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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Fade

CW: Stab wound, descriptions of wound-packing and stitches, brief reference to child abuse, blood, passing out, talk of going into shock

Follow-up to Jake Being Stabbed

Everything smells like blood.

The smell of it is thick and sticks to the inside of his nose, coats his tongue with the memory of copper-salt-sweet, like when he lost a tooth as a kid by pulling it out, too impatient to wait. Every breath comes with an answering flush of agony radiating from the blurry handle he can see sticking out of his shoulder, he feels sick with pain down to his fingertips, out through his chest.

His heart beats in hammers, working too hard to keep pushing blood that doesn’t want to stay inside him.

His eyes are on the ceiling fan spinning lazily above his head. He needs to change those light bulbs, he thinks. Soon.

“Ne dvigaytes', Misha,” Antoni says, leaning over him, shaggy hair over distant dark brown eyes. Whatever Antoni sees, it’s far, far away from him. But his fingers move quickly, don’t press too hard. “Eto budet bol'no.”

Bol’no. Jake knows that one.

“H-hurt,” He repeats, eyebrows furrowing a little. The ceiling fan is starting to make him feel dizzy.

Or maybe that’s the blood loss.

“Hurt... p-painfully.”

“Da,” Antoni murmurs, emotionless, flat as the side of the knife, and Jake turns his head a little - oh, the world spins when he does that - and sees Antoni’s long fingers closing around the handle of the knife.

“Shit,” Jake whispers, realizing a half-second too late - or early, it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? - what Antoni is about to do. “Wait, Ant, don’t-”

“Nyet doktora, nyet bol’nitsy,” Antoni whispers. “Tol'ko brat'ya.”

“Oh, fuck, no.” Jake allows himself the whimper that escapes without his consent, he tells himself he allows it. His uninjured arm tenses as he closes his hand into a fist, closes his eyes, tries to shut out his knowledge. “Antoni, it’s gonna-... I’ll fucking b-bleed out-”

“Nyet,” Antoni mutters. “Etot byl slishkom napugan chtoby ubit' tebya, ya dumayu.” He pauses, and Jake cracks an eyelid to see Antoni holding out a cooking spoon, the handle horizontal in front of his face. “Bite down,” Antoni says in English, his accent heavier than Jake has ever heard.

But... he thinks... Chris has probably heard him speak like this.

He opens his mouth, obedient and terrified, and the wooden tastes odd against his tongue as he closes his teeth around it.

“This will hurt,” Antoni says, and picks up the towel again, hovering it over the knife he is gripped tightly onto. “Very much. Bite down.”

He pulls the knife out of Jake’s shoulder in one smooth motion.

Jake’s back arches off the floor, his head jammed back against the tile, as he screams around the spoon, veins standing out in his throat. Antoni jams the towel against the wound in nearly the same second the knife exits and the sharp pain of the blade is replaced by the overwhelming throb of cloth being forced not on but in to the bloodied gash.

Jake keeps screaming, eyes wide open now, vision white and gray and sparking every color there is and several he’s pretty sure he can’t usually see, as Antoni packs the wound with careful, precise, efficient speed.

“At first I think it go through,” Antoni says, almost idly, as if this is nothing more than the average Saturday night for him. “But I see now is blood from front pooling on floor. A good sign. Tonight we fail. What if you leave fingerprints, hm? What then?”

Jake’s screams taper off into grunts, forcing air through his nose, his hand in a fist beating ineffectually against the floor just to have something to do. He’s going to black out. He’s going to black out. He’s going to-

“Yeshche raz, Misha.”

Antoni pushes the cloth viciously further into the wound and Jake’s world goes dark.

He swims up from darkness to pain he can’t understand, that his mind simply sets aside and refuses to acknowledge. His shoulder burns like it’s being slowly torn off of his body and he whines, eyes still closed, afraid of the light that turns the backs of his eyelids red.

It was bound to happen eventually.

He’d gotten worse and worse.

They didn’t leave in time.

They can go now, though. Right? This will be enough, right? He shudders as his arm is jostled a little, tears running from the corners of his eyes to soak into the short hair by his ears, run further, drip to mix with the blood on the floor below.

This has to be enough to be worth leaving for good this time, right?

“Mom-... fuck, Mom, y-you okay? Shit, shit, h-hurts, Mom, we gotta go, we gotta go-... he’s gonna kill you-”

“Sssshhhh,” She whispers, running her fingers through his hair. Her voice is deeper, but he knows who it is, then. Where he is. When he is. “It’s okay, Jake. I’ve got you. Dr. Masood is here. It’s okay.”

Jake’s eyes open and her brown hair swings around, in waves, she must’ve taken her braid out before someone called her. Nat smiles down at him, concern written in the way her eyes travel over his face, in the tightness of her jaw and the way the lines of her face stand out more than ever, etched in stone.

“Nat-... h-he didn’t do it on p-purpose, he thought-”

“I know,” Nat says, softly. There’s a spike of pain and Jake turns his head to see the flash of light off a thin needle and unmistakable stiff black thread. He stares at it, barely able to comprehend what’s happening.

Dr. Masood doesn’t look at him. He is far to focused on stitching closed Jake’s shoulder. His own lips are a thin line, and there is nothing but determination in his dark eyes, in the swift motions of his hands, expert, unshaking.

“Chris told me,” Nat says, running fingers through his hair again, reaching to gently turn his eyes back to her. “That, um, he said his name is Jameson... thought you were someone else. I don’t care about that right now. Just look at me, Jake. You’re not going to bleed out, I don’t think, but you sure gave us a fright.”

“All... all in a day’s work,” Jake says hoarsely, and Nat smiles for him, shaking her head slightly. He blinks a few times - the sharp pain of the stitches is... less present, somehow. Less insistent. He feels a little distant from it, drifting somewhere just beside his own body, not really inside it.

That’s probably not good.

“Where-... where’s... Chris, Ant, everybody-...” He trails off, unable to find the energy to keep asking.

“Chris is in your room with Kauri,” Nat answers, reaching over to take his good hand, right hand, his uninjured arm, closing her fingers around his. He can barely feel her grip. “Ant... I don’t know. I think in the bathroom upstairs. Everyone else is in their rooms.”

“Kauri.” Jake tries to move, and then groans and collapses back to the floor again. “Kauri, shit, he must’ve come back and seen-”

“Kauri called me,” Nat says quietly, evenly. Her voice is careful, not exactly emotionless but not shaking, either. There’s nothing but warmth and certainty there, and Jake lets himself rest in it. “He wasn’t making much sense, and I got here as fast as I could. Chris filled me in once I did. He was-... having some trouble, but he got the words out. Dr. Masood is going to get you sewn up and stabilized.”

“Antoni did excellent work packing the wound,” The doctor is murmuring to himself. “Quality work. Fresh clean cloth, not sterile but better than anything else in your average household... this is shockingly clean for a stab wound, the assailant missed major... everything, really, what absolute good fortune-”

“Dr. Masood?” Nat raises her eyes, and the doctor pauses in his meticulous work to look at her. “His fingers are cold.”

“Numb,” Jake corrects her in a mumble.

“What?” Dr. Masood’s eyes move to Jake, now, but there is no change in his expression of focused scrutiny.

“M’fingers... numb. Can’t really feel Nat’s hand.”

“Hm.” Dr. Masood goes back to work. Jake thinks he’s working more quickly now. “Natalie, what is Jakob’s blood type?”

“Uh...”

“O positive,” Jake manages. He remembers having to know this for the hospital as a kid. “’M O positive.”

“Lucky you,” Dr. Masood says quietly, and then sits back on his heels, looking up at Nat. Looking at him to jake feels like looking through a campfire, everything wavy and woozy and strange. He feels drunk, and cold. And like he’s looking at himself from across the room.

He tries to waggle his fingers in a wave. Hey, me.

Dr. Masood is frowning now. “Go to my car and bring in the cooler you find there. It’s not too large, it shouldn’t be hard to carry.”

Oh, the white around his eyes is back, pushing in on his vision, wiping it clean. White and gray and black and red.

What’s red and black and white all over-

“Fuck,” Jake whispers. “Chris is... gonna freak out.”

“Too late for that,” Nat says, matter-of-fact. “We can handle that later. Doctor Masood, why-”

“Jakob needs blood,” Dr. Masood says simply. “And I have been told there will be no visit to a hospital. I can provide some care here. Call your friend who does EMT work, they will be better at emergency stabilization than I am.”

“They might be busy-”

“Then tell them to stop being busy. Jakob Stanton needs blood.” Dr. Masood’s eyes are on Jake’s face again, and his lips thin even more. “I do believe he needs it right now.”

Jake stares back at the doctor’s wavy, shivering face until his vision fades to black.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @endless-whump

#jake the shelter guy #stabbing #whump #blood tw #stitches tw #mild gore #wound packing tw #blade #knives tw #stab wound #passing out tw #injured caretaker #caretaker turned whumpee #box boy universe #bbu #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #dr. masood #going into shock tw #dissociation tw

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thatfanficstuff · 3 years

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Impossible - 15

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: canon typical, discussion of injury

***

Sookie sat at the bar with a glass of whiskey and coke in front of her. That was as close as you got to consoling her over what she just saw. You didn’t want to make it better. In fact, you preferred her wanting to stay the hell away from Bill.

Eric stood behind you sipping at his own drink while he ran a finger up and down the back of your arm. You leaned into his chest savoring the contact. Finally, Bill emerged from the basement. Sookie refused to look at him even when he stood right beside her.

“I want to thank you for securing my release,” he said.

“Uh huh.” Sookie stood but still didn’t look at him. “Let’s go. I have to pack.”

“Pack?” His gaze darted from this blonde to the two of you. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business, Compton,” you answered for her. You glanced at Eric and gestured toward Sookie with a nod of your head. “I think I better go with. Just to make sure everything stays on track. I’ll pack when I get back.”

He nodded once and kissed your temple. “Be safe.”

You walked backward away from him with a little smirk. “Just driving to Bon Temps, Eric. Think I’ll be just fine.”

***

You sat in the back while Sookie drove and Bill sat in the passenger seat. They’d been arguing almost since the drive started. Fortunately, you were nearing the little town.

“You killed him, probably both of them, and you don’t even care,” Sookie said for the fourth time.

Apparently, Bill was as tired of hearing it as you were. “I am a vampire, Sookie. I needed to feed. If you insist on associating with vampires, you need to grow up. And if you wish to blame someone for the deaths, blame Eric. If he had fed me during my incarceration, I wouldn’t have been so ravenous.”

“You’re seriously not going to take any responsibility? You know why you were in that basement. You would still be there if not for her, so watch your tone,” you snapped.

Bill snarled at you. “Just because you and Eric are fornicating, does not mean you have any authority over me. So, you would be wise to watch your tone.”

The car slid to a sudden stop causing you to rock forward. You glanced to Sookie with a frown.

“Get out,” she said.

“Pardon?” the vampire asked.

“You heard me, Bill Compton. Get the fuck out of my car. First, you insult me and then you threatened my friend.”

“I am not getting out of the car, Sookie. Just drive.”

“Fine,” she said before throwing off the seatbelt. She got out of the car, taking the keys with her and slamming the door.

Bill groaned and started to open the door until you stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got this. I think you’ve done enough.” You followed after your friend without giving him a chance to respond. You were surprised to find she’d already put a good deal of distance between herself and the car. She apparently could get a move on when she was pissed. You jogged after her. “Sookie. Wait up.”

She slowed and turned to you with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Something was in the brush keeping pace with you but you didn’t even react. No sense in freaking out the telepath unless necessary. “Hey,” you said as you reached her.

“Hey,” she said as she turned to start walking again. You put a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Stay still.”

She looked at you in confusion until another burst of sound came from the trees around you. She jumped a little. “What was that?”

You hummed to let her knew you heard, but you were too busy listening to give her more of an answer. You needed to pinpoint the origin of that noise so you could get Sookie the hell out of here. Suddenly, a figure stepped into the path and caught your attention. What the fuck was that? It was a thin figure with a bull’s head and large clawed hands. You pulled Sookie behind you so you were between her and the beast.

The only weapon you had was your knife and you certainly didn’t want to face this thing with just that. As the beast hunched forward in a charging pose, you pushed Sookie down the path. “Run, Sookie.”

“What?”

“Just run!” You yelled as the beast launched itself toward you. Shit it was fast. You might be able to outrun it, but Sookie couldn’t and you were keeping yourself between the two of them. Your only hope at the moment was that your vampire felt your terror and was on his way to perform a daring rescue. Or something like that.

You didn’t look back—looking back only slowed you down. You just kept running and pushing Sookie forward when necessary. Then white-hot pain raked across your back as claws tore through your clothes to rend the flesh. Fuck. You collapsed to the ground and curled in on yourself. Oh god, that hurt.

Sookie screamed at a rather impressive decibel then yelled for Bill before kneeling next to you. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” you said on a groan. “Fuck.” The wounds burned and you really wanted to what the hell had attacked you because this wasn’t an ordinary injury.

“Bill, do something,” Sookie ordered.

You chuckled though it was masked in another moan of pain. Compton wasn’t going to do shit for you.

“Eric will be here shortly. He would not appreciate my interference. We should go.”

“I’m not leaving her here.” Sookie sounded disgusted at the mere thought and you were certain you didn’t have to worry about her returning to Bill any time soon.

“I should hate think you were refusing to render aid to my mate, Bill,” Eric’s smooth voice flowed over you. Despite the implied threat, he barely spared the other vampire a glance as he crouched by your head. He brushed hair away from your face and ran his gaze over your face to see how you were handling the injury.

“Something’s wrong,” you forced out through clenched teeth.

He bit into his wrist and held it out for you to drink. You took a long swallow before jerking away with a cough. Then you heaved as you vomited up the blood. The motion made your back burn in fresh pain.

“Fuck,” Eric muttered. “What attacked her?”

“I don’t know what it was. A man with a bull’s head. It just stood in the dark then charged at us,” Sookie explained, still sounding terrified.

“Clawed hands. The wound burns. Like acid,” you added.

Eric gathered you up in his arms. “Bill escort Sookie to her car, then walk home. Miss Stackhouse can finish the drive without you I believe.”

He undoubtedly argued, or would have if Eric had given him the chance, but you two were already on your way back to Fangtasia.

You passed out on the trip and were awoken by someone poking at your wound. You were laying on your stomach on something soft in the middle of the club. You hissed and turned your head to see a very short woman in scrubs. Eric stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest as he observed. Once he realized you were awake, he was by your side in an instant, kneeling by your head.

One hand brushed your hair away from your face and he grasped your hand with the other. “All will be fine, mitt allt.” He shifted his attention to the doctor. “What is it?”

“We don’t have a lot of choices. She’s been poisoned.” She paused to examine something on her glove. “You hear of Komodo dragons? Their mouths are teeming with bacteria. They bite you then follow you around until you succumb to the toxins and you are helpless. Then it will devour you alive.”

“This wasn’t a Komodo dragon,” Eric responded in annoyance.

“No. But the toxin is similar, only much more effective. I don’t think I’ve seen it before but it’s hard to tell without further testing and we don’t have that kind of time.” She pulled a blue bottle from her bag and looked at Eric. “You need to leave so I can remove her clothing.”

You squeezed his hand. You didn’t want him leaving you alone.

“She is my mate. I will stay.”

The woman’s gaze shifted to you and you gave a small nod.

She sighed. “Very well. You can help then.” They stripped your shirt, Eric doing his best to jostle you as little as possible. It still hurt like a bitch. “Hold her down.”

You didn’t like the sound of that. Your fears were validated when the doctor opened that blue bottle and poured it across the wounds on your back. Whatever was in that vial hurt far worse than the wound itself. You clenched your teeth against the pain before finally giving up and releasing a scream that left your throat raw. Just as the pain began to subside, the bitch of a doctor dug one of her fingers into the wound and dragged it the length. “Fucking fuck. Son of a bitch.”

You weren’t certain how long the torment went on. It could have been hours or minutes that simply felt like hours. Finally, she finished. You were exhausted and still hurt, but apparently you weren’t dying any longer. “You can give her your blood now. Her body should accept it. I’ll expect payment by the end of the week.”

Eric gave her a nod then bit into his wrist before offering it to you. You drank long and deep. When you finished, you remained still as you waited for the healing to kick in. Eric sat beside you, holding one of your hands in his own. Once the pain had mostly subsided, you opened an eye to peer at him. “A couple more decent injuries and I’ll have more of your blood in me than my own.”

He gave you a look that said you weren’t nearly as funny as you thought you were. “I sent Pam and Chow into the woods. They found nothing but a scent they couldn’t recognize.”

You huffed. “That’s helpful. Is it healed yet?”

“Nearly. Let me get you something to wear.” He released your hand and you closed your eyes as you waited for him to come back. You heard him sit but kept your eyes shut. “Do you recall the last time your father drank from you?”

You furrowed your brow. What an odd question. But it had been months at this point now that you thought about it. “Three months. Maybe four. Why?”

“Because he felt your panic almost as soon as I did. Not only have I drunk from you far more recently, but as you’ve said, you’ve had quite a bit of my blood. It should have diluted your connection with him.”

He was right but you had no answers for him so you simply shrugged.

He hummed then stood. “Come, mitt allt, let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

You called your father as Eric drove you home. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt from the bar and your panties. Everything else had probably been burnt by now.

“Y/N,” he answered. Oh, he was pissed.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Don’t you daddy me. What the fuck is going on over there? You quit working for me because you were tired of all this shit but here you are nearly dying for free. Is it worth it?” His tone was one you rarely heard directed at you and you didn’t like it. It immediately had you on the defensive.

“So are you pissed I was hurt or pissed I don’t work for you anymore? I’m having trouble telling.” Eric’s hand found your thigh and gave it a little squeeze. You laced your fingers together with his and held his hand.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Y/N Y/M/N. This is twice you’ve nearly died in as many days. I have every right to be furious. At least if you were still working for me, I’d know exactly where you were and what you were up against. I could send the entirety of the resources at my disposal to assist you.” He paused and sighed. You could picture him pacing his office as he spoke to you. “I want you to come home.”

Eric’s hold on your hand tightened.

“Eric is my mate. I am home.”

You heard something break on his side of the line. “You haven’t completed the ceremony yet. It’s not too late to back out.”

“I accepted his claim. That is enough and you know it. What is this? I thought you liked him?” You took your hand back to rake it through your hair.

“That was before he proved himself utterly incapable of protecting you,” your father snapped.

You swore you could almost feel the irritation and paid radiating off Eric. You took a breath to calm yourself before responding to Roman. “Eric doesn’t have to protect me because he has faith in me to protect myself. And when things went bad, he was there to pick me up and take care of me. How many times exactly did I nearly die running errands for the Authority? I lost count but I’m sure you have a tally somewhere. I don’t want to talk to you for a few days. Please don’t call me.” With that you hung up.

You were nearly home before Eric spoke. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. You?”

He chuckled. “He is not my father.”

You thought about saying he wasn’t yours either, but that would be a lie and you knew it. Biology be damned, Roman Zimojic was your father in every way that mattered. You simply sighed and turned to look at the window.

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #impossible #series

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boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

Text

Turmoil

Thank you @finder-of-rings for looking over this :3

Taglist: : @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @moose-teeth @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript

Chapter 7

CW: murder, injuries, first aid,

The spear’s bloody tip just barely wavered in Gideon’s trembling hands as the head-hunter hit the ground right next to the wheezing girl.

His eyes were bottomless pits, fury and surprise fighting to break the surface.

His legs twitched, blood gushing from the deep cuts on his ankles with every jerk of useless limbs where Gideon’s spear had sliced right through the tendon at his heel.

“The hell you think you’re doing, boy?!”

“I-" Gideon stopped short, self-assurance wavering for the first time since he had set foot in this village.

What was he doing here?

Sneaking away from school, wandering around empty streets in a village he had even less of a place in than the hallways of his family's mansion.

At the end he'd just listened to the little girl he’d run into, crying about monsters in the forest and on her way to alarm the village. What else was he gonna do? Nothing?!

He had followed the trail of tears and squashed mushroom pulp, painting a path of luminescent droplets onto the dark earth, like a string of starlight carrying him to a battlefield of death, a spider's corpse and mutants and monsters, and they weren’t the same at all this time.

Were they?

Sahar’s big green eyes watched the blood drip from Gideon’s spear, while long clawed fingertips tapped against the ground in tandem with its falling droplets. Their slow rhythmic sound carried over the clearing, like stones scraping gently against one another.

Hard bloodied earth met even harder bloodied skin.

“Damn it, boy! I asked you a question.”

Breaking out of his stupor, Gideon’s attention snapped from Sahar's mutilated form to the furious head-hunter, who had crawled a few feet away and struggled to sit up. His small dark eyes stared daggers at Gideon, as if he wanted to break his skull open and examine its contents.

“I’m going to find and kill every single mutant. Bah! A big mouth full of empty words. You ain’t nothing but a coward. Pathetic.”

Rage buzzed through Gideon at the words, growing louder and louder, a building crescendo of cicada cries at night. His palms prickled as they closed tighter around the metal spear.

“I’m not!” He swirled around, spear raised and eyes burning. Fixed on Sahar's mutated arm. “I made a promise, and I never break my word.”

The ghost of a grin danced around the man’s lips. Silent and unnoticed. Gideon stepped closer, gravel crunching under the soles of his boots.

This was it, his first step to the realization of his dream. His first step towards revenge against this world.

A soft groan spilled from the mutant's chapped lips. his face contorted in pain as he turned to look up, past the spear's bloody blade. Green eyes bored into Gideon's brown, deep into his thundering heart.

Gideon’s next step was a stumbling one. Faltering, catching in a tripwire net of doubts. He stared down at the other boy, his blotchy, red, tear-crusted face.

Sahar, whispered a voice deep inside him. His name’s Sahar.

Gideon shook his head as if he willed the voice to fall out of his ears like water after a cold dive.

No. No. No .No. No!

Mutants were soulless monsters. Nothing more but vermin. They were-

Sahar’s mouth twitched around the faintest of smiles.

His voice was quiet and so sandpaper-rough that Gideon wondered how it could still hold such gentleness. “Tha- tha- thanks for… for saving… her.”

Gideon’s spear dropped. Disbelief filled his wide brown eyes, threatening to spill out.

Something cracked, deep in his chest, broke through his ribcage, forcing its way out. Something he would much rather keep locked tightly away.

It was at this moment that Gideon realized he wasn’t a killer. He was just a boy, with hands that wanted to hold and help and heal the very thing he had yearned to kill.

Like countless times before, he followed the intuition buried deep in his bones. His heart and head still waged a war inside him as Gideon sank to his knees next to Sahar.

Shaking hands unclasped the thick leather strap from the spear's quiver, gently eased Sahar onto his knees, resting his wounded arm there. He wrapped the strap around the blistering hot, hardened flesh as tightly as he could, drawing an agonized groan out of the other boy.

“Be more careful with him.” Charlotte’s voice was a hiss, so close to his ear that he nearly jumped, accidentally jostling Sahar’s injured arm. Fresh bruises bloomed around her neck, and her words carried the slightest wheeze with them.

She still swayed a little, leaning on the axe for support as sharp blue eyes watched his every move. Only snapping up at the sound of the head-hunter’s hands scraping over the ground, trying to reach for his knife.

She picked up the axe, face frosting over.

Sahar mewled softly when she stepped away, head craning in her direction. Charlotte did not turn around as she declared: “If you hurt him, I will kill you.”

Don’t worry. I won’t.

Calm brown eyes met panicked hazy green.

“It’s alright.” Gideon’s voice came out strangely strangled. Barely more than a scratchy rushed exhalation. “Nothing’ll happen. It’s alright, now.”

Thick red blood gushed from the bite wound, soaking into the lily-white trousers of his academy uniform, staining the warm brown skin underneath.

“It’s alright. You’ll be alright, ‘kay?”

Sahar's head moved, giving the tiniest nod.

Gideon’s lips split into a soft smile.

The blossom of this tender moment got nipped by the man’s panicked scream before it could fully bloom.

Charlotte loomed over him, feet pressing down his arms and axe held high.

“Hey-... hey wait. We can talk about this. Let’s talk about this, okay?” The man’s high pitched plea sent a shiver down Gideon’s spine. All the self-assured cockiness had vanished from his voice, stolen away by the inevitability of death.

Charlotte’s voice however, didn’t waver.

“I won’t risk anyone finding out about Sahar’s little secret. No one from this village and certainly not anyone from whatever hell hole you crawled out of.”

“C’mon girl, I promise I-“

“So you see,” Charlotte cut him off sharply. “It’s nothing personal. Really.”

Gideon turned away, then, trying to forget the axe's red and blue stained blade glinting in the eerie clearing's glow, and stared at Sahar's face instead. Concentrating on the wrinkle of his brows, how the long lashes of his tightly shut eyes stuck to his cheeks in wet triangles. He watched harsh breaths burst from slightly parted lips. Inhaled the faint eucalyptus smell coming from the other boy.

A spot on Sahar’s lower lip had split open.

The breaking of bone thundered through the silent forest. Steel parted skull. Bone crunched and soft tissue split with a sickening sound, over and over and over again.

Was there blood welling up deep in the little cut on Sahar’s lip? It was suddenly so hard to tell. Sahar’s face, the leather strap wrapped tightly around his arm, Gideon’s own hands… everything blurred together.

His world had become utterly unrecognizable.

A grey blouse fluttered into his field of vision, and pale blood-splattered hands wrapped it carefully around Sahar’s shoulders, covering up his arm.

“The children must have alerted everyone by now, so let’s get Sahar out of here. The farm is not far. If anyone asks why he attacked us, it’s because he mistook me for a mutant. Got it?”

Gideon couldn’t help but stare at her hands, their heavy trembling the only thing betraying Charlotte's true feelings, the storm forced underneath the calm.

“Gideon. Do you understand?” Her eyes narrowed and there was blood in her curls. Red crisscrossed the wrinkled skin of her birthmark, the smooth planes of her fair skinned left cheek, the bridge of her nose. “If you back out- if you betray him-“

Swallowing hard, Gideon shook his head. “I won’t.”

Her eyes searched his, and he was glad that she left the axe in the remnants of the intruder’s skull several feet away.

Gideon’s hands shook, too, as he helped her drag Sahar upright. He mewled, barely audible where he was pressed to Gideon’s shoulder.

“I promise. His secret’s safe with me."

Three silhouettes vanished between thick flower stems and giant mushrooms into the wood's darkness. Leaving the slain spider and its mutilated master behind in the clearing's luminescent glow.

#whump #whump writing #mutant whumpee #non human whumpee #monster whumpee #injuries #injuried whump #injuried whumpee #reluctant caretaker #caretaker #murder #murder tw #first aid #some flowers have teeth #sahar #gideon #charlotte #emotional whump

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walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“Not Alone Anymore” Part 1 of 2 - Aaron & Sister!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Gene Page/AMC

Request from @thanossexual: Hi, can you please write something about Y/n looking for her brother Aaron and after Sooooo many years that passed since the outbreak she never gave up, she meets Jesus in the woods and he helps her (he doesn't know that its Aaron) and then she finally finds him and they have a happy reunion. She meets Gracie and just lots of fluff

Word Count: 3894

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Brother” by NEEDTOBREATHE ft. Gavin DeGraw

Note: This is going to be a 2 part story! Maybe three, but two for sure! I have a fun idea for the next part, but I wanted to get this up cause I promised I would! Thank you for the request!

-------

The air tasted stale on your tongue.

It had been two days since you had eaten and one since your last drink of water. The last time you had found a stream, it was packed with water-logged Dead as they struggled to get out of the water and back to lumbering on land. The Virginian landscape stretched out before you as you walked along the grassy slope. A decade ago, these overgrown fields of nothingness looked very different and they didn’t feel as empty as they did right now.

The sun beat down the back of your neck with a ferocity you had gotten used to over the years since the Turn. In the new world, nothing was safe; nothing was certain; everything took something from you.

You had considered looking for a place to hold up. Maybe somewhere near the water or high up in an old building, but nothing ever fit. At times, you felt like Alice in the room with all the doors and no matter what you did, the key never fit.

The shaded tree line beckoned you ahead and you hoped to find some relief from the sun after walking for hours. Your feet dragged along the dead grass as you pushed yourself towards the shade. Eventually, the trees were surrounding you as your dehydrated mind struggled to stay focused.

"Look for high ground, find water, find shelter," you said to yourself. Looking for the sun through the canopy, you found North easily enough and began your hike in hopes of finding a stream. However, it seemed the world had other plans for you.

The Dead came out of nowhere.

Their sun-baked flesh crackled as they staggered toward you, reaching out with their bony hands. Drawing your knife from its sheath, you steeled yourself for the attack. The first one fell towards you and you managed to stab it in its skull before it could grab onto your jacket. The creature fell to the ground with a crunch.

Two more came after you as you backed up, trying to gain perspective. You were tired, hungry, and a bit disoriented, but you did what you always did: fought to survive.

Just as you went for the Biter on the left, your feet were knocked out from under you. You shouted in alarm as desiccated hands pulled you to the forest floor. You kicked out at the groaning assailant, but you were getting weaker by the minute and the fall hadn't helped.

You struggled as the Dead above you, fell to their knees, and tried to grab hold of your flailing arms and legs. You managed to kick one in the jaw, but it barely slowed down. As hands gripped your calf, you allowed yourself to scream as you awaited the pain, but then a rhythmic sound reached your ears.

Horse hooves pounded the ground as a man on horseback came barreling through the trees. From his hand flew a blade that lodged itself into the Biter that had your leg. Two more knives followed as the others were taken out.

Collapsing on your back, you had no fight left in you. If this man was an enemy, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Boots touched down to your left as he approached. The man crouched over you and as you peered up at him, you were taken aback by his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of blue you had ever seen. He was tall with his hair pulled back and he wore gloves and a leather duster. With the sun lighting him from behind, he didn't look real.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, checking over your body.

"No," you croaked, sitting up.

"Here," he said, offering you his canteen. You didn't hesitate at the sight of it. You took two large gulps from it before giving it back. You swiped at your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Thank you," you rasped. He smiled gently at you.

"You looked like you could use some help," he said, his eyes glinting in the light. "I'm Jesus," he introduced.

"(Y/N)," you said before the black spots returned to your vision. "I can't...I can't see," you muttered as dizziness took over.

"(Y/N)?" You heard Jesus call, but he seemed too far away. Your adrenaline was fading and you tried to keep your eyes open, but everything was fading too fast. You reached a hand towards the stranger, but it fell at your side as you collapsed back onto the dying earth before succumbing to the darkness that eagerly awaited.

Jesus stared down at you and made a quick decision. You needed help and while he knew Michonne would have his head, Alexandria was closer.

Hiking you up into his arms, Jesus got you on the horse, draping you across the saddle before swinging his leg over as well. Once he was settled, he maneuvered you so she sat in front of him and he took the reigns, snapping them quickly and tapping his heels against the horse's side.

With a quick pull, Jesus rode towards Alexandria, hoping that you would make it. He didn't know what it was, but something was familiar about you and he knew he couldn't leave you behind.

He rode hard through the woods, keeping a tight grip on you as he tried not to jostle you too much. He could hear your labored breathing and occasionally, you would move as if you were trying to fight the fatigue that weighed on you. It didn’t take long for the walls of Alexandria to come into view. Jesus whistled as he approached, gaining the attention of whoever was on watch. Luckily, it wasn’t their head of security.

Gabriel appeared at the top of the wall, looking down at the new arrival. “She needs food and water, please Gabriel,” Jesus pleaded. “I won’t leave her side and I take full responsibility for anything.” Gabriel hesitated, but only for a moment. He disappeared off the watch post and Jesus was worried, he would be turned away after all. He knew Michonne had rules about bringing in outsiders. He hadn’t gotten the full story, but from what Aaron had told him about Jocelyn, Michonne was right to be cautious. However, that didn’t mean he still didn’t have faith in what Alexandria once stood for.

Jesus steadied his horse as the main gate finally rolled open. Gabriel ushered him inside and locked up behind them. “We need to get her to Siddiq,” Gabriel said as he helped Jesus get you down from the horse.

“Her name’s (Y/N),” he explained. “Found her getting attacked by Walkers not too far from here. I don’t think she’s had anything to eat for a while.”

“Was she alone?” Gabriel asked as Jesus heaved you up into his arms bridal style.

“I didn’t see anyone else and she didn’t seem to be looking for anyone before she fainted,” he explained.

“I’ll have Laura and Scott be on the lookout just to be sure,” Gabriel said.

“I’m sorry,” Jesus said, “I know you don’t take in strangers, but Hilltop was too far and I think she hit her head.”

“It’s fine, Jesus,” Gabriel said, “I know what Michonne thinks, but I’m not Michonne.” Gabriel led him to the infirmary. The three of you got strange looks as you moved through the community and it was only a matter of time before word got back to Michonne. Jesus only hoped the resident doctor could fix you up before his Katana-wielding friend kicked you out.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I was heading here?” Jesus asked as Gabriel opened the door for him.

“Jesus, if you think some people haven’t figured it out yet, then you and Aaron a lot denser than I first thought,” Gabriel said with a sly smile.

“Fair enough, Father,” Jesus said as he followed the other man towards Siddiq’s main set up.

As soon as Jesus brought you into the infirmary, Siddiq was moving to clear a bed for you. “What happened?” Siddiq asked, not even caring to ask who you were. It didn’t matter to him right now.

“Severe dehydration, lack of food, and I think she hit her head,” Jesus explained, laying you down on the bed. “I already checked for bites when I saw the Walkers attacking her, she’s clean.” Siddiq nodded as he took out his penlight and shone it in your eyes, gently lifting your eyelids. He felt around the back of your head for any bumps or bruising, but was satisfied to not find any.

Gabriel had taken a few steps back to give the doctor room to work, but Jesus made sure to keep close. It helped when you slowly gained consciousness. Your eyes fluttered open and the first face you saw was the man who had saved you. Your hand blindly searched for him and Jesus was there, adding pressure to your sunburnt skin. “You’re okay, (Y/N),” he assured you. “You’re in a safe place and a doctor is taking a look at you.”

Looking around, you noticed you were in a room in some kind of house. Large windows brought in sunlight and the bed you lay on was the most comfortable thing you had felt since early on in the apocalypse. You let go of Jesus’ hand and tried to sit up. Another pair of hands, the doctor’s you realized, assisted you, placing a pillow behind your back. “What happened?” you asked, trying to get your bearings.

“You passed out after I saved you,” Jesus told you, “I took you here to get help.” You nodded, letting all the information sink in. You knew there were places out there that offered sanctuary to travelers, but you hadn’t felt comfortable enough to seek one out. The words from someone you knew years before ran through your head as you remembered them asking to go with them to “build a new world”. You had been too concerned with looking for your family that you hadn’t taken their hand, but perhaps you wouldn’t be in this situation if you had.

“My name is Siddiq,” the doctor said, “and that is Father Gabriel,” he said, gesturing to the man with the clerical collar that stood on the far wall. Still a bit out of it, you let out a small laugh.

“A doctor, a priest, and a guy named Jesus walk into a bar…” you joked and Siddiq laughed too.

“She had jokes,” Siddiq said with a smile. “Hard to find that these days.” Jesus nodded in agreement. “What’s your name?” he asked you.

“(Y/N),” you said, rubbing at your face. Siddiq then offered you a glass of water that he poured from the pot by the bed.

“Drink, (Y/N),” he said, “we’ll get you some food once your body is more hydrated.” You took the glass from him and drank half of it in one go. “You don’t seem to be injured so one we get you back on your feet with some more water and food, you should be good to go,” Siddiq said reassuringly.

“Yes, I believe that would be for the best,” a new voice said. You all looked over to the doorway to see a beautiful and tall woman. Her dark skin glowed in the sunlight, but her eyes were hard as they stared at you. When you noticed the sword strapped to her back, you inched behind Jesus, reaching for his coat. Siddiq squeezed your arm carefully. “What is this?” she asked.

“Michonne,” Jesus began.

“Don’t,” she warned. “I’ll talk to you later, Jesus.”

“She just needed water and food,” Father Gabriel said to her. “I saw no harm in helping her, Michonne.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Michonne said, approaching you. Jesus stepped away from the bed, giving the woman some room. Your hand fell away from his coat as you looked up at the warrior. “Who are you?” she ordered.

“No one,” you said honestly. “I didn’t even know there was a community nearby. I was on my way to the city and I got attacked. Jesus saved me.” Michonne glanced at the aforementioned man quickly before returning her attention to you.

“Where are you people?” she asked.

“I don’t have any. Not anymore,” you said. “We got separated months ago in the blizzard and I don’t think any of them survived.”

“But you did?” she asked, her tone accusatory.

“Barely,” you said, “it hasn’t been easy being on my own.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing! I didn’t even know he was taking me here until I woke up moments ago. I’m not here to hurt anyone!” Michonne was quiet for a moment as she thought.

“I want her gone,” Michonne said. “Blindfold her and take her someplace where she can’t find her way back.”

“Michonne, please,” Siddiq said, “she needs rest, she can’t go out there like this.”

“That is not our problem, Siddiq. We have rules for a reason!”

“No, you have rules, Michonne,” he snapped back. “I never agreed to them.”

“Then you don’t need to stay here, do you?” she returned with a glare.

“Enough!” Gabriel said. “I know we all different opinions on how to handle outsiders, but turning on each other is not the way to handle it.”

“I made myself very clear, Gabriel,” Michonne said. Gabriel went to argue again, but footsteps echoed through the room as someone else entered, ready to diffuse the situation.

“We have a council for a reason, Michonne,” the new person said and the voice rolled through you like a wave. You couldn’t see them from your position behind Jesus and Michonne, but you knew that voice.

“Not now, Aaron,” Michonne said and that’s when it hit you all at once.

Aaron.

“Aaron?” you said, his name feeling foreign on your tongue. Slowly, a tall man with a beard and curly hair came around the corner and he froze. Nobody spoke, but the others kept looking between the two of you confused. Aaron stared at you as if he was seeing a ghost.

“Oh my god,” he gasped as he finally snapped out of his surprise. He ignored Michonne and the others as he walked forward, stopping at your bedside. Hesitantly he reached out his right hand to you. You noticed his left was now a prosthetic, but that wasn’t the only thing different about your big brother.

He seemed harder and his eyes looked almost ancient. As soon as his fingertips met your skin, you collapsed towards him. He grabbed you in a hug immediately, clutching you to him. “Oh god!” he cried, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “(Y/N),” he said as you held onto him, trying not to cry. He pulled back, searching your face. “You’re so big,” he said.

“Last time you saw me I was fifteen, so yeah, that tends to happen, brother,” you said and at your words, Jesus’ mouth fell open.

“Your Aaron’s sister?” he asked and Aaron jumped as if he just realized Jesus was there. “The one who lived in Massachusetts?” You nodded, surprised he knew that bit of information.

“She stayed with my mom after the divorce,” Aaron explained and then looked back at you. “How are you here? I thought you were dead.”

“Jesus found me, he saved me. I’ve been heading South since everything happened,” you explained, unable to keep any distance between you and your brother. You held onto his hand, examining all the scars that marked it.

“You found her?” Aaron asked Jesus who just nodded. Aaron reached out his left arm to Jesus and the latter walked into the embrace. “Thank you, Paul,” Aaron whispered, leaning his head on the other man’s chest. “Thank you.” Watching them, it wasn’t difficult to see that Aaron had a connection with your Savior. Jesus pulled back and gripped Aaron by the back of the neck, looking at him with something that looked a lot like love to you, but you kept your observation to yourself. Aaron then seemed to realize the confusion in the room. “This is my baby sister,” he explained to the others. “God, I never thought I would see her again.”

“Aaron,” Michonne began softer this time.

“I know the rules…” he said, but Michonne was shaking her head.

“Rules don’t matter when it comes to family,” she said and the look in her eyes told you that she had lost people, someone perhaps she was still hoping to see again. Michonne carefully approached you. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to be careful,” you said, “I understand.” Michonne nodded and then stepped away as Siddiq broke the tension again.

“(Y/N) needs her rest,” he said. “I’m gonna keep her in the infirmary tonight so I can keep an eye on her.” The others nodded and Gabriel moved to leave and so did Michonne, but not before pausing by Aaron’s side.

“I’ll take your guard shift and let the others know what happened,” she said.

“Thank you, Michonne,” he said and Michonne gripped his shoulder before following Gabriel out of the room. Jesus stopped by the doorway and looked back.

“I’m gonna be around for a bit, Aaron,” he said, “if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Aaron said, “I’ll come to find you in a bit.”

“I can watch Gracie for you,” he offered, “She and I have some catching up to do anyway.”

“That would be great, Paul,” Aaron said gratefully. “Thank you.” Jesus smiled and then sent a wink your way before exiting the infirmary.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Siddiq said, placing more water on the bedside. “Make sure she drinks, Aaron. We’ll try food in a bit.”

“Thanks, Doc,” you said, grabbing the water glass again. He nodded to the both of you before leaving as well. Finally, alone, you reached for him again and Aaron took you in his arms. “I can’t believe I found you,” you said into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I should have come for you, but I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t even know where you were.”

“Don’t do that,” you said, leaning back so you could look him in the eyes. “Do not blame yourself. I’m okay, Aaron. I survived, we both did. It took a long time to get to you, but I’m here now.” Aaron nodded, blinking back the tears as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I have so much to tell you,” he said.

“Me too,” you said with a weak laugh. “Though I have a feeling your stories are much more interesting than mine,” you said, tapping the metal arm. He scrunched his nose and lifted his prosthetic to his face.

“Pretty cool, right? A couple of the blacksmiths at Hilltop made it,” Aaron explained.

“Hilltop?”

“The community where Jesus is from,” he said.

“There’s another community?” you asked, surprised.

“Four in all. We’re in Alexandria, then there’s Hilltop, Oceanside, and the Kingdom. I’ll take you to them sometime soon. Introduce you to my new family. Though, we may have to go a little deeper into the wilderness to find one of my best friends. He’s not really a sociable person right now.”

“And yet he’s your best friend?” you asked, smiling.

“He’s...Daryl’s odd, but we love him.” You smirked as you drank more water, relishing in the feel of it cooling your throat.

“Who’s Gracie?” you asked after Aaron filled your glass again.

“My daughter,” he said and you nearly dropped the drink in your hand.

“Daughter?”

“You’re an aunt, (Y/N),” he said with a beaming smile. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, she’s everything and more.”

“How old is she?” you asked, trying to imagine your brother with a kid.

“Six,” he said, “almost seven and a total dream of a kid. I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her too. If she’s anything like her daddy, I’m sure I’ll love her.” Aaron and you spent the new couple of hours, reminiscing about life before the Turn and what happened afterward. You told him how you tried to get to Virginia after the first outbreak, but got caught up in a group of people wanting to head West. Eventually, you had gotten away from them, but were on your own for months after until you found another group and stuck with them for at least a year. “I never really fit anywhere, you know? Couldn’t find my people. Though, it looks like you did.”

“Yeah,” Aaron said as he lay next to you, staring up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t easy, but we’ve all become more than family. Everything we’ve been through…” he trailed off, his hand fiddling with one of the straps on his left arm.

“Mom died at the beginning,” you explained softly. Aaron nodded.

“I figured,” he sighed, “I don’t know what happened to Dad, but he was sick the last time I spoke to him.”

“I know, he called me and told me about the cancer,” you said, “I just hope he’s not out there roaming around, you know?”

“Stubborn man like him? Probably went out with a bang, (Y/N),” he joked. You both were quiet for a moment before you asked what had been on your mind since you woke up.

“Am I safe here?” you asked. Aaron turned on his side, pushing the hair from your face.

“Yes, I promise. Tomorrow, I will take you out of this room and show you everything this place is. We fought hard to keep Alexandria, and now it’s home.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching your hands out in front of you. “I still trust you, always will.”

“Good,” Aaron said and then grabbed your arm suddenly causing you to jump. He turned your right arm over and exposed a large scar that ran from your elbow to your shoulder. “What happened?”

“Ran into a herd about six or so years ago” you explained. “Fell down a short hill and got my arm all shredded by some razor wire.” Aaron cringed at the thought.

“How’d you get away?”

“Some guys actually hauled my ass through the woods and saved me,” you explained. “Weird guy, but he was strong and he protected me until I could handle things on my own again. Never saw him again, but I owe him a lot.” Shrugging, you pulled down the sleeve of your shirt. “What about your arm?”

“Lumber accident,” Aaron revealed and you laughed.

“You’re serious?” you asked.

“It’s true, we were building a bridge and Walkers snuck up on us and some idiot let go of the rope that was holding the logs and it crushed my arm. Luckily, Hilltop has a badass field medic and she fixed me up good.”

“She still around?”

“Yeah, still at Hilltop.”

“Remind me to thank her when I visit,” you said as you curled into your brother’s side, closing your eyes. “What happened to you, Aaron? What haunts you?” Aaron pulled you closer, leaning his head on yours.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, kid,” he whispered.

“Don’t call me kid,” you mumbled and as you fell asleep, finally feeling safe, but not because of Alexandria, but because you finally found him. You finally found your family.

PART II

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @yes-sir-hotchner

125 notes · View notes

artsoupsoupart · 3 years

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Madney Week 2021: Paint Me as You Mourn Me

Day Three: “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.” + angst

Read on Ao3

“Ch-Chim,” her voice is so far off in the distance, somewhere behind the ringing in his ears. It’s dark, but there are flashes of light pulsing into his line of vision, and he knows he’s hit his head at some point. “Chim, you can get out. Something—”

Her own grunt of frustration cuts her off as he shakes his head, eyes blazing with certainty as his vision clears enough to focus on Maddie, the one person he had secretly vowed to protect from the moment he had met her (even if he didn’t really know the extent of said vow). He looks around for something, anything that could free her from the weight crushing her. “No, gotta get you out first.”

He can think a bit clearer now that the dust has settled, and he’s taken in his surroundings. There had been an earthquake. It had shaken everything and anything, but then it had stopped. The aftershock, though, was quick and intense, and then they were falling, and Chimney was losing everything that meant anything to him. She’s not gone yet; he has to remember that. She’s not allowed to leave him he thinks to himself. Not yet at least. There’s a long trail of blood dripping from her head, thick and oozing, and her eye and side of her face is already beginning to bruise something grotesquely purple. He remembers the ground shaking, remembers thinking this is one of the biggest earthquakes he had ever experienced. He had shielded her with his own body, protecting her in the passageway of the parking garage but then the floor gave out beneath them, and they fell and tumbled to whatever was below.

“Baby, I’m…” she groans out in a pain so distinct that it sinks his heart. “I’m stuck. You have to go. If you don’t,” Maddie winces in pain, her words slurring. “If you don’t—”

“No!” he cuts her off again, his hands cupping her cheeks. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.”

The first time he had picked up a paintbrush, Howard Han was eight years old and at school. It had been the most natural transition from crayons and color pencils to acrylics and watercolors. He had loved it immediately and had gushed to his mother over and over again about how he had wanted to paint for the rest of his life. He painted even the most mundane of scenes. There were canvases of the sky and the moon and the woods behind his home. He had journals and sketchbooks of little moments of ice cream trips and big events like graduating. He mapped out every important event of his life through acrylic and graphite and watercolor.

Setting up Maddie’s security system had been an easy tradeoff for beer and pizza. He had said yes before even meeting her, mainly because he is kind and gentle and the safety of someone is his main priority no matter if he’s on the clock or not.

And then he had seen her. She had said she’d never seen Mission Impossible and what a travesty that is, he had joked. Immediately he takes notice of her, drinking her into his system in the least creepy way possible. She’s blue but not in the dangerous, threatening midnight or oxford blue of a raging ocean where the sea threatens to swallow and drown him whole. She’s nothing like the broad strokes of a pallet knife, thick and aggressive and coarse. She’s far from the aquamarine that drips of hopelessness and grief that he knows so well. She doesn’t make him sad. She doesn’t make an alarm go off in his mind that encourages him to put up false pretenses that will lead to absolutely nothing and drain him of everything he thought he was.

Instead, the strokes of paint are soft under the round brush. Featherlight but abstract because this is already beautiful but so wonderfully new. Chimney doesn’t know the last time he’s felt like this or if he’s ever felt this feeling before. He yearns for her already though they barely know each other, they don’t know each other. Still, she’s a calming sapphire, welcoming and brilliant. He wants to learn what makes her smile, what makes her laugh, what makes her dream of love and light. She sparkles already and he’s only known her for a couple hours. For just a moment he knows he can’t begin to capture what she makes him feel on a piece of linen wrapped around planks of pine.

…

Takeout and a movie between friends, that’s all this is. It’s all this will be because they’re friends and he’s content with that. For each tomorrow, he makes a vow that says if friendship is all they have, that will do. Because she’s been through a lot. It’s what she needs and what she deserves and he’s grateful to be witness to a side of her that he thinks is reserved for few people in her life. He is witness to her tenderness, to her gentle hands and soft voice. He’s on the receiving end of her bright sarcasm and welcomes it just as she does his (corny) jokes. They are friends, but they’re closer than that. She leans her head against his shoulder when they watch movies. He comforts her when scenes are a bit too much. Being allowed to hold her hands is sage green with wide, smooth strokes. They laugh together. She makes him walk and talk differently but they’re just friends. Maybe.

The thin liner brush traces the blobs on the canvas, outlining, defining the images beneath the black paint. For what it’s worth, the old Chimney is gone. The old Chimney would contrast with what exists now. The old Chimney is replaced with one that compliments the sage of who she is. Perhaps now he is a blush of pink that mimic his cheeks when he’s near her, or a muted orange that is warm in a way he couldn’t be before. Together they are a peach sunset on a sprawling meadow. He’s relaxed when he’s with her. He doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to lie. She laughs at his jokes and leans against his side. They are warm and inviting and everything good pools just from being together.

They’re just friends and he can be okay with that for as long as she is as well. He won’t push. He won’t press without her because they’re friends but somehow they’re also partners. Together, they are free to be, to exist and open themselves up entirely.

…

He told her he loved her. She is who he loves, with cats in her throat in the morning. She is who he loves, dancing together in the kitchen, cuddled together on the couch, the morning after saving a life. He is who she loves, with his jokes and his strength. He is understanding and hope and joy. She loves him just as much as he loves her and that burns across the pages of his sketchbook, page after page being filled with their desire, affection, and devotion to one another.

Her eyes shine as she smiles at him, they sparkle more than stars in the deep onyx of an unpolluted sky. Perhaps that’s what he’ll miss the most if he loses her one day. The way those deep ebony pools of burnt umber darken because he loves her. The look in her gaze shoots him directly in the heart every time, without fail. She’s gold, a brilliant yellow that blazes through his very being, his very soul. The light that they’ve turned on is bright and blinding and he thinks this is the end all, be all for him, for them. It takes every bit of self-control in him to not fidget as he paints their passion against the pale beige canvas.

Then they’re red, scarlet, burning bright as they connect with one another. This time is different, better. They’ve professed their love for one another, and it shows in their touch, in their kiss, in the warmth of skin against skin. The strokes are angled, precise. He thinks of time as he paints. How they’ve spent so little of it together in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because time goes along with space and they’re well beyond that. They care about each other’s most benign details. They are one and will be for as long as they chose to be.

…

Chimney doesn’t know why he brought the paintings. Each one leans against the wall of the hospital room, comforting him, mocking him. His eyes flicker to each one and his heart breaks that much more. The doctors say she’ll be fine. Somewhere in the back of his mind he believes their optimism, believes she’ll wake up and won’t hate him for failing her, for losing his grip on her, for being the indirect cause of why she’s even in the hospital in the first place. She’d never see it that way, see him that way. Still, he can’t help but think he should have held her tighter, protected her better.

He looks over at Maddie, watches the rise and fall of her chest under the skinny tubes connected to her. There’s so many wires, so little sound, so much light in this room and it’s overwhelming. Everything about this situation is overwhelming. He can’t get the flashes of falling out of his head. He can’t figure out why his hold on her hadn’t been strong enough, how he could have possibly let her slip out of his grasp. It’s not his fault, he’s heard it many times in the last two days. But he had let go, he had let her arms go as they fell, and she had ended up pinned beneath thick, unmovable cement and there had been a rebar of her own through her shoulder. And so much blood.

He’ll never get the image of the color fading from her face as she joked that they’d have matching scars. If only he was good enough, worthy enough to be able to wake her up. He wants to hold her while he waits but can’t risk jostling her and making things worse than they already are.

“I’m going to love you for a long time, Maddie.” His hand finds its place back in hers, tears pooling in his eyes as he realizes how cold it is. She runs cold anyway, but this is practically frigid ice against his. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he knows. The fact doesn’t stop him from worrying anyway. “So, just wake up now and then you can rest until you’re better.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, or speak or even flutter her eyes.

With one hand still in hers, he turns to the travel easel holding a small canvas frame and picks up a paintbrush, dipping it into the flat wash with a sigh.

#madneyweek2021 #maddie buckley #howie chimney han #angst #chakayla’s royal decree #ignore that this is late #the rest of the prompts might be bc i scrapped a lot of stuff #being a perfectionist is fun

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

Slayer? I Hardly Know Her || Dani and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @surmamort and @inbextween SUMMARY: This is why we use the buddy system on campus. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, Blood

The soft patter of rain on Dani’s windshield would have sent her to sleep had it not been for the roll of thunder and the flash of lightning across the ever darkening sky. For the most part, she found thunderstorms relaxing, but not when she had to drive in them. The tires on her truck were balding, and though she had been told time and time again by both of her mom’s that they would get her a new vehicle, she had bought Cleo with her own money, and the last thing she wanted was to sell it as scrap metal. She’d keep her truck for as long as she could-- besides, getting a new vehicle would mean installing a plethora of new secret compartments, and the only person that Dani trusted to do that was herself.

She lifted the cup of half-empty, too-sweet coffee to her lips, disappointment following at the lack of heat from the liquid. The sugar coated her tongue and her stomach churned. She wouldn’t need to stay much longer-- just until she saw the parking lot clear of any vehicles. Though UMWC was notorious for late night stays, especially in the library. Dani would stay until she saw the lights turn out, and then she would head home. What should have been an easy thirty minute wait stretched into an hour, and then two hours. It wasn’t until Dani saw the door finally open did she perk up. Hands on the steering wheel, she leaned forward and watched as a girl who couldn’t be much older than herself, came into view. The only problem? There was somebody else watching her-- just parallel to where Dani was currently parked-- something she hadn’t immediately noticed. Had they always been there?

Bex hadn’t meant to stay so late, but she’d been doing that more and more lately. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on a degree she didn’t want to be in. She was realizing that more and more, with each passing day she had to attend classes that put her to sleep. She just kept thinking about other classes, like Professor Beck’s class, and maybe even taking Professor Campbell’s Classics lecture. But she wasn’t in a position to do anything about it yet, so slogging through essays about criminal law and business law was her life right now. She had an exam soon, too, that she needed to study for, and it was all just piling up. Not to mention that she had been out for over three weeks of classes, thanks to the stupid dream curse thing, and then her injuries after.

But when she looked up today, she found that all the lights were almost out and it was dark outside. “Shit!” she swore quietly, slapping her books closed and shoving them into her bag. She knew she didn’t have to worry, she was still staying at Morgan’s and she wasn’t going to be mad if Bex came in late-- but at this point it was just second nature for Bex to worry. She slid on her backpack and dashed out the door. The parking lot was empty save for one car, and the street lights were flickering. That meant the busses weren’t running anymore, either. She’d have to call someone for a ride. Sighing, she pulled out her phone and went to dial up Mina when something made a noise behind her. She spun on her heel. “Hello?” she called out, but there was no answer. Oh, this wasn’t good. This was like the start to a horror movie. So instead of waiting around outside for the killer, Bex turned and started running up towards the library doors again-- only to find that they were locked. She spun around again and went to dial quickly when she spotted someone just down the stairs from her. She was staring at Bex with hollow eyes and a wide grin. “Locked out?” she asked, and it was then that Bex noticed her teeth were jagged and sharp. Bex looked to the one car in the parking lot. If she ran, maybe she could make it and hope there was someone inside. Without another word, she bolted, but whoever this person was had known she was going to do that. A hand grabbed the back of Bex’s bag and yanked her down. She hit the sidewalk hard and her phone went flying from her hand. Oh, this wasn’t good. This was bad. This was very, very bad. She tried to scramble away, but the woman was much stronger than her. Like way stronger. She lifted her up and smiled at her again. “Where you going? I asked you a question.”

Dani stayed still, her breath barely audible to her own ears. The way that they had moved, it was unhuman like. The grip she had on her steering wheel tightened, and without missing a beat, she was reaching underneath of her seat for the stake that was hooked there. She threw open her car door as soon as she saw the brunette make a run for it, only to be jostled backwards. “Hey!” Dani bellowed out, her voice loud and commanding, just as Jeanette had taught her. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She held the stake against her palm, careful not to let it show. She could see the girl’s face clearly, both shock and horror contorting to create something out of a horror film.

There was no fear in Dani’s heart, only annoyance. “Don’t you know campus is off limits?” Dani asked as she reached into her back pocket, grabbing the flask that was there. In it, holy water swished as she brought it before her. There’d be no way for the vampire to know what was inside, not until she splashed her with it. “I think you ought to let the student go,” Dani motioned towards the brunette with the flask, “she’s just studying-- no reason to create a scene.” Dani prodded her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “or you can make a meal of her, and then I can kill you-- but I’m pretty sure I’ll have you to dust before you can even blink.” She finally revealed the stake, brandishing it like a knife, “do you want it in the neck, or the heart?”

She winced sarcastically at her own words, “oops, I forgot-- you don’t have one of those.” Quick on her feet, Dani twisted the cap of the flask and splashed the holy water at the vampire. Her short-ended shriek was loud in Dani’s ears, but it was enough to make her release the girl. She reached out, tugging on the brunette’s backpack just as the vampire had done, only with enough force to pull her away. The vampire lunged at the two of them and Dani pushed forward, nearly losing her footing-- but enough to cause the stake to clatter to the ground. The flask still in hand, she twisted her hand to an awkward angle, letting it pour over the creature’s arm as it tried to reach for the brunette. “Run!” Dani screamed at her, “go to my tru--” Before she could finish her sentence, the vampire knocked her to the ground, her thin fingers finding purchase on the stranger’s backpack again. “I’ll have my meal, and you’ll watch, stupid bitch,” the vampire growled as she repositioned her heel into Dani’s abdomen.

The first thing Bex registered was fear. It radiated through her entire body and gathered in the pit of her stomach. Whoever this person was, they wanted to hurt her. The second thing Bex registered was that whoever this person was, she was one of those “not quite human” people. The way her eyes were stained red, the sharp teeth in her mouth, the inhuman strength-- Bex wasn’t stupid. But what she was, she had no idea. Because she didn’t know anything about this world, or the people in it. Or the not people in it. She struggled in the woman’s grasp as she grabbed Bex’s head and tilted it to the side, exposing her neck. But then there was another voice and both Bex and the woman looked up.

The things the other girl was saying didn’t make sense. What did she mean? What was she holding? A flask? Before Bex really had time to register what had been said, the other girl was flinging her flask at the woman and shrieked, dropping her. The girl shouted at her to run and Bex was suddenly reminded of when she’d been attacked by the cockatrice with Mina. This was just like that, wasn’t it? Except this was a person, not an angry chicken. And Bex didn’t want to explode a person. She tried to scramble to her feet, but the other girl was yanking her in a different direction again, and she stumbled on her own feet. She’d always been a clumsy person. Palms hit the cement and she winced. Blood pooled under the scraped skin.

When she looked back, the older woman had thrown the other girl to the ground and stomped on her stomach. “Stop it!” Bex called out. Maybe she could help. Maybe if she concentrated, she could do something. Like Nell said. Pour her energy into something good. She’d done it before, she could do it again. “Stop! Leave her alone!” She felt the energy leave her, but the woman just stared at her, tilting her head. Even with all her nervous energy vibrating under her skin, nothing happened. No explosion, no sidewalk cracking, no headaches. Bex stared wide eyed as the woman descended on her, pinning her to the ground. “Get off!” she screeched as hands gripped at her wrist, slamming it into the ground. She cried out. The woman then lifted Bex’s bleeding palm to her hand and Bex watched, bewildered, as she licked up the blood. She smiled down at Bex, blood smeared on her lips. “Delicious.” She then grabbed Bex’s hair and yanked her head to the side, as she struggled uselessly underneath the woman. Teeth sunk into her neck and she screamed. She hated this world. She hated feeling useless. The library windows cracked and shattered. The nearby fence post splintered. But the woman on top of her remained untouched.

Dani let out a breath at the feeling of the creature’s weight on her abdomen. She splayed her hands out at her sides, trying to find anything to pick up, to lodge in the vampire’s leg. She looked up, towards the girl who was now yelling. “Didn’t,” Dani let out in an annoyed huff, her fingers slipping over the stake that had clattered to the ground, “I tell you to run?” A part of Dani was hopeful that the stranger would serve as a good enough distraction-- it was clear that the vampire hadn’t intended to run into a slayer. The relief Dani felt when the woman finally lifted her weight off of her stomach had her rolling to her side, but it was half a second later that she was back on her feet, swooping down to grab the wooden stake.

“Hey!” Dani screamed, the sight of the vampire taking in the stranger’s blood almost too much to bear-- how could something so vile exist? It twisted her insides, and it seemed that no matter how many times she had seen it, she would never get used to it. It was something straight from Hell. If she believed in that. “Get the fuck off of her!” Dani’s focus was entirely on the creature who was bent over the brunette now, but the sound of something ripping-- cracking, it played as background music as Dani lunged forward. She gripped the back of the vampire’s head just as she had done to the girl and wrenched it backwards, “time for you to go now, thanks!” Dani let out an uncomfortable breath as she leaned in and plunged the stake into the vampire’s chest.

In a flash, the creature who had been on top of the girl was gone, nothing but ash laid at their feet. Dani wasted no time in dropping to her knees, ignoring the girl’s possible need for personal space after what had happened. “Tilt your head.” She commanded, looking over the wound that had been created. It wasn’t that deep-- and it certainly wasn’t going to turn the girl. She looked down briefly at the scrape on her palm, blood smeared across it, as well as the pavement. “You’ll be fine. Physically. Maybe not mentally, but--” Dani leaned back, allowing for more room so that the brunette could breathe. “You won’t turn, you won’t crave blood, but you’ll probably have nightmares. Pot helps put you to sleep, but melatonin is what helps keep the nightmares away, at least that’s what I’ve heard.” Dani looked down the collar of her own shirt, the imprint of the creature’s shoe evident on her t-shirt. She would definitely bruise. “You good?” She asked as she got to her feet, doing her best to show no signs of pain.

In one instant, there was splitting pain in Bex’s neck, and in the next, the weight of the woman on top of her simply vanished. And so did she. The world was spinning but Bex could tell with absolute certainty that the woman above her was gone. There was just...dust. And the other girl. Who was talking. She was talking and she was okay? How was she okay? The older woman had kicked her in the ribs, stood on her, smashed her. Bex’s head was pounding. What the fuck had just happened? “Where did…” she started, sputtering, her voice still quivering from the fear in her throat, “where did she g-go?” But her question fell to the wayside the more the other girl talked. Crave blood? Turn? What was she talking about?

Bex wanted to sit up, but she couldn’t. The world was still spinning and the girl wasn’t making any sense. Nothing in this world made any sense anymore. She wanted to go back to her old life, where she knew exactly what to expect and how to deal with it. She could take an angry mother over whatever the fuck that was any day. At least she knew the pain her mother caused would go away. “Abso...lutely...not,” she breathed from the ground. She nearly ran her hands over her face before remembering they were covered in blood. Her neck was also bleeding, all over sweater. Finally, she sat up, looking around. “What was that? Who was that? What happened? How did you-- what did you do to her? Why didn’t my--” she stopped herself short and snapped her jaw shut. She didn’t want to say it. She wasn’t going to say it. She reached up and clamped a hand over her bleeding neck. “Do you have a tissue or napkin or...something?”

Dani narrowed her eyes at the girl, then nodded. She needed to stop assuming that everyone knew about vampires-- then again, wasn’t it her job to prevent people from knowing about them? By the look of shock and disgust on the stranger’s face, Dani was sure that the brunette knew nothing about them, and maybe that was a good thing. Only issue was, what could Dani do to keep her from going and blabbing to the newspaper? Maybe they’d pass it off as another screaming moose. That still got Dani laughing-- the idea that people believed that. Lost in her thoughts, she stared across the parking lot at her truck, the phantom feeling of the vampire’s foot on her chest now weighted heavily, making it slightly hard for her to breathe.

It wasn’t until the brunette started to ask questions did Dani snap her attention from the splintered fence beyond where they were. “Oh, uh--” She shoved her hands into her pockets. Nothing. She picked up the flask from the sidewalk. There was still some holy water inside. “Wash your hands off with this.” Dani handed it over and took off her sweatshirt. “You can use this. It’s not a deep puncture, it should heal in a couple of days, but you’ll want to use some antiseptic and bandage it up, if you can.” She frowned as she dropped the sweatshirt into the girl’s lap. “I don’t know who it was, and it’s probably for the better, and you don’t need to worry about it, she’s gone now.” Dani fixed her frown up into a smile with her index fingers, “see? I’m smiling, which means everything’s all good.” She made an ‘ok,’ sign with her hand before she shoved the stake into her back pocket. “I got rid of her. For you. You’re welcome.” Dani adjusted the collar of her t-shirt, suddenly feeling as if it were too tight. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me even if I tell you, but if you see anything like that again, uh…” Running wouldn’t do her much good, “try and keep some of that on you,” she pointed to the flask, “it’s holy water.”

Bex fumbled the flask and watched it clank to the ground next to her. Frowning, she picked it up gently with her thumb and index finger, not wanting to get any blood on it. She poured the water over her palms and winced when it burned. “Great,” she grumbled, “more bandages. I just got rid of the first set.” Her hands were still shaking from the fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins, but it was quickly turning into an anger she was becoming familiar with. An anger of ignorance over the world she’d been left out of for so long, despite, apparently, having abilities from it. Everyone around her seemed to decide for her what information she was allowed to. Walking on eggshells around her because she was just stupid, fragile Bexley. She looked at the sweatshirt, then back up at the girl. “I’m not...I know that woman wasn’t a good person, but she didn’t just vanish. People don’t do that. Or, I guess, not people, people. So either you can tell me what she was, or I can just go ask my friend what she was. It would be nicer if you did, though, considering you just killed her, probaby.” She shifted finally, standing on woozy legs. Her heart was still pounding and she hated it. Despite her efforts to seem fine after the encounter, her entire body was on alert and she knew her voice was still wavering in fear. “Wh-why does everyone say that? Like it’s their job to keep people in the dark? How about you let me decide if I believe you or not?” Another fence post crumbled and splintered behind them.

“Well,” Dani placed her hands on her hips, “at least you’re not dead, so there’s that.” If there had been any inclination that this girl would be on her way to turning-- though, it’d take a hell of a lot more than a simple bite, then Dani would’ve staked her on the spot, too. She wasn’t about to let some new blood sucker run around White Crest wreaking havoc, even if she hadn’t asked for the life that was forced upon her. Dani looked at the girl. She was certainly in a fragile state, and the last thing that Dani wanted on her hands was a breakdown in the middle of the college parking lot. She glanced towards the building, looking for cameras. She’d have to take care of those the following morning-- nobody would notice a solid hour missing from the footage. Luckily for her, she knew somebody in the AV club who owed her a favor or two. When the brunette started to speak, her voice picking up in pitch, it was evident that she was growing more upset. “You’re right, she’s dead.” Dani reached up and did jazz hands, “you saw a vampire, I saved you from it-- are you really not putting two and two together?” She arched a brow. Obviously there were people that were blind to what was around them, but to have its fangs in her neck and still be unsure? Dani watched the girl as she got to her feet. She looked as if she’d topple over at any moment.

“Because,” Dani sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of the fence falling to the ground. She looked back over at the girl apprehensively, “it sort of is my job. To save you, and to keep people in the dark.” Dani observed the girl for a moment, “because if I don’t, then it gets a hell of a lot messier, and I’m not looking for mess.” She scrunched her nose in distaste at the idea of the town succumbing to fear. It was easier to work when nobody knew what was lurking in the shadows, and even if she did relish in the praise given to her when she did something right, overall, it sounded like a nightmare, having to explain what vampires and zombies were-- or any other supernatural creature, really. “Look, I get it-- you just almost died, but I saved you, and you’re going to live a--” she looked over the girl, “I don’t know what kind of life you live, but hopefully it’s a nice, safe happy one, you seem nice enough for it.” She took a deep breath, “now, do you want a ride home?”

A vampire. Of course it was a vampire. She’d been thinking that, hadn’t she? Bex wasn’t stupid, like this girl seemed to be implying. Who else had sharp teeth and red eyes and drank blood? Her brain was just spinning at the time. “You sound like someone else I know,” Bex muttered. At least Mina was nicer about it. She still didn’t know how Mina was involved in this world, but she was, and she figured, with time, Mina would tell her. Right? Her eyes wandered back over to the other girl, who looked annoyed. “A vampire…” she repeated quietly, holding her hand to her neck where the two puncture wounds were. “First magic, then demons, now vampires are real…” She felt nauseous again. She didn’t want to be a part of this anymore, it all felt like too much. Her brow furrowed in anger again. “Forgive me for not knowing right away that vampires are real. Apparently I wasn’t privy to this knowledge while everyone else seems to have been.” She knew she was getting unfairly upset at this girl, she had saved her after all, and she was grateful-- but her attitude after was picking at the insecure parts of Bex that had begun growing the second she’d accepted that she wasn’t just normal.

Happy was a strange word for it. This girl didn’t seem all too perturbed by the fact that she just killed someone, but Bex wasn’t sure on the rules here. Were vampires people? Did they deserve to die? God, there were too many questions again. She was still shaking from the encounter, too, and the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, which meant the fear was setting back in. Bex really was just defenseless in this world, wasn’t she? The thought made her stomach churn again. She looked over at the other girl and resigned herself. “Yes, I would,” she said quietly. “And, um-- thank you. For...saving me.”

The look on the brunette’s face told Dani that she was beginning to process the information. It was as if a light had been turned on, because the ashen look that had run across the girl’s face only grew. Dani cleared her throat, “well, if I sound like someone else you know, you should probably listen to them, they probably know what they’re talking about.” Dani offered an attempted smile, careful to keep her movements slow. She looked over at the girl as she began to mutter under her breath, an eyebrow arched. So she knew about demons and magic, why had she been so surprised about vampires? Dani bit back the words threatening to crawl out. Of course she’d be surprised-- nobody was actually supposed to know. That was a part of the whole, ‘keeping the supernatural world a secret from people who were vulnerable to it,’ thing. “Look, I’ve been dealing with them for a long time-- sometimes I forget that not everyone else has.”

A silence settled over them and Dani used it to glance towards her truck. The door still hung open, the cab light on-- as if a beacon to their safety. She looked back over at the brunette and shrugged, “it’s what I’m here for.” The girl had been lucky that Dani had decided to patrol the school that night, otherwise there’d either be a new vampire on the prowl, or they would’ve found her body come sun up. “Well, come on,” Dani said as she approached the brunette, offering to support her from the side. “You look like you’re about to pass out. I have some ginger candies in my glove compartment, I’ll grab you one.” She helped guide the brunette towards her truck, then after a moment, “what was your name?” The sound of her door creaking loud to her ears, she waited until the stranger spilled herself into the passenger seat before moving around to slowly lift herself into the driver’s seat. “I’m Dani,” she finally said as she leaned over, ignoring the weapon in the glove compartment, finding a candy in between papers. She pulled back and dropped it into the girl’s lap before putting the pick up into drive.

“Yeah,” Bex sighed, “she probably does.” More so than Bex, at least. Bex had no idea what she was doing in this world, or if she even belonged in it. She let out a shaky breath and felt the exhaustion she normally did whenever she accidentally used her magic, looking over at the other girl with a tired glance. Her neck hurt, her palms hurt, even her head hurt. With a resigned sigh, she followed after the girl, letting her lead her along. She tried her best not to flinch, she didn’t wanna be a dead giveaway to everyone she met, but muscle memory was often hard to overcome. She pulled away from her when she tried to help her, gripping the strap of her bag tightly, despite the pain in her palms, and forgetting about the blood still seeping from them. “I can walk on my own,” she muttered, even though it was difficult with the shake in her knees.

When they made it to the car, which wasn’t far but felt like ages, Bex crawled in gratefully and sagged in the seat. “Bexley,” she muttered to the other girl, “my name’s Bexley.” Her eyes locked onto the knife in the glove compartment. I protect people, the girl had said. Mina had said that to her before, too. She swallowed hard. Was Mina like this girl? “How did you-- do that?” she asked into the quiet hum of the car’s engine. “How did you know how to do that? How to-- get rid of the vampire?”

Dani’s lips formed a hard line as she glanced towards the fence posts that were caved in as if some frat boy had tried to make a point of how strong he was and barreled into them. Only, there had been no frat boy-- only herself, Bexley, and the vampire who was long gone. It’d be hard to believe that anything watching them from the outside would have taken them down while watching the situation unfold before them. The only logical explanation was that Bexley had something to do with it. Hadn’t she mentioned something about magic? “How did I know…” Dani glanced over at Bexley as she pulled out of the parking lot, glancing both ways before pulling into traffic. It was then that Dani realized she never remembered a beginning to her lifestyle-- it was one she had always been in, so even though there was life on the other side of the parking lot and trees, it didn’t feel odd going back into it.

“You’ve never watched a movie?” She asked with a laugh, stealing a glance of Bex out of the corner of her eye. She rested the heels of her hands against her steering wheel and mulled over how to explain it. It was obvious that she knew what she was doing, but confirming she was a hunter? That could put her in a vulnerable situation. “I’ve had to defend myself a few times,” she said instead, “you sort of learn.” She didn’t bother mentioning the heightened sense of vision, or the fact that she could move quick-- quicker than the average human, or that she was immune to the undead’s bite. “I did what I had to do.” She could feel a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. Though she knew the girl was scared, Dani felt a sense of accomplishment in having so many questions thrown her way about the situation. “Where do you live?” She asked after a moment, realizing she was driving in the direction of downtown.

“Uh, not particularly about vampires, no?” Bex said. “Also isn’t like-- most of the information in movies incorrect?” She pulled her sleeve up and dabbed it against the wound on her neck, resigning herself to another sweater ruined thanks to blood stains. She looked down at the candy that had been dropped into her lap, and tried to not let herself think too much about what had just happened. She didn’t need to have a breakdown in a stranger’s car. “Guess this place is more dangerous than I thought…” she muttered. This must’ve been why her parents kept her locked away in the house, instead of letting her free in the town. Maybe they were just trying to protect her from all the dangers of this town. She picked up the candy with her free hand and put it in her pocket. “Well, still...you didn’t have to, technically, so...thanks for not letting her um-- eat me?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She hated that she’d had to just say that. Her legs felt numb again. “Harm-- err--” she’d been so distracted, she’d almost given the girl her actual address instead of Morgan’s. “East End.”

“They get some shit right,” Dani admitted. “Maybe not all the time, but sometimes.” She looked over at Bex and how she began to care for the wound on her neck. She had to have some napkins somewhere, right? As they pulled up to a red light, Dani began looking through the bag that was between them. “Here,” she said absentmindedly once the light turned green. She placed the napkins on top of her bag for Bex to take. “Dangerous?” Dani asked with a raised brow. “That’s an understatement.” To be honest, she wasn’t sure why her community still allowed humans to move there. In Dani’s opinion, they should get all of them out, then take out all the Supes. It was a plan-- not a good one, but one that Dani dreamt of perfecting. Imagine saving an entire town, she had told her mom. Only, she had been told, we save who we can. Big whoop. “I wouldn’t have let her eat you, even if I hated you.” Dani turned her blinker on once she drove into the correct lane. She pulled up behind a string of cars waiting to do the same. “But you’re welcome.” Dani looked over at her. “Take my number, that way if you run into any shit again, you know--” She shrugged, “you can call me for help.” She didn’t want to be a hunter for hire, or a hero for hire, but it was clear that this girl was going to have steady nightmares about this for weeks, or months to come.

“Even if they do, how is anyone supposed to parse out the correct information?” Bex asked back, taking the napkins Dani dropped in her lap and putting them against her neck. She bruised easily, and as well as all of that, she always bled a lot. Something to do with her thin blood or something like that. She hadn’t bothered listening when the doctor’s told her. Now, she wished she had. “Okay...maybe more than dangerous. Deadly? I guess this...explains the high death rate.” Why did anyone live here? She ruffled her nose. Why did her family want to live here? And for so long? It seemed strange. None of them had ever gone missing or been killed by strange circumstances. Maybe it was because they simply stayed out of the way. Her parents were very good at ignoring those in need. “How many vampires are there? Are there like...a lot? Do I need to be worried about walking home at night now?” God, that sounded like a nightmare. Just another thing to add to her growing list. She sighed, pulling the now soaked napkin away and grabbing another. She was beginning to feel dizzy. “I mean, I’ll take it, but I’m sure you saw how handy my phone was. And now the screen is broken, too.” She frowned down at the shattered screen. She was beginning to hate this pattern of things that were happening to her. “Sorry I’m bleeding all over your car. I can pay to have it cleaned.”

“It’d be a lot higher if it weren’t for--” She looked out the window of her truck and flipped off the prius that had tried to cut in front of her, then turned her attention back to Bex, “you know, people who protect other people.” She wasn’t about to dive into the mechanics of hunters, and though Dani was sure this girl was human, there was definitely something different about her. The splintered fence posts came to mind as she pulled down the street. One of the many advantages that Dani had was that she knew where everything was. For the most part, at least. Dani glanced over at Bex again and let out a short laugh, but nothing was funny about her question. “If I knew, I think I’d be sick.” Dani continued to drive, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, “there are more than even I know about I’m sure.” She quirked her lips to the side, then looked down at her lap as her own phone flashed a text message her way. “Huh?” Dania asked as she looked back over at Bex again, “nah, you’re fine-- do you see that stain there?” She pointed towards where Bex’s feet were, “I once lost an ounce-- I think they said, just right there.” She grinned widely before she took another turn.

Bex couldn’t help but think of what Adam had said, that his family had been protectors since the beginning of humanity. Was Dani’s family like that, too? She kept her mouth shut, though, because it seemed as if the other girl didn’t want to talk about it. She jumped a little at the laugh, looking over at the other girl in confusion. She hadn’t thought something like that would be funny, but she truly was out of her depth here. But how was she supposed to know? She rubbed her eyes with her free hand, making sure to not touch her still bloody palm. Morgan would be so upset-- no, not upset. Worried. She looked down at her palm again, then to the floor where Dani pointed, lifting up her feet. She felt a shiver run through her, at the girl’s casualty around her blood loss, around Bex’s. Maybe this wasn’t a world Bex wanted to be a part of. Maybe it was a world she’d never fit into. She swallowed. “So vampires are...if the movies are right, they’re people. Or they...once were. Is that, are they still-- like us?”

Dani had been told by Lauren that she needed to be kind to the people she helped, but Dani had questioned how much more kind could she be past having already saved their lives? As she got older, she began to understand what her mom had meant. Not everyone was aware of the things that she was-- not everyone would deal with it in the same way. She had people go into shock on her, as well as insist on calling the police because she had ‘murdered,’ somebody. Every person Dani saved was different. Bex? Well, she fit into the mold of the usual. Shocked, terrified, unsure of what was around her. Only difference was, she had fences that had splintered around her. “They’re not like us, and anyone who says they are, is a fucking liar.” Dani said it nonchalantly, despite the command in her voice. “That’s how they get you. Some of them are straight up monstrous, like the one that got you.” Dani tapped her finger impatiently on the steering wheel as she pulled up behind another car. “Others act like they have your best interests at heart.” She looked over at Bex. “Just…” It wasn’t like the girl would know what to look for. “Keep alert, y’know?”

“So,” Bex started, “just practice stranger danger. Got it.” The other girl’s advice wasn’t really helpful. Bex wanted to know how to spot a vampire. What were their natural habitats? Did they actually explode in sunlight? Obviously the blood eating thing was real. Were they all that aggressive? What had made that woman choose Bex? How had she known she was alone in the library? Did they have superstrength, superhearing, supervision? Why were her eyes red? Instead, she just looked over at Dani and furrowed her brows. “Are you a hunter?” she asked, remembering the conversation she’d had with Morgan now that her head was more clear. Well, at least her mind wasn’t panicking anymore, and really, that was the best Bex could ask for right now. If she was lucky, she could slip inside and clean up the wound without anyone seeing. She didn’t need Morgan or Mina worrying over some stupid little incident. “Look, I...might not know everything about this world, but I know some things. Like, that, magic is real. And that there are people who aren’t human. And that there are hunters who think those people are monsters, sometimes. And now, apparently, that vampires are real.”

Dani chewed on the inside of her cheek. She knew that it was up to her so that Bex would never have to worry about the undead, or any other kind of monster, really. The silence that filled the cab made Dani uneasy, but it was Bex’s question that took her by surprise. She shifted in the driver’s seat and put a little too much weight into her foot. Her truck lurched forward and she winced, “sorry.” She quickly restarted her truck and turned, ignoring the sound of a car horn from behind her. “So you know about hunters, but you didn’t know for sure about vampires?” She looked back at Bex, her grin slowly replacing the grim line that had formed. “Of course magic is real,” White Crest was full of magic-- an unexplainable kind. She knew Nell, ever since she was a child, and she knew that Nell had magic. She had been aware of it from the very start. It’d be naive to believe that with the undead, wolves, fae-- anything else, that magic would not be real-- all of it, after all, was some kind of magic. “So,” Dani said as she finally pulled down the destination street, “you believed in all of that from the get go…” She let out another laugh, this time less sarcastic. She looked for the correct address, and when she finally pulled in front of the house, she cut the engine. She looked past Bex towards the house and began to speak, “carry garlic, some holy water, and some wood if you really want to make yourself feel better.” She looked back at Bex with a small smile, “and obviously you can call me if you get yourself into any other situations.”

“To be fair,” Bex started, “I literally just learned about hunters the other day.” That was an entirely different situation for Bex to stress over. “And, I don’t know...who’s to say what’s real or not? How am I supposed to know? No one taught me anything about this. I’m pretty sure my parents specifically kept me away from all of this.” Like they were hiding her, or maybe hiding her from this world. She glanced over at Dani as she declared magic was real as if this fact was just normal and true for anyone and everyone. A casual reminder of what Bex had been deprived of her entire life. She replaced the napkin on her neck again-- at least the bleeding was slowing now. “I don’t know what I believe, really. But it’s kind of hard not to believe in things when they, well--” she shrugged, wincing, “for lack of a better phrase, bite you in the neck.” Bex turned to follow Dani’s gaze up the drive to see Morgan’s house, a few lights glowing on in the bedrooms. She chewed her lip. “Garlic? Seriously? That works?” She let out a long breath, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. Turned to glance at Dani one last time. “Um...thank you. I uh-- don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about you. I know it can be dangerous.” She rubbed her palms. “I would shake your hand, but--” held up her hands and stiffly wiggled her fingers. “If there’s any way I can repay you, though, just lemme know.” She opened the car door and slid out stiffly, grabbing her bag and her broken phone. “It was nice to meet you, Dani. Even if uh-- circumstances weren’t great. I hope your ribs are okay.”

Logically, Dani knew that Bex was right-- if she had just been learning about all of this, the probability of her knowing vampires were real was slim. Still, it was her own duty to ensure that people were aware-- maybe not of the specifics, but that they weren’t alone. She wasn’t about to go into the other creatures who frolicked around White Crest, as if it were their own, personal playground. “So if your parents know, then…” She looked at Bex, wondering if she had been right to believe that the girl was a witch. “Well, you know now, so…” Dani flexed her fingers against her steering wheel. The adrenaline from her fight was slowly dissipating and the ache in her bones was loud, right down to her finger pads. “Garlic does work, yes.” Not against zombies, though. She’d save that for later. She looked from the dead clock on her dashboard, back to Bex. “Don’t even worry about it, Bex.” She smiled at her, “nice to meet you too-- just… try not to make this a common occurrence.” She turned the truck on once Bex was out. “Let me know if you need anything, you can find me online.” She waited until Bex was safely inside before she drove away. The question of how Bex had been introduced to her world played around in her head. The split fences came to mind. Yeah, there was no way that girl was simply normal.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: dani #slayer? i hardly know her #dani #domestic abuse mention tw

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spnirwin · 4 years

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Firefighters and Full Moons

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 3,208

Warnings: Mild language, injuries

A/N: Here we have a lovely Supernatural/9-1-1 crossover fic! Even if you aren’t familiar with 9-1-1 and its characters, that’s okay! I encourage you to read it anyway 😉 This little gem was the idea of, co-written with, and beta’d by the fabulous @anotherspnfanfic. Let us know what you think and, as always, my requests are open!

You hit the wall and dropped to the ground with a thud. Groaning, you rolled over and dragged yourself to your feet. The werewolf was approaching quickly, and you scrambled to reach the silver knife that had been knocked out of your grasp.

The wolf growled at you and leaped the remaining few feet across the room. You stared up at it in panic as its claws extended towards your face. You snapped out of your trance at the last second, grabbed the knife from the ground beside you and jammed it upwards, straight into the werewolf's heart. It let out a little whimper before collapsing directly on top of you. You shoved it off, gasping for the breath you lost due to its weight.

You and the Winchester brothers had followed the trail of bodies from Washington state down to California. Eventually you caught up to the culprit in a warehouse in the heart of downtown LA. Unfortunately, by the time you arrived he had created his own version of a pack. There were now two down, two remaining, one of which was the original wolf. He was huge, almost double Dean’s size, who he was currently sparring with.

You heaved your exhausted body up, setting off across the room to help the boys. Dean took a particularly bad hit at the same moment Sam took his wolf down. Seeing Dean was in trouble you started running, the knife clutched in your hand.

You really should’ve learned your lesson about not watching where your feet were going years ago. Countless injuries had been suffered from making that mistake, and it seemed today was no exception. Instead of running around the giant hole in the floor, you ran straight into it. You screamed as you fell, hearing Dean’s shot ring out in finality as you hit the ground.

—

“Y/n!” you heard Dean’s voice bellowing your name, Sam’s shortly following.

“Down here!” you called back, mentally assessing yourself for injuries. “Shit,” you muttered, finding yourself unable to put any pressure on your left arm.

Sam and Dean’s faces appeared in the hole above you, consequently blocking out all of the light. “Are you okay?” Sam asked. Dean’s head disappeared from your view before you got a chance to answer Sam’s question.

“Where is he going?” you asked. Sam shrugged in response, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “My arm is broken,” you sighed. “And something fell on my leg, hence why I haven��t gotten up yet. I’m pinned.”

Dean’s face popped back into view next to Sam’s. “The stairway down is blocked,” he said breathlessly. He dropped his arm down into the hole, attempting to reach you. “If you stand up you can grab my hand. I’ll pull you up.”

You didn’t move, choosing instead to simply stare at him. “Why...why aren’t you getting up?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Well, Dean, maybe because my leg is pinned under something I can’t actually see and one of my arms is broken so I don’t have enough strength to push it off.”

“Okay, Sass,” he muttered. He dropped a flashlight down to you and you caught it with your good hand. You turned it on and shined it around you, discovering your leg was pinned by an industrial sized metal shelf.

“It’s a giant shelf,” you called up to the boys. You set the flashlight down beside you and rubbed your forehead. You looked around, trying to figure out a way out of this mess. “All of this because I wasn’t paying attention,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that?” Sam shouted, unable to hear you.

“Nothing,” you called back. “But Dean, you’re going to have to figure out what to do about all those bodies up there.” He cocked his head at you, not understanding what you were implying. “We need to call 911.”

—

The boys started scrambling. You could hear them arguing above you about what to do with the bodies of the dead werewolves. After a couple moments their arguing turned into grunts as they attempted to lift and carry them somewhere.

The longer you sat and listened to them tromp around, the more your arm hurt. It began slowly, a small burn running up the length of your arm, but quickly turned excruciating. You were biting back tears when Dean’s face reappeared in the hole.

“Sam just called 911,” he called down to you. “He's waiting outside for them. How are you doing?”

“Honestly, not that great,” you replied, voice strained. “The adrenaline has definitely worn off, and I think this is the worst break I’ve ever had.” Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t hold the tears back any longer and they began to slip down your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean said, voice soft. “I wish I could get down there and help you.”

You saw his eyes begin to shift, searching the area around both himself and you. “Dean Winchester, don’t you dare!” you shouted, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “If you come down here you’ll just get stuck and then they’ll have to rescue both of us.”

He sighed and, instead of jumping through the hole, laid down on his stomach next to the opening to get a better view of you. “What did you do with them?” you asked.

“We took them upstairs, hid them behind a wall that had collapsed. We’ll have to come back and take care of them later. Any thoughts on the reason why we were here?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but at that moment you heard sirens approaching the building. Too late. They had arrived.

“Guess I’ll be winging it,” Dean muttered.

—

The sound of voices and tromping boots grew closer until they were right above your head. Dean gave you a smile before slipping back out of view, presumably to talk to the firefighters. You couldn’t make out anything they were saying through the floor, but you hoped they were coming up with a plan quickly.

The light coming through the hole vanished once again and you squinted upwards. When your eyes focused you saw two firefighters looking down at you, one with a helmet with the numbers 118 printed on it. They had puzzled looks on their faces and tilted their heads almost perfectly in sync, both seemingly trying to figure out how you had managed to get yourself into this situation.

“I fell, okay?” you shouted up at them. “Can you please just get me out of here?”

Upon hearing your words they both schooled their expressions into more neutral, professional ones. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of here in no time!” the one without a helmet said. The other guy moved backwards, shouting, “Hey, Cap!” as he went.

Unbeknownst to you, there was an entirely different conversation happening up on the main floor. “So, what were you guys even doing here?” asked the guy that had previously been referred to as “Cap.”

“We were walking by and thought we heard someone scream,” Dean answered smoothly. “We came running in and turns out, there wasn’t anyone here.”

“It’s the full moon, Bobby!” The tall firefighter with reddish blonde hair was visibly excited as he pulled his harness on. He turned to face Sam and Dean before he continued. “People act so weird when there’s a full moon. A couple years ago a guy was running around eating people’s faces!”

“That’s enough, Buck,” the guy, now known as Bobby, scolded. Sam and Dean turned to each other, eyebrows raised. They were both thinking the same thing - the likelihood of that guy actually being human was very slim.

“Alright, come on,” said the guy with ‘Diaz’ emblazoned on the back of his turnout jacket. The two firefighters nodded at each other, all business, and approached the hole in the floor.

—

You sat, head down, as they rappelled down to you. As soon as their boots hit the floor they unclipped their harnesses and approached you. “What’s your name?” asked the shorter of the two as he crouched down next to you, assessing your injuries.

“Y/n,” you replied, wincing slightly as he touched your broken arm.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Eddie. I’m going to lift this shelf up, and Buck there is going to pull you out,” he said, gesturing to the other guy standing beside him. “Sound okay?”

You nodded as Buck approached you. “I’m going to try to be gentle, but this might hurt a little bit,” he said apologetically as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Good!” Buck said to Eddie who nodded in response. He braced himself and lifted the shelf, and Buck dragged you backwards.

Your arm was jostled and you screamed, the pain some of the worst you had ever felt. With the pressure of the bookshelf on your leg you hadn’t realized there was something wrong with your ankle as well.

“Sorry. You’re okay. That was the worst part, I promise,” Buck said, trying to comfort you.

You heard a shout above you, scuffling feet, and a quieter voice speaking in a soothing tone. You knew Dean was giving the fire captain a run for his money up there and it brought you a small feeling of comfort.

“Send down the basket!” Buck shouted. His command elicited a groan from you.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie laughed in response. “We’ve seen much worse, much more embarrassing things than this.”

“One time,” Buck said as he spun around to face you, “we responded to a call where a girl was stuck in a window. She was trying to reach some, uh...never mind.” He had caught the look on Eddie’s face and decided it was probably not a good idea to finish that story.

“Oh no, don’t stop now,” you insisted, eyebrows raised. “I think my arm might even be starting to feel better…”

Both men let out a laugh, Buck shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “You can’t argue with that.” The statement was pointed at Eddie, who smiled and shrugged back. Getting the permission he sought, Buck continued. “She was trying to reach a bag she had thrown out of the window. The bag was full of poop.”

The story continued on as they strapped you into the basket. By the time you were pulled up through the hole, and had reached the daylight on the other side, you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Dean rushed over immediately before being promptly shooed away by the paramedics.

While they lifted you on to the stretcher and got you settled, Dean strode over to Eddie and Buck. “Thank you,” he said, gruffly. He stuck out his hand and they both shook it in turn.

“No problem,” Buck responded.

“She’ll be just fine,” Eddie said, Buck nodding his head in agreement.

Finally strapped on to the stretcher, the paramedics began to roll you towards the front of the warehouse, Dean walking beside you with Sam not far behind. “Hey!” you called back to the way you had come from. Eddie and Buck looked up and stopped unstrapping their harnesses. “Thank you,” you said. Both men smiled and nodded their heads and the stretcher rolled forward again, carrying you toward the ambulance.

—

The next few hours were a whirlwind for you. You arrived at the hospital and they promptly whisked you away for an x-ray to assess the true extent of the damage on your arm and ankle. The break in your arm was so severe that it required surgery, and you were under within an hour.

For Dean, on the other hand, the time passed agonizingly slowly. Not only was he not used to having your medical care in someone else’s hands, but he also wasn’t used to waiting on someone to get out of surgery. He was pacing the waiting room and pulling at his hair when the surgeon stepped out from behind the doors. Sam stood up from where he had been calmly sitting in the corner and joined Dean in front of the surgeon.

“She did well,” he said, smiling. “The rod and pins are set, and she’ll be in the cast for six weeks before we visit the possibility of removal. She’ll also be in a walking boot for five weeks for the hairline fracture in her ankle. She should be awake in the next few minutes if you want to see her.”

Dean nodded eagerly and the surgeon led him and Sam to your room. Sam waited out in the hall while Dean quietly entered the room. When he stepped inside he found you already awake and smiling dopily at him. You reached out towards him, making grabby hands like a baby that wanted a toy.

“I see they gave you the good drugs,” he said, chuckling as he crossed the room. He sat down beside you and took the hand that wasn’t currently attached to a casted arm. “Well kid, you’ve really done yourself in this time.” Shaking his head, he gave you a long once-over. Other than the treated injuries, it seemed that nothing else was hurt except your pride.

“I fell down a hole.” You giggled, squeezing his hand. “Dean, I literally fell into a hole and had to be rescued by firefighters! It was sooo embarrassing.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, unable to stop the laugh from popping out of his mouth.

“Not as embarrassing as the poop bag girl they told me about though!” you laughed, remembering the story.

“The what?” Dean asked, confused.

“Oh, my god!” you practically shouted. Your eyes grew wide and you looked at Dean with a cartoonish look of panic on your face. “What about the werewolves?!”

“Shh, lower your voice!” Dean scolded. You nodded your head with a very serious expression.

“What about the werewolves?” you repeated in an exaggerated whisper.

“We’ll go back and take care of them on the way out of town tomorrow,” he replied. You nodded at him, wide-eyed, and he shook his head at you. “Why don’t we try to get some rest again?” he suggested gently.

“Okay,” you sighed, your eyes already slipping closed.

—

Dean had slept by your bedside that night, head down on the sheets next to you and holding your hand the entire time.

You had been discharged the next morning, and on your way out of town you passed by Station 118. They had been outside washing the rigs, and you smiled as you watched them spray each other with the hoses and laugh.

“Dean! Pull over!” You hit his shoulder with your good hand to ensure you had his attention.

He glanced at you in the rear view mirror. “What? Why?” he asked as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

You glanced out the back window seeing the fire station about half a block back. “Uh, back up. I can’t walk that far.”

“Are you still high on painkillers?” Sam asked.

“No. Well, maybe…but those are the guys that helped us last night,” you explained. “I want to say thanks.”

Dean nodded his understanding and pulled ahead to the next intersection to make a u-turn. He pulled up to the edge of the driveway, put the car in park, and cut the engine. He hopped out quickly and met you at the back door. He offered his hand to help you stand. As you linked your good arm through Dean’s, Sam appeared beside you.

By the time you made it halfway up the drive, Buck and Eddie were making their way over to you.

“Y/N!” Eddie greeted.

“It’s good to see you up and around already,” Buck added.

“It’s good to be up and around.” You smiled. “We’re headed out of town and just happened to see you guys out front, so I figured we should stop.”

You let go of Dean’s arm and walked over to hug Eddie and Buck. “Thanks a lot, guys.”

“Just doing our jobs,” Eddie said.

“Still, I appreciate it. And thank you, Buck, for the storytime. It really did help.”

Buck chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

“We should hit the road. Be safe, guys.” You waved as you linked your arm through Dean’s again and made your way back over to Baby.

—

You arrived back at the bunker the next day after driving nonstop. Dean had quickly decided that there would be no hunts for the next six weeks until you had healed. You had argued with him about it for three days, saying at least he and Sam should go, but he was too stubborn for you. By the time your six weeks had passed, you had decided that there was such a thing as too much attention.

One morning Dean came strolling in from the garage with a handheld power saw and made a beeline for you. You eyed him warily from where you were sitting at the war room table, unsure of what he was planning.

“Dean, if this is another one of your home project ideas, I don’t think I’m up for one today,” you sighed.

“Not at all,” he laughed in response. “I know by now that you hate those. Do you really not know what day it is?”

Your walking boot had officially been discarded about a week ago but you had already lost track of the days. You raised your eyebrows at him, an expectant look on your face. “It’s the six week anniversary of your...accident,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s time for that cast to come off.”

“And you’re going to take it off with that?” you asked, gesturing to the saw with a doubtful look. “Is that even safe?”

“It’s pretty similar to what a doctor would use,” he replied, shrugging. “Do you trust me?”

“I always trust you Dean, but-”

“Great!” he quipped. He plopped down next to you and grabbed your casted arm. “Just sit still and this will be off in no time.”

Before you had a chance to protest the saw was grinding into your bright blue cast. It was off in a matter of minutes and Dean looked proudly down at his handiwork.

“See?” he said, smiling. “I told you it would be fine! Ew, your skin kinda looks funny.” His smile faded to a frown as he reached out and poked gently at the pale skin of your forearm.

“Yes, babe, it has been wrapped in a cast and unable to see sunlight for the past six weeks,” you replied with an eye roll. You swung your newly freed arm around a couple times, flexing your wrist the entire time with a contemplative look on your face.

“What do you say we test this bad boy out with a quick spar?” you asked Dean. You shot him a playful look, and he grinned back in response, shaking his head slowly.

“Race ya!” you shouted as you shot up from your chair and took off down the hall.

“This is such a bad idea,” Dean muttered to himself. He gave chase anyway, following you at a pace just slow enough that would allow you to win.

—

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 6

Catch up on Chapter 5 here

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

Van is there for you on arguably one of the worst nights of your life.

A/N: Content warning for a very in-depth description of a car accident (only minor physical injuries), psychological shock, and an anxiety attack.

Word count: ~6.1k

Chapter Six May 2019

The Catfish show is the last hurrah of sunny L.A. weather before clouds roll in. By Wednesday, it’s been raining consistently for days.

Technically, you know you should be grateful. Rain can be sparse sometimes, causing some serious droughts and an increase in wildfires. But while you’re happy those are being prevented, you’re not happy with having to constantly drive in the spattering rain and be kept awake at night with roaring thunder. And without any gaps in the showers for the Earth to soak everything up, the ground has become one giant swampy mud puddle everywhere you go.

You come home from work that night worn thin. The daily grind is mundane enough without the lack of sunshine, but after consecutive days without any time outdoors you feel extra irritable.

You check the weather forecast as you plop down on the couch without even bothering to change clothes yet. There’s still more rain being predicted. You tip your head back against the couch in annoyance.

One thing was for sure, you couldn’t stand another routine night of cooking dinner and then heading off to bed early simply from boredom. Something had to give.

Your fingers are poised over your phone screen as you consider. Should you text Mary? See if Van’s still in town? Have a night to yourself? It was a weeknight, after all. Everyone was probably busy with regular life.

But a night to yourself didn’t sound so bad, as long as you deviated from the usual. Maybe tonight was a good night to get some takeout and do something special in the name of self care. Now that you think about it, it’s been a long time since you’ve had IHOP. That’s always a nice treat.

Once you’ve had the idea, something about it just seems right. A big stack of your favorite pancakes, the rain pounding against the windows while you enjoy them. You could catch up with some TV or maybe grab one of the brand new books on your bookshelf you’d bought and never touched again. Or you could run a bath. All of those possibilities sounded perfect for tonight.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you’ve pulled up the IHOP menu. You really only look for fun. Your favorite order is always the cupcake pancakes, and this time is no exception. You place the order through an app and shuffle around getting dressed to head out in the rain.

Outside, the weather is disgusting. You tug your windbreaker around you tighter, carefully trying to avoid stepping in the murky puddles overflowing your yard as you head for the car. Even your gate seems sad at the weather, so waterlogged it doesn’t give its usual enthusiastic creak as you pass through.

Everyone else seems to have taken the night-in approach, too. There’s not too many other cars out, and you make it to the restaurant in record time, collecting your still-hot styrofoam container of pancakes. You’ve got the heat going in the car, your favorite Spotify playlist running through the aux, and as you pull away from IHOP you can feel yourself bubbling with excitement at the little night you’ve carved out for yourself.

You’re having an internal debate between Netflix shows when you see it. Actually, you hear it first: the noise of another car near you, even though you weren’t aware someone was so close in the lane next to you.

But they’re not in the lane next to you. You’re passing under the green light of an intersection when you realize you’re hearing a car that’s still driving on the opposite road. Headlights soak your vision as you realize they’re still moving directly towards your car. Your first instinct is to hit the brake, but immediately you can tell there’s no avoiding him. In a sickening jolt your mind processes that he’s going to nail the front passenger door and your adrenaline makes your foot press on the gas. You don’t hear any brakes squealing. He’s going to run you into the middle of this intersection and kill you.

“SHIT!” You scream as the sickening sound of metal crunching fills the car, the rubber of your tires wailing as the car is pushed sideways. You don’t know why you scream when you’re the only one present. You try to check your mirrors, hoping you don’t hit someone else as you’re pushed a whole lane over. Headlights beam you in the eyes again as the car slightly behind you in the lane next to you comes to a screeching stop.

As fast as the chaos had begun, it was over. You’re directly under the traffic light you’d been trying to pass under, and it beams red into the windshield of your car. You jerk your neck looking around, hoping someone doesn’t absentmindedly accelerate. You can’t see too much through the rain but tons of yellow headlights spotlighting you.

Someone tries your car door handle. You scream, startled. When they realize it’s locked they slap their hand against the window. You have to fumble before you manage to unlock the door.

“Are you okay?” Someone shouts at you. You stare up at them, trying to process the words.

“He ran right into you!” They continue, gesturing to the passenger side of your car. “Are you hurt?”

Honestly, you don’t feel anything. All of your limbs feel like solid ice. “I don’t think so,” You tell them, looking around for blood. Everything seems intact.

The rain is pelting through the open door, soaking the interior of your car. In the beam of headlights you see another silhouette approaching you from across the road. “Is everyone okay?”

“Get in my car,” The person talking to you commands. “You’ve got to get out of the middle of the road.”

You try to unbuckle your seatbelt with your icy fingers. You grasp for your phone on the passenger seat, coming up empty.

“My phone!” You cry out, groping around in the dark. “Where’s my phone?”

“Is this it?” The person asks, kneeling down by the side of your seat before pressing the solid weight of your phone into your palm. It’s splattered with raindrops. You attempt to wipe it off with the sleeve of your jacket, realizing too late that it’s also wet, smearing more water across your screen. The thought of your phone being broken only pumps more icy panic through your veins.

“Let’s get in my car,” The stranger says again, “So I can pull us to the side of the road.”

You do as you’re told, stumbling through the puddles of rainwater to his car. Your fingers ache as you ease them under the door handle, sliding into the front seat.

It’s only then you can see the scene of the accident fully. Your car is in the middle of the intersection, melted around the front of the other car, who’d hit you square in the middle of the passenger side. The whole right side of your car is crinkled and caved in. Black tire marks streak the pavement around you. Other good samaritans are attending to the other person. It looks like they’re struggling to get the driver’s door open.

“Are they dead?” You panic, leaning forward in your seat for a chance at a better look. The car starts up, the man who’s helped you immediately turning the music down as he slowly inches around the scene, pulling halfway onto the sidewalk in an attempt to be out of the way.

“I dunno,” He says glancing around in his mirrors as he cuts the ignition. “I’m gonna go help. Stay here.”

You don’t know how long you sit in the silence, shivering, before you look at your phone again. You manage to dry it off by wiping it against the seat you’re sitting in. It lights up when you hit the home button, illuminating a jagged crack that runs across the center of the screen. Your thumbs act of their own accord.

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

“Holy fuck. Where? Are you hurt? Is help on the way?”

You’re not able to properly process anything he’s said. “I got hit by a car,” You sob again. “He just- He just ran into me!” You choke around a wail. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Where? Fuck, you gotta give me something else to go on! Where are you?”

“I dunno why I didn’t call Mary,” You blubber, more tears running hot down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, alright,” Van tries to shush you. “Where are you? C’mon.”

“I was at IHOP.” Van’s shushing had worked for a brief moment, but as the memory floods back you return to full on sobbing.

“On Sunset?” Van presses, before his voice cuts out as he jostles around on his end.

“No, no,” You cry, wiping at your nose. It only rubs icy rainwater all over your face. “Not Sunset. The other one. The other big road. I can’t remember the name, fuck. I’m drawing a blank on everything, I dunno.”

“Santa Monica?”

You perk up at his words. “Yeah, that one, that one.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel anything,” You sniffle. “I’m so fucking cold. I don’t think so. I’m not bleeding. I don’t think. I hope I’m not bleeding all over this guy’s car.”

“What guy’s car?”

“This guy. He almost hit me, too. The car pushed me over into his lane. But he stopped.” You are cut off by your own involuntary gasp for air. “I got in his car. He drove up on the sidewalk.” You glance out the side mirror, watching the crowd of people still fussing over the other person’s car.

“He’s trying to help the other person,” You tell him tearfully. “They can’t get the car door open. I think they’re dead, Van.” At that you sob again. “I think they’re dead.”

Van starts to speak, but a noise from your phone interrupts him. You pull it away from your ear in confusion. The screen doesn’t light up. You hit the home button. The empty battery indicator beams up at you.

You stuff your phone into your jacket pocket, a small sob of frustration escaping your throat.

You sit alone in your numb haze. There are car horns honking in impatience at the hold up. You wipe your eyes, laughing bitterly to yourself. If only you were one of them, caught in the minor inconvenience of traffic while someone else suffered your fate.

In an unknown amount of time the emergency responders are finally on the scene. You watch as the police start posting up yellow emergency tape and other officers attempt to direct the jam around the giant mess. The sirens of a firetruck and an ambulance rip through your consciousness as they drive up on the muddy grass around you.

A paramedic retrieves you from the car. You’re not sure who even told them where you were. She leads you through the rain to the back of the ambulance.

There are lots of questions as she gets you seated on a stretcher, starts working on paperwork. They’re hard to answer. You don’t remember your own phone number. You don’t have your purse with your license with you. You left it in your car, you tell her. She checks you for a concussion, whiplash. Makes sure your reflexes aren’t impared.

You stay in the ambulance while two police officers take the paramedic’s place. Telling the story makes you feel slightly calmer. You start to put the pieces together in your mind, slowly grasping how you went from excited for your food to the back of an ambulance. You’re not sure if your details make sense, but the officers seem pleased with what you’re able to tell them.

“Are they dead?” You ask when your part is finished. You can’t see any of the scene from where you’re sitting, only the officers conducting traffic outside in the rain. You’ve heard the commotion though, the ripping of metal while the firefighters dismantled the car.

“She’s alive,” One of them tells you, and your body is flooded with relief. “Injured, but alive.”

They’re packing up their things, carefully depositing their notebooks back into their uniform pockets and starting to shuffle away when you hear the bleep of one of their walkie-talkies.

Yeah, looks like it was distracted, the voice crackles over the speaker. Phone should be submitted into evidence.

The officer unclicks the radio from his pocket. “Headed over there now,” He says, and they leave you to handle that accidental information on your own.

The first one steps down into the grass before you hear him say, stern, “Can I help you, sir?”

You immediately jump up from the stretcher, clamoring over to the edge. The officer that hasn’t stepped out yet looks at you in confusion.

“Van!” You gasp, stumbling out of the ambulance. At the sound of you moving around the other officer is distracted, Van easily shuffling past him to get to you.

One of your feet slips in the mud. You almost fall backwards but Van’s there to steady you.

As instantly as you’ve caught your balance Van roughly pulls you forward into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you.

“Are you her ride home?” You hear one of the officers ask Van from where you’ve got your face pressed into his chest.

“I am,” Van tells them. “Is she going to the hospital?”

“The paramedic examined her, but she can choose to go if she thinks she needs to. She’s in shock, though. Can’t drive.”

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital, ma’am?” Someone asks from behind you.

It takes all your strength to pull yourself away from where you’re pressed against Van.

“I think I’m okay,” You tell them. “I don’t have any pain right now. Just wanna go home, really.” As soon as you’re done speaking you’ve pressed yourself back against Van. Having something familiar to cling to has instantaneous calming effects on you. Your teeth start chattering again.

You break away from him eventually to speak to the paramedic, who hands you some paperwork that’s getting damp from the rain.

“If anything feels off, come to the emergency room immediately,” She tells you, holding eye contact so you take her seriously. You nod.

She turns to Van. “It’s very important she comes in if she’s showing any of the symptoms listed.”

Van thanks her, before gently tugging the paperwork out between your fingers, folding it into his own pocket.

You get a slip from the officers so you can get the police report later for your insurance company. Then you’re free to go.

The scene has quieted down significantly. The helpful pedestrians are gone now, having been replaced by the responders. The car honking has stopped now that traffic was being directed, and a tow truck company was supposed to be arriving any minute now.

“I didn’t even get to thank that guy,” You mumble when you realize that the car you’d been sitting in is no longer on the curb.

“Hm?”

“That guy,” You say louder, looking around again. “I never got to thank him.”

Van rubs his hand over your back. “It’s okay. He knows you were distracted.”

You nod, hoping he’s right. “Where’s your car?”

Van gestures down the road. “At the IHOP. Are you able to make it?”

“IHOP? You walked all that way?”

It’s only then you realize that Van’s soaked from the downpour, same as you. For some reason your brain had been tricked into believing he’d escaped the misery of being this cold.

“Well, yeah,” Van laughs, “I didn’t have a choice! Traffic was blocked. I had to get to you!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” You huff.

“Will you fucking stop?” Van insists, starting the journey down the sidewalk towards his car. He keeps a hand on your back as you move with him. “Look at you. Your car is a ball of tin foil in the middle of an intersection and you’re tryin’ to tell me not to come check on you. Save it, love.”

Your brain is too tired to bicker with him. You let your body move on autopilot. When you reach the crosswalk of the intersection you’d been hit at Van’s hand suddenly drops to grab yours, breaking into a light jog to get you two across during a red light.

Even once you’ve crossed the road he doesn’t let go. He holds your hand the entire walk down the block to IHOP, where his range rover is crookedly parked across two spaces. He only lets go to help you into the car.

“I assume you didn’t eat dinner?” He asks softly once he’s pulled onto the street.

“I had takeout in my car,” You say sadly.

“Wanna run back in to IHOP?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well I am,” Van says, “And you gotta eat something. McDonald’s it is, then. At least get some chips.”

As glaringly obvious as his britishness is, it still catches you off guard. You crinkle your nose at his choice of words. Chips.

He pulls up to a drive-thru a few minutes later, easily rattling off what you assume is his usual order. Then he turns to you expectantly.

“Um, whatever you got,” You tell him, unable to remember your usual order. Van nods, turning back to the speaker.

“So you get vanilla, too?” He asks when he pulls the car forward, in line for the window to pay.

“Vanilla what?”

“A vanilla milkshake,” Van says slowly. “That’s what I ordered.”

“Oh.” You watch the windshield wipers move in an arc across the glass. “I honestly have no idea what you ordered. I just couldn’t remember the menu.”

The weirdness of feeling so cloudy makes your eyes water. You desperately just want to feel normal.

“This is so weird,” You tell Van, your voice tight from your tears. “Something’s wrong with me.”

As Van pulls up to the window, you reach out suddenly, hand on his arm. “I don’t have my purse,” You realize. “I don’t have any money on me.”

Van only gives you a confused smile before he fishes his wallet out, handing his card over to the cashier when the window opens. You heave a sigh of relief.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” He says when it’s time to pull forward again. “Your head is fucked up. You’ll calm down.”

You wipe away the stray tear that’s started its journey down your face, hoping he’s right. “I guess it feels so stupid, getting McDonald’s after that. I almost died.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been in an accident?”

Van hands over the paper bag of food and then a wobbling drink tray before pulling away. “I’ve had a fender bender or two when I was younger. Nothing like yours. And I don’t drive much, to be fair. Only when I’m here or in London. On tour I don’t have a car.”

“I never thought of that. How do you get around then?”

“Walk. Take an Uber.”

As the scent of hot french fries fills the car your body remembers how hungry it really is. It rips through your stomach with a growl.

“I take it back, I am hungry.” You pick through the paper bag. “What’d you get us?”

“Quarter pounder with cheese, Coke and a milkshake.”

“Holy shit. Is that what you usually get?”

“Sure. Sometimes I like some nuggets with it. But usually this is it.”

You blink at his silhouette while he looks ahead at the road. He glances over at you. “What?”

“That’s a lot of food for one sitting!” You laugh in disbelief.

Van shrugs. “I dunno! Maccies is good! What do you want me to say?”

“Maccies?”

Van rolls his eyes. “Aw, Christ. McDonald’s.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Sometimes!”

Having a normal conversation helps you calm down. By the time Van pulls up to your house, you feel slightly closer to being back on Earth as you help carry the food inside.

But being back in your living room and remembering the night you’d originally intended to have still brings tears to your eyes. Van notices right away.

“Go take a hot shower, yeah?” He suggests, coming over to you as soon as he’s set the bag of food and a lump of his things he’d thrown in his car down on the coffee table. He takes the cardboard drink tray from your shaking hands, setting it down before helping you ease off your soaked jacket.

“I don’t want to,” You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. The idea of becoming even more waterlogged sounds miserable. And you just want to sit down.

“It’ll warm you up,” Van continues. He gives your lower back a rub before resting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a closer look. “Your lips are blue. You definitely need it.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Van doesn’t allow it.

“I’ll get the water running,” He says, making a beeline for the bathroom before you can decline.

You find him fussing with the faucet when you finally follow. You take off your clothes right there, the icy layers of fabric slapping against the tile.

He doesn’t even give your naked body a glance when he stands upright. “Do you want something hot to drink when you’re done?��

“Do you know how to work a Keurig?”

Van nods.

“Yeah, coffee. But use one of the blue cups. The other ones are nasty.”

With another nod Van shuffles past you and out of the bathroom, leaving you to it.

Your skin is so cold even the lukewarm water Van had turned on burns. You stay in there, easing the water hotter and hotter until you’re no longer cringing away from the spray and the shower is filled with steam. Then you decide you’re warmed up enough and rejoin Van.

He’s changed into the dry clothes he’d brought with him, a black t-shirt and the worn flannel pajama bottoms you’d borrowed once. His hair is starting to dry, fluffy and unruly. He’s on his phone but looks up as soon as you return from getting dressed in your bedroom.

He smiles sheepishly. “I realized too late I have no idea what you put in your coffee. So I ran the cup and left it for you to finish.”

You head to the kitchen and finish adding milk and sugar into the steaming mug before you come back to the sectional.

The paper that the paramedic had given you is resting on the table. You nod to it. “Reading up on me?”

“Oh, yeah. Wanted to make sure I knew what we were looking for. You’re still okay, right? Nothing hurting?”

You roll your neck. “I’m starting to feel a little stiff, but I mean, that’s probably expected.” You tug your sweatpants down to your knees, showing Van a cut on your outer thigh. “I think a piece of the shattered window hit me.”

He grazes his fingertips against you gingerly, careful not to touch the cut. It only looks like a long cat scratch, but there had been enough crusted blood around it when you’d undressed that you knew something sharp had caused it.

“But I’m okay.” You shrug, pulling your pants back up.

Van eyes you for a long moment. “Are you doing better in your head?”

You manage a weak smile. “Yeah. It still doesn’t feel real. But the shower helped.”

Van seems satisfied with that answer, nodding to your food set aside on the table. You notice he’s waited to eat until you were ready, the milkshakes starting to melt. With both of you present now you dig into your meals. In the silence your mind wanders.

“I don’t think I can explain this to everyone tonight,” You groan around a mouthful of burger. “I don’t even remember the story as it is.”

“Wait ‘till morning,” Van says, uncapping his shake in order to dip his fries in. “You don’t need to worry about anything else tonight.”

“I wish it was that easy,” You sigh. “But I’ve got to call off work tomorrow. Gotta text my boss.”

“So just do that. Nothin’ else.”

You feel a headache blooming at everything that has to be done. You try to push your thoughts away, focusing back on your food. You abandon your coffee while you eat, the hot drink not going as well with your menu as the Coke, but once you’re done eating you pick the mug back up just for something to keep you distracted.

When Van’s done he taps away at his phone, and you remember that yours is dead.

“Fuck, gotta charge my phone,” You huff, going to get up from the couch. But Van points to the kitchen table, where your phone is charging.

“I got it going for ya. Is the crack from the accident?”

“Yes,” You sigh.

You make your way to the kitchen table, checking out any notifications. Everything is achingly normal. There’s a meme from your mom, a text inviting you out to drinks from some of the girls at work, and Mary complaining about something Theo’s done. You try to keep the details as minimal as possible as you text your boss, and you ignore everything else.

There’s so many people who will want to know what happened: Mary and Theo, your mom and dad. Your boss. Some of your coworkers you’re close with will wonder why you were out. You could cover a lot of your bases with your family and close friends with a Facebook post, but inevitably people will only reach out to you wanting more details. Then the insurance company will need all the details for the claim. And who knows how much everything will cost, and who’s responsible for it. You had no idea what towing company had even taken your car.

“Are you alright?”

You feel like you’ve been asked that question a million times tonight. You only realize you’re short of breath when Van’s question pulls you from your thoughts.

“Whoa,” Van murmurs. He sets his phone on the coffee table, instantly repositioning so that he’s sitting in front of you. “What’s going on?”

“I’m stressed out,” You admit. Your eyes have watered so many times tonight that you’re sick of the sensation, wiping at them furiously. That only irritates the already tender skin.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” Van tries to tell you, hands on your shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“But it’s not!” You sob into your hands, before digging your fingers into your hair. “It’s not okay! I almost fucking died! I almost died, Van! Would you have even missed me?”

Van’s face immediately contorts into anger. “Why would you even fucking ask that?”

Because we’re just a fling. There’s others. Why would you care? You don’t scream the words that run through your head.

“I’m freaking out!” You yell instead. “I’m freaking the fuck out! I can’t ever drive a car again after that! I almost died! I don’t even have a car to drive! I have no way to get to work! And I’m not made of money, I don’t have the kinda cash to Uber everywhere! I don’t have money for car repairs. And I mean, you saw my car! C’mon, it’s fucking totaled! I don’t have money for an Uber, let alone a new car!”

You reach for a stiff McDonald’s napkin in order to wipe your running nose. “How do I tell that story to everyone, Van? How? I literally could not explain it if I tried. A car literally ran into me. Straight into me. They had a red light. A red light! And it was distracted driving. Did I tell you that? I heard it over the walkie-talkie. Fucking texting and driving. How do I explain the fact I don’t even have whiplash? Or a broken arm? None of it makes sense!”

Van’s anger has faded from his expression by the time you’ve stopped yelling, but his jaw is set. He looks like he’s thinking.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” He agrees. “I saw it with my own two eyes and I don’t know how you walked away. I don’t have an answer for you there.”

He takes a deep breath. “But you can borrow the Rover as long as you need it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He snatches the keys off of the table and holds them out to you. “It’s yours while you figure all this shit out.”

You jerk away as if he’s offered you a grenade. “There’s no way. Nuh-uh.”

“You’re right. Everything is fucked. But it’s gonna be okay. And if I can help it be okay in some way, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

You’re still leaned away from him. “You’ve helped enough already. I don’t want your fucking car. What if I crash that one, too?”

“You didn’t crash anything. An asshole hit you. And it has full coverage, so I don’t care.”

“I’m not taking your car, Van!”

“Yes, you are! Fuck!” Van tosses the keys in your lap lightly. You flinch as if they’ll burn you. “Stop giving me shit every time I’m trying to be nice to you! I’m going to be back in London soon anyway, so use my car! I won’t be around to!”

You toss the keys back at Van. “Take these back.”

Van stands up. “I’m not taking these back, they’re yours for now.” He walks over to where your coat is hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping water onto the floor, and tucks his keys into your jacket pocket.

“And just so you know,” He starts angrily as he returns, “I meet people all the fucking time that I can tell don’t give a shit about me. We were at a party full of them. When you have money and even the smallest amount of influence, people want to be mates so bad. Especially in the music industry.”

He plops down in his seat, gesturing at the front door behind him. “If you think I’m racing out of my house in the middle of a storm to make sure they’re okay you’ve got it all wrong. And if you think I’m offering everyone my car keys you’re crazy. We’re friends. Don’t ever ask me some stupid shit about you dying like that again. The keys are yours. End of.”

You stare at him through your tears, clenching your teeth. When he’s around nothing ever makes sense. It’s like you’re best friends yet you feel like you know nothing about him. You two act like you’re dating in private and then go weeks without speaking. He’s so fucking nice to you all the time and you don’t understand where it comes from, why he feels compelled to do things like hand over his car keys without a second thought. You don’t have an issue with a friends-with-benefits arrangement. But Van has a way of blurring the line between the benefits and the friendship. And you have nothing for him in return. No exclusive access to things, no guest lists, connections. Certainly no cars to lend.

You want to cry from how overwhelmed you are by his kindness this entire night. And you want to scream at how much it confuses you. You settle for reaching forward and grabbing his shirt collar and pressing your lips against his, hard.

Van’s not one to startle. When you kiss him he’s usually all in, easily following your lead. But this time you notice his surprise, how he’s frozen in shock for a moment before he’s kissing you back.

He’s gentle, carefully cupping the back of your head as he tries to slow the pace. You’re not having it. You pull him closer by his shirt, pressing his mouth open with yours to force the kiss deeper.

He’s sitting slightly too far away from you to the point where you can tell it’s hard for him to lean forward enough to kiss you. You press him back by his shoulders, nudging him to rest against the back of the couch as you scramble up to straddle him, resting yourself over his thighs. You pant into his mouth as you slip your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, pressing it upward in an attempt to slip it off of him.

Suddenly his hands are resting over the back of yours.

“Hey, hey,” He murmurs. He holds your hands gently, guiding them away from their task of undressing him. You still cling to the fabric for dear life. He has to press into your flesh with his fingertips in order for you to finally let go.

“There’s no need for that,” Van tells you softly. You accept he wants to keep his shirt on and go for the waistband of his pants instead, trying to ease the elastic down. He tightens his fingers around your wrist, gently wrestling you away again.

You give a frustrated sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Your head’s not in the right place,” Van replies. “You’ve had a long night.”

“I know I’ve have a long night,” You plead, “That’s why I need this. To chill out.”

“I’ll roll us a joint. That’ll chill you out.”

“I don’t want to smoke weed. I want to give something back for how nice you’ve been tonight.”

“Oh, quit it. You’re keeping me company. I was sitting around bored out of my mind.”

“No, you’re keeping me company,” You argue, wriggling around in his lap. It’s easy to feel his semi through his flannel bottoms. “Lemme make you dealing with me crying all night worth it.”

Van grabs your upper arms firmly, nudging you off of his lap before standing up. “I’ll grab the weed.”

You watch him rifle through his things as you come to terms with the fact you’ve officially been rejected.

The sting of Van’s rejection is only eased after passing the joint he’s rolled back and forth a few times. He doesn’t acknowledge how silent and broody you’ve become as he rolls it, but he’s too smart not to know. The fact he’s as cheerful as ever as he makes you take the first hit only boils your blood more.

But as you two burn the joint down to a pitiful nub you start to simmer down. Your bad mood becomes less about Van and more about how awful your night has gone as a whole. The fact you weren’t going to get a quickie with Van out of tonight was only the cherry on top.

“Should I roll another?” Van asks after you two have given the first one some time to settle. It’s calmed you down, but not enough to sleep. Given the way Van’s socked toes are tapping at your knee you get the feeling he’s not ready to sleep, either.

He brings the second one to the bedroom, waiting to light it until you two are settled in. This one tastes a little stronger, burns your throat more. After three hits you’re snuggled up against him as he lights his nighttime cigarette.

“I have a question,” You say slowly, keeping your eyes closed. You don’t want to lose the way your head is floating, so much lighter now that you’ve been able to let go of your worries. Besides the one that keeps nagging your brain every time you breathe in the scent of Van’s fabric softener.

“Shoot.”

“Are you seeing someone in London?”

“Loads of people. Me mum ‘n dad. My cousins. Mates from back home.”

You giggle, poking his thigh. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ve got a question for you,” Van declares, poking you on the arm.

You press your forehead against his outer thigh, slinging your arm across his lap. It’s the ultimate comfortable position, your body sinking into it happily. “Hm?”

“I wanna know who’s been treating you so lousy that you’re so shocked when someone cares for you.”

Maybe you could’ve answered him if you hadn’t drifted off to sleep.

#summer's a knife #van mccann #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catb #catfish and the bottlemen #van fic #van mccann fic

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yadds · 4 years

Text

Another Geraskier Fix-it Fic, Part 2 Jaskier tells Geralt to fuck off, Geralt is forced into some self-reflection.

Part 1

I was going to wait until I finished this to post the rest, but that’s gonna be in approx. 3 million years at this point, so here’s part 2 if anyone is still interested. Should only be one part left after this since I actually have an ending in mind!

Geralt was jostled from his meditation by a foot to the side of his head. He whirled around and caught the ankle, yanking until the perpetrator fell to the floor with a squawk. He had a knife to a throat before he realized it was Jaskier, hands up defenselessly and eyes wide.

He tsked and released him.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said indignantly as he sat up, wincing, and brushed his hands across his bare back, which had been dragged across the dusty floor in the scuffle. “You’re annoyed at me? I don’t even rightly know what’s going on right now! I woke up and was just trying to get out of bed! What did you expect to happen when you took up post there like some looming lurker?”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Geralt muttered.

“I can’t even tell; my bladder is about to explode and I literally cannot even think about anything else. So if you would kindly move your arse, I would like to fix that particular problem.”

Huffing, Geralt shifted to the side to allow Jaskier to go and relieve himself.

Jaskier was soon collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. “In answer to your non-question, yes, I am feeling better. Thank you for pretending you care. You’ve fulfilled whatever bizarre obligation you seem to have felt so please feel free to leave. Preferably without soul-searing insults this time, but that’s honestly up to you.”

Geralt scowled as he watched Jaskier watch the ceiling, one arm thrown over his forehead and partially obscuring his view.

“You never answered me,” he said gruffly.

Jaskier’s head tilted minutely in his direction. “You’ll have to remind me what exactly I didn’t answer. My memory of our conversation while I was bleeding out is a bit vague,” he said acerbically.

“Those men,” Geralt clarified. When he saw Jaskier open his mouth with an expression of exasperation, Geralt continued. “You said they were after me.”

Jaskier nodded, peering through his fingers up at the ceiling again.

He didn’t offer any more information. Gritting his teeth, Geralt mustered all the patience he could and asked for it. “Why? And why are they after you?”

“Oh yes, I’m starting to remember now - I told you already that I. Don’t. Know,” Jaskier sneered. “I have no idea who those men were.”

“Stop the bullshit!” Geralt finally barked. “You also implied this was a regular occurrence. What the hell is going on, Jaskier?”

Jaskier continued glowering. Just as Geralt was ready to start physically demanding answers, Jaskier suddenly turned so that he was fully facing Geralt.

“Okay. Fine. You want to get into this? Alright. This has been going on for years, Geralt. People have been trying to kidnap, kill, or maim me to get to you for years. Not the same people - sometimes it’s hired hands for rich people you’ve pissed off, sometimes it’s people that don’t want you stopping them from doing something, and sometimes it’s random folk that just don’t like you.”

Geralt felt as though he had ice water coursing through his veins, freezing the breath in his lungs and slowing his heart to a sluggish crawl.

“Most of the time, I don’t have a clue who or why unless they’re successful,” Jaskier continued.

Suddenly the ice in his blood was seared to steam by the raging fury that overtook him at the thought. “The fuck does that mean?” Geralt growled.

“Oh, yes, I’ve been in some pretty precarious situations, my friend,” Jaskier pressed cruelly, noting how each new piece of information wound Geralt tighter. “Been attacked more times than I can count. Although, to be fair, I don’t know how many of those were just because I am such a delight to all those around me and how many were thanks to you. I’ve been kidnapped at least 3 or 4 times. That’s never enjoyable but has ended up being surprisingly relatively benign,” he mused.

Geralt was trembling, strung tight enough to snap.

“Oh relax,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “I never tell them anything.” He rolled back to stare at the ceiling again, arms folded behind his head, appearing to tire of his game. “I can withstand a lot more than you might think.”

“Why?” he rasped.

Jaskier shrugged. “Well most of the time I actually don’t know anything since you usually just ditch me with not a word of where I could find you again even if I needed to. But also because I’m not a heartless bastard; I used to consider us very good friends, you know. I would never do anything that might cause you harm. You do so much more good in this world than I do so if I had to sacrifice you to save myself…well, I’m not that kind of selfish.”

The sound that punched out of Geralt at the thought was choked and miserable. “Jaskier,” he croaked, then stopped, unable to find the words to continue.

Jaskier turned his gaze back to Geralt again, a delighted, malicious grin stealing across his face. “Oh, my,” he crowed. “Does it hurt, Geralt? To know someone has suffered for you?”

“Yes,” he hissed, eyes narrow and intent on the bard perched above him. His hand lifted briefly towards Jaskier before he dropped it to fist in his lap.

“Good,” Jaskier replied simply. His clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes belied the casual tone.

Geralt flinched slightly before lashing out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Jaskier quickly rolled back towards him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Geralt, still seated on the floor, with contempt. “My problem?” he parroted incredulously. “You rip out my heart and tear it to shreds for no gods damned reason and I’m the one with the problem? I’m sorry, was I supposed to just roll over and take it? Beg for more?”

Geralt’s glare intensified. “What bullshit are you spouting now? I haven’t even seen your godsforsaken face in a year.”

“Were you dropped on your head sometime in the past year? Gotten amnesia or dementia of some sort? I feel like I should ask because this could be a legitimate issue before assuming - No?” Jaskier asked facetiously before continuing. “Okay, so you’re just willfully misremembering the way you very sincerely wished me out of your life? I’ve done my part and stayed out of your way! Yet here you are, still...maligning me.”

Geralt scoffed, immediately knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop. “That’s not anywhere near the worst thing I’ve said to you.”

He saw the muscle in Jaskier’s jaw jump repeatedly, accentuating the slight tremor in his chin as he took a long moment before responding quietly. “True. But that was the first time I knew beyond a doubt that you really meant it. Also, the fact that you think that’s a justification just proves what a fool I was to follow you for as long as I did.”

The silence that followed was oppressive and suffocating.

When Geralt made no move to refute, or even acknowledge, the accusations, the renewed expression of disappointment on Jaskier’s face hit him like a forging hammer to the chest.

Jaskier’s mouth opened as if to say something, but all that came out was a heavy sigh before his lips pressed together tight. He pushed himself off the bed, face drawn and shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Well, thanks for saving my life yet again. I hope you don’t mind if I steal a drink before I’m off,” Jaskier said with forced nonchalance as he stumbled the two steps across the room to a pitcher on the small table.

Geralt looked up when he heard the clangor of the cup clattering against the pitcher, both trembling and unsteady in Jaskier’s grip. As water sloshed against his front, Jaskier slammed them both back down onto the table, breathing sharply through his nose in frustration.

Standing silently, Geralt stepped close and gently grabbed the cup from Jaskier. Before he had grasped the pitcher, Jaskier snatched the cup back. “I can pour my own damn drink, Geralt!” he snarled.

“Of course,” he agreed as he stepped back. His eyes traced the tense lines of Jaskier’s back as he fumbled to get enough water into the cup for a long draught, somewhat surprised by the definition of hard muscle just visible beneath a shallow layer of softness.

Jaskier turned and brushed past Geralt to get to the door. Geralt grabbed his arm. “Jaskier.”

“What?” he replied curtly, still facing the door.

“Stay,” he said gruffly.

“No. I don’t wish to add to my debt to you.”

“Since when do you care about such things?” Geralt asked mockingly.

“Since we’re not friends,” Jaskier bit out.

Geralt’s grip tightened with the pang of annoyance that pierced through him. He quickly released his hand when he heard Jaskier hiss softly.

“You’re in no condition to be out there alone,” he said, frustrated with Jaskier’s stubbornness.

“Who says I’m alone?” Jaskier replied. “Believe it or not, there are others who don’t find me so despicable.” He watched as Jaskier stopped briefly to rummage through Geralt’s saddlebags to take one of his shirts, turning and showing Geralt quite pointedly that he was taking it, daring him to say something about it.

For once, there were many things Geralt wanted to say, ranging from groveling apologies to scathingly cruel remarks that made his previous ones sound like fucking love letters. But he remained silent as Jaskier turned and opened the door, jumbles of jagged words clamoring against the back of his teeth, shoved down his throat until he could scarcely breathe.

Pausing, Jaskier looked back once more, eyes tracing Geralt’s features. “Goodbye, Geralt.”

Nothing had ever sounded so devastatingly final.

Geralt left the inn with the rising sun, body still humming with pent up tension.

Not knowing where Jaskier was or who he was with became Geralt’s newest form of personal torture.

He would have stayed with Jaskier, traveled with him again, kept him safe. He didn’t like feeling responsible for Jaskier’s hardships. But apparently Jaskier’s pride was more important than his safety. Fucking idiot.

He grit his teeth, hands clenching. Roach snorted and shook her head, making Geralt loosen his too-tight grip on her reins. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured.

He dismounted and prowled beside her, unable to stomach sitting idle with his fuming thoughts.

What right did Jaskier have to punish him? For all of his extravagant overtures of devotion, Jaskier was the one who left. And all it took was a few unkind words. It certainly hadn’t been the first time he’d lashed out at Jaskier when his frustrations had lain elsewhere. He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted, but it was far from the worst thing he’d done in the decades that they’d traveled together. What kind of ‘friendship’ could be shattered by something so trivial?

Geralt spent the next mile attempting to force his mind into silence. He was unsuccessful like he hadn’t experienced since he’d first become a witcher all those years ago, his thoughts roiling and ranting violently.

Geralt was not stupid - he knew that a distraction such as this would only result in a quick, needless death while on The Path. Fortunately, he was also not a coward. If this required putting thought to the...feelings he was experiencing, he would do it.

Geralt mounted Roach, trusting her to keep the path and warn him of any conspicuous threats. He squared his shoulders as he turned his focus inwards.

Putting a name to the emotions that were clamoring below the surface was a trying task for one who only experienced pale shades of their human counterparts. He approached each tangle of sentiment marring the dreary landscape of his inner mind, prepared to unravel it, acknowledge it, and move the fuck on. There was anger, yes, that he was all too familiar with. Some hurt, he supposed, if he had to admit it. But the biggest beast was a deep-seated sense of betrayal.

The realization made him snarl; betrayal to this extent wasn’t possible without a level of trust that he thought himself incapable of. How could he be so fucking stupid? Geralt was forced to acknowledge that Jaksier had, despite his valiant efforts to keep him at arms length, insinuated himself as the closest anything came to a permanent fixture in Geralt’s life. He’d trusted Jaskier in a way he’d not done since he’d been a boy, been so unquestionably sure of Jaskier’s loyalty.

And he fucking knew better. Nothing was permanent and nobody could truly be trusted. How many times must he learn that gods damned lesson in his endlessly long life? Apparently at least once more, it seemed.

Fury reared its head once more, searing through his nerves until he could think of nothing else. Partially at Jaskier, at destiny, at this shithole of a Continent. But mostly at himself.

But self-castigation was of no use to him. He drew a deep breath and pushed through it, finding that he was once again placing his misdirected anger firmly on Jaskier’s shoulders, something he’d been doing so long that he didn’t even think about it.

Perhaps he’d been needlessly cruel for too long. Jaskier was an easy target, one who would take a beating with nothing but a cheeky comeback or sullen silence. And wasn’t that on Jaskier, not standing up for himself? Perhaps a little, but no, he had to admit that this was his own shortcoming. It only incensed him further to realize just how much he’d taken advantage of...yes, his friend. If he had ever had a single friend in his life, it would have been Jaskier.

But despite his self-involvement and constant reparation of the thick stone walls protecting his inner self from the rest of the world, Jaskier had grown like weeds through any cracks in the mortar. Though he’d stopped the spread, the sprouts of greenery stubbornly remained in the endless brown and gray of dirty stone, demanding his attention. And as the mulish weeds started to finally die, the color fading, Geralt was forced to recognize the beauty of a bit of color in a colorless life.

Just another story of too little too late.

_______________________________________________________________________

So you’d think quarantine would be the optimal time for writing, but I’m finding I have less time/energy than ever between keeping up with a 3 year old and a 1 year old that are cooped up inside while trying to work from home and not neglect our little bit of husband/wife time.

Not having any time to myself is the hardest part of all this for me (for which I’m so incredibly grateful, that that’s my biggest problem) and makes me want to just curl up and do nothing the few moments I’m able to steal for myself. So, plan on me being EVEN SLOWER THAN USUAL. Yes, that’s possible. And it’s happening.

Despite my complaining, things in general are good for us - Husband and I have job security, are continuing to get paid normally, and have bosses that understand our need to juggle family/work balance, and we’re all in good health.

Stay safe and well out there, y’all, both physically and mentally, as much as you can!

#gratuitous use of the word fuck #badass!jaskier #jaskier is not a damsel in distress #they're both assholes #angst #geralt #jaskier #fic #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #geraskier #yadds writes

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miracleboiz · 4 years

Text

Making a Home Ch. 19

Kita Shinsuke had experienced a lot in life. He had been raised with his grandmother, a loving foster parent and for some time he followed in her foot steps before finding his own path. He thought his foster care license had expired before getting a call at three am with two small boys thrust into his arms. Miya Osamu and Atsumu, from broken homes but still fighting. Thirty days before his license expires. Thirty days to make a choice, keep the boys or let them be separated into different homes. Thirty days to fall in love with them.

Words: 4k

Relationships: Ojiro Aran/Kita Shinsuke, Gen

Warnings: Mention of past child abuse, non-graphic abuse

Not from Kita, but it is mentioned. I will post any warnings before any panic attacks or vague descriptions of abuse.

Read below or on AO3

“I told you that today wasn’t a good day.” Shinsuke said, reaching out to grab Osamu but he and Atsumu were already too far ahead. Osamu looked back, hope in his gray eyes and he started to hesitate reaching back for Shinsuke’s hand.

“Yes, we know they got in trouble, they were always troublemakers. That’s okay, we know how to fix them.” Rika said, smiling almost serenely at the twins. Osamu went still, tears starting to build beneath his eyes before his brother’s grip on his arm jostled him into turning around again.

Internally, Shinsuke fumed. Neither of the boys were troublemakers! Even if they were, there was nothing to ‘fix’ about a child who acted out. They needed guidance, support, they weren’t broken.

“Hello again, Rika-san.” Atsumu’s voice was hollow, drained of any sort of cheerfulness.

“Atsumu, I told you to call me Rika-chan, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.” Rika chirped and Atsumu’s shoulders sagged with tiredness as he dipped his head.

“Sorry, Rika-chan… Good evening Saito-san.” Atsumu’s voice was nearly intelligible and Shinsuke stepped forward, unable to stay quiet any longer.

“That’s enough. I told you not to come, and what are you talking about again? From my records there was no Saito Rika or Saito Ken who ever watched over the boys.”

“My last name used to be Nakamura,” Rika said flippantly and Shinsuke felt his temper rise, “I was the first one to try and adopt the boys.”

“Try?” Shinsuke barely held back the urge to snap the word back at her.

“Well my husband didn’t want kids then, so we got rid of them. But he’s come around and said we could adopt one, but why wouldn’t I just want my old twins. Besides, they’re older now and not as annoying as they were.”

“They’re not… They’re not dogs. You don’t just toss them aside and pick them up from the pound later.”

Shinsuke wasn’t one to get upset. He was often likened to a robot despite the fact that he knew he was very much human. He rarely cried until he was beyond overwhelmed, and he didn’t understand how other people could scream and yell so much. He even struggled to smile, though the boys had it made easier to relax and just let the natural action curve on his lips.

Right now, though, he was more than a little overwhelmed. Osamu seemed ready to break down and Atsumu had closed off again. He looked like he was seconds from dissociating and Shinsuke was not going to let that happen. He opened his mouth to tell them off when Atsumu started speaking.

“It’s alright Kita-san,” He murmured and Shinsuke pretended that didn’t hurt, “we’ll be good.”

His fist was nearly white, wrapped around his brother’s hand. Osamu whimpered, only to slap a hand over his mouth with a fearful glance at Rika’s husband who still didn’t look at the two.

“The boys are always good for me, right Osamu?” Rika seemed far more interested in the boys than her husband. He’d already dragged out his phone and wasn’t bothering to look at his wife or the kids.

“Yes Rika-chan…” Osamu said hesitatingly but Rika didn’t seem to notice it as she turned to Atsumu.

“So I know you two had a bad day at school today. You always were breaking things, rules, vases, toys. What trouble did you cause this time Atsumu?”

“That’s enough. Leave now.” Shinsuke stepped around Osamu, moving to stand in front of them. “I won’t have you insulting either of these two, or treating them like mindless animals. They’re kids. Get off of my property now.”

“We are entitled to our interview-” Rika started, looking more than a little shocked at Shinsuke’s interruption.

“You failed the moment you refused to listen when I told you not to come. They’re allowed to have a rest, especially after a hard day. Instead you came anyways, and proceeded to talk down to them like there is something wrong with them. There is absolutely nothing wrong with either of them. Atsumu, take your brother into the house please.” Shinsuke passed him the key, holding it out for a worryingly long moment before he finally felt Atsumu’s hand wrap around it.

He waited, feeling the tug of Osamu’s hand momentarily on his shirt before he was pulled past. The moment the door was shut, he relaxed slightly, no longer worried about them being upset about seeing him angry.

“Not only have you failed your interview, but I will be reporting you to their social worker. You are obligated to inform me if you have ever had any contact with either of the boys, before the interview. You dismissed them, insulted them to their face. Told them they were broken and ruined any confidence that Atsumu had with that last comment that he caused the trouble. He didn’t! Because he’s a good kid, who cares about making everyone happy and giving his all no matter what it takes from him and I will not stand by and let you degrade that into him just breaking things.”

“Wha- You can’t be serious! The boys are just kids, they don’t even know half of what I just said. I’m calling Oomimi-san now, you won’t even have the boys by the end of the night.” Rika snapped, looking both bewildered and angry. Her husband, interestingly enough, had finally glanced up from his phone and seemed to only understand that something important happened.

“So we don’t have to get the brats?” He seemed mildly relieved, only to scowl as his wife rounded on him.

Shinsuke turned, blinking in surprise at Osamu’s face in the crack in the door before it was gone. He paused, wondering if he should say anything else before tossing it aside. Whatever he said now was meaningless. He had the boys to take care of.

He stepped into the house, closing the door and locking it before turning on the security alarm. He turned, exhaustion flooding through him as the adrenaline started to lower but he knew his night wasn’t over yet.

Astumu was just standing behind the couch, keys still clutched in his hand like he was waiting for an order to put it away. Osamu was gripping the arm of the couch, fingers twitching and Shinsuke gently nodded when he realized Osamu was wanting to hold his fox for comfort but was afraid of being yelled at.

“It’s okay, Osamu, you’re not in trouble.” Shinsuke murmured, keeping his steps slow and measured as he moved to Atsumu’s side.

He wrapped his fingers around the keys and knelt to the floor, looking up at Atsumu. He barely even stirred, eyes staring at something over Shinsuke’s shoulder. His eyes were vacant, no emotion in them, not even fear. Tears had stained his cheeks and slid over each other but no sobs came from his mouth.

“Atsumu, I’m taking the keys now.” Shinsuke said softly, catching them as Atsumu obediently dropped them. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, I didn’t know you already knew her-”

“May I go to my room… please, Kita-san?” The words were barely more than a whisper, and Atsumu looked like he didn’t have the energy to try again. He was ready to collapse on the floor, and Shinsuke didn’t know if being alone would help or make it worse.

“Can you look at me first?” Shinsuke asked, waiting as the eyes slid to meet his. They moved slow, sluggish, like Atsumu had to force himself to do it but if Atsumu was responding that was good. He didn’t look too far gone, and forcing him to relive the moment by trying to talk it over would only make Atsumu that much worse.

“I’ll bring dinner in a bit, okay? Please come let me know if you need anything else. You look very tired and scared, Atsumu. I know that was hard, I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. I’ll check in on you, but if you need anything, please come and get me, I won’t leave the house okay?”

Inch by inch, Atsumu’s head tilted into a nod as his eyes slid away again.

“Yes sir.”

“Thank you Atsumu, you were really brave… I’ll check on you soon.” Atsumu didn’t move, waiting until Shinsuke gently nudged him before he started walking towards his room.

Osamu was clutching the fox to his chest when Shinsuke turned to look at him, his own tears leaking onto the floor. Shinsuke waved him closer and Osamu nearly ran to him, only to freeze an arm length away.

Osamu had always been more physical, wanting hugs and getting comfort from them. He craved physical closeness in the same way Atsumu craved approval, but now he was scared. Scared of Shinsuke.

“It’s alright, Osamu.” Shinsuke tried to soothe the frustration on Osamu’s face as his natural urge to be close battled with the fear that had been built in him. “You’re scared, you don’t have to hug me… I am sorry, I didn’t know you knew her and I told her not to come, or else I would have told you that you would meet someone today. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Can I go be with ‘Tsumu?” Osamu asked, voice stronger than his brothers but it was still choked as he sniffled. He gripped the toy closer and Shinsuke was grateful Akagi had thought to buy it as a comfort item.

“Yes, little one, go on. I’ll check on you in a few, and bring dinner.” Shinsuke slowly moved to his feet as Osamu walked away.

“I wish you didn’t hate us.” Osamu mumbled, probably not even aware he’d spoken aloud.

Still, a knife plunged through Shinsuke’s stomach and heart and it took everything he had not to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wanted nothing more than to sob, break down as so many emotions flooded him at once. He wanted to run, to hide, to lose himself in work, to lose himself completely in something blank. He was neutral by default, small bits of emotions dropping into him at any given time. He had no idea how to handle the thick swell pouring through him.

Anger, guilt, panic, pain, grief, adrenaline, worry, care, hurt. Everything poured into him and it was overflowing in his mind.

He wasn’t like the others, where they could take so much. He thought he would break, right there on his floor, his boys in the other room. His boys hurting.

Somehow, he moved to his feet, pawing at his own pants to pull up his phone and hit the speed dial for Oomimi.

“Shinsuke? Aren’t you supposed to be in the middle of the interview?” Oomimi didn’t bother with pleasantries, Shinsuke rarely called to catch up, he preferred the quicker method of text.

“Yeah… The boys had a rough day and I told her not to come but…” Shinsuke took in a shuddering breath, trying to focus on the present like Aran, Oomimi and Akagi had coached him through for years when he started to crack. He started to talk again, explaining what had happened, while he started to cook.

He focused on the pans under his hands, the heat of the rice cooker, the strong scent of fresh basil. The spoon was cool under his touch, and the back of his ankle collided with the stool the boys used. His elbow brushed over the fridge and cool air greeted his face.

He was okay. He was present. His boys were safe, they were just scared. Everything was okay.

“So after the boys went to their room I called you.” Shinsuke finished, stirring the stir-fry in the pan.

“Ah… I’ll drop by in about half an hour… I need to talk to them about the interview and I’ll make sure to note that she is to be removed from any potential adoptions until she’s reviewed again. I’ll write down what you told me and what the boys tell me and submit it tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Thank you, Ren.” Shinsuke murmured and Oomimi seemed to sigh on the other end of the line.

“Are you okay, Shinsuke?” Oomimi’s voice was soft, gentle. “That’s a lot to deal with on top of everything else.”

“Everything else? I’m fine Ren, honestly.” Shinsuke said, taking a deep breath and letting the overflow of emotions leak out. He probably needed a good cry, but honestly he didn’t have the time for that and he wouldn’t be the one to break in front of the boys. They needed to trust him to be strong and not crumble.

“Shinsuke, you went from being a successful business owner with a steadily climbing online business, to being a father to two traumitized boys, having your old crush return, trying to take care of them and help them heal, battling with that principal, trying to reintegrate Aran into your life, dealing with Saito-san, hearing Osamu say he thinks you hate them. That’s a lot, you’ve broken from much less. Remember our final year when you stepped down as captain? You were overwhelmed within days from losing your structure. When you first got the shop and found out that all the employees left with your aunt to her new one? You cracked and barely held it together until you got your routine going. You don’t do well when someone removes that without warning. This isn’t just someone removing your routine and your plan and your structure, this is blowing it up and stomping on the tiny pieces.” Oomimi sighed, louder and more clearly this time. He and Akagi had seen the worst of his cracking after all, though Aran had seen the first and knew of the other two.

It wasn’t often that Shinsuke cracked, in fact it was a rarity. He’d struggle, scramble for purchase and haul himself up after a week normally. Each of those times though, had been so overwhelming emotionally, physically, mentally.

Shinsuke had his routine, he had his Plan. He put the pieces together before the year even started, what he was going to do, what he was giving up or getting, what he would accomplish and what would be a bonus if it did happen. He set his routine, getting up at five am, showering for twelve minutes, turning on the rice and making tea by eighteen after. He checked his phone at twenty after before pulling out breakfast ingredients. Breakfast was done by six, he had eaten by twenty after and he was at work where it started all over again with a routine.

Little changes were okay, he could survive the itch that burrowed in his skin. He could ignore the urge to stare at the clock, feel time clicking away from him. He could only do that for so long. Without a new plan, a new routine set up, he would start to stumble.

It had only happened three times in total, but Shinsuke still felt guilty for each one. He prided himself on his self control, on his ability to support others, but when he broke he found them scrambling to care for him. Pressuring themselves to help him. The exact opposite of what he wanted.

“I know… Trust me I know, Ren… Why do you think I’ve been telling you and Michinari no? For the boys and about Aran… If I throw out my plan then I’ll just throw myself into a panic. I already made the decision not to start a family, not to focus on dating…”

“But you want too, now.” Oomimi finished for him. For a long minute it was silent, then Shinsuke could hear the sound of papers shuffling.

“I’ll be there in twenty, let the boys know okay?” Oomimi said, and the line dropped. Shinsuke didn’t move for a moment, letting himself relax before he lowered the phone to the counter and started to dish up three bowls.

He didn’t bother to pull out the cushions to eat at the table. Instead he grabbed two of the bowls and made his way to the boy’s bedroom.

He knocked gently at the door before stepping in. Almost instantly Osamu was leaping from Atsumu’s bed like he was waiting to be punished. Atsumu himself was curled up with his giant purple pokemon, hypnotically stroking it’s fur.

“It’s alright, Osamu, you can stay with your brother. I brought you dinner.” Shinsuke explained, moving to kneel next to the side table and carefully slide the bowls onto it. Osamu still hesitated, slow, careful steps bringing him back to his brother's bed.

Shinsuke moved nearly as slowly, until he could lower himself to the bottom half of Atsumu’s bed. He reached out, gently tapping Atsumu’s foot with a whisper of his name.

Atsumu turned, a little less dazed, but tears were still fresh on his cheeks. He blinked at Shinsuke, tugging his feet under his body. Shinsuke didn’t bother to be hurt by it, Atsumu couldn’t help it and he definitely wasn’t doing it to be cruel.

“I brought dinner, Atsumu.” Shinsuke said softly, watching the eyes slide off his face towards the wall behind him. “I also wanted to let you know Oomimi was coming in a few… No, you’re not in trouble.”

Shinsuke could see the fear rising up, in Osamu’s face, in the way Atsumu was clenching Kitty.

“I swear to you, you’re not in trouble. You’re not being taken away either. He just needs to check on you and make sure you’re okay after today, that’s all.” Shinsuke soothed, reaching out to Osamu and waiting for Osamu’s hesitant hand on his. He drew him closer, slipping off the bed to let Osamu have the spot and guiding him down.

“Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. It’s all going to be okay.” Shinsuke said, gently squeezing Osamu’s hand. For a second, a light of hope seemed to glow in his eyes and the smallest smile appeared, before he was pulling his hand away and turning to his brother, crawling over to lay with him.

Shinsuke wanted to say something, reach out to them. He had nothing to say, though. Instead he turned and walked away. Any more words would only seem empty and fruitless.

Shinsuke barely managed to eat, and clean the bowls by the time Oomimi arrived. He didn’t bother with pleasantries now either. This wasn’t a friendly call, he was on duty and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

He had more than one paper carefully stacked under one arm, none of them labeled and Shinsuke wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were for.

“Shinsuke?” Oomimi’s voice made him jump from where he was bent over his kitchen island, a pencil scratching out a new design.

“Yes?” He looked over immediately, panic churning in his gut at the regretful look on his friend’s face. Oomimi moved slowly, making his way to the other part of the island before he spoke.

“The boys confirmed what you said… obviously. Saito Rika will be removed from the list of potential adoptees and will be reviewed much more thoroughly before she is added back.” Oomimi said, then lowered the forms onto the table blank side up so Shinsuke couldn’t read them. Always professional.

“Shinsuke… The boys said…” Oomimi hesitated, tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he pushed on. “Shinsuke, the boys asked not to be adopted by you.”

A thousand pounds dropped through Shinsuke’s stomach. The pencil shattered in his grip but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the pain shooting through his palm. They didn’t want him.

A disgusting mixture of horror, grief, and relief mixed through him. He hated it, despised it. The idea that he could finally return to his routine was relieving, the idea that he would no longer be in charge of their emotional welfare was relieving. Shinsuke wanted to throw up.

He didn’t want the boys gone, he’d never want that but even he couldn’t deny a mental toll had been taken. He didn’t care, he could get over that, he could adapt. It wasn’t life threatening, it was just a momentary adjustment period, that he was already going through. Adopting them wouldn’t make him worse and he was horrified that some part, even so small and ignored a part just trying to keep him moving forward, was willing to drop the boys like that.

None of that mattered though.

They didn’t want him.

“Shinsuke. I asked them if they were willing to stay the rest of the month with you… Osamu managed to convince his brother to say yes. Regardless, the decision remains with me.” Oomimi said, tone clipped. He didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news but this was his job. He had to make the call to remove the boys or not, even if Osamu had managed to get Atsumu to say he wanted to stay.

“I have to report it… but I’m not taking them, Shinsuke.” Oomimi reached out to squeeze his wrist, the first break in his professional demeanor. “They are scared because of Saito-san, it isn’t a reflection on you especially as you didn’t know she would be here. They’ve been a lot better under your care. I’ll ask again at the end of the month, but if they say no… you understand that I can’t force them to be adopted by you, right? By any of us. They get to say no.”

“I know.” Shinsuke wished his voice didn’t sound so raw. He wasn’t crying, not yet, but he could feel it building. He pushed it down, pushed it away, desperate not to break where the boys could walk out and see. He wouldn’t do that to them, no matter what.

“Do you want me to stay-”

“No, thank you Ren. I have to sign off on what happened right? I’ll do that now.” Shinsuke cut him off, he didn’t want comfort. He wanted to know what was happening next, wanted to know what to do. Ren wouldn’t, couldn’t, guide him or give him a hint to anything.

Oomimi watched him, before grabbing the paperwork and offering a few pages. Neither of them mentioned the pencil embedded in Shinsuke’s hand.

“Please, call me if you need anything. I don’t want you to cry alone, I’m still your friend.” Oomimi said when he grabbed the papers back. He looked like he was debating on crying himself but Shinsuke couldn’t put him in that position.

Oomimi had to do everything without bias, reports, write-ups, removals, adoptions. He couldn’t promise Shinsuke that the boys would stay with him forever, he couldn’t say that Osamu had fought his brother tooth and nail trying to beg to stay just till the end of the month. He couldn’t say that Atsumu had broken down sobbing silently, arms clutching the stuffed pokemon Shinsuke had gotten for him, while he said he’d leave. He couldn’t say Atsumu hadn’t asked to leave Shinsuke, he’d asked Oomimi to help him make Shinsuke happy by taking them away.

Oomimi couldn’t provide any comfort. Shinsuke knew that, knew he’d never know what happened in that room. He couldn’t make Oomimi try and comfort him after that.

“You’re like my brother, Oomimi. Please drive safe.” Shinsuke said softly, not even trying for a smile as the door slid shut behind the tall social worker. He stumbled, holding onto the table to try and hold back the waves of agony.

He wanted nothing more than to move to the boys’ room and hold them and ask them to stay with him. He couldn’t do that. He’d scare them, upset them, worry them. Atsumu would immediately push for his original decision to leave and Osamu would be too scared to do anything but follow his brother.

They made the decision. Shinsuke wouldn’t force his presence on them, he would just do everything he could to make the next two weeks the happiest he could and ensure they were going to a safe home after.

He stopped by their room unable to fully stop himself, glancing over the two curled up on Atsumu’s bed. They were fast asleep, wrapped around each other like two kittens.

He stepped in, grabbing the blanket and carefully tossing it over them. They barely even twitched and Shinsuke doubted they would wake up at all until morning after the emotional toil of the day.

Shinsuke scooped up the bowls, both of them mildly nibbled on, and returned to the kitchen.

He tried to ignore the ache in his chest as he started boxing up the food for tomorrow. If anything, he would eat it and make them something fresh.

He couldn’t stand the silence. It was deafening, only the pounding of his ears audible after a week of nothing but laughter and the sounds of video games. He needed to hear someone, anyone.

No.

Not anyone.

He didn’t think twice as he grabbed his phone and punched in the number with muscle memory alone. Part of him rebelled against it, insisting he didn’t need help, but the rest of him was begging for his best friend. He wandered into the living room, unable to focus on any one thing, desperate for noise.

“Y’llo?” Aran’s voice was like a wave of relief after nothing but pain since they’d left the Matsukawa’s.

“Hey.” Shinsuke didn’t know what to say. What even could he say? That he was about to cry and needed a hug? That he was about to adopt the boys and then he fucked up everything and they didn’t want him? That just hearing that single word, made him feel like he’d be able to survive because they’d always made it through everything together?

Shinsuke had his pride for being the carer. He didn’t think he could let it drop quite so fast.

“Shin? Are you okay?” How many years had it been since Aran last called him that? Four? Five? It brought back memories of highschool, laughter and sweat, leaning on each other in the summer heat and tossing snowballs wildly in winter. Memories of the six years after that, when Aran was still in Japan. Tea shops and festivals, dancing and baseball, pick up games as the sun died, and alcohol as the sun rose.

All that. Shinsuke never even thought to give Aran a chance in his life. He’d taken his best friend for granted, didn’t reach out to him during the three years he was gone out of the country. Didn’t think they could ever fall apart, didn’t think he’d ever lose that constant murmur of his name and gentle hands ready to catch or hold him. He never thought of a partner, never planned for one, because he never thought he’d lose the one he’d had without realizing.

“I… I needed to hear your voice… It’s too quiet right now.” Shinsuke felt pathetic, but he couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge that, listening to the deep rumble of Aran’s voice.

“Shin? Is everything okay? Talk to me.”

Shinsuke didn’t even realize until he was already spilling everything. Tears poured down his face, silent but the choked tone and Shinsuke’s own heavy breathing. Aran seemed to know regardless, as he tried to soothe him.

“Shinsuke, they’re scared. They didn’t know this was happening, they probably think you were trying to get rid of them. You can’t change the past, but you can still change the future.” Aran’s voice was as smooth and deep as Shinsuke remembered. He couldn’t help but feel ridiculous, thinking that. He’d heard Aran’s voice not even six hours ago. But it felt like eons.

Like he’d been drowning at sea and someone finally came to save him.

“Yeah… I know.”

“Shinsuke, we can figure this out, okay? Move things around a bit, make it easier on ya. I can take the boys out after school a few times over the next few weeks, or early in the morning on the weekend, you can relax and they can play with Lady. We can talk with the boys on friday or next friday, ask them what they really want. If they want to leave then that’s their decision… but if they want to stay, then we can plan accordingly. We can get you used to a new routine, I’m here, Akagi’s here, Ooomimi. We’re all here to help… Let us help.”

“I missed you.” Shinsuke confessed, the words bubbling out before he even realized. Desperate for him to know, for someone to understand what he felt instead of these wild miscommunications he’d managed to hurt his boys with. “When we weren’t talking… I missed you constantly, I didn’t just… forget about you. I thought about you… a lot… I just… My business is my main focus, has been since I graduated.”

“I know.” Aran’s voice was soft, like he was soothing Shinsuke from a nightmare rather than his own regretted decisions. “Shin, I know. I was there when you made the plan, with the others. If I had a problem with it, I would have said something then. I was already leaving the country… why would I have insisted otherwise.”

Shinsuke didn’t know why he was having this conversation. Didn’t know why he needed to. He wasn’t going to date Aran, he couldn’t. He was already cracking trying to figure out if he got to keep the boys, how to help them, how to keep his business steady, how to continue the way it was expanding rapidly. He couldn’t be responsible for the emotional wellbeing of Aran too. Responsibilities came with relationships and right now Shinsuke couldn’t do it.

“Shin. I’m here, now.” Aran said, his voice getting more firm at the quickening of Shinsuke’s breath. “Let’s focus on that. I’m still your best friend and you’re still mine. That’s all that matters.”

“... Sorry.”

“What’re ya apologizing for? Even the great saint Kita Shinsuke needs help every once in a while… Let me come over, we can watch stupid dramas and you can cry into a pillow and we’ll pretend it’s from laughter until you feel up to talking it over.”

“I think most people offer shoulders, not pillows… and the boys are sleeping, I don’t want to surprise them with you suddenly.”

“Shinsuke.” The force behind it made Shinsuke shudder. “I love the boys. But right now you need something too. What do you need? What can I give you?”

“I…” The words choked in his throat, but he felt like he could breathe again. “I think getting some attention from Lady could help me a lot.”

“One standard white poodle coming up… with boba tea of course. Maybe even a shoulder if ya don’t like the pillows.”

Shinsuke coughed out a laugh, letting the couch take his weight as he fell into the seat.

“Of course.”

#HQ #Haikyuu #Miya Atsumu #Miya Osamu #Kita Shinsuke #arankita #fanfiction #fluff #angst #Making a home AU

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whumpqin · 4 years

Text

Welcome Home

Finally getting around to posting my first Drabble! I’ve been so busy lately but I’m really excited to get into the community and delve into some delicious whump!

Content Warnings: abduction, drugging, dehumanization, pet whump, some creepy/Intimate whumper, noncon touching, brief mention of a knife but it’s never named.

Cold tipped his ears, his nose, his very limbs, freezing it in such a way that felt unnatural for mid summer. It seeped into his skin, holding his limbs frozen and unable to command; sluggish and lethargic, even though there was nothing that seemed to be binding him. His mind felt the same - rolling in a soup of itself as he struggled back to consciousness.

His eyes opened and rolled, listless, unable to find a subject to direct his focus on so he could think properly, to prevent his body from feeling like it was floating among nothing. Be there was nothing to look at, nothing to see beyond the darkness that filled his vision faster than the waters of lethargy could drown him and he felt something pulsing in his ears, panic rising to his throat as he couldn’t move. He wondered briefly if this is what death felt like, if this is what a sign to the end meant.

But there usually weren't voices when you were dying, was there? He could hear them, just on the edges of his awareness, something light and airy followed by a more solid, grounded thing. It was unpleasant, foreign; he liked to imagine that death was usually a gentle quiet, darkness, then nothing. He had always hoped.

And then there were these voices.

“...drive!” It was hazy and distant, but he could still recognize the light airiness that the first voice seemed to carry. “...promise I won’t crash us this time.”

Crash? What did that mean?

“No.” This one was deeper. More grounded. It was much more flat than the first one, whose every word seemed like a dizzying array of emotions. “I’m driving. We don’t need to get pulled over right now, remember? Can you focus for at least five minutes?”

He forced himself to blink regardless if he was blind, feeling the sensation somehow clear at least a little of the haze. Everything seemed so hard to place… was he in a car? Who was driving the car? Why was he even here in the first place?

The airy voice sighed, annoyed by the scolding words. “Fine. But when you’re tired as hell and crash into a guardrail, remember that I told you so.”

“We’re almost there, Ari,” the second protested. “I don’t plan on crashing just before we get to the house.”

There was a small huff from the first, Ari, and then everything went quiet. It made his mind swirl with nothing to cling to, words like house and crash rumbling through his head like a stampede.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in a car, he didn’t even know how to drive. Everything was wrong, very wrong, and he was stuck right in the center of it all. Tears stung the corner of his eyes as he took in a shaky breath, trying to move his limbs to no avail. He wanted to scream, but something was holding his jaws shut and his body down against something and it felt like he was suffocating--

“At least everything looks nice here,” the lower voice murmured.

Everything looks nice to you but I’m stuck here suffocating, a voice hissed, a deep growl of a nature long since pushed to the farthest corner of himself. A shriek boiled in his chest but nothing came out. It couldn’t.

“Reminds me a lot of home, eh Ari?”

I want to go home, the voice cried again, regardless of his input. Everything clicked together at once, tears rolling down his cheeks and staining fabric that seemed to be on his face. Home. The word stung like a hot stove and felt just as comforting as the heat it spread across a room.

He wanted to scream as the weight of understanding, of realization, finally broke through his sluggish haze as his cage seemed to become smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“A little more flat, if you ask me.” It was like he wasn’t even there. He didn’t know that voice, he didn’t actually know anyone.

Elisha should’ve been home. In his apartment. Alone.

They had stolen him.

“Well, at least you can see the mountains. You can pretend or something… You like to imagine things, don’t you Jer?” The voices were no longer airy and grounded, they were monsters. The first’s voice was saccharine as they chuckled at their own joke. Elisha couldn’t get away from it. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know you do. Don’t worry, dear pupil, we’ll bring your vision to reality very soon.”

Something lied behind those words that made him want to shudder, to squirm and move away from the both of the voices but he couldn’t. He felt his tail thump against the ground, pins and needles echoing through his body. Eyes squeezed shut as he prayed for it to stop.

It was in that moment of prayer that he could hear this beeping sound, the world cursing him more than it already had as it drove him crazy. Elisha’s breath caught in his throat, a half growl half whimper seeping from his nose.

“Oh, did you hear that? I think someone’s awake.” There was shifting by his face, as he struggled to move his arms outward, suddenly crushed by an array of things he would be able to identify if he could just see them. Did they put boxes on top of him?

“Yeah well, keep him quiet until we at least get on the turnoff,” Jer said flatly, then said in a lower voice, “I don’t need to worry about him doing anything, either. And turn that stupid alarm off.”

Escape. He wanted to get out of here. Jer didn’t seem so keen on him making noise, maybe Elisha could get someone’s attention and cause them to pull the car over. Then they would see, they could get him out. He began to squirm as best he could, shifting the items on top of him so that he could at least be free of that.

Elisha’s legs were bound together, that much was obvious. His fingers touched one another and he found he couldn’t pull them apart, and as he reached them up to his face he felt leather and fabric and metal. A muzzle.

He had seen muzzles before, on dogs known to bite people and sometimes the demons that proved to be too dangerous for the public. Elisha had sworn he would never be one of the Cambion who would wear a muzzle. He wanted to be a good person.

And it hadn’t even mattered anyway.

“It’s fine, we’re almost there anyway, right? I’ll shut him up.” It was said so callously, like he was an animal that needed to be contained. Something cold was pressed underneath his jawbone, careful and deliberate. “Be quiet, little one, or I’m going to have to punish you. And I really don’t want blood to get all over our things. You don’t want that either, right?”

Elisha glared in the direction the cool feeling came from before he could stop himself. Luckily Ari didn’t seem to notice, perhaps because his face was covered by the muzzle. He shifted, away from the kidnapper and further into what felt like a myriad of boxes. The cold disappeared for a brief moment as several sounds reached his ears, like several things clattering together as a warm hand grabbed onto the side of his face.

“I know you heard me,” Ari hissed, that sweet note of their voice never quite disappearing. The cool feeling was placed against Elisha’s jaw, but this time the hand kept him firmly in place. “What’ll it be, pet? Punishment now, or are we going to be a good boy for this road trip?”

It hurt, the panic that rose in his chest and echoed out as another whimper. He just wanted to wake from this nightmare but it was still continuing, regardless of how many times he imagined pinching himself. There was a slight tsk sound, as Ari cooed towards him.

“Aw, poor thing… I know, this must be so confusing for you, isn’t it?” It was false comfort, a sickening venom from a snake poised to strike. Elisha whined as they drew a hand over his cheek. “Don’t think. Just obey.” The cold feeling slipped away again. “Nod your head if you’re going to be a good and stay quiet.”

There’s no way I’m going to do that, his mind snapped back, saying words that his instincts wish they could if they weren’t muzzled. But Elisha calmed them, pushed them back to that same corner of his mind that he always did.

This wasn’t the time to be rowdy. It was dangerous to not do what they asked, placed in such a defenseless position that this Ari person could do whatever they wanted and he wouldn’t even be able to cry for help. He took in a purposeful, deep breath, trying to remind himself to just breathe.

His eyes squeezed shut, Elisha nodded his head.

He could practically hear the smile on Ari’s face. “There we are. I’m going to hold that against you, alright? I’m going to be very angry if you decide you’re not going to be good anymore.”

“Are you done yet? I need to know if this is the turn off.” Jer sounded hasty, urgent. With a dramatic sigh Ari settled back into the seat, he knew because he could feel the pressure on his face again, and picked up what sounded like several pieces of paper.

“Uhh…” the paper sound echoed in his head and Elisha wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and never hear anything ever again, “Yep, this is it!”

Everything shifted and rumbled as it jostled him around. The boxes leaped into the air and fell back on top of him, and Elisha did his best to hush his whimpers and cries of pain and fear as he tried to will his disloyal body to move away from them. No matter what he did, though, it never seemed to be enough.

His thoughts scrambled, trying to look for something to cling to in order to make sense of what was going on. Was he in hell? Was this some sort of punishment for sins he doesn’t remember committing? What did he do to deserve this? He had always been a good person, wasn’t there some sort of fate weaver that took notice?

What had gone wrong?

All at once everything came to a halt as he felt his body be pressed against the seats of the car, squished by his own weight.

Clinking, banging, pressure being released in the air and then slamming shut, and then silence.

There was a distant shrill of joyous exclamation, most likely from Ari. Then the low mutterings of Jer as they moved closer and closer, and the horrifying anticipation built up in his chest again as he could hear his muffled voice right next to him. Elisha found he was both dreading and felt a small sense of excitement at the potential of being let go. Was it bad to hope for something like that?

There was a click next to his face as the door, the trunk, opened. Fresh air filtered through the tiny room and into his nose, holy and welcomed in spite of the terror it presented.

Several boxes fell from Elisha and out, but stopped before they landed. “Ari!” Jer cried, much more clear now that the door had been opened. “Ari get your ass over here and help me!”

“Fine, fine! Shame on me for wanting to see this ‘perfect’ place you picked out for all of us. Not like I want to make sure it’s actually decent,” the other complained as they slowly approached. It almost felt like they were looming over him. “Here, you get these boxes, I’ll make sure our little prize doesn’t get away.”

“...Fine.”

Light began to slowly creep into the corners of his eyes, beyond the fabric that sat over top of them, as boxes were slowly taken off of him. Elisha tried to slow his breathing, but was never able to calm it beyond tiny little breaths that were making him nearly hyperventilate.

Then there were hands on his face, sudden and forceful as they angled his gaze. Elisha flinched and let a sharp, muted whimper escape through his nose. Don’t touch me, that little voice hissed again, repeating it as thin fingers lifted his jaw.

“You must be thirsty, pet,” Ari said simply. “Let’s get some more water in you, I know it’s been a while. You’ll stay still for me while I take that muzzle off of you, won’t you?”

Elisha knew there wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t even presented as one, as much as he wanted to believe that it was. But he nodded, mostly out of fear and panic and in desperate rebellion of that vicious instinct that rolled underneath his skin.

“Good boy.”

He swallowed thickly as he heard the buckles on his face be undone slowly. Elisha wasn’t sure if Ari was dragging this out longer than it needed to be, or if it was just taking this long. Either way it was agonizing to stay still for them. Then it all fell away at once.

Elisha blinked his eyes closed as the sun blinded them, slowly squinting until he could open them again.

Warm brown eyes peeked from pale, freckled skin, blocking out most of the sunlight that burned his eyes. Carefully kept, white teeth grinned at him, using a hand to caress through his messy hair and he was too stunned to move away. It was intimate, like a lover that had just woken up to see the object of their affection through the light of the morning. Red strands hung lazily over their face as if to almost paint that picture onto Elisha’s mind, inviting in such a strange and charming way.

And given literally any other circumstance, he might have been charmed. Ari almost seemed to exude a comforting air with the way that they carried themselves, in a way that seemed to effortlessly mask the cold interior that Elisha knew was there, that he knew lie just below that fake cheerfulness.

“There we are… isn’t that so much better?” Ari said, their minty breath hitting his nose. Suddenly staying in the car didn’t seem like such a bad option, regardless of how cramped it felt.

“Pl-please…” Elisha whispered, barely audible. “Please l-let me go-”

“Ah, ah, pet, I thought I told you to be quiet,” they reminded. Their gaze lowered into a slight glare, making Elisha’s breath catch in his throat. “Now why would you lie to me about being so good, hm?”

His heart beat up into his chest in fear. Elisha quickly decided that he would prefer the false, comforting expression that Ari wore to anything else, especially when it was displeasure. It only intensified into a shrill cry as they reached out to grab either side of his jaw, tilting it to inspect his face carefully.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blabbered, unable to silence his panic for any longer. His vision blurred as more tears filled his eyes, the concept of fighting back not even reaching his head until Ari had pulled away from him. Elisha squinted his eyes shut, bracing himself for anything that they might throw at him.

“Well, whatever, just be quiet. We’ll deal with this later.” A bottle with a hard plastic straw was shoved towards his face, making him flinch away in fear. Ari stared at him almost curiously as he peeked an eye open to look at it. “Drink. All of it.”

Elisha knew that the momentary mercy wasn’t something to be grateful for. He could tell, by the sinister glint in Ari’s eye, that they were planning something far worse for him. It wasn’t hard to see regardless of how shielded it seemed, especially when you’ve been reading people all of your life.

The drink tasted like water for the most part, with a hint of something sweet and wrong added into it. It made his chest feel warm, his head go fuzzy, and he wanted to stop after the first few gulps but he was so parched. Not only that, but Ari’s constant stare made him so nervous he wasn’t sure what else to do. So he drank everything in the contents of the bottle.

His eyes rolled upward, no longer able to hold onto a single thing. Elisha remembers the day sky, the clouds that moved lazily across it, and the sound of Ari’s voice echoing as everything became fuzzier and harder to understand.

“Go on, little one, get a good look at the sun. It’s gonna be the last time you ever see it.”

#whump #whump community #whump writing #writing #my writing #tw abduction #tw drugged #knife mention #noncon touching #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #pet whump #dehumanization #Hope this reads okay!#This is the first time I've posted my writing like this haha #my characters #I'm gonna have to get a character tag for these guys rip

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anteroom-of-death · 4 years

Text

Life, for Dummies p7

a/n: this motherfucker was written and edited on google docs mobile shit app, i am sorry, but lookie!!! masters back!!!

Life petered out into a pattern, you moved, you got a job as a clerk in a small town far away and set up shop. You had to scrounge for parts and made your own little cobble-stocked detectors and screwdriver. It couldn’t kill- yet, but it could maim. At the moment, that was all you needed.

The change of scenery was welcome. It wasn’t the place that it all started. A new place to feel new emotions. It was wonderful to heal. The subtle chains of longing and want for that exotic lifestyle and all the trimmings started falling away.

You’d even taken a cheeky plot. Some aliens went to draw resources from the Earth to sell, you promised them you wouldn’t kill them all, if they gave you a cut of the profit. In gold.

You got a pretty continuous penny. Kept you in shoes. And black market tech stolen from invaders past…

You’d fallen into a bit of a routine, 7 AM, wake up, get ready. 8 am, scan for extraterrestrials and other signs of life, 9 AM till 5 PM work, then home, relax, tinker, in bed by 11, refresh repeat.

The routine calmed you and brought you an air of stability and joy. Nothing could be better than knowing what you were doing, and the job was routine. Knowing what the day brought stopped you from any freakouts that might occur. Prevented any poor saps coming in from unexpectedly being a victim of your grasps for power and control. You even used your paychecks from this job to make your small rented cottage into a true palace and spa. Fit for a fallen queen. It wasn’t like you had to answer to anyone but the tax collectors and your boss. Though both, hypothetically could be thwarted if you knew how to use psychic projection. That would have been fun- no gods, no masters, not even normal citizenship.

Though you liked the cover. A good cover was good.

One balmy summer night you sat on your patio, stoking a small fire and indulging yourself in a marathon of one of those 90’s sitcoms that were overhyped and popular on your laptop, a stiff drink in your hand. It was a perfect night, the bugs were chirping, you heard an owl in the distance hooting to the crescent moon. You were so relaxed and flexing your feet muscles and considered sleeping out here, it was a weekend, you could afford such simple luxuries. You enabled your scanners up and turned on your night system and settled in, the familiar theme song dragging you into sleep…

You heard the urgent beeping of your system and it jarred you from your dreamless slumber. You were groggy and a tad sore but still trying to spring to action. You grabbed from the side table your makeshift screwdriver and your flyswatter, if whoever was unfazed by your laser beam they’d have to deal with that, then possibly you would die.

It wasn’t the best protection, but it was a little comfort.

Assuming a general position of what you’d assume was a good self-defense you turned and saw the TARDIS struggling to both get through and figure out a shape. A tree? A shed? Something else? It finally settled on a tree and broke through your barrier. You didn’t exactly relax, in turn you rubbed your eye and exhaled sarcastically. Him? Now?

A little frustrated noise, not unlike a cats meow escaped from somewhere deep inside your chest as he walked out.

“There you are!” He smiled but seemed very frustrated and something brewing deeper. Yet he seemed like he was honestly so glad he found you, like when you misplace your hair tie, but realize it’s on your wrist.

“I thought I lost you! I went to your place and found a very confused family. Had to wipe their minds. Poor idiots.” He grinned and shook his wrists a bit.

“The fuck you want?” You spat out and turned your neck up as the sky and shook your head incredulously. It was over a year for his disappearance and dumping you at your old house. You were miles away and settled into a new life. He was at the very last thought, a painful memory.

He sauntered over to where you were. “I’ve thought it over!” He raised a probing finger towards your face after pointing to his temples. You grabbed at his wrist and twisted it before kneeing him in the groin and letting him fall down. You tutted and turned around.

How dare he?

“Oh, hear me out.” He said in a velvet tease, some hostility creeping in. You snapped in a second. You shoved him down, pinning all your mass on top of him and pulling up like you were going to punch him. He was laughing like he was positively unhinged, his eyes glittered dangerously, a bit of pride and fear mixed with mania.

You punched the ground directly above his head and got off him. You chided yourself for being a coward, lips puckering inward.

“So you ‘had your time’?” You used grossly huge air quotes and went to massage your neck. You had slept on it funny and it was a huge jostle to wake up in such a hurry.

What was originally a banner night turned sour.

He got up and sat on your chair and immediately made himself comfy. “It was barely a week.”

You crossed your arms around your stomach and hissed, as your eyes slit shut. “Try a fucking year, Einstein.”

“See! No time!”

Your anger spiked and a throbbing pain entered your temple sharply.

“Yes, yes time.” You dignified him with a response, though every instinct told you not to. You kept slowly shaking your head and rubbing at your head and neck.

Quietly, you half looked him in the eye and went glassy, “I should just kill you and keep killing you every time you regenerate.” You sat down numbly on your outside coffee table. He made a little noise like he had a bout of indigestion. His lips puttered a bit out. He gave a dopey half-grin.

“Nice set up.” He twirled around his finger at your whole situation. “Rudimentary, but clever. You really are such a smart one.”

“Go, I still haven’t made up my mind about execution.” You twisted his age-old words back at him like a knife, “But I need time.”

You crossed your legs and your arms again and sat in silence, your anger visibly radiating from you like a bad case of the shakes. Your chest ached dully as old wounds got ripped open. The emotions you worked through came out of the woodwork in droves. You were positively bewildered, you were abandoned and now he danced back in to grace you with an appearance and words said ages ago that cut you deeply.

You tapped your finger on the corner of your table and tutted again. Silence echoed louder than any screaming match ever could.

“It wasn’t that overtly long…” He reasoned gently.

“Fourteen months, ten jobs, four therapists and one new place later.” You ground in your jaw and teeth.

He genuinely weighed those words in his mind, he finished the rest of your drink gone warm, you figured to add a few woodblocks to the fire’s embers, it was past midnight so a chill had graced the cloudless night.

You didn’t want to admit it, but in the low lighting made him look especially attractive.

You continued to shoot daggers out from your eyes and quietly sulk. You said your peace and were waiting until he learned it and left. You were really starting to get sleepy and your face had been a little ruddy due to the humidity, you probably weren’t at your best for wit or anything garnering intimidation.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Sorry don’t change the past.”

His lips twitched at that. For a brief second you nearly joined him in it.

“I know. I accidentally made a fixed event. I regret it. I lost track of time. Rather not like me…” He mused, half justifying his actions.

Your eyes glazed over and you focused on the fire and it’s cracks and warmth bathing your skin. He was swallowing hard, you could tell his mind was working out a trillion little clever things to say, or maybe the best way to organically force you to drop your defenses.

“I thought of you every day. I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I can’t eat. I keep forgetting to drink something. You-” You cut him off, “Oh, so your inability to take care of yourself now...suddenly is my fault?” You crossed your arms again. “It’s been a week for you, in your lifespan, a weeks nothing! I blink my eyes and that’s a Time Lord’s week! Meanwhile, I’ve had to deal with all the fall out of learning to be a normal fucking human!”

He weighed your input more. It was uncomfortable and you didn’t trust the scent of black locust wood and a few twigs you found in your yard, the leftover alcohol in your system, or the pretty man in front of you. You needed your resolve and to keep irate and upright.

“I know when you’re scared, and you have and had every right to be. And angry. I know you. I know I was rash and made poor choices. It doesn’t cancel out this, but please, give me a chance.”

“So the next time things cut a little too closely to the bone, you dump me somewhere else?” You added the tune.

“No…” He went to defend himself. “I’ve decided I can’t do that.”

“Whoopdiedo!” You tossed your hands up in the air. “What a goddamn epiphany to have now.”

“I can leave you to your dramatics and come back at a better time…” He shifted forward in your chair. You rolled your eyes and tapped your crossed ankles a bit before relaxing. You hated it, but you wanted to hear him out. He definitely was being patient and not blowing you to dust for your actions, so obviously, he wanted something.

But what?

“Fine. Say what you got to, then let me think.” You tried out giving yourself a bit of backbone.

“I think I care for you.” He started. The words came out like he was a school boy and much younger and naiver than you knew him to be. “No, scratch that. I do care. I’ve always cared. I...other than care.” He shook his head vertically like he didn’t exactly expect to get this far or word things out to you. He was twitching a bit and it made you inhale, almost laugh. It was kind of pleasurable that the great and terrifying Master was on your property, struggling to get a sentence out.

You scratched a spot on the bridge of your nose.

“I need you. You’re more to me than just something or someone. You’re mine.”

“Oh, okay. So just because of all that I can just forget the hell you put me through?” You said the words softly. “I wanted to kill myself.” You swallowed then in the tiniest voice, “I wanted to kill you…”

“Master, you left me, for what I presumed after a few weeks, for dead. Like you’d gone on, someone waved something shiney or you’d gone off and decided that thinking wasn’t worth it. I understand that you care, but I need assurance and to just...rebuild trust.”

You gestured with your hands making little rebuilding remarks. You staggered out a difficult breath.

“I understand...but I want you near me. You’re my pet. And I can’t go anywhere without my pet…Mine..”

You must have looked like you had been having a seizure, because he asked, “Are you having a seizure?”

“And the punches keep coming.” You made a mental note to if any deity existed, when you died, you’d personally make them pay in sheer annoyance for not giving you a chance here. He looked so vulnerable and caring, positively lamblike.

“Lay it out to me straight, no snowjobs here.” You said, the night close to taking its total toll on you. You were just drained and exhausted. No other way to put it.

“Please come back with me?” He went out to touch you as you infestimely pulled away. “That’s all I want, for now.” He was so earnest, so against your better judgment you rubbed your eyes and groaned loudly into your palms. You gave in and buckled your will.

“I’ll sleep on it, come back tomorrow, I’ll have your answer.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You walked him back and saw him inside and off, before heading into bed.

For the first time in a while, you felt yourself cry.

#personal #i wrote this #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #master x you #dhawan!master x you #fanfic #doctor who self insert fiction #a bitch has some deep seated issues but we got thru this #the master #sacha dhawan

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indigomasquerade97 · 4 years

Text

Brothers Abducted

@brothersapart

Chapter 3 - Pursued

Sam ran, skidding against the carpet to hide underneath the shadows of the dresser. He placed a hand on his racing heart, trying to slow down his breathing. He could see his exit into the walls ahead, behind the bed only a few feet away. Not that far.

Of course, to someone only four inches tall, it was still quite a trek.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

‘I know you’re in here…’

He huffed, slowly peeking out across the floor. His pursuer casually walked out in the middle of the room, slowly pivoting in his search. Boots the size of cars ground into the carpet. Sam repressed a shiver at imagining himself under it. There would be nothing left of him if he found himself unlucky enough to be caught there. He had to get out of there.

He slowly crept closer to the edge, hiding himself behind one of the legs. He watched as the giant turned from him, searching on the other side of the room. Sam could only see up to the giant’s stomach, so he couldn’t know where the giant was looking. If he was to successfully escape, he’d need to time this right.

He wrapped his dull green cloak closer around himself, slowly edging out along the wall. He kept his face pointed to the floor, the hood hiding his pale features. Sam kept eyeing his side, keeping the giant in his peripheral as he slowly, so slowly, stalked towards his target. He’d freeze when he felt a familiar burn at his neck. Once the giant’s gaze moved off from him, he’d continue the trek. Trust the cloak, he reminded himself. The vent was less than a foot away now.

The giant huffed in frustration, swinging around. The swift movement caused something to fall from the nearby table, crashing against the ground. Sam flinched at the sound.

He froze again. That had been too loud to his ears. The burning returned with increased intensity. He prayed that the giant hadn’t-

‘There you are.’ The giant purred.

Sam groaned, abandoning all stealth and began to sprint. He was so close! The earth shook as the giant sprang forward, but Sam didn’t look back. He kept his eyes on his only escape, not willing to give up yet. He could still make it!

Until one of those boots landed in front of him. He didn’t even have enough time to slow down before slamming into it. He gasped as the breath left his lungs, trying to push himself off the cold leather and continue his run. But already something had begun wrapping around him. Before he could properly get his bearings, fingers bigger than he was tall knocked him back and pinned him to a broad palm.

Sam yelped as he began soaring straight up. Even as the world blurred from the fast movement, he didn’t stop fighting. He wriggled in the giant’s fist, reaching for the silver blade tucked inside his vest. He managed to get a hold of it and slashed at the soft skin between the thumb and forefinger. The giant hadn’t stood back up yet, so Sam would survive the fall. Probably.

The giant hissed, flinching at the sudden pain. Sam slipped through those giant fingers, but the giants reflexes were well attuned. Two fingers of his opposite hand managed to snag one of Sam’s legs, leaving the young man dangling upside down. Sam thrashed out as he saw the wounded hand reaching out to him.

‘Don’t you dare!’ He shouted, slashing at the invading digits. They paused for a moment, then snapped out and clamped over the blade. Sam grunted as the giant began to twist and pull, and his silver blade was ripped from his hands.

The giant chuckled, tossing Sam in the air and catching him in his palm. Fingers wrapped around him, securely pinning Sam’s arms to his side. Sam grunted, twisting to try and escape the hold. But he was outmatched, with no weapon.

There was no escaping this.

The giant grinned down at him, chuckling as Sam continued to fight, even though he had already lost.

‘Got’cha.’ He gloated.

With a huff, Sam finally went limp in the hand, sending a massive bitchface at his captor.

‘Ha, ha. Very funny,’ He jabbed, sharply twisting in discomfort, ‘Come on, Jason, let me up.’

Jason chuckled good-naturedly, removing his fingers. Sam was left sprawled on his palm, shaking his head as he tried to clear his vertigo.

Jason slowly stood up, holding out his other hand. Sam grumbled as he took back his knife, quickly checking that it hadn’t been damaged in the skirmish. He knew that Jason was always careful with the tiny blade, but he still couldn’t help but fuss over it. It was one his only possessions from before he had been stranded, after all.

‘You weren’t doing too bad today.’ Jason commented, glancing down to look under the bed, where he could just make out the vent.

‘I almost made it.’ Sam defended. Jason tutted, shaking his head.

‘Almost isn’t enough, Sam,’ He said, raising an eyebrow, ‘You didn’t remember your lessons, did ya?’

Sam huffed, fidgeting with the end of his cloak. Trust the cloak, Jason always said. It was a mirror of Jason’s own cloak, the fabric specially designed to conceal the wearer. The drab colours of grey and green splotches were designed to break up an individual’s form against their background. It was by no means an invisibility cloak, but with the right training and skills, it was a useful tool. An enemy could be standing two feet away and not see him.

‘You had already seen me. There was no point in hiding.’ Sam countered. Jason rolled his eyes, slowly transferring Sam to his shoulder.

‘I didn’t see you. I only saw you once you panicked and ran.’ He said, not unkindly.

Sam groaned, slouching against the giant’s neck. He grabbed a fistful of fabric, slapping at the man’s neck to show he was ready. Jason began walking, his gait easy, so not to jostle his small passenger. With a snap of his fingers, the entire room fell away, colours bleeding out until all that remained was a padded room, almost like an isolation room. A single black door appeared on a wall.

Jason opened the door, stepping out of his personal training room and into the broader apartment.

Takota was hammering away on the shelf in the corner. The entire corner had been converted into a fully functioning dollhouse, so to speak, with other sections to cater to both Sam and Takota’s interests. Takota was currently in his forge, working on… something. Could have been one of his many unfinished projects, or a new one altogether.

Jason stopped beside the small section, placing his hand down on the surface. Sam quickly darted down the length of his arm with practiced ease.

‘How’s it goin, Mouse?’ Jason asked, even as he moved towards the kitchen to find some breakfast.

'I’m doing good,’ Takota answered, then poked his head out, 'So, Sam. How did it go?’

Sam grumbled, scuffing his boot as he pulled his hood back.

'Made a mistake.’ He confessed bitterly. Takota chuckled, stepping out of his forge. He wiped the sweat from his brow, ending up with a smudge of coal above his right eye. He clapped Sam on the shoulder, smiling reassuringly.

'Don’t worry. You’ll best him someday.’ He assured.

'He’s gotta long way ta go, though!’ Jason called from the fridge.

A small alarm sounded off from Sam’s watch. Sam cursed. He hadn’t realized their training had gone on for so long.

'Shit. Gotta go!’ He called even as he ran into the house, grabbing the strap of his bag before darting back out again.

'Oi. Where are ya going in such a hurry?’ Jason asked, closing the fridge once he found nothing of interest.

'School,’ Sam answered, sending a smile over his shoulder, 'Not all of us can lounge around all day!’ Jason chuckled, waving him off as he finally selected an appleite from the fruit bowl. It was a native plant, which looked and felt like a blue crystal in the shape on an apple. Just one would keep a Shifter fed and energized for a solid twenty-four hours, or three days, for a human.

‘Stay safe!’ Takota called before disappearing back inside his forge.

The white walls of the apartment were crossed with small tubes that stood at about an average Shifters chest, although to Jason, they only reached his head. They were small, but made large enough for even the tallest small folk to easily walk through. Each one was connected to different surfaces around the apartment, that way the two smaller residents had better access to the room without the easy transport offered by their resident giant. Sam ducked inside, sprinting up the stairs to reach the door that lead outside. A motorized bike was parked by his door, and he quickly hoped on, riding through the secure pathways that were created for the smaller folks’ ease.

It had been over ten years since Sam had found himself in this new world. He’d spent most of his time at the Mandimal HQ, where he’d quickly gotten used to a fairly stable – at least, as stable as a Winchester could get – life. He’d gone to school, gotten an education, with a steady stream of friends and social connections he’d been denied when travelling with his father. Jason and Takota had offered to house him while he’d been there. They were both attentive, caring, and supportive of his choices and interests.

They also kept the promise they’d given to him when Sam had first met them. They had done everything in their power to help him find his lost family. There was not a lot they could do, considering the circumstances, but they always helped him in his search for his lost world. He’d only ever been off-world five times, when Jason had gotten updates to his search. But they had been unsuccessful, thus far.

Ten years of waiting for news about discovering his lost home. Ten years of raised hopes, only to have them quickly dashed.

Ten years, wondering if his brother had even survived that fateful night Sam had been spirited away.

Sam was glad for Jason’s apparent need to train him, though, he still hadn’t discovered why the man went through such pains to train both Sam and Takota. He also didn’t always understand the man’s reasoning for some lessons – like the time Sam was taught the secrets of an apothecary – but the training gave him structure in his first few years of being stranded. It reminded him of Dean, and how his brother would teach him new ways to defend himself against what their father hunted.

It made transitioning into the Shifter community much easier, at least.

He sighed once he made it to his destination. Once the bike was secure, he quickly stepped down the stairs into the busy room. The class was for the criminology course that the schooling system funded. The class was filled mostly with humans, with a handful of actual Shifters.

Sam was the only small individual. While the smaller races had made great bounds in their trust and integration into the Shifter culture, it was still intimidating, being around such larger beings.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck as some of his classmates noticed his presence, giving him polite nods. Sam smiled back, sitting himself down at his desk. The slight itching went away after a moment, and Sam relaxed. Maybe class would actually go well for a change.

#@brothersapart #new au #Brothers Abducted #contest entry #my writing #chapter 3

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gwaciechang · 4 years

Text

A Very Pierre Prequel (4/5)

Edited on 4/7/2020 to fit the Joey Batey Fanmatic Universe, and I added a new section.

Written for the TAD server, slightly edited. TW for flogging. If you see any straight apostrophes or dialogue marks, grammar errors, or a better title, you can let me know. Otherwise keep your opinions to your own damn self.

“So it shall be. 20 lashes, or until the accused confesses,” the historic decree settles like a block of ice in your stomach. You twist the flogger nervously in your hand, as you approach the bound Templar. No matter how many times you do this, it never fails to surprise you exactly how coarse the fibers are.

His blue eyes, sharp pinpricks in the light, bore at you more deeply than any needle or knife. He knows why you volunteered to do this, and you’re not sure whether he will confess to your crimes to buy himself a little leniency. You raise the flogger, but he doesn’t break eye contact until it actually connects with the soft skin of his belly with a sharp crack!

A red mark is left in the flogger’s wake, but not bleeding, not yet. Nor does he make a sound besides the rustle of his clothing as he hunches over. He opens his eyes, which don’t seem damp, so you raise your arm again for another. You don’t quite manage to hit in the same spot, but it’s enough to draw a grunt from Pierre. The sound makes your pulse rush to your ears, and when you bring your arm down a third time, it’s more forceful and less accurate. A thin red line appears in the middle of a raised mark a full inch over the first two.

The handle is starting to warm your palm, but you know it’s nothing like the absolute fire that the knots draw across Pierre's stomach. He manages to muffle his shout into a hiss, but it’s enough to make an entirely different kind of burn in your own stomach. Pierre is still looking at you in between strikes. You’re going to have to rectify that.

The fifth strike provokes no sound, to your disappointment, but the sixth draws out an actual shout. Pierre bites his lip to muffle the next shout, and the next. You’ve scored another bloody line across his stomach, and you plan for your ninth strike to cross over all three of them.

It nearly does, and this time Pierre doesn’t manage to lift his head quite as quickly to look back up at you. You keep your smile to yourself, because you don’t want the fun to end just yet. You gear up for the tenth strike.

Crack!

There, all three lines, joined by a fourth. Something sparkles down Pierre’s cheek, and you wonder what it would taste like.

“Are you ready to confess?” you ask. It’s only fair. The skin on your palm is red, and you want to see more of it.

“No,” Pierre manages to lift his head. The sparkle’s gone, so you lift the flogger in an attempt to call it back. He keens, the sound hanging in the air almost visibly, like the drops of blood the flogger drew out of his stomach. But he’s still looking at you, so you lift the flogger yet again.

You grab the flogger and aim for one of the red, sluggishly-bleeding lines, it doesn’t matter which. You want to cut a groove deep enough to scar, to remind him of this day and the one who delivered it. He screams when you hit your mark, once, twice, three times. His shoulders shake with suppressed sobs, and his legs have started to slide out from underneath him. The sight of this makes you realize how close your own legs are to doing the same.

One more strike, and he hangs his hair over his eyes. So disappointing, you need to see them, see their sparkle, so you strike again. His entire body is shaking now, so you miss and hit a yet-unmarked patch of skin. He relaxes a little and draws in a full breath as he readjusts his stance. This won’t do. You make sure the next strike hits squarely over a red line, undoing all his work and drawing out a louder, higher scream. Much better.

He winces when each gulping breath moves his stomach in and out. You wince as well when you raise the flogger again, as the handle rubs against your reddened palm. He notices, of course he does, nothing gets past him. There’s something satisfied in his gaze, and this time he doesn't look away when you break another line, even as he groans in what must be considerable agony.

You want him to blink even more than you want to see those eyes fill with tears. You ignore the abrasion in your palm and the soreness in your shoulder as you swing the flogger down with renewed force. He lets out another scream, and continues whimpering when your arm drops. You roll your shoulders to soothe the ache while holding his gaze. His hands are tied behind him. He can’t move to adjust his position no matter how badly it hurts.

You wait until the whimpers and trembles die down before you strike again, leading to another stream of broken sounds. He’s nearly bent double, and something sparkles in the air before darkening a small spot on the ground. You wait, but even after he’s silent and still, he doesn’t rise. “Do you wish to confess?”

That does the trick. He stands up with several harsh breaths, and he’s glaring at you again. Not for long, the next strike has him bent over again. You take a step forward before you realize, and scramble back. He chuckles, winces when that jostles his stomach, and slowly raises himself back up. When the final strike hits, it’s you who can’t look him in the eye, preferring to see the final red line scored into his stomach.

He winces after you untie his stiff and cramping limbs. Your rub the blood back into them and he nuzzles into your cheek under the guise of letting his exhausted head drop against your shoulder. He sighs and barely manages to open his eyes. Okay, maybe not so much pretending.

“Was that good for you?” you croon. “Do you feel you’ve been punished enough?” He shakes his head, and the warmth in your stomach fizzles out.

“Pierre,” you lift his head up so you can look at him, and his eyes shift everywhere but you. You hold him in place, you’re not going anywhere. Finally, he looks up, and his eyes are wet with tears. “I don't deserve-”

“You deserve the world, darling. You were so good for me, you screamed so beautifully. You took every strike I laid on you, and I know you could’ve taken more, but look at my hand, darling.” You show him your palm. It’s red and glossy, like a burn. “I couldn’t.”

He scowls when he sees it and drags you over to the pot of salve. It hurts him to move so quickly, you hear his sharp intake of breath, but he doesn’t stop until your hand is liberally coated. “You need to wear gloves,” he begins to lecture, but you place your finger against his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, darling,” you say. “Now hush, and let me take care of you.”

You pile your fluffiest pillows up on the bed like a nest before helping him sit on the bed. You want to help him lie down as well, but this close, you can see the tiny aborted flinches he tries not to let show on his face when you touch him, so you let him lie down on his own. There’s a story there, but he’s already so vulnerable, demanding anything more is unforgivable. “I have some aloe, darling,” you move your arm in grand, sweeping motions so he knows exactly where your hands will be, even as tired as he is.

You apply the salve in light, careful motions like you know he needs, but Pierre still grunts impatiently above you. “Get on with it,” he refuses to look at you again. He hates what he considers coddling and reacts to softness like he had been scalded.

No, you’d scalded him once, and he had reacted much more calmly.

“I know you don’t need this,” you carefully avert your gaze, “but I do.” And it’s true. Your eyes are already filling with tears at the thought of how many times he must have lied alone, with no one to look after his hurts.

A hesitant hand pats your elbow like you’re made of glass before gesturing for you to go on. You glance up at him, and his gaze is inquisitive, not impatient. You beam at him until he returns the look.

You put as much salve as you think you can get away with. Too much and he’ll start to squirm, possibly doing more damage to himself. But you have your own rule: the games stop until the risk of infection is over. And as pigheaded as that boy is, he would sooner stab himself through the heart than disrespect you. The thought makes your pulse quicken in a thoroughly unpleasant way, and you squeeze his hand in yours to feel his pulse, kiss it to feel his warmth. He looks at you with confusion, but there must be something in your gaze that keeps him from pulling away. Instead, his eyes soften even further, and he brings his other hand up to curl against the back of your head. You let him pull you against his chest, then you settle, mindful of his injuries.

He kisses the top of your head and curls an arm around the back of your shoulders protectively. You do the same across his chest, drawing small circles with your thumb along his clavicle until you reach his neck. Then you press your warm palm, greasy with aloe, around his cheek so that he turns to see you with your lips pursed for a kiss.

He leans forward obligingly, and the kiss deepens as it's wont to do. He growls, and the fire in your stomach bursts back to life when you feel something poke you in the thigh.

He pulls you flush against him and your stomach strikes against his. His grunt is so different than his pleased rumbles and you freeze above him, and almost simultaneously, he stops as well. Then he’s moving again, this time biting his lip until it's a bloodless white.

“Stop,” you press your hand against his sweaty chest. You pet it like you’re soothing a hurt animal (because you are), until he carefully puts you down beside him. You’ll never get enough of how gently he handles you. “I can keep going,” he protests.

Your yawn is genuine, if exaggerated. “No dear,” you run your fingers through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut and his entire body goes lax except for his head, which arches into your palm. Your heart breaks even as it melts. This is the only way to make him relax enough to seek the touches he craves, instead of being afraid that every hand only brings pain. But for now, he’s leaning into your body with his, the blankets are warm and the flutter in your chest even warmer than that. You’re home, you’re safe, you sleep.

You wake up when the door opens, because holy shit, how did you forget Laurie lives here too?

Pierre stirs underneath you, frowning. He hisses when the cold air hits him as you hastily exit the bed.

“Do I have to leave?” he asks forlornly. God, you can’t look at that face again.

“No, no, I just have to talk to them, go back to sleep,” you motion for him to lie down again.

“I have no desire for you to get in trouble with the person you share quarters with,” Pierre is already putting his shoes back on. How did you not notice how weird those shoes are?

“I’m used to talking my way out of trouble,” you say with a failed attempt at a wink.

Laurie looks stressed, which is unusual, since you know her boss at the restaurant is a pretty nice guy who doesn't tolerate mistreatment of his employees.

“Are you okay?”

Laurie snorts. “Shelley took us out for drinks today, and a gunman chased us out.”

“Jesus,” you look them over, but they’re not bleeding anywhere, and you doubt they would only be disgruntled if they’d been injured. “Um, would it be a bad time to mention that I have somebody over?”

Laurie sighs. “Just let me take a shower first,” they say wearily.

“I made potatoes?” you blurt out. Damn, you’d really been hoping to save those potatoes for tomorrow, but that just means you have to come up with a new dish for Pierre.

“Really?” they perk up.

“If you let me use some of your lotions, I’ll warm it up while you're in the shower.”

“Yay! Thanks, Alex! You’re the best!” Laurie goes to the bathroom greatly cheered. So, that’s one crisis averted.

You let out a sigh of relief before putting the potatoes in the microwave and going back to your room. You find Pierre pacing like he wasn’t flogged within an inch of his life a few hours ago, and the flogger is already hidden in your closet with the other presents the dominatrix gave you.

“Okay, so first off, don’t let Laurie know that you were sent here to kill me, and second, don’t let them know you’re from the 14th century,” you say. “Otherwise, we can pass everything off as you being from, I don’t know, a backward village somewhere? Unless that's offensive?”

“Offensive? Are we going to war?”

“Fuck, never mind.” You wish Maisie were here to tell you how to word good. The shower stops, and you give Pierre a grin. “You’re going to love this,” you say, taking your most colorful bath bomb and dragging him to the shower.

The bathroom is still steamy, so your bath bomb dissolves faster than usual. Pierre audibly gasps as the smell of ice cream, not that you expect him to know what that is, fills the room.

You smile at his face as he swirls the colors around. “Well, get in,” you motion, already settling in.

He moans when he gets in the bath. Outside, you can hear both the television and the sounds of potato-y chewing getting louder.

“You’re so soft,” he marvels. He sniffs your hair, which makes you feel warm in a way that can’t be attributed to the water.

“You like my shampoo, huh?” you pull out the honey-scented bottle. “I’m going to get behind you now,” you shiver a little when you stand up.

He frowns until you sit back down at his back, but when you put your hands on either side of his head to tilt it back, he’s not tense at all. He shakes a little when you just run your fingers through his hair several times, and You wet his hair and carefully untangle the knots. He shakes a little, and you decide to pour a generous amount of the shampoo in your hand before he gets too pliant to hold himself up.

“Close your eyes,” you say hoarsely. Once he does, you work the foam down every strand, scratching his scalp a little more than necessary. He makes a series of half-gasp, half-sob noises, and you press a kiss to the small dark scar on his leg. He twists around and pulls you up to kiss you, and you keep your eyes closed to pretend it’s bath water that's causing the wetness on your face.

“God, you need a person,” you say, pressing your foreheads together. You put your favorite cookie dough scented body wash on your loofah and grin at the idea of introducing Pierre to cookie dough. “Okay, now stand up.”

He doesn’t shiver when he stands and gives you full access to that strong body of his, but he does giggle when you run your loofah down his side.

“You're ticklish!” you giggle. This is delightful.

“Don’t you dare,” Pierre glares at you, but the effect is ruined by the way he keeps closing his eyes as you run the loofah down his body. You try to not let this ruin your mood to, the proof that he hasn’t had anyone just touch him gently before in every expression of simple happiness.

So you jam your fingers into his sides and laugh as he falls with a shriek, splashing the water out of the tub. He glares at you, and before you know it, has tugged you into the water with him. He turns his body so you land on him and not the tub, a courtesy you kiss his chin for.

He hums pleasantly, and sitting between his legs like this, you feel his arousal spring to life.

“Well, hello,” you purr, wrapping your hand around it. It feels nice in your hand, and you briefly entertain the idea of it feeling nice inside you, but the idea of fucking in cooling bath water is less than appealing.

Pierre bites his lip and pants while you jerk him off. “Oh god,” he gasps.

“You’re so wonderfully responsive for me, darling,” you murmur.

“Is-is that a good thing?” he asks in fits and starts. “I’ve never, ngh, I’ve never done this before.”

Your hand stops for a second before resuming. You run your thumb over the head several times, each time earning a little squeak as he thrusts. He comes quickly, then sags against the side of the tub. Sweat covers every exposed inch of him, and he misses your mouth when he presses you closer for a kiss.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, half propped up against you and half propped up against the side of the tub. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling, of course,” you turn away to avoid looking at his tears and focus on stroking your hand down every inch of him, waiting for him to regain his ability to sit and stand on his own power.

He gets up out of the water reluctantly, even though the water’s not that much warmer than the air now. His eyes close again at the feeling of the soft towel, and you know right then that you would do just about anything to make him look like that every day.

#pierre you dick #knightfall fanfic #whump there it is #into the joeyverse #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

Text

Prophecy of the Procyon

February Prompts 2/17

Prompt List

First // Previous February Prompt // Previous MDP Chapter //Next

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Obey / Oasis

Ship: Prinxiety and Logicality

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

P.S. This is my favorite chapter so far :3

“Can I hold him? Please?!” The whiney voice came, grating on one of the very few nerves Virgil had left.

“I said no.” Virgil replied flatly, pulling the black cat a bit further away from Patton’s pouting presence. Logan had changed back into his feline form about half an hour after the introductions were made. Virgil had quickly scooped up the cat, hands sliding under his front legs, before he could dart for their new companion.

The fur covered creature pinned Virgil with an even and unamused look as he was yanked away from Patton’s small form. The whole thing was ridiculous and if Logan didn’t know any better, he would assume that Virgil was either jealous or overprotective of him. He supposed that he should be flattered by the idea, but for the most part he was just tired. It had been a very long day.

“Come on, Patton,” Roman interjected, which Virgil was extremely grateful for, “let's leave the grumpy gus to sulk on his own.” He wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulder, surprised by the amount of heat his small form gave off. “Why don’t I tell you about the palace I grew up in?”

“Oh! That sounds wonderful, Roman!” Patton agreed eagerly.

“Well, it is…” Roman paused, his elation fading slightly as he realized what he had said. “Was,” he corrected before moving on without missing a beat, “beautiful! Tapestries and landscapes of exotic places as far as the eye could see!” He lifted his free hand, waving it in front of them as if to help visualize the scene. “It was an oasis of culture in the desert that is our society! There were countless rooms for every occasion, guest, and activity! I had a whole staff of people waiting to obey my every command! And during the summer…”

Virgil tuned him out as they continued walking, once more thankful that the two had each other to keep themselves occupied. He had no time for their antics. They needed to focus on the task at hand. They were getting closer to whatever awaited them at the end of their journey and Virgil was keen on preparing for it. Whatever ‘it’ was.

He shifted Logan to his shoulder, allowing the cat to climb up and into his backpack, no doubt ready to curl up and sleep for the night. He paid close attention to the way the weight shifted on his back, curious if the beast was actually settling down or sneaking another peak at their new companion.

‘All that is gained, will be lost again. Never to be found for the one without hope.’ The words echoed through his thoughts as they often did when he was alone long enough to think. He still didn’t quite understand the fortune given by the seer, and perhaps he never would. Fortunes were funny that way, they only ever seemed to make sense after they had come true.

He had asked Logan what it could mean, but the man knew about as much as Virgil did; and Logan had been the one to provide him with that little gem of fortuity in the first place?! They had discussed the possible meaning over the long spanse of their journey, but not much had come of it aside from the conclusion that Virgil was, no doubt, ‘the one without hope’. It was fitting really, he had never been an optimistic person, and certainly didn’t plan on changing that now, prophecy or no prophecy.

‘You’re fidgeting, Virgil.’ Logan’s mind brushed against his, stirring him from his thoughts. Virgil gland down at where his hand was toying with the clasp of his cloak, no doubt causing his pack to jostle, disturbing the feline.

“Sorry,” the witch mumbled with a sigh, dropping his hands.

‘You seem more uneasy than usual.’

“Do I?” Virgil snapped in return, glaring at the ground in front of him as he pressed on. “I wonder why?! Maybe it has something to do with the pyromancer you decided to bring along like a new pet.’

‘Patton chose to come along on his own accord. He is important to this journey, Virgil.’

“No, the dragon is important. Not some half baked pyromaniac.” He growled, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the prince and the man in question were still deep in conversation.

‘Your reaction to him is a bit extreme.’

“You could have at least asked me first. I thought we were in this together?” The words were spoken in more of an annoyed and defeated whisper than an accusation. Regardless, they certainly struck home if Logan’s sudden silence was anything to go by. Virgil knew he should feel at least a little remorseful for the shot against his partner, but refused to allow the feeling to take root as he ducked beneath a low hanging branch.

“-anyways, Virgil?” Roman’s voice came, pulling the witch’s attention back into the world around him. How long had the prince been talking to him?

“What?” Virgil huffed, as the man hurried forward to stand next to him.

“I said, where are we headed, anyways?” Roman repeated.

“Oh, dear,” Patton squeaked loud enough that Virgil assumed he had pulled up right behind their more muscled companion, “you mean you’ve been traveling with them and you don’t know where you’re going? Roman, you really ought to be more careful, kiddo. You’re a prince! What if someone wanted to kidnap you and hold you for ransom or something! You could be in real danger and you wouldn’t know where to find us! And what if you were hurt?!” The dragon smaller man looked aghast with concern as both Virgil and Roman glanced back at him. The prince, however, found it amusing, and gave a boisterous laugh.

“It is a bit late to start worrying about that now. I’ve checked off that whole list, minus the ransom.” Roman teased lightly, causing Patton to go wide eyed in horror.

“You were prince-napped?” he gasped, “How did you get away?”

“Well,” Roman grinned, glancing at Virgil, who was not amused. The witch gave a roll of his eyes before starting to move again, obviously expecting the other two to follow. “I haven’t escaped yet.”

“You mean…” Patton trailed off as they began to walk on.

“Yup. The prince-nappers are none other than your two favorite magic users,” Roman clarified.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t kidnapped.” Virgil huffed, pulling his hood up so that he could sulk in piece.

“Prince-napped,” Roman corrected.

“Whatever! You weren’t… that,” the witch grumbled.

“I was tied up and gagged!” Roman swooned dramatically as if it truly was an atrocity.

“Oh, poor Roman! I hope it wasn’t too bad. You weren’t hurt were you?” Patton cooed, genuinely worried; or at least acting as if he were.

“Do not fear, my dear Patton! It takes a lot more than a bit of witchcraft to wound me!” Roman boomed, striking a pose that made the shortest of the three give a giggle.

Virgil felt his pack shift, signaling Logan’s movements as the cat peaked out from the opening of the flaps at the sound of Patton’s twittering laughter. The whole thing had Virgil’s hackles raised. He gave a low growl, wishing he were back in raccoon form so that it would be socially acceptable to claw at them both.

“Like a knife to the side?” Virgil countered flatly, pausing to turn, bringing attention to the large blood stain that still marred Roman’s ripped shirt. “You were not kid-prince… WHATEVER-napped! You were found bleeding out in the middle of the road! I-” ‘We’ Logan’s correction came.

“We found you and healed you! The ropes were a precaution! Your family is responsible for the genicide of my people and I wasn’t going to take the chance that you might try and hurt us! The gag was because you obviously talk too much!” Virgil snapped shoving his index finger into the prince’s far too broad chest, shaking slightly in his agitated state.

Roman’s smile faded at Virgil’s words, his expression turning stoic as he stared down at the beautiful and angry man. He didn’t even bother denying the witch’s words. He knew the atrocities his family had committed and despite his best efforts, he had never been able to stop them. It was always ‘this is how a country is run, Roman’ or ‘when you’re king you’ll understand, Roman’; but he doubted he would ever understand and now… now he was fairly sure they were all dead, no doubt haunted in the afterlife by the very people they had ostracized.

“V-Virgil…” Patton’s watery voice came as he tried to hold back tears, “Is that true?”

The teary gaze caught both of their attention, surprised that someone would be so openly moved by their own emotions. Virgil allowed his hand to drop, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Well… I mean…” Virgil stuttered, unsure of himself.

“You saved Roman?” he whispered in awe. Virgil tensed as he realized that the man was tearing up, not in remorse for the countless that had died at the hands of the royal family, but that Virgil had valiantly rescued an injured man. He was not accustomed to admiration to say the least.

“I guess?” Virgil offered, averting his gaze sheepishly.

“There is no ‘I guess’ about it! Virgil is a hero!” Roman bellowed, an arm suddenly wrapping around his slender shoulders.

Virgil’s eyes went wide at the sudden change in tone along with the physical contact, which he most certainly did not lean into. He panicked, shoving the prince away from him, shoulders hunched with tension.

“I’m not a hero!” he growled viciously before turning on his heels, completely done with the two of them.

“Yes you are,” Roman argued, just managing to catch himself before hurrying after the witch, “and once I have regained my Kingdom I shall have you knighted! Ser Virgil the Vitriolic!”

“I don’t even know what that means!” the witch huffed in annoyance.

Patton wiped away the tears in his eyes as he began to follow the two arguing men, unable to ignore the fond warmth that began to bloom in chest. It was nice to be part of a group again, to be included. He wished the others could be there. It wouldn’t be long now. Everything was coming together just as it was meant to…

To be continued….

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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