lancer nods as if he expected this. He probably did. "I saw on the news that you found her. You went through something traumatic, and I can't begin to understand that. Am I right to assume you aren't ready to talk about it?"

Words fail him, his tongue weighed down by relief. He nods vigorously instead.

"I thought as much. With that in mind, no one would fault you for not coming to school today."

Danny's mind goes blank. He stares at Lancer, blinking owlishly, as confusion fills his gaze.

"Your mental health is more important than school," Lancer goes on when Danny doesn't say anything. "I can speak to the other faculty members about your absence. And if you want to take a few more days, you can have your parents call the school. I'll make sure this doesn’t affect your grades."

Grades are the last thing on Danny's mind right now. "I can really do that?"

"After the Storm, Mr. Fenton, of course you can." Lancer sounds as surprised as Danny feels. "Mental health days are important. I've spoken to your parents about them a few times at parent-teacher conferences. Have they never mentioned it?"

"No."

Lancer frowns. "Well. You know about them now."

Danny stares down at his feet, amazed. He can just... not come to school if he isn't feeling well? And not just because he's injured or sick? And Mr. Lancer is encouraging it? Danny looks over his shoulder, catching Sam and Tucker spying through the classroom window. They offer him shaky smiles and hesitant waves.

Danny turns back to Lancer. "I really don't have to be at school today? Or tomorrow?"

"Or even the week. Not if you aren't ready for it. Some people might tell you otherwise, but as your vice principal, I fully endorse taking time off after such an experience. Should I tell the other teachers you'll be absent today?"

"Yes! Please, yes. I can't be here right now. It's... too much." Surprisingly, admitting that doesn't make Danny feel weak.

"Would you like me to call your parents to pick you up?"

"Mr. Lancer, I'm eighteen. I don't need my parents to pick me up."

"Whether you're eighteen or eight-hundred, it helps to have someone with you when you're dealing with something like this. Seeing as Jasmine should be in class, and both your friends are here, I think your parents suffice."

"Jazz is at home, actually," Danny says, leaping at the excuse. "No class today. Her professor is out. I'd rather walk home, but she'll be there, so it's okay."

Lancer purses his lips, then nods. "Alright, I'll let everyone know. Please take care of yourself, Daniel."

"Thank you, Mr. Lancer, I will." Danny rushes out of the classroom, eager to leave the school grounds before the bell rings. He brushes past Sam and Tucker on his way out.

"Hey, Danny, wait!" Tucker calls after him.

Danny doesn't want to stop, but he also doesn't want to be an ass, so he slows down instead, letting Tucker catch up. Sam stays back by Lancer's door.

"Where are you going?" Tucker asks as he falls into step with Danny.

"Home. Lancer said I could take a mental health day."

"Oh." Tucker falters. Danny doesn't wait for him, forcing Tucker to jog to catch up again. "Do you need one?"

Danny glares at him.

"Sorry, that was. Right. Yeah. Of course." Tucker flushes. "I mean, you said you were okay, and I want to believe you dude, but if you need a mental health day... Well, you know."

"Tucker." Danny finally stops, only inches from the front door. "Can you do something for me?"

"Yeah?" Tucker smiles.

"Leave me alone. No offence, but I need to be alone right now. It's hard."

Tucker's smile shatters. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure thing, man. I get it. Just don't take too long, okay? I'm worried."

Danny smiles, eyes empty and mouth wide. "Everyone is." With those final words, he leaves the school, and Tucker, behind.

—

Instead of going home, Danny wanders. He has no particular destination in mind, only knows he doesn't want to go home yet. Something is refreshing about walking aimlessly through Amity Park. By now, he's more used to seeing the streets from above rather than ground level. Everything looks familiar, but a little off from what he knows.

It reminds him of fourth grade when he missed the bus one day and his dad had to drive him to school. They took the most direct route, complete with hairpin turns and broken speed limits, arriving at the school well before Danny's bus did. But for Danny, the strangest thing about that day was seeing the school from a different angle.

Normally, the bus drove along the main street in front of the school, pulling into the drop-off zone by the doors. Jack drove Danny around the back, skirting around the soccer field, and pulled up alongside the school around the corner from the drop-off. That side of the school, facing the side street, was opposite the playground. As a fourth-grader, Danny had no reason to go to this side of the school. He almost didn't recognize the building when his dad pulled up, distracted by the unfamiliar windows and the narrow wedge of grass between the wall and the sidewalk.

Seeing Amity Park from the ground makes Danny think of that day. Everything is recognizable, but foreign at the same time. Outside ghost hunting, he doesn't have a reason to explore most of the city besides his usual haunts. Trying to navigate the familiar streets from an unfamiliar angle provides a welcoming distraction as he searches for landmarks he knows. Antennas on rooftops, billboards looming overhead, cornices encasing the highest floors.

Danny is eying a fresco on top of a stout three-storey building, unsure if he's seen it before or not, when his ghost sense goes off. The shiver seizes him for a moment, and he has to push down a wave of panic. He’s not sleeping, it's just a ghost. There's no reason to panic. He berates himself for being scared of something less tangible than the freaking Box Ghost. A simple nightmare is far from the scariest thing he's seen over the years; but, for some reason, it affects him in a way no ghost ever has.

Danny shakes his head. The ghost. Focus on the actual threat. A quick scan of the street to make sure no one's watching, then he dives into the closest alley, ducking behind a dumpster. Not the most glamourous place to transform, but it works.

"Going ghost!" he calls, pumping himself up. The transformation rings spark around his waist, quickly growing to their full size, and split apart with a sizzling hiss. His jumpsuit overtakes his everyday clothes as the rings spread. The rings rise above his shoulders, passing over his raised fists. Bloodstained gloves appear on his hands.

The world goes grey around him, his vision tunnelling. Danny gapes at his gloves. Blood. Valerie's blood. It's everywhere. On his gloves, his chest, his face. Seeping across the ice. Danny drops to his knees, gripping his head as the alley fades around him. Spears of ice circle him. Valerie's body lies in front of him, twitching. Blood bubbles from her mouth as she struggles to breathe, a futile effort thanks to the hole in her lungs.

Danny tries to staunch the flow, so panicked he drops his transformation, but it's not helping. The wound stretches wider than his palms. He presses too hard, his hands slipping in the blood. His palm touches something firm but it’s neither flesh nor bone. It thumps. Danny jerks back, yanking his hand out of Valerie's wound.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" he cries. His tears are lost in her blood. He never knew people had so much blood in them, but now it's everywhere, and all Danny sees is red.

He meets her dull gaze, watches her eyes fluttering. Valerie's lips move, but no sound comes out, barely even the wheeze of air. Blood bubbles at the corner of her lips. She chokes and bleeds out all at once, and Danny can't do anything but hold her.

—

Hunched over on the asphalt, Danny hacks and coughs, clutching his stomach as bile dribbles from his lips. Valerie is gone, was never there in the first place. He lets out a soft cry of pain, all thoughts of the ghost abandoned. This is all so wrong. Things were never supposed to turn out this way, and now, Danny can't even transform without panicking.

"Valerie." Danny's voice cracks as he sobs into the pavement, the rough ground pressing against his forehead. The alley reeks of garbage and vomit. His whole body hurts. It feels like he's being torn apart inside, and that's still only half the pain Valerie must have felt. She deserved so much better.

Distantly, Danny hears the wail of the Fenton RV, the sound of the rumbling engine filling up every crack and crevice of the street. His mother's voice echoes over the loudspeaker. "You ectoplasmic evil-doer! Suffer for what you did to that poor girl!"

A voice in Danny's mind hisses, I am.

He rolls onto his side, unable to stay hunched over his own sick puddle, but too weak to do anything more. A traitorous part of him thinks maybe he should have talked to Jazz after all, but a louder, more insistent part screams no. She can never know what he did. None of them can. They should hate him, but he can never tell them why. He couldn't live with himself if they knew. He can barely live with himself now.

Danny listens to his mother scream at the ghost, silently hoping that, whoever it is, they escape his parents' clutches safe and sound. He hears the boom of the Fenton bazooka, but no cries of victory or shouts of pain. Small mercies.

A shiver runs through him. Something black flickers in the corner of his vision. Danny thinks he's about to fall unconscious, familiar with the dark spots that often precede it. The flickering doesn't stop.

Danny's breath catches in his throat. Achingly slow, he turns his head to the mouth of the alley. The shadow hovers there, and it's slowly drifting closer. Danny tries to scramble back, but his trembling arms can't hold his weight. His shivers grow stronger, making his teeth chatter and his fingers go numb. He hugs himself, fighting back the chill as the shadow approaches, but it forces its way through him. A puff of glowing blue hair leaves his mouth.

"Oh, wow! The ghost boy, cowering before the power of corrugated cardboard vengeance!"

Danny starts and twists toward the intruder. The Box Ghost—of course it's the Box Ghost—is poking his head out of the wall, smiling gleefully down at Danny. He comes through all the way, revealing the Fenton RV's overhead speaker in his arms. At least that explains where his mother's voice has gone.

"That's not cardboard. And it's barely square," Danny wheezes. His gaze flickers back to the alley's entranceway. The shadow is gone.

"Well, it's mine now and you can't have it back." The Box Ghost sticks out his tongue and raises the speaker above his head. But rather than chucking it at Danny, he sets it on his shoulder and floats closer. A strange look crosses his face, one Danny can't immediately decipher. The Box Ghost's brow pinches and his eyes narrow, lips pressed into a firm line.

He's being serious, Danny realizes.

"Something awful happened, didn't it?" the Box Ghost asks.

"What?"

"Only something great and terrible could bring down the sworn enemy of me, the Box Ghost!" He lowers his voice to a more conversational volume. "And not everyone gets haunted by such twisted shadows."

Danny snorts. "That's awfully philosophic coming from you. I'm surprised you didn't squeeze a portent about the glory of boxes in there."

The Box Ghost simply frowns. "You are a strange child. I hope your shadow leaves soon so I may battle you again, at full strength! As all rivals do!"

"Wait, what?" Danny sits up. "What do you mean?"

"Farewell, weirdo!"

"Wait!" Danny shouts, but the Box Ghost is already gone. Danny stares after him, bewildered. "It's real?" The empty alley provides no answer. Danny draws his knees in close and cranes his neck, inspecting the alley. Nothing stands out. No shadows where they shouldn't be. No hidden wraiths. But the Box Ghost's words nag at him. The shadow is real after all.

One sighting he can brush off as exhaustion. Two he can blame on the mental stress. But the Box Ghost knowing it's there without seeing it? He couldn't ignore that. Maybe only real ghosts could see it, see her. She could be anywhere, and Danny wouldn't know.

He scrambles to his feet and backs against the wall. The back of his neck prickles, but he can't tell if it's real or his mind playing tricks over him, tripped into overdrive by his panic attack and the Box Ghost's unsettling words. As he scans the alley once more, something shifts in the corner of his eye. Danny peels away from the wall, jumping into a ready pose, fists raised, feet apart, fully prepared to fight.

A plastic bag. A plastic bag stuck under the dumpster, fluttering quietly in the rank alley breeze. Danny flushes and lowers his fist. If a damn grocery bag is enough to set him on edge, then he's really losing it. It's not even noon yet, but he thinks he's had enough of his walk for today. Getting some real sleep might do him some good, nightmares be damned. Or he could raid the medicine cabinet for some sleeping pills when he gets home. There might be some leftover from his dad's last prescription.

Plan set, Danny shuffles out of the alley. He barely makes it three steps along the sidewalk before the Fenton RV comes ripping around the corner. A tangle of sparking wires rests over the windshield, marking where the speaker had sat before the Box Ghost tore it out. Maddie stands on the roof, defying all laws of physics as she stays firmly rooted despite how erratic Jack drives. A Fenton Bazooka rests on her shoulder, the barrel smoking.

"We might need to circle the block again, honey. I don't see it," she shouts down to Jack.

Danny ducks behind a nearby mailbox, hoping his parents don't see him, but it's futile. From her place on the RV, Maddie has a perfect view of the street. When she turns toward Danny, he catches the exact moment she sees him, her grip on the bazooka slackening. She stomps on the roof of the RV, then braces herself as Jack slams on the brakes.

Maddie pulls her goggles down. "Danny, sweetie, what are you doing here? Don't you have school?"

"Uh, I, I'm," Danny stutters. It's the first time he's seen his parents since the police station. They look the same as ever, which he should have expected, but somehow, he thought they would be different the next time he saw them. Glaring at him from the bad end of a bazooka, perhaps. But instead of raising the gun and pointing it at him, Maddie sets the bazooka down and hops off the RV.

Danny doesn't want to tell the truth. Right now, Maddie and Jack are acting the same as they always do, and he didn't realize how much he needed that until now. When he looks at them, he sees the familiar level of parental concern they always bear, which is minimal at best. Thinking about it, that's pretty terrible, isn't it? He watched one of his friends die, and instead of staying at home and comforting him, his parents are out hunting ghosts.

Danny wavers between anger and appreciation. His parents aren't bad, but they aren't good either, are they? He doesn't want them pestering him like everyone else is, but maybe he would at least like them to try. To act as if they care. He knows they do, they do, and it's stupid being mad about something he wants, but he's mad anyway.

Maybe it's Valerie's ghost, or the two panic attacks in one day, but something makes Danny glare up at his mom and say, "Well, I've been a little fucked up since I got Valerie killed, so I decided not to go to school." Acid fills the words as he spits them out, begging for a reaction. He gets one, but not the one he wants.

Maddie steps closer and wraps her arms around Danny. "Oh, sweetie, you should have told us. Does the school know? Do we need to call them?"

Danny squirms out of his mother's grasp. "What?"

"Would helping us catch the ghost that did this make you feel better? Your father and I have been looking ever since we heard," she continues.

"Did you even hear what I said?"

"I know. We should have brought you with us from the start, but we thought you might want some time alone first. She was such a nice girl."

"Mom. I swore. I skipped school. Valerie's dead because of me!"

Maddie drags him into another hug. "Oh, sweetie. I know it feels like that, doesn't it? But just because you couldn't save her, that doesn't mean it's your fault. You were with her at the end, and that must have meant so much to her."

This time, Danny doesn't pull away, too stunned to think of moving. She should be shouting at him, scolding him, not coddling him like some kid. How can she hear him say that and think he's exaggerating?

Jack leans out the RV window, smiling sadly at the pair. "Want us to drive you home, kiddo?"

Danny bites his tongue. Briefly, he considers turning down the offer, but his legs are shaking again, and his mom's hand running through his hair brings him back to sick days in elementary school when she would sit with him all day and watch cartoons. Danny melts, although his anger doesn't disappear; it slinks away to a dark cave, giving up on the fight for now.

"I want to go home," he says.

Maddie hums, shifting her hold from a hug to an arm over his shoulder, and guides him into the RV.

"It'll get better," Jack says.

Danny doesn't answer, curling up on the backseat with his arms around his knees. When he looks out the window, he spots a blurry form in the alley. As they pull away, Danny watches the shadow until it's out of sight. A question forms in his mind.

"Mom, how long does it take for a ghost to form?"

Maddie turns in her seat. "What brought this on?"

Eyes downcast, Danny shrugs.

Maddie hums in understanding. "Well, it depends. Not everyone that dies becomes a ghost. We've done some studies of how long it takes a spectral mass to reach conscious levels after first recording its presence. So far, it can take anywhere from a few seconds to up to a week."

"And until then?" Danny presses.

"We've only managed to properly record one spectre's creation process from beginning to end. But from our notes, they appear to take a lesser non-corporeal form that barely even registers on our instruments until they're strong enough to manifest. Until then, they can't do much. We barely even saw the ghost until it manifested." Maddie smiles at Danny, in a manner that she probably meant as reassuring, but just looks sorry to him. "I hope this helped."

"Yeah." Danny nods. "Yeah, it does."

—

Danny doesn't check for the shadow when he gets home. It might be there, but he doesn't care to check. He refuses to acknowledge it. Instead, he raids his parents' medicine cabinet, finds the sleeping pills, and takes two before collapsing on his bed.

—

Valerie glares at him from within her icy prison. Danny knows it's a dream this time, and he thinks it's a little uncreative of his subconscious to give him the same one three times in a row. He doesn't think sleeping pills can affect his dreams, but he feels calmer this time. Or maybe that's just because Valerie is doing what no one else will: hate him.

"I don't want to be a ghost," she says.

"You're not. You're just dead." Lies. All lies. He knows who the shadow is, just hopes he's wrong.

"How do you know?"

Danny looks down at his lap, unsure how to answer. Ghosts exist for a lot of reasons. Not all of them were once people and not every person who dies becomes a ghost. The ones who do usually have something they wanted to live for. Fame, desire, glory. Boxes. Some part of their mind chose to stay, clinging to that one thing they wanted and couldn't get.

"You would never choose this," he finally says. "You hate ghosts. There's nothing you could want that would make you stay."

Valerie sneers. Her teeth are stained red. "What could anyone want enough for this? Why would anyone choose this?"

"I did."

"No. You didn't want to die; there's a difference. I didn't want to die either. But you took that away from me, didn't you?" Valerie looks down at Danny's hands. Following her gaze, he sees her heart resting on his palm. It beats, barely. Blood seeps from the torn aortas and soaks into his gloves. Holding a heart doesn't feel like he thought it would. Whenever Danny thinks of organs, he thinks of softy, squishy tissue, easy to pierce and crush, but Valerie's heart is a firm bundle of muscle.

Danny squeezes.

Valerie gasps, her hand shooting up to her chest, but there's nothing there, only an empty hole. She slams her fist against the ice. "Give it back!"

Danny tries, he does. His whole body shakes with effort as he tries to push his hand forward, returning what's Valerie's, but his arm won't budge. His hand squeezes tighter.

Valerie gasps and falls forward, both hands to her chest now, scratching and scraping. Her fingers hook around the hole and tug, tearing it open wider. "Stop it! Give it back!" she cries.

"I can't, I'm sorry!" Danny grabs his defiant arm in his other hand and pushes, but the frozen limb barely shakes. "I didn't mean it, Valerie. You have to believe me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

Ice creeps along Danny's arm, stretching over his fingers. Beautiful frost ferns grow across Valerie's heart, tinged pink from her blood. He tries to pull them back, shoving his core down deep inside himself where the snow and ice can't hurt anyone, but it's too late. The ice overtakes her heart. Danny's hand clenches one more time. The heart shatters.

Valerie screams. Her shriek pierces the air, shattering her prison of ice. Danny slaps his hands over his ears, trying to block out the noise, but it rings inside his head, bouncing around his skull, stabbing his brain with a thousand tiny needles until blood leaks from his eyes, his nose, his ears. He screams with her, raw and hoarse until the shrieking stops and silence rings out.

—

Danny wakes up cold. Not even an hour has passed since he went to sleep. So much for the sleeping pills.

Despite wearing his warmest hoodie, he shivers. His foggy breath clouds the air in front of him, but it lacks the pale glow of his ghost sense. Instead, it's accompanied by a bone-deep chill that stings his teeth when he inhales.

In the corner of the room, the shadow hovers, darker than the previous night.

—

At sunrise, the shadow fades before Danny's eyes. It takes the pervasive cold with it, leaving him uncomfortably warm, swathed in a pile of blankets that hadn't helped fight off his chills. His eyes burn, but he has no desire to go back to sleep. Moving slowly, he climbs out of bed, stretching his cramped muscles. The blankets slide off his shoulders, leaving him in the same sweater and jeans as the previous day. The thought of changing doesn't even cross his mind.

Danny checks the back alley through his bedroom window and finds that his parents are home today. Other than mild surprise, it stirs no strong emotions in Danny.

A knock at his door pulls his attention from the alleyway. He drums his fingers on the windowsill, pursing his lips as he debates whether or not he should answer.

"Danny? Are you awake?" Jazz's voice is pitched with worry.

Sighing, Danny turns from the window, leaning back against the sill, and answers. "I'm awake."

The doorknob turns. Jazz pushes it open a crack, her bright blue eyes peering through the narrow opening. Danny jerks his head, not quite a nod, but a welcome, nonetheless. Jazz swings the door open and shuffles inside, nudging it closed behind her.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," she says. "I shouldn't have pushed you." Danny remains silent as she takes a seat on his bed. She picks at the pile of blankets, eyeing the unruffled comforter beneath them. "Did you sleep last night?"

"I was in bed," he says.

Lips pursed, Jazz scrutinizes Danny's clothes. "You wore that yesterday, too."

"It's still clean."

"Danny. I don't want to cross any boundaries–"

"Then don't."

"–but it's only been a few days, and this is concerning behaviour. I'm not expecting you to instantly bounce back, but I'd hoped you would at least come and talk to me if it was this bad."

"Jazz. Do you know how often I don't sleep because of ghosts? This isn't that different. And so what if I'm wearing the same jeans? I only have, like, three pairs that aren't ripped or stained."

Jazz starts wringing her hands. "It can take weeks to accept a traumatic event. I don't want you to lose yourself denying what happened. It was horrible, but ignoring it won't change that. Talking will. You have me, and Tucker and Sam. Letting out what you're feeling to people you trust can help. And keeping a routine! It's important to stay grounded with regular habits. Things like not sleeping, not eating, wearing the same clothes over and over. They're signs of you slipping into negative behaviour."

"God, Jazz, you make it sound like I'm some kind of drug addict or something. You want me to talk? Fine! We were fighting Spectra, and Valerie fell off her board, and she got skewered like an ecto-weenie at a bonfire. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Jazz goes completely white. "Danny, no! That's not what I meant."

"Well, it's what you're getting. I'm going to school." He strides past her.

"You can't be serious!"

"See you later, Jazz." Danny slams the front door behind him.

—

He doesn't go to school. Lancer gave him a free pass to skip and he's going to milk that for all it's worth. It's not milking it when you actually need it, his thoughts whisper. Shut up, Danny hisses back.

With yesterday's events fresh on his mind, he doesn't want to go for a walk, either. He slinks around the side of the house and crouches beside the bushes, out of sight from the street and the front door. The dirt is dry and the bushes browning even though it's not even summer yet. Danny's parents might be great at inventing things, but they're shit at taking care of their yard. Not that Danny cares. The bushes provide just enough cover for him to see without being seen, and he only plans on sitting here for a couple of minutes, or however long it takes for Jazz to leave for school.

Danny turns his phone over in his hands. It buzzes a couple of times. Probably Jazz trying to shove more of her opinions down his throat. He debates the pros and cons of checking the messages now or later. Either way, he doesn't intend to answer, so it doesn't matter. Relenting, he flips his phone over and checks the notifications.

The message isn't from Jazz, and not Sam or Tucker either. It's from Valerie.

Danny's blood runs cold. It's not possible. She's dead. She's gone. But she's not.

| Val Is this Daniel Fenton? The contact says Space Boy

Danny blinks as he reads the actual message. He nearly laughs. Space Boy? That was his name on Valerie’s phone? He wipes his thumb across the corner of his eyes before opening his phone and typing out a brief yes.

| Val This is Valerie's father. I'd like to talk to you after school if possible

Danny ducks his head, tapping the phone against his chin. He thought about talking to Mr. Gray, but he hadn't been serious. Of all the people he could see right now, Damon Gray is at the bottom of the list. But it doesn't look like Jazz is leaving any time soon, and he doesn't want to sit in the flowerbed forever.

Before he can regret it, he texts Mr. Gray back.

| You I can talk now. I'm omw

—

The bus ride from Fenton Works to the Gray's apartment in Elmerton takes twenty minutes. Danny sits at the back and stares out the window the whole time. The landscape turns grey and dusty as they cross the river into Elmerton, malls and office buildings replaced by warehouses and empty lots.

The Gray's apartment building lies on the edge of the warehouse district. Despite Mr. Gray's job prospects steadily improving over time, they never moved out of the cramped apartment that carried them through their darkest days.

Mr. Gray answers the door before Danny can even knock.

Danny lowers his raised arm. "Um, hi."

Mr. Gray looks as bad as Danny expected. He hasn't shaved in a few days, and his eyes are dry and red. Danny thinks he must have been crying before he arrived

"Hello, Danny." Mr. Gray steps aside to let Danny in.

They move to the dining room, where Mr. Gray sits at the head of the table, and Danny takes the opposite chair.

"Did Marty tell you?" Danny asks, seeking some reassurance in all this madness.

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"You were there for her."

Danny clenches his teeth and nods. He knows what Mr. Gray is about to say and looks away before he does.

"Thank you."

Danny stiffens. This is so wrong. "You shouldn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"You shouldn't thank me."

"You don't understand. I let her put on the suit every day even though I knew it was dangerous. If I ever tried to stop her, I know she would have done it behind my back. But still. I should have stopped her. I let this happen."

"No!" Danny shouts. He jumps to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. "No, you didn't. No one could stop Valerie when she wanted something, and... and it's my fault. Not yours."

Mr. Gray shakes his head, rising from his seat. "Danny, you made sure my daughter wasn't alone at the end. They told me how she died. There was nothing you could have done to save her."

"Mr. Gray, I didn't just find her. I was there. I'm–" Danny squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm Danny Phantom."

Mr. Gray doesn't answer. The only thing Danny can hear is the ticking of the clock. Eventually, Danny opens his eyes. Mr. Gray stands frozen on the other side of the table, gaping at Danny.

"You..." he falters. "You're..."

"I can't... show you. I haven't been able to transform since, well, since. But I am," Danny says.

Mr. Gray drops back into his chair. He looks up at Danny, then down, then up again. "You?" He runs a hand over his head.

"Mr. Gray?" Danny asks.

"Hold on." Mr. Gray cups his hand over his mouth, muttering under his breath, too low for Danny to hear. His wide eyes dart back and forth across the table. It looks like his whole world is falling apart before his eyes.

With nothing else to do, Danny lowers himself back into his seat. He waits, patiently, for Mr. Gray to finish processing, looking about the apartment for some kind of distraction. Nothing much has changed since the last time Danny was here, nearly a year ago. There's a picture of Valerie and her mom hanging on the wall by the clock. Both of them are smiling widely. It should be a happy picture, but all Danny sees are ghosts that will haunt Mr. Gray forever.

"She really liked you. Did you know that?" Mr. Gray asks.

It takes some effort to tear his gaze from the photo, but Danny eventually looks back to Mr. Gray. "Yeah. I really liked her, too. For a while."

"She hated you, too."

Danny nods.

Mr. Gray sighs, sounding as exhausted as Danny feels. "Being Danny Phantom doesn't make any of this your fault. She might have started ghost hunting to get you, but it ended up meaning so much to her. I'm sure that, with or without you, she would have found her way to it somehow."

Danny bites his lip. He knows what he wants to say, but once he does, there's no going back. Over Mr. Gray's shoulder, he notices a dark spot in the living room, one that wasn't there before. Valerie.

"That's not all. Mr. Gray, there's something you need to know about how Valerie died."

—

An hour later, Danny steps out of the apartment. Mr. Gray closes the door behind him without a word. By now, they've said everything they need to. Danny slumps against the wall and inhales sharply through his nose. He holds it for a second, trying to keep himself together even as the shaking starts. He only manages for a few seconds before he breaks. The tears flow freely down his face as he gasps, sinking to his knees in the middle of the hall.

Rocking back and forth, he wails into the floor. He lets out every pent up emotion in his cries; frustration, anger, sadness, guilt. They fill him up, suffocate him, steal his air, then leave in ragged gasps. He cries until his throat hurts and his tears blind him. He cries until he has no more tears left to spill.

—

Danny calls Tucker that night, around midnight. They haven't spoken since Danny ditched school, and Tucker hasn't even sent him any texts or left any messages—although Sam had. It looks like he took Danny's request to leave him alone to heart. Danny refuses to feel guilty for it, but he also needs to talk to someone, and Tucker is always the first person he thinks of during these times.

Jazz was gone to class by the time Danny got back from Mr. Gray's, and he brushed her off when she got home earlier that evening. His parents, to Danny's complete lack of surprise, have gone back to being their usual negligent selves, putting ghost hunting before their mourning child.

Danny is constantly aware of Valerie now, finding her lurking around every corner, hovering at the edge of his vision, taunting him. He doesn't know what to do. So he calls Tucker.

"What would you do if I did something really bad?" Danny asks as soon as Tucker answers the phone.

"Hello, Danny."

"What would you do?"

Tucker sighs. "I thought you wanted me to leave you alone."

"Tucker. I'm being serious, come on."

Tucker remains silent. A day ago, it might not have bothered Danny at all, but now it makes him squirm. He needs to hear Tucker's answer.

"Okay. I'm sorry, happy?"

"No."

"Why not? I apologized."

"Because you're being a dick, Danny! You're not the only one who lost Valerie, okay? I thought you got that, but I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, and I'm sorry you had to see that, but I'm hurting too. I have no idea what's going on with you right now, but going through something shitty doesn't give you a free pass to be an asshole." Tucker's voice cracks.

Guilt twists Danny's gut. In seconds, Tucker might start crying, and it will be all his fault. But he needs to know.

"Valerie is haunting me," Danny says.

"What?"

"I've been having nightmares, and ever since she died, there's been this shadow in my room. I thought it was all in my head, but then I ran into the Box Ghost yesterday, and he mentioned something about a shadow? I asked my parents and they saw a ghost form like that once."

The line stays silent. It stretches on so long Danny thinks Tucker might have hung up, until he hears a shaky sigh.

"Are you sure?"

Danny glances at the shadow. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Is it a ghost?"

"I don't know. I thought I was just seeing things, but then the Box Ghost, and what my mom said. I'm just, I'm stressed, man. Sleeping's hard, and it makes my ghost sense all weird."

"Weird how?"

"Like," Danny kneads his chest, grimacing, "like there's a block of ice in my chest. It's heavy and cold."

"Are you sure you aren't just... sad? And tired? I want to believe you, man, but Valerie as a ghost? And you just said you're not sleeping. Remember that one time you didn't sleep for, like, four days and you started seeing things?" Tucker dips into a whisper. "Are you sure you just don't want her to be gone?"

"Tucker, listen to me. I know I'm not seeing things. I'm looking at it right now! And the Box ghost said–."

"The Box Ghost says he'll rule the world with cardboard. Look, dude. I want to believe you, but you're not okay, man."

Danny scowls. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"So you're not denying it?"

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Are you going to apologize?"

Danny doesn't answer.

"We just lost Valerie, man. Don't do this to us."

Danny closes his eyes as Tucker starts crying. He doesn't wail like Valerie did in Danny's nightmares, or gasp and sob like Danny so many times over the past couple of days. Tucker cries quietly, his voice wobbly, breaths short. He cries like he doesn't want anyone to see.

"I shouldn't have called."

"Dude, no. Wait. I'm sorry."

"I just made you sad. And it's not helping. I should just– never mind. I'm sorry, Tuck. I'm so sorry."

"No, you didn't do anything. I'm just sad, man. Of course, I am. But god, you. You were actually there. You’re allowed– okay, you're not allowed to be a dick, but I shouldn't be a dick either. If you just talked to us–"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You should."

"It's fine."

"It's not. Dude, it's not okay."

"Can you just fucking drop it? Whatever, it doesn't matter. Sorry I called. I'll just deal with this on my own."

"Danny, I'm sorry. Please don't–"

Danny hangs up and tosses his phone onto the bed. Calling Tucker was a mistake. It accomplished nothing, except making Tucker mad, and cry. Danny squeezes his eyes shut, lowering his head as his throat tightens. He's so tired of crying. It's a miracle he hasn't dehydrated by now. At some point, he has to run out of tears, right? No one can cry forever. Jazz always says crying makes you feel better, once you're done feeling terrible.

He almost felt good after visiting Mr. Gray. But it didn't take long for the dark feelings to return after he left. Now, he just feels worse and worse each time.

Tipping onto his side, he buries his face in his comforter and gasps. It hurts, tears at his throats, makes the cold in his chest swell and fill his lungs. "Valerie. I'm sorry."

The room grows colder.

—

"I saw your dad." It's the first thing Danny says when he finds himself before the spire again. The snow glistens pure and wide. The ice shines untouched by blood. Valerie's so close to him now, like she's on the other side of a window. The ice warps her image, blurring her edges and tinting her blue, but still. She's almost herself.

"I know," she says.

"Were you listening?"

Valerie reaches out, laying her palm on the ice. It cracks beneath her touch. "Yes."

"And?"

"It doesn't change much, does it?"

Danny lowers his gaze. He knows what he feels, what he did, no matter what Damon says. At this point, nothing can quell the guilt that swirls in Danny's blood. It seeps through him, poisoning his every thought.

"No, it doesn't," he says.

Valerie nods, satisfied, and pulls away from the ice. "Good. As long as you know."

—

Jazz knocks at his door, rapping persistently. He wonders if her knuckles ever get sore when she does that because it's been a good thirty seconds since she started. Apparently, she's resorting to the "annoying older sister" method, since the "therapist older sister" tactic didn't work so well.

Does she know about Danny's disaster of a call with Tucker last night? Danny's friends are, tentatively, Jazz's friends, too, at least when it comes to ghostly things and Danny's health. He wouldn't put it past Tucker to message Jazz, let her know what happened.

Danny swallows before calling out, "What?" His voice still comes out hoarse, probably because he hasn't had anything to drink for a good day and a half, which would explain the headache, too. But he's very busy right now having a staring contest with the increasingly tangible figure in the corner of his room. He didn't bother sleeping last night. Between the nightmares and Valerie's ghost, he would take the ghost.

Tucker's words from last night echo through his head. Are you sure you just don't want her to be gone?

Of course, he doesn't watch Valerie to be gone. But having her ghost isn't the same as having her, and the last few days have proven Valerie's ghost is no good to Danny. Still, he watched her all night, hoping for some flicker of familiarity. A flash of her headband, the dark brown of her eyes, the soft clinking of her bracelets. Proof his dreams aren't a lie. He got nothing. He's still not sure if he wants to see something.

"Danny?"

He blinks. The corner is empty now. Danny turns his head, his stiff neck cracking, and finally notices Jazz standing inside his bedroom. He doesn't remember her entering. He stopped paying attention entirely after he answered her. Had she said anything, or did she take his question as a welcome?

Danny licks his cracked lips. "What?" he repeats.

"Tucker called me a couple of minutes ago."

Danny keeps his expression carefully blank, but inside he panics. Tucker told her. He told her everything. She's going to tell him he's seeing things again, or give him those pitying eyes, or try and tell him this is all a psychosomatic reaction to losing a dear friend.

"There's a memorial for Valerie at Casper High today. He thought you might want to go," she says.

Danny's spiralling thoughts stutter and fizzle out. "A memorial?"

"Some of your classmates wanted to pay their respects. They’ve been planning it for the past couple of days." Jazz sits down on the edge of Danny's bed. Her fingers grip the hem of her sweater, holding back from reaching out. "Do you want to go?"

Danny keeps his gaze down but thinks about the now vacant corner of his bedroom. Staring at Valerie's maybe-ghost all day can't be good for him, as much as he hates to admit it. He groans and rubs his eyes. Agreeing with Jazz is never a good sign.

"Yeah." He drags his hand down his face, letting his arm drop into his lap. Going to school won't be fun, but he will regret it if he doesn't. "I'll go."

Jazz beams. "Put on something clean and I'll drive you."

"This is clean. Relatively."

"Put on something you didn't wear yesterday. You're not getting in my car until you do."

Danny sticks his tongue out at Jazz as she leaves. He's tempted to ignore her command and roll out of bed in what he's wearing, but knowing Jazz, she meant what she said, and she will leave him at home if he doesn't change into something fresh. And Danny doesn't feel like walking to school. Before, he would have flown to school, but he doesn't even entertain the idea now.

With a weary sigh, Danny crawls out of bed and heads for his dresser.

—

The Red Huntress stares down at the auditorium from the projector screen. It's a nice shot, taken during one of her patrols. She stands straight on her board, one hand shading her eyes, the other loosely holding her blaster. Sunlight glints off her visor, masking most of her face, except the part shaded by her hand. With the visor's tint, it's near impossible to tell those are Valerie's eyes unless you know. And Danny has always known.

Even though it's just a picture, Danny can't meet her gaze for long, turning his head and staring down instead. He steps away from the auditorium doors, letting others through. A few whispers float over his head, Valerie's name paired with his, mumbles about his presence at her death, his absence at school. Maybe he should have stayed home after all.

Danny waits until the stream of students thins before raising his head and peeking into the room. About half the seats are full, most of them toward the back. Waiting might have been a mistake. Now, he can't slip unnoticed into the back row as he planned. Danny bites his lip, wondering if he could stand at the back, or if he should leave. He shuffles his feet, turning down the hall toward the entrance.

A few stranglers are still making their way toward the auditorium, some students and a handful of teachers. Lancer walks with them, nudging some freshmen along.

"We didn't know her," one of them mutters.

"I mean, she was the Red Huntress," the other says. "She was kind of badass."

"She was a student who risked her life and died tragically. Be respectful," Lancer chides. The freshmen, cowed, scurry ahead and disappear through the doorway. Lancer, pinching the bridge of his nose, shakes his head and sighs. Danny can't remember ever seeing him so weary. Lancer drops his hands and finally spots Danny.

"Mr. Fenton, you came." His smile is weak but welcoming. "How are you?"

"Not much better."

Lancer nods. "Not surprising. Am I right to assume you won't be attending class after the memorial? It only covers part of the first period."

"Actually... I think I might go." On the way over, Danny told Jazz he could walk home after, and he didn't bring his backpack with him. Until this moment, he had no intentions of sticking around longer than necessary. Ironically, at least Danny sees it that way, it's Lancer's lack of judgement that convinces him to try and stick it out for the rest of the day.

"You know, Mr. Fenton. I'm proud of you." Lancer smiles again. "Remember, you don't have to stay if it gets too much but good on you for trying."

Danny smiles back, although with far less confidence. He waits for Lancer to go on ahead before slipping into the auditorium himself. From the top of the stairs, he has a good view of the entire room. The entire student body doesn't quite fill up the seats, leaving gaps here and there between grades and friends groups. He was right that all the seats at the back are taken, for the most part. A few empty spots peek out at him, but they're all much too close to other people.

Hugging himself, he readies for the long march down the steps to the front of the room, the only place with ample seating far from anyone else. He gives the back rows one last, hopeful glance. Nearly everyone is settled, friends hunched together, trading whispers or staring at their phones, although one figure off to the left is standing. And waving their arms.

"Danny!"

And calling his name?

The dim lighting makes it hard to see, forcing Danny to squint and shuffle closer, until he finally recognizes Sam. Tucker sits to her left, a single space between them, and their backpacks occupy the seats on either side of them, creating a thin barrier between them and the next students.

Tension bleeds out of Danny's shoulders. Without a second thought, he squeezes his way down the row, using his intangibility more than once to slip through long legs and jutting knees. A few people grumble their annoyance, but otherwise, no one calls him on it.

"Jazz texted and said you were coming," Sam says when Danny's close enough.

"I didn't want to miss it." Danny slips by Sam, claiming the middle seat. "Tucker?"

Tucker only spares him a glance before looking forward again.

"Thanks for letting me know. And... sorry. About yesterday."

For one stubborn moment, Tucker says nothing, and Danny thinks it's too late, he ruined their friendship. But then Tucker beams and grabs Danny, yanking him close.

"Dude, I'm so sorry. I was a dick, too. I'm glad you came."

Danny returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Tucker's shoulders and squeezing tight. It feels good, warm. Even if it doesn't erase anything from the past few days, it's still nice to hug his best friend.

"Oh, what the hell," Sam says. She flops onto Danny's back, draping her arms around him and Tucker. "Thanks for not shutting us out, Danny."

Just like that, the good feeling vanishes. The way Sam talks, it sounds like she thinks he's going to talk now, about everything. Everyone says he should, but after his parents, he's not so sure it will go well.

"Uh, yeah. Glad to be back," Danny says. It's only a partial lie.

They separate soon enough, settling into their seats just in time for Principal Ishiyama to walk on stage. As Ishiyama approaches the podium, the auditorium falls silent. Not that there had been much noise in the first place. A few muttering voices. Whispers here and there. It seems the whole school agrees now isn't a time for idle chatter.

"Students." Ishiyama's voice echoes from the speakers. "As I'm sure you know, we've experienced a great tragedy this last week. Valerie Gray, one of your classmates, maybe even your friend, died in a ghost attack. Despite dealing with ghosts for years, we've never lost someone to them before, and her passing came as a great shock.

"None of us knew, but Ms. Gray was a hero. Only now, after her death, have we learned about how much she did for us. She put her life on the line every day to keep the city safe, fighting valiantly for us. Today, we would like to honour that with a moment of silence, and a few words from her friends."

Ishiyama bows her head, signalling the start of the silence. Around the room, a decent number of students follow her lead, but even more sink down into their seats, as if they're settling in for a nap. Danny's glare hardens when he sees this, thinking of the freshmen from before. How many people in this room actually knew Valerie? How many are mourning the Red Huntress rather than the girl behind the helmet?

He thought coming to the memorial might make him feel, well, not better, but less bad. A little closer to okay. Instead, looking out over the gathered students, his stomach twists. This is a free pass out of class for most of them. They don't care, don't know, and they don't want to. Danny seethes, grinding his teeth as hot anger builds inside him.

Ishiyama breaks the silence before he can boil over. "Thank you. Before the first student comes up here, I'd like to remind everyone that a grief counsellor will be on the premises during school hours for the next week. If you need someone to talk to, he will be here. Your teachers will be here. Valerie was a bright girl and a friend to us all. Her death is a tragedy, and it has affected many of you in different ways. Don't be afraid to seek help when you need it."

Sam nudges Danny at Ishiyama's last word, shooting him a small smile. He can't return it.

Below, Star makes her way on stage, replacing Ishiyama at the podium. Danny immediately tunes her out when she starts speaking. The longer he's here, the more he realizes this is a waste of time and he shouldn't have come at all. He grips his armrests, squeezing the hard plastic as a distraction. It doesn't help as well as he hoped. He takes to scanning the room, dragging his gaze up and down the aisles, catching every sign of disrespect. A kid on his phone. Friends with their heads pressed together, talking softly. A dark silhouette standing halfway up the stairs.

The armrests crack in Danny's grip.

"Whoa, Danny. Are you okay?" Sam asks.

Danny barely hears her, all his attention on the ghost. Valerie's ghost. It looks more like a shadow than ever, with well-defined edges a strong, humanoid figure. He can almost see Valerie in it. But it still doesn't set off his ghost sense, not properly. A pinprick of cold pierces the heat in his chest, spreading quickly. Goosebumps raise along his arms and his breath carries the faintest trace of fog.

"Hey, uh, Danny? Can you maybe stop making it cold?" Sam whispers.

"It's not me," he says.

"Dude, I don't see anyone else with ice powers here," Tucker says.

Danny risks looking away, shooting Tucker an incredulous look, and points toward the aisle. "You don't see it?"

Tucker leans forward, following Danny's finger. "No, man. See what?"

Danny looks back and nearly jumps out of the seat. She's closer, further up the staircase, standing at the end of their aisle. The numbing cold has spread through his entire body by now. He can barely feel his fingers. His teeth chatter.

The shadow leaps forward.

Danny shoots to his feet, crying out in surprise. Heads whip toward him, but he barely registers them. The shadow leaps again. Danny bolts. He books it down the row, kicking a few knees, nearly tripping several times. Indignant shouts and raised voices follow him as he bursts out of the auditorium. He doesn't check over his shoulder, just keeps running. The cold seeps through his bones, sinks into his core. He feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into an icy abyss.

Moving on instinct, he dashes through the halls until he reaches the locker room. He dives into a shower stall, nearly ripping the tap out of the wall as he turns the water on to the hottest setting. It spews from the showerhead piping-hot, turning his skin red the moment it hits. It burns but the cold still won't go away. Danny tips his head up, opens his mouth, and swallows the water. It scalds his tongue and throat, burning all the way down, but the cold overwhelms it much too quickly.

He doesn't want to step out, not when the water hasn't done its job yet, but his skin is bright red and tender, minutes away from blistering. He forces himself out of the shower without turning it off, stumbling through the door and practically throwing himself against the nearest sink. Hunched over the basin, he swallows down the bile rising in his throat. Somehow, he manages not to throw up, a small victory for a hellish day. Once he's sure he won't be puking any time soon, even though his stomach still feels queasy, he splashes water against his face and looks up.

Blue lips. Pale skin. Face bloody and full of despair. In the mirror, Valerie looms over his shoulder.

Danny whips around, shoes slipping on the wet tiles as he tries to back away. The edge of the sink digs into his back. There's nowhere for him to go, Valerie's pale shade looming inches from him. An arm, or a trail of black mist that resembles one, reaches out toward him. It touches his chest.

Nothing happens.

"You're not whole yet," Danny realizes. It's only been five days since Valerie died.

The shadow ripples. Twisted tendrils burst forth, shooting toward him. They strike his chest and disappear in puffs of smoke, able to touch him but too weak to hurt him. Valerie shrieks. Her voice scrapes against Danny's ears, filling his head and bouncing around his brain, but it doesn't hurt. The lights flicker. The mirrors shatter. The tiles under their feet crack and still, Danny remains untouched. His disappointment overwhelms his relief, crashing through him in waves.

He pushes off the sink and reaches out, stopping inches away from her. "You can't touch me. Yet."

Valerie ripples again. Her form flickers, then she's gone.

Danny runs all the way home.

—

The ice is already broken by the time Danny's dream starts. He called them nightmares at first, but now, they're more like warnings. Promises, even.

Valerie crawls closer. Danny is not afraid.

"Danny," she says, her voice soft and calm, carrying no echoes of pain. She stops in front of him and lifts a cold finger to his chin, pushing his head up.

"Yes?" Danny matches her tone, just as soft, just as smooth. He can't help it. Something about the way she looks at him, the way she speaks. It makes him think everything will be okay.

"I know why I stayed." There's no trace of forgiveness in her gaze, but for some reason, he finds it more comforting than unsettling. As if she understands what he's thinking. She's the only one who knows what he deserves.

"Why?" Danny asks, but he already knows the answer.

"Wait for me," she says.

"I will," he answers.

—

Danny does not go back to school. He locks himself in his room, turns off his phone, and refuses to let anyone in. He made a promise and he's going to keep it. It's the one thing he can do for Valerie, after all. Give her what she wants.

One sleepless night later, on the seventh day after Valerie dies, her ghost manifests in Danny's room.

—

Danny swallows a cry of pain as Bertrand smacks him into the pavement. His great bear claws leave deep gouges across Danny's chest, the wounds leaking ectoplasm. He grits his teeth but doesn't worry. With his abilities, they will be healed by the end of the fight. Which he hopes comes soon. He's missing fourth period with Lancer right now, which isn't a big deal, but he has a math test next class, and he cannot afford another zero.

"Having a little trouble, ghost boy?"

A relieved grin stretches across Danny's face at the sight of Valerie flying overhead. "I don't know, I think I've got it handled." Planting his hands on asphalt, he flips himself up and out of the way of Bertrand's next swipe.

"Doesn't look like that from up here," Valerie says.

"Well, you could always come down and help me then. Prove how much stronger you are." Danny wastes a moment to wink and nearly gets taken out for it. Bertrand roars and pounces toward him. Danny barely leaps out of the way in time.

"Geez, I know you're unbearable, but this is ridiculous."

"Not quite." Spectra's melodic voice easily carries down the street. "I think pathetic is more accurate for your display, Phantom."

Danny scowls. "Shut up, I don't care what you think!"

Valerie swoops down while Spectra's distracted, her blaster spitting bullets faster than Danny can think. Spectra's eyes widen and she drops through the pavement, intangible, to avoid the fire. Danny doesn't have time to watch for her return, trusting Valerie to keep an eye out while he tackles Bertrand again.

The stuffy butler has shifted from a bear into a snake. Venom drips from his fangs and sizzles on the pavement.

"That's not fair," Danny whines.

"Ssssso what?" Bertrand hisses. He coils then jumps.

"Whoa!" Danny grabs his head and yanks it out of Bertrand's path, his neck turning to pale vapour.

"Phantom!" Valerie shouts. "Get your head back on and fight seriously!"

"You don't think I look good like this?" Danny pouts, tossing his head from one hand to the other. Everything blurs and he stumbles. "Okay, wow. Don't do that again." He shoves his head back on, struggling to steady himself as the street spins around him.

"Phantom!" Valerie shrieks in annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah!" Danny twists away from Bertrand's sneak attack, grabbing the ghost’s fang as he shoots by. Yanking hard, Danny swings Bertrand around and slams his head into the ground. "Good snake, nice snake!"

Bertrand writhes, bucking wildly under Danny's grip. He struggles to keep a firm holds on him, but then Bertrand opens his mouth wide and snaps down. Yelping, Danny lurches away, yanking his hand back just in time. He flies up to Valerie and takes to scanning the street with her.

"No sign of Spectra?"

"I can take care of her myself," Valerie snaps.

"Sure, but a little help never hurt, right?"

Through her visor, Valerie's eyes narrowed. "Fine."

"Oh, now this is interesting."

Both ghost hunters stiffen. Danny turns, pressing his back against Valerie's, and searches for Spectra. He can't see her. Neither can Valerie, judging by the soft curses under her breath.

"You don't care what I think, but you care what she thinks, don't you?" Spectra asks.

Danny bristles. "So what?"

"Does she think you're strong? Or weak? Do you want to protect her?"

"I don't need anyone to protect me!" Valerie shouts. Under her breath, she says to Danny, "We can't stay together. We won't find her this way, and we still have her crony. You take the ground, I'll take the sky."

"Shouldn't the ghost take the sky?" Danny whispers back.

"Just do it!"

He rolls his eyes, but complies anyway, dropping back to the street.

"Back for more ssso sssoon?" Bertrand asks.

"I didn't get enough of your pretty face the first time," Danny says. "Those fangs are a real good look on you."

"Ssstop ssstalling."

"Stop being so ugly."

"Real original."

"Bertrand!" Spectra snaps. She sounds closer now, too close for Danny's liking. "Get the girl. I'll deal with our little meal."

"Um, ew?"

A bright green disk flies at Danny out of nowhere. He barely sees it before it hits, exploding against his chest and blasting him back. Danny groans when he hits the ground, carefully patting his chest for injuries. The gouges from Bertrand were nearly healed, but now they're seeping ectoplasm once again.

Above him, Bertrand has changed into a giant wasp. He zips about Valerie, trying to catch her with his stinger. She's too fast for him, but, likewise, he's too fast for her. None of their hits are landing, and they're playing an endless game of chase.

Spectra rises from the ground beside him, her hands glowing. "You might want to focus on me."

Danny scrambles back, disks of ectoplasm exploding behind him. Ectoplasm lights his fists, and he swings, aiming for Spectra's face. She ducks away cackling.

"Do you ever give up?" he shouts.

"Why would I when you make it so easy?" Spectra laughs behind her hand. "I can only think of a few things worse than an abomination like yourself."

Danny falters. Don't let her get to you, he tells himself. "Oh yeah, like what?"

"The only thing worse than an abomination is a weak one. And that's what she thinks you are, weak."

"That's a lie!"

"Really? Then why did she send you down here to take care of my little assistant, while she kept watch above, searching for me?"

Danny can't help it. He slips, falls for it, lets the ectoplasm coating his hands fizzle out as he glances up at Valerie. She's still caught in her game of cat and mouse with Bertrand, but in the midst of her fight, she keeps glancing down, at Danny and Spectra. Watching out for him? Or watching to see if he can do it? If he needs help?

"N-no, you're lying." He knows Spectra lies. She never tells the truth, always twists other people's words and actions for her own gain, but...

"Look at you!" Spectra's not even poised to fight now, standing completely relaxed with a hand on her hip. "Pathetic! You couldn't take us on your own. She had to come help you, and you still can't beat me."

"Liar!" Danny whips and ectoblast at her. It shoots through the air, a blazing green star. Spectra's quick to counter, breaking his attack with a blast of her own. They explode when they meet, a cascade of light and ectoplasm.

"See? Weak. You can't do anything with powers like this?"

"Then what about this?" Danny thrusts his arm out. Ice races across the ground, encasing Spectra's feet. It creeps up her legs until nearly her entire body is coated in it, but all she does is laugh and clap.

"Oh, that's a fun trick. But it doesn't do much, does it?" A swipe of her hand and the ice melts and cracks. She shoots into the air, her aura glowing brighter as she gathers her power. "You're only proving me right, dear. You should just give up."

"Shut up." The temperature around Danny plummets, frost creeping across the pavement. His breath fogs the air.

Spectra goes on. "You can't expect to protect anyone like this. A freak, a loser, and a joke of a hero! You've hit all three!"

Behind Spectra, far above their heads, Bertrand splits into a swarm of wasps and rushes Valerie. He knocks her off her board, and she plummets with a scream.

Danny sees. He sees but he doesn't think. Spectra's taunting words pound in his ears, fill up his head, shove all other thoughts aside and blind him.

"I said. Shut! Up!" He bellows and stomps his feet. A wave of power bursts off him, razor-sharp icicles spewing from the ground, taller than Danny. Spectra easily dodges, flying up out of harm's way as she cackles with glee.

Too late, Danny realizes his mistake.

"Valerie!" he screams, echoing her cry, as he lunges toward her, but it's too late.

An icicle rips through her with a sickening squelch. Her blood sprays across Danny's face, seeping into his eyes and mouth. It's all he can see and taste. Her body hits the ground with a thud, nearly torn in two. Her heart beats against the open air. One of her lungs lays on the ground beside her, shredded to pieces.

Danny drops to his knees. He can't breathe. He can't think. Valerie, Valerie, VALERIE! A scream of agony tears from his throat as his world shatters around him.

—

Valerie doesn't look all that different in death. She wears her Huntress suit, although ferns of frost curl along her abdomen, spewing from a gape black void in her side. Pale blue overtakes the red. Her hair glows orange. Not bad, as far as ghost forms go.

"I always knew you were bad." Her voice carries an echo that swells and fills the room. "I knew you were evil. All ghosts are. And you made me one of them. Danny," Valerie's stoic expression splinters, "how could you?"

"I'm sorry," Danny says, because there's nothing else he can say, nothing that will make up for this. He reaches out to her, but she recoils, lips curling in disgust.

"I never wanted to turn into this. It hurts." Her voice breaks. A wet sob chokes her words. Like she's still drowning in her own blood, forever.

"I know. God, I know. It never stops. It's like your broken inside." Danny grabs his hair and tugs. "There's a void and nothing ever fills it. I didn't mean it, Valerie, I didn't! But I killed you, and I– I'm sorry! If I could take it back, if I could trade places with you, I would. You know I would."

"I know."

"If I could do anything to make better..." Danny lowers his head, shame and regret pressing him down.

Valerie reaches for him. Just like in his dream, she grabs his chin and slowly lifts his head, forcing him to look at her. "Danny."

He knows. He knows. He knows what she's going to say, what she's going to do. He's known all along, since that first nightmare. Maybe he's been ignoring it, or hoping for it. Either way, he won't stop her. He deserves it.

She lays her other hand on his chest, ice gathering in her palm. "Die for me."

—

When Mr. Gray finishes crying, he wipes his eyes and slumps into his chair. "So." The words cracks as it comes out. He pauses to swallow a few times, shuddering visibly. "So. That's how it happened."

Danny keeps his eyes downcast. He knows what's coming next. The screaming, the yelling, the accusations. He will take all of it, already agrees with Mr. Gray even though the man hasn't said a word. It's just a matter of seconds, now.

"You–" MR. Gray starts.

Say it. Say I killed her. Call me a murderer.

"It wasn't your fault."

Danny nearly chokes on his surprise. "What?"

"It was. An accident. You were manipulated, tricked. It wasn't your fault, Danny. I don't want you to think it was."

Danny's mind reels. This can't be happening. Surely, he's hearing Mr. Gray wrong, making up a fantasy in his head, but no. Valerie's father doesn't hate him. The one person who has any right to, other than Valerie. And he... forgives Danny.

"And if I know my daughter, she wouldn't blame you either."

As Danny gets up to leave, only one thought runs through his head. Then you didn't know her very well.

—

It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. The impact feels like a punch, a burst of searing pain, then he's gone.

And then he's not. He's in his room, floating on one side of his bed. Valerie stands across from them. Between him, his body sits, held upright by the spear of ice jutting through his chest. Valerie apparently had some shred of mercy left in her. The spear went right through Danny's heart.

The wound is still fresh, still bleeding, dripping down his body's chest. Seconds or days to manifest, Danny's mom said. Isn't he a lucky one?

Valerie eyes him over his dead body, and he follows her stare. In the middle of his chest, swirling frost creeps out of a black void. They match. How poetic.

"You're not gone," Danny says, lifting his gaze back to Valerie.

"No. And you stayed."

"Yeah."

She doesn't move away, and neither does he. They can't, not without the other following. They have haunted each other for so long, Danny stalking her in life, Valerie hunting him in death. Now, it seems, they're stuck together at a stalemate, neither one willing to move first. They're dead now, though, so that doesn't matter. They have all the time in the world.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfi #phicc #tumblroneshots #valerie gray #tw gore #tw blood #tw panick attacks #tw murder #angst #tragedy #there is no comfort here #you've been warned #christmas truce #christmas truce 2020

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hardygalwrites · 3 years

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Game/Anime: Persona 4

Characters: Yu Narukami/Persona 4 Protagonist and Ryotaro Dojima

Synopsis: As long as the case dragged on, Dojima knew he always needed to be prepared for the possibility of another body showing up. But nothing could have prepared him for this...

Yu Narukami’s body is discovered hanging from the electrical wires at the edge of the shopping district.

Note: Originally written for Whumptober of 2020 - Day 1: Let’s Hang Out Sometime | Hanging

TW for depictions of grief and TEMPORARY character death

—

It was with a sick feeling of resignation that Dojima received the report that a body had been discovered hanging from the electrical wires at the outskirts of the shopping district. With how little progress he had been making in the serial killing case, it’s as though some part of him had been waiting for another body to show up, to remind him of how useless his efforts were proving to be.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Dojima murmured.

Flicking his phone shut, Dojima robotically went about getting out of bed. He ended up skipping the coffee and was in his car, driving towards the scene, within five minutes. It wasn’t until he pulled up outside the slowly forming crowd of early morning civilians that he wondered if he should have made sure that Nanako would be safe on her way to school today.

Well, Yu always accompanied her partway while on his own school route. That boy really was a blessing that Dojima did not deserve. Nanako would be fine, as always. They both would.

Dojima quickly nudged his way through the crowd. It looked like Adachi was already there, surprisingly enough, conversing confidentially with a few officers. Since when had that man been so on top of things?

“Hey!” Dojima called as he approached.

The whole group immediately turned towards him, each of them looking rather alarmed.

“Have we identified the body yet?” he asked, already pulling out a cigarette in preparation for when he stepped away from all of this.

“Dojima…!”

Adachi rushed to meet him, looking strangely panicked. As he prepared to ask what the hell Adachi’s problem was, Dojima looked up at the body.

The cigarette fell from his mouth.

Dojima felt something inside him crack. Denial rushed to fill it, screaming that this could not possibly be real, that he must be seeing things. But there was no denying it.

That was Yu’s body hanging up there.

That was his nephew tangled up in the electrical wires.

That was his sister’s child, the boy he had promised to look after, the boy he had grown to love like his own son–

“What... the hell…?”

“Dojima,” Adachi said nervously, hands raised to turn the older detective away. “You shouldn’t be here–”

Dojima shoved him aside and rushed forward.

“Ow! Wait! Dojima!”

Adachi’s protests barely even registered in Dojima’s ears. He could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his nephew hanging above him, limp, unmoving. The officers that Adachi had been speaking to earlier hurried to intercept him, finally forcing Dojima to turn his gaze downward.

“What the hell happened?” Dojima demanded dangerously.

“Sir,” one of the officers started, “I don’t think–”

“I asked what the hell happened?!” Dojima snapped.

Adachi caught up to him, grabbing at his shoulder. “Dojima, wait…!”

“‘Wait’?! That’s my nephew up there!”

“I know! That’s the problem!” Adachi retorted as he struggled to pull Dojima away. “Listen, we know just as much as you do, but you have to step back…!”

“I will not step back, that’s my nephew!”

Throughout his time as a detective, Dojima had occasionally needed to hold back grieving friends or family members as their loved one was either retrieved or, under far more tragic circumstances, processed. It was an unpleasant task, often filled with screaming and tears, but it was a part of the job.

And then Chisato died, and Dojima understood - the lack of rationale, the grief, the desperation driving these people to their loved one’s side, as though somehow, by some crazy miracle, that could make everything better.

Dojima had felt it then and he felt it now as he fought against his partner’s hold. “Dammit, Adachi, let go!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t!” Adachi shouted.

The officers present also began their attempts to hold him back. “Detective Dojima, please…!”

Dojima looked up again. He could make out Yu’s face now. The eyes were closed, facial features slack. It almost looked like the kid was sleeping. Dojima stopped fighting against Adachi and the officers. He could feel something inside him crack a little bit more.

Oh, god. What was he going to tell his sister…? What was he going to tell Nanako?

Dojima lowered his head.

Then, a shallow gasp, followed by a series of hoarse coughs. A few people in the crowd, now well formed outside the police perimeter, screamed and cried out. Dojima, along with Adachi and the officers, looked up in shock.

“Oh my god,” one of the officers gasped. “He’s alive!”

“He’s alive!” someone else echoed. “Someone get the fire department, we need to get him down now !”

Dojima could only stare. Just moments ago he had been struggling to believe that his nephew was really dead. Now, he could hardly believe his eyes as he watched that same nephew shake and cough before slowly opening his own eyes. The soft grey gaze was glazed and unfocused, and he appeared to be having trouble breathing, but there was no doubt.

Yu was alive .

“Holy shit …!” Adachi exclaimed. He began to tug at Dojima’s shoulder again, though less urgently than he had before. “Dojima, come on, we should probably step back–”

Yu groaned and started to stir in his precarious position. Dojima’s eyes widened.

“Yu, stop!” he shouted. To his relief, Yu did stop for a moment, looking no more aware of his surroundings but at least no longer moving.

“Listen to me,” Dojima continued urgently, choosing to ignore just how vulnerable he sounded. “You have to stay still, all right? We’ll get you down as soon as possible, but you have to stay still!”

He had no clue if any of his words were actually reaching the kid. Yu had stopped moving, but his eyes remained unfocused, and it looked like his breathing had picked up slightly. The breaths came out hoarse and halting. Dojima’s mind rushed with all the worst possibilities, and he turned to grab Adachi by the jacket.

“Has an ambulance been called?” he demanded.

“Y-Yes…!” Adachi confirmed. “They’ll be here soon, along with the fire department.”

The crowd was really starting to get riled up. No one was attempting to bypass the perimeter, thank god - they really did not have the manpower to hold back everyone - but they were all definitely excited. People talked to each other and shouted questions at the guarding officers. Those with photo capable cells were putting their equipment to use, and everyone was focused on the student who seemed to have just come back to life.

The area was buzzing with noise, but Dojima still managed to catch the groan that had him looking back up quickly. He cursed.

Yu’s breathing had not just picked up because he was struggling to intake oxygen, no, it was clear the kid was getting agitated. He began to stir again, legs and arm shifting in the tangle of electrical wires.

“Yu, stop!” Dojima shouted again.

There was no clear response this time. The crowd continued to buzz, and Dojima could hear the rapidly approaching sirens. Yu clenched his eyes shut with a gutteral whine, just as both the ambulance and fire department rolled in.

“Yu, listen to me!” Dojima called. “We’re getting you down! Just stay still!”

Adachi finally pulled him back, and this time, Dojima didn’t fight him.

The fire department worked quickly, sending up the ladder and one of their men to retrieve the student caught in the wires. Despite Dojima’s words, Yu still appeared deeply distressed, flinching when the fireman attempted to steady him. Dojima clenched his fists.

Dammit… Why Yu, of all people…?

The fireman was patient, speaking calmly and steadily to the agitated teen. Whatever he said must have gotten through at least a little, as Yu calmed down just enough to allow the man to pull him from the electrical wires. Dojima wondered how his nephew could be so tall and yet look so small as he was brought back down over the fireman’s shoulder.

Yu was quickly handed off to the ambulance crew, and Dojima rushed to his side.

“Yu…!”

God, he looked fine. Just like the first two victims, there wasn’t a mark on him. He was still wearing the same after-school clothes Dojima had seen him leave the house in yesterday morning. But the quick and shallow breathing, the way his eyes, more focused but still just as dazed, darted between the surrounding medical personnel like a hunted animal…

“Yu,” Dojima said again, the name coming out breathless.

Yu immediately turned his gaze towards him. “...Uncle…?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here.” It was all Dojima could do not to laugh, or maybe even cry in relief. “Don’t worry, we got you.”

The grey haired teen did not appear to respond at first. He lifted his hand off the stretcher and grabbed blindly until his fingers snagged the sleeve of Dojima’s coat. It was like Dojima could actually see a light return to the kid’s eyes. A strange, cracked sound left Yu’s lips, and he tightened his grip on Dojima’s sleeve.

“Yu?” Dojima said in concern.

The one spoken to just closed his eyes, letting out that same cracked sound. It took Dojima a moment to realize that Yu was laughing, a weak but desperately happy, or perhaps desperately relieved sound that made his body tremble.

“Sir…?” one of the medical personnel spoke up hesitantly.

The laughter petered off, and Yu opened his eyes with a small smile. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Just kinda tired, is all…”

Dojima could not help but notice the tears pricking at the corners of the kid’s eyes.

“Detective Dojima…” The same medic looked at Dojima expectantly.

“He’s my nephew,” Dojima explained. “I’m coming with him.”

The medic nodded, and she and her partner began the process of loading the stretcher into the ambulance. Yu’s hand fell away from Dojima’s coat as he was wheeled away, and as soon as they were both in the ambulance, Dojima leant down to grip the fallen hand in his own.

“I got you,” Dojima murmured.

Yu looked up at him, a bit of surprise showing through the weariness. He smiled again, and Dojima felt his nephew return the grip. “Thank you…”

#posting from THE ARCHIVES #HA HA yes of course my first persona fanfiction would have me basically killing my favourite character #I don't regret it ngl but thats probably because he doesn't stay dead anyway #whumptober2020 #persona #persona 4 #persona 4 protagonist #yu narukami #souji seta #ryotaro dojima #fanfiction #persona fanfiction #HardyGal writes stuff #HardyGal writes fanfiction

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