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spacegaywritings · 4 years

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Cursing into Emancipation - Chapter 2 (final)

It was not supposed to have a part two, to be fair but this is the last one.

Tags: swearwords, fainting, comedic drama

Summary: Casper learned a lot of new swearwords and confidence from Remus and now needs to implement his knowledge. He is about to meet with the other sides and practices his new skills before proudly performing them in front of his friends! Patton comes to tell him they started early, walking in on his odd exercise. Tumblr: 1. || ao3: 1 / 2 // all.

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me Story under the cut! @redyoghurtgirl

Casper carefully brushed through his light brown hair, heart-shaped irises following his movement in the refection of the bathroom mirror. He stood in front of the sink, mirror hanging above and smiling at him.

Confidence.

Tonight he would be with the light sides again and he would be with Logan too. Remus would not be around, after all Patton and Virgil did not agree to them interacting (Logan thinks it is ridiculous and for once, the pink side had to agree with the logical one). But could he really say “no” to anyone, let alone his friends?

The slightly furrowed brows above his eyes, the intense look in his carefully squinting orbs paired with the little bit of tightness around his mouth proved him right. He could see himself in the mirror, doubting look throwing itself back at him. He was not in the position to deny his friends anything. He.. he would never, he could not. He physically and mentally felt so .. wrong just thinking about it.

A part of him hardened, his hearts feeling heavy.

Remus told him to yell it out, to curse it away.

Attachment shook his head, letting every thought other than the memories of comfort he had collected with Remus leave his mind.

Focus on cursing. Curse. Swear. Curse yourself into confidence, into a riot. Stand up for yourself.

He reminded himself, repeating the words again and again to affirm himself. It was almost as if he needed to study for a test Logan would make for him because apparently sides needed studying too. At least according to Logan.

Well, maybe Patton too. A bit. Every side taught him a bit every now and then but Remus seemed to teach him the most useful stuff in the most fitting way for him to learn. It was fun and always helped him and it was not boring like maths or geography..

Casper closed his eyes.

“Fuck this”, he spoke softly.

A little tug could be felt in his heart as the words left his mouth. He could hear himself speak, he could experience the relief instantly.

Somehow, these words were the comforting pat on his shoulder he did not know he needed before this happened. This just proved how smart and precious Remus was to teach him these things.

It really helped. Immediately, even!

He took another breath, filling his lungs and confidence with energy.

“Fuck Logan”, he tried again, tone of voice turning a firmer like snow piling up so much, it pressed into a layer of something akin to ice.

A little smile appeared on his face, his lips pushing his other facial features up and making his eyes and heart freckles shine with him, bright like a star. A star was a sun! He knew that because Remus showed him!

He continued, his voice and spirits warming up as he moved on to worse words, harsher tones and more confident exclamations of comfort. His mind was set on assertion, not service.

As he went on, his voice increased in volume as well. The time was forgotten in his little space of the bathroom. He was walking up and down, even throwing his hands up when the catharsis of swearwords came cascading from his rather active vocal chords.

Strings of offensiveness were pronounced wildly by his curious yet usually ever-gentle voice of an innocent child.

Casper was so sucked into his world of good feelings and coping with all this stress, he got fired up for the meeting that had started minutes ago instead of actually attending. The sides were waiting for him and after some moments, Patton decided to pop up and check up on him to make sure he was okay. After all, he was one of his kiddos and he needed to take care of his best friends - all 4 of them.

The dad suddenly appeared in Casper’s room in his regular fashion. A patient smile was leading him into the empty space as he manifested himself into it with a cheery “Casper~”

Nothing.

There was nothing to be seen. The place looked pretty much as always. Some clutter, many many piles of memories concerning Thomas in earlier years of life such as his baby and toddler stages. Still, there was no Casper.

If the room was okay, then Casper had to be okay, too. Right? This was how it worked. Usually, rooms would change with a side’s alterations. Especially feelings were also reflected in a side’s room. The pink side’s room was the same as always, there was not even a single thing that seemed to be out of place.

Patton, however, could make out the smallest bit of noise in the background.

The moral side inched closer to the door that lead to the bathroom.

“Kiddo? We are waiting for you”, he called into the responseless space, “we have your favourite snacks”

The silence screamed at Morality, making him squirm in his spot and carefully shift his weight from one foot to the other.

As he approached the door further, he started making out the clear sound of Casper’s soft voice. The gentleness of a child marked the sound of it, making it more than evident that it was him and not anyone else talking.

“Casper, heyo!”

Patton tried again but there was a response this time, a rather loud and harsh series of spat-out words.

“Fuck THIS ALL! Stupid, fuckfaced, mother-”

It was at this moment, the reader knew, Casper had fucked up. But it was also at this moment, that Patton knew nothing but blackness. Within just the fraction of a moment, his mind blocked out any other information and his body snapped together like a folding chair. He landed on the floor like a plank rather than a person. His whole appearance was stiff, frozen from the shock of hearing such vulgar words at all but especially said by a voice as soft as Casper’s and by a person as sweet and innocent as Attachment had to be!

Casper could hear a sudden thud. Huh? What happened? Usually, Remus would be louder than that when crashing into his room all of a sudden. The chaotic side also had a sense of respecting Casper’s separation between spending time with him or the others. He would not invade without a reason.

Curious yet also peaking in a tad of worry, he stuck his head out of the door only to be met with the sight of a passed out Patton before his bed.

“Oh? Pat, Pat, what is wrong?!”

The pink side held the dad figure carefully. Slowly, he woke up.

“Casper..?”

Attachment nodded eagerly, glad to see the other awake once more. Relief taster sweeter than honey on his little tongue.

Patton sobbed softly.

“I thought you had said really bad words”, he explained between sniffles, his arms moving to hug the other, “I was really scared Remus had turned you into one of them.”

The sweetness turned bitter real quick. His whole mouth seemed sour and Casper got really sick and heavy in the stomach. Patton seemed oblivious or careless to the sudden change of heart in his friend. He was busy fixing his hair and glasses before moving on to adjust his cardigan.

“Well, I know you kiddo! I must have been excited and gotten too happy about seeing you and your nice room and memories so much I was overwhelmed and passed out! Well, silly me, I should get used to it. Anyway, my dear, how about that movie night with the others? I am super keen on it - what about you?”

Patton was rambling so much, Casper blinked a lot to process all these words. Maybe looking fast meant hearing fast? He was not sure about it but he knew that all these words made him really fuzzy in his head. His stomach was still really foul with how Patton had talked about his best friend again. Small grabby fingers brushed over the green bracelet reminding him of Remus.

“I mean.. yes. Yeah! Of course!”

His mouth was black and foul with the deception of his feelings.

His heart hurt. As usual, his lips smiled still but his eyes were dull hearts. His freckles did not glow with the enthusiasm of cuddling up with Virgil and holding hands with Patton or singing with Roman. He could not look forward to any of those things anymore.

His index poked the tentacles, one of them saying “B E S T”. When the engraved letters tickled his finger pad, he almost felt as if the world did not have to be grey anymore.

He swallowed the taste of rotten eggs.

Morality gave him a soft smile and nudged him again. He shot up to his feet and stretched out his hand.

“How about some sugar cookies, kiddo?”

Casper wanted to say yes, wanted to want going with him but something within him was still hurt by Patton’s little comment about Remus. His stomach was so sick and sensitive, if he held hands too much, he would probably cry and feel really bad. Maybe he would get a tummy ache?

He got up by himself instead and patted his clothes for good measure and manners.

“Maybe carrots?”

Remus and he really liked carrots. The other sides did not like him. He did not understand why. He felt like crying and really wanted carrots.

“Yes, sure, kiddo.”

Something in how taken aback Patton sounded made him feel as if he had done a bad thing. It was too surprising. He was too different. Too much like them.

Patton walked out of the room and Casper followed suit, his steps slow and heavy. It felt as if his freckles would fade if he did not cry. He would not cry now.

When they arrived, he got his spot next to Virgil while Patton washed and cut him some carrots. Logan and Roman were bantering. His friend soaked up the bad feelings in his heart. When Patton was back, Casper had already given up on being awake and instead fell asleep to relish in the dreams of holding hands with Remus instead. It was just them, holding hands and riding clouds because they were best friends.

“Casper is experiencing pleasant dreams, as it seems. This indicates a good overall mood and well-being.”

Patton nodded. This settled it, he had imagined the whole mess with these mean words after all!

“See popstar? He is happy with us.”

Roman gasped dramatically, touching his heart through his Beast onesie.

“How could he not be? Of course he is happy with us! We are the good guys!”

Logan rolled his eyes and shrugged, deciding to not give him the time of the day. The others redirected their attention to the screen again.

Tangled was playing and Patton and Roman started singing again as the next song came on. Virgil held onto his friend, trying to ignore just how embarrassing he felt when he hid his eyeshadow-black eyes in a pillow.

Logan measured the time it would take for the scene to end.

Not one of them noticed Casper’s heart freckles glowing. His heart was warm and his giggles were lost in the improvised sing-off between the two most enthusiastic sides. Only dream-Remus would recognise the change and call him “glow cheeks” for it.

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Imagine,that when Strange separated the Winter Soldier programming from Bucky,it physically manifested in a form of a two-year old boy. So, everybody is freaking out, except Tony,who just takes it in stride,while mumbling about fudging magic,picks the kid up,wraps him in a blanket and calms him down. After that, Tony is the one constantly taking care of the kid, while Bucky is shyly warming up to the idea of basically having a younger brother and joining Tony in parenting the wee Winter Soldier.

Magic Works In Mysterious Ways - Part 1 (of 3)

A/N: Since this fic takes place after Civil War, Tony will probably come across as a little rude towards Steve, but I assure you it’s temporary and that both Tony and I still love Steve very much. Also, to those of you who have read my sci-fi epic Autonomy: I think you’re going to like this one.

---

Tony couldn'tsay why he did it. He had no experience with children. They were small, innocent,and breakable — all terrifying things — and, out of everyone at the Avengers headquarters,he was quite possibly the least suitable person to be looking after a toddler. Itwas just that everyone else seemed to have forgotten about the child inquestion.

The littleboy was just standing there, wide, blue eyes staring at the adults towering abovehim, clearly not knowing where he was, how he had gotten there, or why everyonewas shouting.

Tony felt thetug of a memory — of sharp, disappointed words and whiskey-laced breath — butquickly shoved it down. He recognized the look on the boy's face; the barelyconcealed fear hidden being a mask far too blank to be on a face so young. Tonyknew it was only a matter of time before those small shoulders began to tremblefrom suppressed sobs, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to just stand byand watch that happen.

He wasmoving before he could think better of it.

He grabbedthe blanket from the nearby couch and elbowed his way past Wilson and Strange to reach the kid. As hecrouched down, those big, innocent eyes snapped to meet his and Tony had toswallow when he saw the dread on the boy's face.

"Sssh,it's okay," he whispered, hoping to comfort the poor thing. "Comehere." Tony gently reached out and wrapped the blanket around the kid'snaked shoulders, relieved when he didn't fight or start screaming.

The kid hadan intense stare, and there was an almost shocking level of intelligence in hisgaze — but also vulnerability. His eyes were filling with tears and Tony wasn'tsure if he was the right person to handle what came next, but he seemed to bethe only one willing to try. The shouted conversation around them had stopped,but Tony ignored that in favor of the little boy. He looked to be two yearsold, at most.

"It'sokay," Tony said softly, settling down on his knees. He tucked the blankettighter around those narrow, trembling shoulders, trying not to let his nervesshow. The way the kid was staring at him, quiet and miserable, wasn't helping.

Then,without further ado, the kid broke.

(Mobile readers, watch out for the break!)

His littleface scrunched up, lip wobbling, and Tony quickly scooped up the child into hisarms, blanket and all. Tony was the first to admit that he had no idea whathe's doing, but the kid didn't seem to care. He curled up in Tony's embrace, asif trying to make himself as small as possible, and hid his face against Tony'sneck. Tony felt a pang when the kid started shaking from choked sobs, and he hesitantlystroked the boy's hair, hushing him gently.

Neverbefore had Tony held something that felt both so incredibly precious andterrifyingly fragile.

When Tonylooked up, everyone was staring at him. The surprise on their faces was farfrom flattering, but Tony couldn't exactly blame them; he wasn't the naturalchoice when it came to comforting a child.

Steve had aconcerned frown on his face and was still half-turned towards Strange,obviously having stopped in the middle of their heated discussion. Natashastood a discreet couple of feet away, arms crossed over her chest, but she somehowmanaged to look less judgmental than Wilson.He seemed to be debating whether or not to liberate the toddler fromTony's arms.

Barneswasn't looking at them at all, apparently too fascinated by the floor.

A flare ofanger made Tony rise to his feet, still cradling the boy. If Steve, Barnes, andStrange hadn't decided that experimenting with fucking magic was a good idea, none of this would have happened. Granted,Barnes had been looking dazed and vaguely nauseated ever since the little boy hadsuddenly materialized in their living room, but he'd done nothing to comfortthe disoriented child.

Steve facedTony, his expression firm yet placating. Tony could tell that the good captainwas about to say something — probably something stupid, knowing Steve — so Tonyspoke first.

"Itold you magic was a bad idea," he snapped, glaring at the three menresponsible. Barnes was the only one who looked uncomfortable, and Tony had togrit his teeth against another surge of anger.

Steveobviously meant well. Tony knew by then that there was nothing Steve wouldn'tdo for his best friend — which still stung, thank you very much — but Tony didn'ttrust Strange as far as he could throw him. And he certainly didn't trust magic.

"We didn'tknow this would happen," Steve said, taking a step towards Tony and theboy.

Bizarrely,Tony felt a wave of protectiveness that instinctively made him hug the childtighter. Steve wasn't the enemy — Tony had known that all along, even in Siberia — but that didn't mean he wasn't a threat. Small,chubby fingers were clenched desperately around the fabric of Tony's rattyt-shirt, his collar wet from tears, and Tony knew he wasn't going to hand theboy over. Not even if Steve asked.

Tony waswell aware of how preposterous that was — he had no claim on this child. Ifanything, the boy belonged with Barnes and, by extension, Steve, but theyhadn't exactly proven themselves trustworthy.

"Heshould have known," Tony replied, nodding towards Strange, who regardedTony and the child with an unreadable look on his face.

"Everythingcan be fixed," Strange began, "we only—"

"Don'tbother," Tony interrupted, carefully hoisting the boy higher to secure hisgrip. He looked at Barnes, but he was still staring at the floor with frankly impressivevigor, so Tony's gaze settled on Steve instead. "Once you've stoppedshouting at each other, you can come find us in the workshop."

Stevelooked like he might have wanted to protest, but Tony didn't give him thechance. Without another word, Tony turned on his heel and left the room withthe tiny, two-year-old version of James Barnes in his arms.

---

In allhonesty, Tony couldn't blame Steve and Barnes for trying everything imaginableto help with Barnes' recovery. The idea of magically separating Barnes from hisWinter Soldier programming sounded wonderful in theory, but any kind ofinstantaneous fix to something that complicated was almost always too good tobe true.

Tony hadbeen against it from the beginning. He'd offered BARF as a more reasonable,scientific alternative but, unfortunately, Steve and Barnes had no reason tolisten to him. Tony had very little to do with the subject of Barnes' recovery,mainly because he had so very little contact with Barnes in general.

After Siberia, it had just seemed like the wiser choice.

To behonest, the hostility had fizzled out rather quickly in Tony's case, only to bereplaced by a deep feeling of betrayal — though Barnes was not the oneresponsible for it. In the end, Tony was more upset by what Steve had done —hiding the truth from him for years, telling himself it was for Tony's sakewhen, clearly, it was all about Steve wanting to protect himself and Barnes.

Regardlessof Steve's betrayal, Tony knew perfectly well that Barnes couldn't be heldresponsible for what he had done all those years ago. The man had beentortured, brainwashed, and forced to commit crimes he now seemed to regretenough that he withdrew from practically everyone around him, except Steve and,surprisingly, Natasha. On his good days, Barnes also enjoyed bickering withWilson but, on the whole, he was a sad, lonely man, weighed down by enoughguilt that Tony didn't feel like he should add more.

He, if anyone, understood what it was like to have a past you desperatelywanted to rewrite.

Despitehaving forgiven Barnes months ago, Tony had never said the words out loud. He pretendedthat the delay was because he'd been busy rewriting the Accords into somethingSteve could accept, then fighting through legal battles and red tape to get therogue Avengers — and Barnes — acquitted. But, truth be told, he was just toomuch of a coward. Forgiving Barnes meant that he should probably forgive Steve,too, and he wasn't sure if he could do that just yet.

Thebetrayal was still a festering wound, deep and aching.

Still, Tonyhad nothing against Barnes as a person, even if their interactions ranged fromstilted to non-existent. Tony only really fit into Barnes' everyday life in thecapacity of his mechanic. Even before Steve and his gang of rogue superheroeshad been allowed back into the US,Tony had started designing a new arm for Barnes. He'd done it mostly out ofguilt — he was still ashamed of how he had reacted back in Siberia— but Tony wasn't sure if Barnes had ever taken the new and improved arm forthe unspoken apology that it was.

In general,Barnes seemed uncomfortable in Tony's presence. Because of that, Tony haddecided to keep his distance unless it had to do with maintenance on Bucky'sarm.

So Tonyunderstood if Steve and Barnes didn't take his advice to heart — he had verylittle insight into the situation. The fact that most of Tony's arguments hadstarted with 'since magic doesn't exist' probably didn't help, either.

Frustratinglyenough, magic was real, and the proofwas currently sitting on Tony's workbench, curiously examining one of Tony'sscrewdrivers. The tool was far from a safe toy for a kid, but even after justten minutes with the boy, Tony could already tell he wasn't quite like otherchildren. Tony supposed that made sense. The kid was — if Strange's spell hadworked correctly — essentially the Winter Soldier, separated from Barnes and,curiously, made into its own person. And while the Winter Soldier could becalled many things, average was not one of them.

A part ofTony was waiting for the moment when the boy would try to stab the screwdriverthrough Tony's hand or something equally violent, but it hadn't happened so far.The boy just sat there, quiet, eyes wandering over the wonders of Tony'sworkshop, but without reaching for any of it. He was a serious child and, nowthat he had stopped crying, looked almost eerily expressionless — only madeworse by the fact that he hadn't said a word. The blanket was still wrappedaround his tiny shoulders, trailing down over the edge of the workbench.

"FRIDAY,"Tony said, catching the attention of both his AI and the boy. "Find himsome clothes, will you?"

"Willdo, boss," FRIDAY replied.

The boytilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to figure outwhere the voice was coming from. He didn't look afraid, merely curious.

"That'sFRIDAY," Tony explained, smiling when the boy looked his way. "She'san AI. A computer system I designed." Tony had no idea how much atwo-year-old might understand, so he kept it simple. He only had his own experiencesto draw from and he'd been told that he had been a rather extraordinary child.

Then again,so was a miniature Winter Soldier, he supposed.

Not thatthe kid looked much like the Winter Soldier. He had both of his arms, for one,and while he had a less expressive face than the average child, he didn't lookthe least bit dangerous with his wide, blue eyes and mop of brown hair. He was,in fact, absolutely adorable.

Tony leanedhis hip against the workbench, studying the tiny human he had somehow managedto claim responsibility over. He really hadn't thought this through. What didhe know about taking care of a child?

"Areyou hungry?" Tony asked. Kids had to eat, right?

The littleboy shook his head, already back to his inspection of the screwdriver. Tonywasn't sure if he was supposed to feel insulted that he was obviously lessinteresting than an inanimate object, but he had been the same as a kid — hewas hardly the one to judge.

"You'lltell me if you get hungry, right?"

This time,Tony got a nod. Would it be irresponsible of him to leave it at that? The kiddidn't seem in desperate need of anything, content to play with Tony's tools.Was Tony supposed to play with him? Talk to him?

How did youtake care of a small child?

Tony broughtup a screen with a flick of his wrist. While FRIDAY was already arrangingclothes for the little tyke, they would need lots of other things in order totake care of a toddler. Tony had no idea what— his area of expertise lay elsewhere — but that was what internet searcheswere for.

"Okay,FRIDAY," Tony said, duplicating the screen, "let's make a list. No,two lists. Things to buy and what changes we need to make around here."

"Changes,boss?" FRIDAY asked.

"Babyproofing, FRIDAY. Judging by little Winter's fascination with screwdrivers, webetter make sure he doesn't try to stick them into any sockets." Tony wasalready typing, bringing up site after site promising to tell him exactly whathis child needed for a healthy, happy upbringing.

"Onit," FRIDAY replied.

Tonysmiled, throwing a quick glance at the kid before returning to his screens."Let's start with the essentials..."

---

It tookover four hours before Steve deigned to visit Tony's workshop. In that time,Winter had had a little nap, a snack from Tony's mini-fridge, and was now wearingone of Tony's t-shirts in wait for some actual clothes. Express delivery to theAvengers headquarters was difficult to arrange, apparently, due to all thesecurity checks.

Not thatWinter seemed to mind that he wore a garment big enough to be considered adress. Tony had tried to find the smallest of his t-shirts, but Winter stilldisappeared inside it, the collar wide enough to almost slip off one of hisshoulders.

On the plusside, Winter in a gigantic AC/DC t-shirt was beyond cute.

Stevelooked slightly wary as he approached the workbench Winter was perched on. Thekid was drawing on the Stark tablet Tony had given him once he realized hedidn't have any actual paper in his workshop. That — together with crayons —was now one of the many items on the rather extensive list of things to buythat he and FRIDAY had managed to compose.

"Howis he?" Steve asked, voice hushed as he stopped next to Tony. His eyeswere on the boy, though, something soft yet pained in his gaze.

Tony raisedan eyebrow. "Ask him yourself."

Stevedidn't. Instead he studied the boy, as if trying to find similarities betweenhim and the adult Barnes he knew so well. There were some — the eyes, the haircolor, the slope of his nose — but a lot of it probably wouldn't show foranother couple of years. Overall, Winter looked like a normal child, even ifthere was no telling what was going on inside his head.

"Helooks so... innocent," Steve said. He might have been talking to himself,but Tony couldn't help replying.

"That'sbecause he is." Tony didn't know that for sure — the kid was a condensedversion of the Winter Soldier, after all, squeezed into a tiny, adorablepackage — but he'd be damned if he let Steve treat Winter like a threat.

Steve tooka deep breath, as if to gather strength. "Dr. Strange has examined Bucky.The spell was successful. The programming has been removed, but he can't besure why, well..." Both of them looked at the boy blissfully focused onhis drawing, his tiny index finger making swooping lines on the tablet's screen."This was an unexpected side-effect."

Tony pursedhis lips. "Well, there's not much to do about that now."

The loaded silencethat settled over the workshop made something dark and ugly twist in Tony'schest — a fear so strong he could taste it at the back of his tongue.

"What?"he demanded, not trying to hide the sharpness in his voice.

Steve'sshoulders were tense, his jaw clenched tight. "Strange can undo—"

"No,absolutely not," Tony protested, horrified. "Are you serious? He's a just a kid! You can't—"

"Tony,"Steve said sternly — with a hint of a warning. Tony fell silent, but keptglaring. Steve, as always, didn't even flinch. "Strange said he could, but I didn't say I approved ofthe idea." Steve's gaze strayed to Winter yet again. "Ultimately,it's Bucky's choice."

As much asit pained Tony to admit it, Steve was probably right. Winter was essentially apart of Barnes, manifested in the shape of a child bearing his face. If anyonehad the right to decide what happened to the kid, it was Barnes.

"Andwhat does Barnes say about this?" Tony asked, crossing his arms over hischest. He knew he was being unnecessarily confrontational, but he couldn't helpit. The thought of Winter being unmade left Tony feeling nauseous.

Stevesighed, a flicker of concern in his gaze. "He hasn't said anything yet —not about the boy, at least. I think he's still in shock. Or denial."

Tony heldback the scathing comment he wanted to voice, knowing it would only lead to unnecessaryarguing. His and Steve's relationship was undeniably rocky — which was mostlythanks to Tony's temper and inability to forgive — but he didn't want to makeit worse if he could help it.

"Well,I'll take care of Winter in the meantime," Tony offered, knowing someonehad to. He wasn't an active member of the team at the moment, so he certainlyhad more time than the others.

Stevefrowned. "Winter?"

"Yeah,"Tony replied easily. "That's his name."

"You'venamed him." It wasn't a question, and Tony had a hard time figuring out ifthat was disapproval or surprise in Steve's voice.

"Someonehad to." Tony shrugged before turning back to his screens. "I figuredwe didn't need one more James, and Bucky Jr. is just laughable."

A silencesettled between them and Tony carefully avoided looking at Steve. The wound wasstill raw and aching, and being around Steve was more difficult than Tony likedto admit. Far too often he felt the urge to demand to know why his friendshipwas worth less than Barnes'. Or how Steve could leave Tony behind in Siberia without a second glance.

Tony knewhe wouldn't like the answers, though, so he never asked.

He knew hehad to forgive Steve eventually — it was inevitable, really — but he certainlywasn't there yet.

"Areyou sure about this, Tony?" Steve asked, in that calm, careful voice heused when he thought that whatever he said was going to upset Tony and lead toanother argument.

Even on hisgood days, Tony found that tone incredibly grating.

A reply wason the tip of Tony's tongue — a biting, sarcastic comment meant to hurt — buthis gaze happened to land on Winter. The boy was staring at him, as if he hadsensed the shift in the air — the heaviness of Tony's frustration and hisongoing battle against his anger and wounded pride. Winter didn't do anything,but Tony could feel something within him settle all the same. As much as Tonywanted to snap an insult at Steve, he refused to do so in front of Winter.

The kidshouldn't have to see that.

"I'msure," Tony therefore replied, voice calm aside from a hint of sharpnesshe couldn't quite smooth out. He looked over his shoulder, meeting Steve'sgaze. "Barnes needs some time, right? To figure out what he wants todo." Tony shrugged. "If he doesn't want to see the kid, who better totake care of him than me? Barnes and I don't exactly have a habit of hangingout."

Steve hesitated,and Tony couldn't help wondering if it was a question of trust. Perhaps Stevedidn't think he could rely on Tony to take care of what was essentially a miniatureversion of his best friend?

The verysame best friend who had murdered Tony's parents.

"Iwon't hurt him," Tony said defensively, stomach twisting at the mereimplication. Did Steve really think him capable of harming an innocent child?

"What?"Steve blinked. "No, of course not. I didn't..." He closed his eyesand let out a deep sigh, his tense shoulders lowering. Steve suddenly lookedmore exhausted than he had in months. Tony couldn't even remember the last timeSteve had let his guard down around him like this. Perhaps sometime beforeUltron?

"Iknow you won't, Tony," Steve picked up, voice tired. "I'm moreworried about you."

"Me?"Tony couldn't help sounding surprised. There was also a flutter of delight atthe thought of Steve caring — and Tony felt suitably pathetic because of it.

Stevegestured towards Winter. "He's the physical embodiment of what killed yourparents. Is that... are you okay with that?"

To behonest, Tony hadn't even thought about it. He knew this was the Winter Soldier programming separated from JamesBarnes, but he hadn't realized that this little child — more so than Barnes —was actually responsible for the deaths of Tony's parents. It was simply impossibleto wrap his head around.

Winter wasstill looking at Tony with wide, innocent eyes and a solemn expression. There wasno malice in Winter's gaze — nothing that would suggest that this was aruthless assassin who had slaughtered countless people over the past seventyyears. He didn't look dangerous, and he certainly didn't look evil.

Tonystruggled to breathe, his throat tight and heart hammering in his chest.

PerhapsWinter was exactly what he looked to be — a curious child, new to the world andits numerous wonders. There was no telling what he remembered, or what he wouldgrow up to become. Perhaps, once removed from Barnes' mind, he ceased to be theWinter Soldier and became something else entirely — an entity of his own.

Without aword, the little boy pushed the tablet aside. Tony watched in silence as Winterpurposefully crawled across the workbench, stopping in front of Tony. There heraised his short arms, making grabby hands.

Tonyexhaled, ignoring the slight hitch in his breath, and lifted the boy off thebench, as requested. Winter clung to him, and it was difficult to tell if thatwas for Tony or Winter's benefit — though probably the former. Holding the kidwas surprisingly comforting, allowing Tony to finally swallow the painful lumpin his throat.

Steve remainedsilent, probably waiting for Tony's reply.

"Iforgave Barnes months ago," Tony said, voice raw. "And I'm not goingto hold this kid responsible for what happened. HYDRA were the ones who killedmy parents — not Barnes, not Winter." He swallowed, looking up at Steve."I'll be fine."

Steve seemedto want to reach out for Tony, but refrained for one reason or another. Hisgaze was softer, though, and a lot of the stiffness had bled out from hisshoulders.

"That'sgood," he said. Steve looked at Winter, whose face was yet again hiddenagainst Tony's neck, though without the accompanying tears this time. "Letme know if you need help, okay?"

Tonynodded, his hand stroking Winter's back, the movement far more instinctual thanhe thought it would be.

"Goodluck with Barnes." Tony smiled crookedly. "I think you're going toneed it."

Stevesighed, his responding smile faint enough to almost not qualify as a smile atall. "Yeah," he replied, "thanks."

_____________

- Amethystina

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #kid!fic #fluff #magic #winter soldier #winter #prompts #amethystina #amaltiirtare

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xyliane · 7 years

Text

life and death and love and

summary: yusuke and botan have a conversation about immortality. because neither of them are good at decorum, they have it over kuwabara’s grave. kuwabara wouldn’t care. probably.

notes: hello yu yu hakusho, my first fandom, my forever love, home to my favorite shonen protagonist and favorite mentor in anything. @wuzzyletoastermac is a terrible influence. gen, looooong post-series, discussions of death. yusuke and botan brotp, 1800 words

----

Yusuke stops aging at some point. Or stops aging visibly at least—he never looks as dignified and ageless as Kurama, or as young and pissy as Hiei, instead wavering between too young to drink and too old to not know better. But eventually, Kuwabara looks at him, dressed in old jeans that shouldn’t be as flexible as they are, then back to himself with salt streaks in his red hair, and says, “Shit, Urameshi, you stay young and you still don’t look as good as me.”

Then there’s a time when someone mistakes him for Keiko’s grandson and she still hasn’t stopped giving him shit for it. Decades dead, and Botan is still popping by with messages: Yusuke do you still have a thing for older women? Is that your big secret?

It is her fault, too, ripping into his ear for not showing up for her birthday party just because Demon World had been a little preoccupied with an influx of stupid in the form of militant invaders from another dimension, like a video game gone terribly bad. She’s eighty-one. She’s had eighty-one birthdays, she’d have eighty-one more if Yusuke has anything to say about it.

Needless to say, she doesn’t. If there’s one thing Yusuke’s learned in his impossible life, it’s that people die, and most of the time, they stay dead. Him and Kurama, he’s still not sure if they’re the lucky ones, or the ones that got scammed.

(Yusuke makes sure Botan gives Keiko a deathday card every year, now. He’s sure it makes her laugh, and if she ever wants to be reborn, Yusuke is sure he’ll keep sending them. Birthdays, deathdays—they’ll become unwieldy after a while, but he’s got a long time to worry about that.)

(For now, she stays dead and nags him from beyond the grave, beyond worlds. Yusuke can’t believe he loves her.)

Demons have an odd view of their own mortality, or lack of it. Yusuke first realizes this with Raizen, who for all his centuries is still fixated on years that soar by like fireworks, bright and brilliant and gone in a flash. Moments that shape his life, ignorant of the decades and centuries that lie between. Yusuke, still a baby in comparison if not in strength, can’t help but feel the years slipping through his fingers, each one staying in his memory even as some things begin to blur. It’s scary in a way he’s not used to, something he can’t fight against and isn’t sure he wants to.

“What’s it like to, you know. Live forever?” he asks Botan, offering her a smoke over Kuwabara’s grave. It’s been a few years now, and the dipshit is still insisting on haunting Yusuke’s thoughts. Absolutely unfair, really—it’s not like they don’t see each other, not with Koenma blatantly ignoring Yusuke’s irregular stints of breaking and entering Spirit World unless the brat needs something.

One day, Yusuke will admit he does it because he misses them, Kuwabara and Keiko and even the old hag. For now, he still looks young enough that a little B&E is excusable as a weird sort of early-demonhood rebellion.

Botan crinkles her nose at the stench of burning nicotine. She’s perched on Kuwabara’s gravestone like it’s a posh throne, absolutely no care to deference of the graveyard or the cat toys half-buried in front of the grave. Maybe Yusuke’s finally rubbed off on her, but more likely she’s more comfortable in a graveyard than anywhere else in the human world. Someone smarter would have something to say about the boundaries between life and death, but Yusuke’s not that sort of person. “I’d think Kurama would be a better advisor on this subject,” she says delicately.

“Kurama’s in the same boat as me. We don’t die, but we already did, and who knows, maybe I’ll go three for three one of these days. I’ve pissed off enough people.” Yusuke takes another pull, smoke wafting in front of his nose. “Besides, I tried asking him already. He just gave me that annoyingly smug smile he gets when he doesn’t know the answer and told me to give it time.”

Botan giggles. “That does sound like Kurama.”

“Look, I asked other people too,” Yusuke huffs, counting on his fingers everyone he’s tried. “Enki and Kokou were too busy planning the next tournament, and I don’t think they really understood the question anyways, since we can die if we get punched hard enough. Hokushin and the monks went all zen guru on me again. Yukina practically gave me a dissertation on the power of life and made me babysit her twins again—one of them has Kuwabara’s hair and Hiei’s personality, and it makes my head hurt. The angry gremlin himself just did his grr I am angry piss off thing he does when he's not sure what to say. And I tried asking Jin and Chu, but they don’t seem to understand the idea of mortality at all. Fucking fight-happy dumbasses.”

It’s a sign of their decades of friendship that Botan restrains herself from more comment than, “They are the fight-happy dumbasses.”

Yusuke flips her off with his free hand. “So I’m asking you. If anyone knows what living forever’s like, it’s a shinigami, right?”

She laughs, bell-like. “I suppose I can see your point.”

And then it’s quiet again, birds chirping and leaves rustling. For all that Yusuke’s stopped aging, Botan never has. She’s always looked as old as she needed to, not so much like Koenma’s drastic physical change but just…fitting in. Never too old to be a kid’s friend, never too young to be an elder’s confidant. It might be magic, but Yusuke’s pretty sure it’s just Botan.

Yusuke finishes his cigarette and stabs it out on the dirt in front of Kuwabara’s epitaph. “So?” he demands.

“Hush you, I’m thinking.” She props her chin up on her hand, elbow on her knee and foot on the tombstone, like some perky gargoyle.

“If this is you thinking, maybe I don’t want to live forever. It’s like watching a loading screen.”

“Some of us actually use our brains on occasion,” she says. A strand of blue hair falls out of her ponytail, wafting on the breeze. She twists it around her finger.

“I’m more of a concept than a person, you know?” she says. “Death. Shinigami. Yamaduta. Grim reapers. We exist as we do because people think us that way, part of the wheel of life and death. We keep the cycle moving. Don’t want it getting clogged up, after all.”

Yusuke snorts. “So I…thought of death as a hyperactive blue haired girl? Puu aside, that does not sound like me. Definitely not fourteen-year-old me. I was a shithead.”

She laughs. “No, no. Nothing so personal as that. Many people prefer the concept of death as a terror, anyways, something to be feared and hidden. But we…I will live forever because death will always exist, and people remember that it exists. And if people believe death to be manifest, well. Someone has to do the job.”

“It definitely won’t be Koenma.” The thought of toddler-sized Koenma attempting to corral lost souls into the Spirit World is almost enough to cackle at.

“And I certainly don’t want his job. Or Jorge’s, for that matter. All of that paperwork.” She makes a face, nose scrunched and tongue out. “But I will live forever, because there are people to believe in me, and because there is a system that needs me. I’m an extension of more than just my thoughts.”

She hops off the tombstone, narrowly avoiding a kitten plushie an angry red-headed boy had placed there not too long ago. (Yusuke is, of course, sworn to absolute secrecy over this, but he doesn’t mind. He held Hiei’s secret long enough, holding onto Kuwabara’s spawn’s is actual child’s play. And if the kid’s anything like Hiei or Kuwabara, the blackmail potential will be endless.)

“So what does that make me?” Yusuke asks, neck cracking as he looks up at Botan. “I’m not ferrying anyone across any rivers anytime soon, not even if Koenma tries to hire me again. That’s a shit gig.”

Like he’s fourteen and stupid, rather than decades and aware of his stupid, Botan bops him on the nose. “It makes you who you are, Yusuke. And remember, you’re as immortal as I am, in your own way. As Keiko is, or Kuwabara, or Kurama or Hiei or the rest of your ‘fight-happy dumbasses.’ As anyone you love, and loves you.”

He considers this for a moment, turning the thought over. “You know Botan,” Yusuke says slowly. “You’re pretty smart. But you’re also full of shit.”

She laughs again and ruffles his slicked-back hair. He throws his arms over his head, attempting and failing to protect himself. Being a questionably immortal demon with nearly infinite power means keeping up appearances, especially since most of the demons he knows have never heard of the concept of hair gel and can get away with it on a mixture of spite, sarcasm, and whatever’s in the air in Demon World. “Botan!” he protests, feeling as bratty as he sounds.

Satisfied with her work, Botan leans back and summons her oar, hopping onto it in midair. “I love you too, Yusuke. And if I live forever, so will you, even after you do something stupid to get yourself killed again and Koenma makes me drag you kicking and screaming across the river.”

He leans back, propping himself up on his hands and crossing his legs. “Take your time, I guess,” he says.

She hovers there for a moment, obviously waiting for something. “Do you want a ride back?” she asks. She doesn’t specify where back is supposed to be: back to Demon World, back to his old home, back somewhere he never quite fit in but damn if he didn’t try.

Yusuke pulls himself to his feet, dusting off his jeans and pulling a comb out of his jacket. “Nah. I’ve got a family visit this afternoon. Gonna check in on the twerps, see how they’re doing.” He tosses the rest of his cigarettes onto Kuwabara’s grave, where they scatter over the plushie and the cat toys. He’s almost tempted to light them on fire, just to be ornery. He’s a moderately-sized scary demon from hell—youthful appearances and doting grandkids aside. “Tell Keiko I say…Well, you know. I love her, I miss her, all that. Kuwabara too.”

“Of course.” And she’s gone, off into the sky in a dash of blue hair and grins, her kimono manifesting halfway into the scattered clouds. It’s a nice day, sunny and bright despite the early spring chill. Kuwabara would’ve loved it, the old romantic.

Not Keiko, though. She preferred summer storms.

Yusuke sighs and jams his hands into his pockets, nose tilted to the sky. Maybe he is getting old, if he’s thinking about stuff like this. Well, there are worse things.

#yu yu hakusho #yyh #yyh fic #yyh spoilers #tagging for 20 year old spoilers whoops #I needed to get this out of my head so I can get back to work #yusuke urameshi #urameshi yusuke #which one is my tag idk #botan #my writing

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

Escaping The Crushing Need

by Don Hall

My mother-in-law is choking on a mouthful of half chewed Tostitos and she can’t breathe. She’s clawing at her throat and making the most horrifying sound I can recall. For a beat I think maybe I could just let her die right here. I violently shake that thought away like swatting away a hornet intent on plunging it’s stinger in my face and perform my best version of the Heimlich maneuver until she’s breathing again.

I’m sitting in a giant seafood place in Libertyville, IL with my four-year girlfriend and her sister who has Down Syndrome. My girlfriend is intentionally disdaining of her sister who is so disabled she can’t cut her food so I turn, smile, and assist. My girlfriend turns to me, frustrated at the attention being denied her and asks if I can go get her some iced tea because her own burgeoning disability is causing her pain. For a beat I think is this my life now? Care-taking two grown disabled women, both clawing for my affection? I determine at that moment that I will break up with them both in the near future.

I’m on the back porch of a home in Las Vegas purchased by a friend with so much physical disability he has a morphine bag surgically attached. He has once again undertaken a yard task that he is overwhelmed by and is looking at me with a mixture of spiteful pride, childish anger, and an unspoken demand that I help him. For a beat I think when we moved out here, he promised he would not live like an invalid hermit. That I would not be tasked with a constant state of supporting his hoarder whims. I help him but know that my time in this place cannot be defined by his crushing and incessant need.

✶

I’d like to think that I am, on the whole, a positive force in the tiny patch of the world I inhabit. I’d like to believe that I’m capable of being what Langston Hughes once wrote ‘of use.’ I’m 80% certain that if my mother or father became disabled enough that they needed me to function as a nurse, I would do it with no hesitation or if my wife was hit by a bus and struck down, I would be her arms and legs.

I don’t know and this bothers me.

✶

When I met my first wife and subsequently her family, I was greeted with her grandmother, an old battle-axe with a will of iron who’s daughter was a diagnosed schizophrenic and raised as an adult baby. Grandma had raised my wife as well and the tiny Texas home she kept was like a grungy nursing home after her granddaughter left for college.

By the time we had been married for nearly a decade, Grandma (who threw rocks and gravel at me while others tossed rice at our wedding) died and the subject of what to do about my severely overweight, child-like schizoid mother-in-law was broached. We decided to drive her up from Texas to live with us in Chicago because we didn’t know any better.

My wife suddenly found multiple reasons to be out of the house, leaving me as the recipient of a litany of desperate need. I had to put a padlock on the pantry because our new houseguest had such poor impulse control she would gorge herself on anything she could get her hands on (including but not limited to eating whole sticks of butter, jars of mayonnaise, and anything remotely resembling a cookie).

She was terrified of strange noises and would scream as if attacked if, while I was writing up in the attic and dared move enough to cause a squeak on the ceiling above her, she thought I was an intruder. When she didn’t get exactly what she wanted when she wanted it, like a 300 lb. toddler, she would throw an epic tantrum and accuse me of abusing her.

For months I walked around my home as if any sharp turn might awaken the non-stop fulfilling of almost anything this broken person could conceive. This is not what I want for my life, this is not who I am supposed to be.

The breaking point came when, after she had managed to find a bag of Tostitos and sat in a chair in the living room, shoving whole handfuls into her mouth, barely chewing them, and swallowing the jagged pieces, she started to choke.

I’d like to believe that the brief thought of letting her die at that moment was Not Me but it was Me. The thought of pretending I was out in the yard and came up to find her dead on the floor was like an addict contemplating a fix. Like Papillon staring over the cliff into the sea, the idea of escape was seductive.

The steps then taken to immediately find her a home (as in nursing, old folks, or retirement) were necessary and deliberate and, ultimately, doomed any hope that the marriage would last much longer following.

✶

Alice both loved and hated her sister, Julie. Julie was older than she and lived on a ranch facility with others afflicted with Down Syndrome. When I met Julie, she immediately started asking me if I was her boyfriend. When we would pick her up for a visit — to the zoo, to a restaurant she liked, to a movie — Alice would stare into her phone, occasionally bark an order at either Julie or me, and put the digital blinders on.

As time trampled on, I found that, as far as Julie was concerned, I was her boyfriend. I walked with her while Alice stomped out ahead of us. I made sure her seat belt was buckled. I made sure she had the exact food she wanted and helped her eat it. When she would come to stay with us for weekends, I washed her clothes, washed her face, tucked her into bed.

As it was only once in awhile, it didn’t seem too much until, in a bizarre method of sharing, Alice wrote an essay about her own chronic condition which she had been hiding from me for four years and was, according to the essay she asked me to proofread, was bound to get worse. The possibility of her needing a wheelchair in the near future was mentioned.

This is not fucking fair. We’ve been together under false pretenses and I’m now expected to be the ‘good boyfriend’ to two slowly declining grown women, both requiring my full attention and prone to demanding things rather than requesting help. If I leave, I’m a monster. If I stay, I’ve been consigned to a life of servitude.

I chose monster and left. It didn’t go well.

✶

Prior to moving to Las Vegas, I was frank with Matthew.

“Dude, to be clear, I’m not looking to live with an invalid hermit. I know that’s harsh but you’ve spent the past five years or so building out your house so that you really never have to leave. You sleep in the living room, in your bedroom, in a chair. There are Mountain Dew bottles, half drunk, everywhere and the only friends you seem to have are people whom you pay to come over to help you with projects that you get too tired to finish.”

“You’re right and I want to change things. I want a social life and a girlfriend. I think Vegas is exactly the new beginning I need.”

Either he was lying to me or to himself or both.

I should have seen the sign of things to come at Christmastime, a month and change before we moved to the desert. My wife and he went to go get a tree. His bizarre hoarding tendency was tools and maintenance stuff so a trip to Home Depot became an epic journey through every aisle as he contemplated buying yet another cordless drill or a roll of bubble wrap. Dana was frustrated at what became another wasted evening following him around amidst the bargain tool sections so she found a tree, bought it, and put it on top of his truck before he had turned into the final aisle. He was furious. He wanted to pick the tree out. He wanted a much bigger tree despite us all moving out in a month.

Dana and I decorated the now hated tree and he refused to even look at it. He pouted around, mumbling about what a shitty tree it was until, while we were away in Kansas, he tore it down, threw all of our ornaments into a now lost box, and trashed it.

By the time we landed on the vistas of the Mojave, this tendency was manifest. He let Dana, myself, and his long-time roommate from Chicago, Kelli, unpack the huge semi-truckload of his belongings without even bothering to show up until three days later. He struggled to set things up for his physical ease in exactly the same way he had done in Chicago. He constantly complained about not being invited to outings that he inevitably was never interested in attending. He was disabled and it made him angry. He would pull me aside to talk about his desire to kill himself, his own self-loathing, his hatred for his new house, his new neighborhood, the heat, and Las Vegas in general. Unlike the tree, he couldn’t just trash an entire city in a fit of pique so he stewed and complained.

He would offer us all money to go buy him cigarettes and Mountain Dew rather than walk a few blocks to get it himself. He would sleep in the middle of the day in the living room with migraines and then totter around at night, using his power tools while the rest of us tried to sleep. He hired a local handyman to build him a shed for all of these tools. Once it was filled, he decided he needed another shed. While he constantly complained about money, he continued to spend thousands on more hardware, half-baked and unfinished projects, and new appliances.

This is not the life I bargained for. His need and anger is more than I want to deal with. We have to get out of the place if it’s the last thing we ever do.

Dana and I decided to move out. He and I stopped speaking to one another after, for a third time, he told me that Dana was crazy and needed professional help. We gave him notice and he turned off our access to the internet. Three weeks later, we were out. Almost seconds from when we left, Kelli decided she couldn’t take it anymore and asked us to help her find her own place. By the time we moved her, he came out to unlock the place so I could get the futon we gave her with a pistol on his hip, as if sitting around by himself in his rage and desperation fueled paranoia and conspiracy theories about the three of us.

✶

At 53, I’m still in solid shape and my health is pretty good. I suspect that there will come a time in a future that is closer than I’d like to imagine, when I may be saddled with my own disability: being old. If there’s anything I’ve learned is that I do not want to burden others with my need. I have faced that sort of narcissistic pain from others and I cannot, in good conscience, expect the people in my life to bow down in abeyance to my infirmity.

I’d rather be hit by a bolt of lightning and fried dead on the spot.

#Caretaking #resigning life to service of others #selfish existence

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