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makeste · 5 years

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BnHA Chapter 243: Happy New Year

Previously on BnHA: The government was all “shit what are we going to do about Shigaraki Tomura and his Actual Fucking Army of villains, oh I know, why don’t we draft some child soldiers” and so they brought back internships and made them mandatory. Class 1-A had the Christmas party to end all Christmas parties, featuring 20 unique custom-tailored Santa costumes, enough chicken to feed Tomura’s entire Actual Fucking Army, and one (1) giant sword that somehow made its way into the hands of Eri, First of Her Name. Tidings of comfort and joy were had by all, and to cap things off, Shouto invited Bakugou (who by the way was having a lot of thoughts about how Best Jeanist asked him to reveal his new hero name the next time they met, because Horikoshi knows what kind of angst I like) and Deku to come intern with him at the motherfucking Endeavor Hero Agency and make everyone’s OT3 dreams come true.

Today on BnHA: Deku visits his mom on New Year’s Eve and the two of them ball out at the Make Me Cry Olympics. There is a whole plotline all about Hawks getting coffee, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s really just coffee or if THE ENTIRE SERIES SECRETLY HINGES ON THIS ONE SCENE omg. The next day at the Endeavor Hero Agency, Endeavor is all, “welcome! fuck you,” which may or may not be setting the tone for this whole arc. There’s a brief flashback to All Might congratulating his sons on their internship and saying foreshadowing things like “your new quirks probably won’t go fucking apeshit again” and “you’re a lot like Endeavor, this internship will be good for you!” Back in the present, Endeavor dramatically leaps over a railing and blasts off to go fight Monk Gyatso with the disaster trio hot on his heels. Hawks then shows up out of nowhere and the text is literally all, “WHAT’S HAWKS DOING HERE?” and seriously though. What are any of us even doing here. This arc has only just started and I already have no idea what’s going on and I fucking love it.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

loooool

is she going to be all right

-- also! WE’RE GOING TO SEE THE PARENTS AGAIN HOMG YES. HORIKOSHI YOU’RE ON FIRE WEEK AFTER WEEK YOU MAD DOG

(ETA: literally the only way he could end his streak was by going on fucking hiatus. son of a.)

oh shit I forgot that they had the cover and a color page this week! this is great

by the light (ba da dum ba da dum) of the silvery moon (ba da dum ba da dum) I want to spoon -- holy shit, what. do you ever look up the lyrics to a song you vaguely remember from your childhood twenty-five years later in order to make a bizarre joke in a manga recap and you’re like “!!?!?” lol what the fuck. this shit is from 1909. old timey pervs

anyways this may be my favorite Jump cover ever. colors are amazing, art is super cute, it’s the whole package. Aoyama and Iida are killing me. I need that Iida ball in real life, I would seriously pay real money

and now the color spread!

where can I buy that U.A. hoodie. I’m not kidding, I need it in my life. the U.A. logo is great because it doesn’t scream “LOOK AT ME I’M AN ANIME FAN” unless the other person also watches said anime, in which case that’s awesome because the two of you can become best friends and bond over how you’re both nerds with impeccable taste

Kacchan out here holding a fucking root beer like we don’t all know the truth. yeah tough guy you go to bed at eight-thirty and you’re third in your class at the top high school in Japan. but you keep on trying to preserve that image. also this kid is singlehandedly making wifebeaters high fashion I swear to god. it’s a talent

Kirishima looks so good in v-neck shirts yes you go Kiri!

Mina is here!! Mina is part of the main character squad now, everyone! that’s right!! Iida Tenya was booted out after he refused to partake in this photo shoot due to moral outrage over the fact that they’re shooting this at what appears to be a crime scene. a vacuum cleaner was murdered in cold blood omg

Ochako not smiling is such an unusual look for her (and Mina and Kirishima too for that matter) but holy shit. I like it

TODOROKI I’M TRYING TO REACH THROUGH THE COMPUTER SCREEN AND UNBUTTON YOUR TOP BUTTON. HOLY SHIT HOW CAN YOU EVEN BREATHE. RELAX

so the new character book is out October 4, eh? I think we knew this already, but maybe this time the date will actually stick in my mind. anyways, so doing the math, that leaves Kacchan three more chapters (including this one) to reveal his hero name. boy you have a deadline get to work!

YESSSSSSSSSSS

MY NEW YEAR’S ARC MAY NOT BE HAPPENING, BUT AT LEAST WE STILL GET TO SEE THEM RING IN 2217 HOORAY

damn that’s a lot of narration in the first panel

“while accompanied by guards” oh shit. and yet, I get it. I like how they refer to it as “the chain of events that led us to move into the dorms” rather than “that time Bakugou got fucking kidnapped.” they are not letting that happen again. good

IZUMAMA YESSSS

at least he’s being open with her about it! come on Inko, push through this. he’s already got 240 other things he’s still not telling you, don’t give him any more reason to keep being secretive

oh my god now Deku is like “anyways do you remember Eri?” and he’s reaching into his pocket now, holy shit?? WHATEVER HE’S PULLING OUT IS GOING TO BE SO FUCKING CUTE, ISN’T IT

oH MY GOD!!!!!

THIS SON OF A BITCH IS JUST GONNA KEEP ON AMASSING A COLLECTION OF ADORABLE AND HILARIOUS LITTLE KID LETTERS, ISN’T HE. LISTEN HERE DEKU YOU MOTHERFUCKER!! THAT PIC OF “MISTER DEKU” IS -- I’M -- !!!!

“I was hardly able to do anything for her” ?? you SAVED HER LIFE?? you BODYSLAMMED OVERHAUL INTO THE GROUND?? YOU GOT US ALL OUT OF THAT ACCURSED BASEMENT? listen here you modest little shit you need to stop doing this. you even taught her the true meaning of quirks for crying out loud. you are the actual best

god the way he is staring at this letter is giving me too many feels for a Thursday afternoon. these are like Saturday night feels. this manga never goes easy on me

same Inko same

oh my god now Inko is launching into a speech about Deku’s sad childhood I can’t with this, MA’AM PLEASE

“covered in bruises” oh my problematic ship. oh this nuanced manga with its intricate layers of feels. this is the lasagna of mangas

hello page 3 is just one big assault on all my emotions and I would like to report this to someone help I am being besieged

oh my fucking god Midoriya family. I’m trying to process all of this and just!!

like. she’s known all this time how big his heart is and that he doesn’t care about himself and just wants to protect others. but for the longest time he was powerless to do it. but still he kept dreaming and she kept looking on waiting for that day he’d finally give up, ready for his heart to break, bracing herself. and then this miracle happened and he got a quirk and all his hopes came true and he got to go to his dream school, and now he’s training to become a hero just like he always wanted

and everything special she always saw about her boy is shining so brightly now, and everyone can see it, and he’s become so strong. but also he’s growing up so fast. he’s gone from being someone she had to protect to someone who’s strong enough to protect not only her, but everyone. strong enough to carry the world on his shoulders

just. can you even imagine. how much pride she must feel, in addition to the relief she’s expressing now. but also the loneliness of knowing she can’t hold on to her baby boy forever and he’s on the verge of going out into the world and leaving her. in fact he basically already has. anyways I came here today for some Three Musketeers antics and now I’m sitting her with Izumama empty nest feels, what is this

-- yo, what?? he’s starting the internship on New Year’s Fucking Day? U.A. doesn’t fuck around, goddamn

(ETA: seriously, no rest for the weary here. both Endeavor and Hawks are as busy as ever too. poor Hawks, who never wanted to be a hero to begin with, spent New Year’s Eve undercover trying to drown his sorrows in sugary coffee. of course, Jeanist is spending his New Year’s either in hiding or dead, so.)

anyways so he’s bidding his mom goodbye and getting onto a bus, and he’s all bundled up in a scarf but can’t be assed to wear a jacket, apparently. whatever Deku

AHHHH WHAT IS THIS NOW

AND OH MY GOD LOOK WHERE HE IS

THE LEAGUE OF PLIFF’S HEADQUARTERS AT THE OL’ OVERLOOK HOTEL. watch out for the elevators. Toga probably really likes them though

“where did you run off to number 2” um, he’s still a top ranked pro hero? what, do they just expect him to never do his job ever again? even if they think he’s on their side, they must realize that he needs to maintain his so-called cover

anyways, fucking Slidin’ Go is back, guys. when is someone going to punch this slippery bitch in the face

wow he’s seriously chewing Hawks out for flying off without permission. can someone please just deck this mouthbreather already

oh my god

this motherfucker really truly believes he is Hawks’s senpai. imagine having the same power as a fucking banana peel, and being so deluded you actually think you outrank a double agent of indispensable value, who also just so happens to be Dabi’s best friend, and oh yes, THE NUMBER TWO FUCKING HERO. I don’t even know where to begin with you, Slidin’ Go

oh snap but he’s immediately being called out on his BS lol this is great

twenty microdevices?? holy shit. that’s gonna make it really difficult for him to actually report back to the heroes

maybe if the PSC gives him twenty of their own little spy cams. then the only challenge is for him to try and remember which are which

lmao look at this little metaphorical drawing

isn’t this the Hyrule Castle level from Breath of the Wild

anyways don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here trying to figure out if there’s a double meaning to these two panels

is Skeptic just really bad at making small talk, or is there something here that I’m totally missing?? did he witness something during Hawks’s coffee run?

(ETA: this seriously reads to me as some kind of coded threat, but it makes no sense given the rest of the conversation. he goes on and on about how useful Hawks will be in helping them spy on the heroes, but then calls attention to him sneaking out to buy a single can of coffee. in conclusion I am probably overthinking this way too much, but it’s odd. maybe he really is just trying to be nice and coming off as weird and creepy.)

now we’re flashing back to Hawks’s last report to the PSC

if this is after he met up with Dabi then why does he still have the bag? WHEN WILL THIS STOP HAUNTING ME. I’M SO TIRED OF WAKING UP AT NIGHT IN A COLD SWEAT ONLY TO SEE HAWK’S BACKPACK STANDING THERE RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED, WATCHING

-- SDLKGHSLDKHFL

lmao this scared the shit out of me. Enji what the fuck

yesssss it’s mah boisssss

wow, he’s pretty weirdly enthused about the whole thing, huh? I expected him to bitch about it more. since Shouto basically offered his friends the gig all on his own without any consultation whatsoever. that’s called nepotism Shouto but it’s okay I forgive you

anyways. so are the Endeavor offices located in THE FUTURE. or what. is this Epcot

DKFJWELKFJL

LOL THAT’S MORE LIKE IT. FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT WE HAD SLIPPED INTO SOME WEIRD ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

hahaha exactly

well I’m glad I’m not going crazy, at any rate. anyways though, Endeavor trying his best to be a good dad and caving in to his son’s ridiculous demands because he’s trying to make up for TWO DECADES OF BEING COMPLETE GARBAGE is pleasing to me as always. deal with it Endeav

HE SAID DEAL WITH IT!!

oh my god Katsuki is saying something holy shit, the next few panels will set the stage for what could be the sleeper hit character dynamic of the year. ghghkghhhhhh

( ⁰ o ⁰ )

oh my god

(ETA: Katsuki I have written whole essays about how perceptive you are and then you just. sob. now that he’s finally starting to ease up on the whole Angry Asshole thing, his inner dumbass is really shining through.)

YES HE IS AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO, YOUR BOURGEOIS SON HAS FALLEN IN WITH THIS CHURLISH ROUGHNECK FROM THE HOOD, DIE MAD ABOUT IT!!

lmaooo

that mental image omfg. HE WILL PUT UP WITH THIS SUFFERING IN ORDER TO GET CLOSER TO HIS GOAL. what a sacrifice. the pros outweighed the cons. it’s logic. I can’t, I

and Endeavor being so fucking mad that Shouto picked this asshole to be his new best friend sob. YOU CAN’T STOP THEIR BROMANCE IT IS UNFOLDING BEFORE YOUR VERY EYES

anyways I love everything and I’m all set for the mentoring to begin. bring it onnnn

so now Deku is being surprisingly earnest and thanking Endeavor for accepting them into his agency

and we’re getting our first glimpse of Deku’s Upgraded Feelings About Endeavor oooooh juicy

Deku is so good at seeing into people’s hearts. and so forgiving. we already knew he was -- the inciting event that led to the whole fucking series wouldn’t have even happened if he wasn’t -- but I’m honestly still so impressed every time I see it

(ETA: and also, this means that he still went and told him off during the sports festival even though he was scared of him. kid is the fucking role model to end all role models.)

also I’m already sensing that this chapter (and indeed, this entire arc) is going to prompt more Discourse up in the ol’ fandom. that’s going to be fun. anyways, I’ve already essayed more than once regarding Endeavor’s redemption arc, so I’m not going to spend too much time hashing out the same old points. but basically my stance is I’m fine with it. I think it’s good to show that people can change no matter how far they’ve gone down the wrong path. it may not be easy, but if they’re genuinely remorseful, and if the desire is there, then why not? I’m not gonna get up in arms because someone is trying to become a better person. the alternative is that they stay terrible, and that doesn’t help anyone

anyway, so now we’re flashing back to what appears to be a conversation with All Might, and oh my god

but you guys. listen. Katsuki is there, again. they’re not even discussing OFA this time and he’s still there! elbowed his way into this mentorship like the determined little shit he is, and now he’s not leaving and you all just have to deal with it. oh my god it’s everything I ever wanted, someone please pinch me is this real??

lol and now they are discussing OFA, but that’s okay. it’s only natural that would also be on the agenda

really, All Might?

you consider that “just fine”? that bloop? just as planned?? I know you love your son, but maybe consider raising the bar for him just a little bit. he is capable of so much more, and now of all times is not the time to go easy on him

and he’s still talking about the SIXQUIRKS as though unlocking more of them right now would be a bad thing. I really think this is the wrong approach. maybe I just want to see Deku go buck wild and fucking lose it though, idk

Katsuki has no patience for this either

“I don’t doubt it.” please Deku we’re not worthy of you and your wholesomeness. and he’s so sincere, too?? how does Kacchan continuously absorb all of this shameless admiration and affection day after day, week after week. how is he not humbled by it

anyways time to shut up about that though because All Might is now mentoring Bakugou directly and this requires my full fucking attention

yessss let the character development commence! I’m so excited ddhkshl

and now we’re back in the present and the conversation is taking a very interesting turn!

YES! HE DID! DO YOU REMEMBER? YOU WEREN’T REALLY PAYING ATTENTION BEFORE BECAUSE YOU WERE STILL IN ASSHOLE MODE. what do you have to say about it now?

...

mysterious

what

(ETA: “is he always like this?”)

lol what

hahaha. this arc is off to a fucking hysterical start

oh snap y’all look at this

100% chance Deku is right fucking behind him lol. probably they all are

YEP

BITCH, WHO THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DEALING WITH. YOU THOUGHT THESE WERE JUST ANY OLD INTERNS?? FUCK YOU, THESE ARE PREMIUM, CLUB-LEVEL, OCEAN VIEW INTERNS, YOU UNAPPRECIATIVE LOUT. YOU INGRATE

lol but he’s not missing a beat though, and he’s ordering them to stay behind and watch him oh shit. what is even going on

now we’re cutting to some fucking yogi bobbing around town in a lotus position screaming about a divine revelation he received from fucking space. okay

AHHH WHAT

HAWKS IS ALREADY GETTING IN ON THE ACTION, JESUS CHRIST. DOES THIS FUCKER EVER PUT ON THE BRAKES?? THIS ARC IS LIKE TWELVE DIFFERENT PLOTLINES INTERSECTING ALL AT ONCE AND I CAN BARELY KEEP UP. THIS SHIT IS A TRAINWRECK WAITING TO HAPPEN AND I’M STANDING HERE MESMERIZED

BUT!!!

cue Celine Dion’s “All by Myself” while I fall down dramatically nooooo. the lord giveth and he taketh away. YOU OPENED A DOOR AND CLOSED THE WINDOW YOU BASTARD sob why

well shit. and that means that Katsuki has only one chapter left to reveal his hero name, too. (ETA: keeping track of the important things here lol.) and somehow I don’t see that happening unless the focus of the next chapter takes a very dramatic shift, since we seem to be launching into full plot mode before any of us even have our seatbelts on. not that I’m complaining about that because sdkljk

anyways. see y’all in two weeks I guess. the My Plots Academia arc sure is off to a crazy fucking start

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

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i will make the sky collapse

Next - Read on AO3!

A/N: Hi, and welcome to my first ever fic for the Newsies fandom! This fic focuses on Crutchie’s time in the Refuge and will be six chapters long. Eac chapter will be cross-posted on my AO3. Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but this whole fic will be full of violence and angst.

CW: blood, intense scenes of violence, non-descriptive (but for sure uncomfortable) references to past deaths of children, a rat is eaten

There were only two boys who were by the entrance when they hauled in the new kid. Bart and Twig, eleven and thirteen respectively, were meant to be scrubbing the floor in the hall at that time, on punishment and missing whatever scraps had been scrounged up and thrown to the other kids.

News traveled uncommonly slow in the Refuge, but it was barely an hour before everyone knew. It was even less when Harley heard of it. By that time, there were already rumors spreading--some said the newcomer was barely three feet tall and no more than a sack of bones, others claimed they’d seen him walk in at a proud six feet and show himself to Snyder’s office. One thing that everyone could agree on, though, was that the kid was a newsie. Harley was sure that this kid was just like any other poor nobody who got thrown in here, but he’d have to wait until after his orientation was properly over to assess the boy.

The Refuge needed leadership, and that job had been Harley’s since Spud was freed a month before. Without a kid to keep them in line and hand out hope, the boys turned on each other, snarling and biting like they were no better than Snyder himself. The first month they hadn’t had any fight-related deaths was under Spud’s rule, and the kids were generally happier for it. With someone in charge, they had a person who would listen, a person they could blame, a person who would stop them from killing each other. Right now, that was Harley.

The kids got something else out of it too--ranks. It was amazing how much someone’s morale could be lifted just by telling them they were the treasurer, or the secretary, or the first mate. Every boy in the Refuge had a position, and each one played at pretend business like their lives depended on it--which they did. It was nice to have them cooperative, instead of nasty like they’d been before.

Working together was better than working for oneself, but it had made it harder in some ways. Just last week, they’d lost six-year-old Mark to pneumonia. If Mark hadn’t been assistant to the war general, nobody would have cared or noticed. Now they cared too much, held a service in the middle of the night with a nicked candle, and averted their eyes from his bunk that was too big to be empty at a time when they were already squished three to a bed.

Now, though, whispers were traveling through the hundred-some kids that were scrubbing at the endless grime around the building. “Newsie,” Harley heard, and “Jack Kelly.” That one came filled with wonder, excitement even. Jack Kelly was the only one of them to get out and come back with help. Jack Kelly was the kindest guy anyone had ever known. What did he get out of stealing clothes and food, then risking his own skin just to bring it to them? Nothing, but he did it anyway. And he was from before the camaraderie of hierarchy, so he really didn’t have any reason.

It was possible that the new kid knew him, but Harley wasn’t about to be caught pinning all his hope on some random boy. It wasn’t like Jack Kelly was going to break everyone out of the Refuge for one kid.

Most everyone was outside today, digging endlessly with calloused hands as the sun beat down on them. There was no purpose to the holes, other than graves. Mostly they just dug them up and then filled them back in, though it had been only last month when a guard had pushed in Justin and made them fill it up over him. Justin had been sick, though. He was going to die anyhow.

Harley tried to wipe over his eyes, only succeeding in mixing more dirt with his sweat. He hated the hours spent with the splintering shovels--they all did--but it was better than the chemical water used to clean inside. He’d had to give up a couple of meals to save Stink, who had been forced to swallow a mouthful of it by a guard.

Speaking of guards, one left the building, quite literally dragging the new kid behind him. Harley made a pretense of shoving his dirt into a neater pile, watching carefully. The boy was average-sized, maybe blonde, face too covered in blood to really tell anything else. Harley felt a slight sense of relief. A broken nose was a rite of passage here that most got from Snyder or a guard, but some (like Harley himself) had dodged it only to wake up his first night to a circle of preteens ready to sock him.

There was no real way of discerning that this kid was a newsie, other than the fact that his clothes looked a bit nicer than most of those here. Still, that didn’t mean anything. Without a newsboy cap, Harley wondered where the rumor had come from.

The guard dropped him by the two spare shovels and growled something at him, likely a command to get to work. Some of the other boys had stopped to look around at him, so Harley made a show of dropping into his hole and digging vigorously.

After an hour or so, he risked a couple of glances around. Three guards were watching them lazily, occasionally smacking a boy for working too slow. The new kid was far too slow, though, and as a result, was targeted by the guards. Harley looked away when he heard a stifled cry from his dig spot, not too far from his own. There was nothing he could do to help right now.

Eventually, though, the new boy had been beat to the ground and wasn’t getting up. Most everyone had paused in their work, glancing at him, then away, then back as two of the three thugs kicked at the boy. Dry, rasping breaths came from him, and once again, Harley turned away, back to his own backbreaking work. He’d learn soon enough that he couldn’t stay down.

But he didn’t, and less than ten minutes later, Harley was watching again. He saw as a guard stomped on the kid’s leg, earning a muffled whine, and wondered--oh. There was something wrong with his leg, he realized, as he saw how twisted the foot was. He couldn’t stand, no matter how badly the guards threatened him.

And now that Harley had noticed, he could understand the words the boy was choking out.

“My crutch, please,” he whimpered. “I ain’t gonna be able ta work without it, please, I can work, I just needs my crutch. . . .”

“Jump,” one of the guards taunted. “Jump, and we’ll let ya have it!”

The kid struggled to get up, wiping at the tears that were making the dried blood on his face run again. He couldn’t even stand, though, let alone jump. The guards kept kicking him back down, pushing him into the shallow dent he’d managed to dig so far, mocking him with the same words. It turned into a threat--”Jump, you’ll jump if ya know what’s good for you!”--then to a compromise--”Just one little jump, and we’s leavin’ you alone for the rest o’ the day.”--to a dream--”Jump, crip, and we’ll let ya go tonight!”

But the boy couldn’t jump. He couldn’t stand. Harley watched, sick, as the boy’s eyes slid closed and his grimace hardened as the guards kept whaling on him. Then he turned away again. He couldn’t worry about some new boy with no name. He had to keep his clan strong.

Eventually, the thugs got bored of beating up a kid who wasn’t responding. One of them wandered inside, the other two left to taunt Billy, and Harley let himself steal one last look at the motionless pile of rags. As he watched, the kid’s eyes flashed open and met his. Slowly, one eyelid flickered down in an unbelievable wink, accompanied by a strained grin.

That was a newsie, for sure. The rest of the kids on the street had learned to never smile years ago. Harley looked away for the last time and got back to his work. He couldn’t waste time if he didn’t want the same fate.

The guards hated this kid, dragged him to the cellar instead of to the bunks for the half loaf of bread that had to be divided up between them all. One less mouth to feed, he rationalized. They didn’t have enough to feed themselves, let alone to spare for a new boy.

Stink managed to catch a rat, crushed with the heel of his thin shoes, and was attempting to roast it over a candle when the boy got thrown into the room. All the boys went silent at a hand from Harley, then watched the new kid as he lay, breathing heavily. Eventually, his head raised, looking around the room with watery eyes.

“What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?” he rasped. No one answered. A few of the younger ones looked to Harley, including Red, who had arrived just two days prior. After a moment, Harley nodded at Twig. Twig motioned for some other boys, all members of the welcoming committee. They were proud of their jobs, and would treat him well. They wouldn’t do anything to help him proper, but they would get him a bunk and a sip of water, and what more could a man ask for?

They boy’s name was Crutchie, they found out when Twig announced it, and he was indeed a newsie, as well as crippled. He did know Jack Kelly, and said something about a newsboy strike. He said that Snyder had taken his crutch after beating him with it, and now he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to get around at all.

The welcoming committee carried him to a bunk, which, from the gravelly protests, was apparently not much appreciated. The boys all returned to their own business, which was mostly whispering among each other or trying to get a bit of the dirt off before sleeping. Harley watched the new kid, now sitting on Mark’s old bunk, from across the stuffy room, before stepping around the huddled masses to get to him.

“Name’s Harley,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand before seeing how swollen Crutchie’s fingers were. Probably stomped on; he withdrew quickly.

“Crutchie,” the kid said with another painful smile. “You was lookin’ at me outside, huh? My face that good?”

His face was terrible, to be perfectly honest. Caked in blood and dirt, Harley could just barely see the purpling lumps on his forehead and the shallow gash along his cheek.

“Nah, I’m in charge ‘round here,” Harley answered seriously. “I’s got the job of checkin’ out the new meat.”

Crutchie frowned. “Jack says there ain’t a ‘in charge’, just kids.”

“Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie nodded, and Harley chewed on that piece of information for a moment. This kid clearly knew the guy well enough that they had spoken before. Maybe he would be worth something. He wondered how much Kelly would be willing to trade for one of his own.

“Yeah, well, things is changed since Jack Kelly was here last,” Harley answered, then left for his own bunk. He’d always wondered if he was meant to say more than that, but Spud hadn’t exactly left him with a book of instructions.

He had no place for a cripple in his ranks, but he couldn’t exclude anyone or else the guys would start doing the same to each other. Spud had always said that for unity, everyone had to feel important. He’d have to think on it.

“Stink! Gimme some o’ that,” he whispered across the room. Stink sighed and tore off a pinch of the greasy, undercooked rat and dropped it into Harley’s waiting hand. The others were clamoring for some too, but not the new kid. No, Crutchie was still laid up in the bunk, gingerly checking over himself and tearing off bits of his own shirt to wrap some of his worst wounds. There was a scarily deep cut across his ribs, surrounded with swollen bruises that were barely visible in the candlelight. Harley winced. That was ugly, especially for a kid’s first day.

Something sank in his stomach, and Harley knew. That kid wasn’t going to make it out of here. He’d be lucky to survive the week. Sure, he must’ve been a survivor to make it as a newsie, but this wasn’t the streets. This was the Refuge, and that kid was just another fly caught in the Spider’s web, about to be devoured.

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

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A Romantic Night at the Museum

Happy valentine’s day to @tytythepilot, who wanted a Pepperony HSAU in which they start out hating each other!

💘 - 💝 - 💌 - 💝 - 💘

It was a requirement for graduation: every senior at Triskelion High had to do thirty hours of volunteer work at one of a number of school-approved venues. It was a duty a lot of students complained about, but Pepper Potts had known right away which she would choose. There was a soup kitchen, a retirement home, a recycling centre, the humane society, and a few other places, but on sign-up day her eyes had gone right to the bottom of the list: the Empire State Museum of Modern Art.

It seemed ideal. Pepper was planning to major in accounting, but she was interested in art and art history, and enjoyed visiting the ESMMA. She was already familiar with all their permanent exhibits, so she probably wouldn’t even need an orientation. The people who worked there would doubtless be impressed with her dedication. When she put her name on the list, she did notice that nobody else had chosen the museum yet, but since she was one of the first to choose a venue, she didn’t think much of it.

On November first, Mr. Coulson the history teacher called the seniors down to the gymnasium to get the permission paperwork for their assignments, and to hand out the lanyards and tags where they would log their hours. Pepper set impatiently in the folding metal chair while the various venues were called out. Red lanyards for the humane society were popular, as were green ones for the recycling centre. By the time he got close to the bottom, there didn’t seem to be very many people without lanyards, and Pepper was starting to wonder if there would be anybody else volunteering at the museum at all.

As it turned out, there was one other.

“Finally, for the ESMMA,” Mr. Coulson read out at last, “Potts, Virginia, and Stark, Anthony.”

Pepper bounced to her feet and looked around, blinking in surprise. Tony Stark? She knew he went to Triskelion High School – who didn’t? – but so far she’d only ever glimpsed him from afar. From the gossip that surrounded him she knew he was the son of a wealthy and powerful businessmen, that he’d dated most of the cheerleaders but couldn’t remember their names, and that his picture had been on the front of the October issue of the Triskelion Shield newsletter because he’d won some sort of state science prize. He wanted to work at the museum?

She didn’t see anybody else standing up, though. The other students were all chatting together and comparing lanyards… maybe Stark wasn’t here today? Pepper grabbed her canvas backpack, covered in pins and buttons for various causes she supported, and hurried to the front. Mr. Coulson was waiting at the bottom of the stage, holding out the orange lanyard for her.

“There’s nobody else for the museum?” she asked.

“Word gets around,” he replied, ticking her off on his list. “You and Stark were the only two who signed up.”

“Great.” Pepper hung the lanyard around her neck with a grimace. “I get to babysit the rich kid all by myself.” From what little she knew of Stark, she had no illusions that he would do anything during their volunteer time. As far as Pepper had ever been able to tell, he didn’t even do anything in his classes – she’d seen him sleeping in Ms. Hill’s Calculus course. He probably paid somebody to take his exams for him.

“Depends on where the museum needs you,” Mr. Coulson said. “You might not even see him.”

“God, I hope not!” Pepper snorted, and turned around… only to find herself face-to-face with a boy. He was about her own height, with unkept dark brown hair that needed trimming and brown eyes, and wearing an expensive-looking blazer over a Pink Floyd T-shirt. She recognized him immediately, of course. It was Tony Stark, in the flesh.

The colour drained from Pepper’s face. How much had he heard?

“At least the babysitter’s cute,” he said.

That answered her question – he’d heard all of it. Pepper stepped past him and walked away as fast as she could, shaking. Now she was in for it. The whole school knew everything Stark said and did… it would be a miracle if they weren’t all talking about her by this time tomorrow. And she was going to be stuck with this guy at the museum for two hours a week, the rest of the semester! Maybe she could catch pneumonia or something and be excused from the rest of the school year.

Her friend Betty was waiting for her at the gym exit, wearing the red humane society lanyard. “You’re going to be volunteering with Tony Stark?” she asked.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Pepper informed her, and kept going.

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Tony watched the girl disappear in a huff of ginger hair and oversized sweater, then turned to Coulson for his own lanyard and badge. “What crawled up her butt?” he asked. There were lots of girls in school who didn’t like Tony – there were lots of girls outside school who didn’t like him – but most of them at least knew him. As far as he could remember, Tony had never spoken to that one before.

“I don’t think she believes you know anything about art,” said Mr. Coulson.

“Yeah?” Tony asked.

The truth was, he didn’t really. Tony’s parents were patrons of the ESMMA, along with several other museums in the city, so he’d figured the employees there would be nice to him – but he wasn’t into art for its own sake. Tony preferred things that could be quantified and figured out, while art, particularly modern art, was the exact opposite of that. He’d signed up on the assumption that the museum would give him flash cards or something so he could lead tours and answer questions. He could memorize things like that in a few seconds and be fine. Now, however, he’d been given a challenge. Who was this girl to judge him when she’d never even met him properly.

“Well,” he said, “she’s gonna find out how wrong she is.”

That evening, Tony sat down in front of his computer – he’d built it himself, out of parts of several others – and pulled up the museum’s website. With a can of Red Bull at one elbow and a package of pretzels at the other he sat up almost until dawn, going through the online collection and reading about artists, movements, and styles. Tony could handle being called a lot of things but nobody was going to think he was dumb.

By Friday afternoon, after a couple of additional trips to both the public and museum libraries, he felt he was more than ready. He’d even dug out an old ESMMA t-shirt he’d gotten for free at one of Mom’s fundraisers, and was wearing that and his lanyard as he leaned against one of the metal pillars outside the museum entrance. The museum wasn’t expecting them until four, but there was no way Tony was letting the girl be earlier than he was.

It worked, too – he’d been waiting nearly fifteen minutes when she finally got off the bus. Her long ginger hair was in two braids, and her slender figure was absolutely lost under an enormous camo-green cardigan. Tony was gratified to see her surprised to find him there.

“Afternoon,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied warily.

Tony smiled at her. “What’s your favourite piece in the ESMMA collection?” he asked, as if making polite conversation. “I’m partial to Csaky. Picasso’s a little too abstract for my tastes.”

She frowned for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve never thought about it. Probably the Water Lillies.”

“Monet, cool,” Tony nodded. “Nobody else I asked at school had signed up for the museum. It’s good to know there’s somebody else around who’s got some taste. What do you think of Monet’s red paintings? Are they artistically interesting, or just medically?”

The girl began to smile. “They can be both,” she said. “With impressionists it was all about how they saw the world, right? It was their impression. Both Monet’s cataracts and the removal of them affected that, so it should be reflected in his art.”

Tony had expected her to be squirming by now, having realized she was wrong about him, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He tried to go a little deeper. “What do you think of the idea that after his surgery he could see into the ultraviolet?” he asked.

“I hadn’t heard that before,” she replied. For a moment Tony felt triumphant, but then she continued on, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d just shown he knew more about impressionists than she did. “I wonder what effect that would have… could we even see it?”

Tony was about to cite a Journal of Art History paper he’d read on the subject, but then one of the big glass doors opened and a man in a blue shirt and white tie, wearing an ESMMA nametag that identified him, appropriately enough, as Art, looked out at him. “Are you two the kids from Triskelion?” he asked.

“Yes,” the girl said, reaching to took the guy’s hand. “I’m Virginia – people call me Pepper.”

“And I’m Tony,” he stepped up to do the same.

“Oh, I know who you are,” said Art, and shook Tony’s hand with enthusiasm. “I’ve seen you here with your folks. Come on in! We’re always happy to have kids from the school.” He held the door open for them. “We look forward to it all year.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it, myself,” said Pepper. “I’ve been to the museum quite often, and I know the layout pretty well.”

“And I can identify every piece in the place!” Tony bragged, not to be outdone as the followed Art inside. The foyer of the building was spacious, with high ceilings, white walls, and abstract-shaped red couches. “That one behind the admissions counter, for example, that’s Matisse’s Two Masks.” He snickered. “The one that looks like a mantis shrimp wearing cool sunglasses.”

Pepper looked at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head, but didn’t say anything.

“Man, it kinda does, doesn’t it?” said Art, grinning. “Great, now I’ll never unsee that! Right this way.” He led them to a door marked staff only, and touched his employee ID card to a panel to unlock it. The inner side had a complicated push-bar arrangement on it, the sort that would probably set off an alarm if somebody tried to open it without permission.

“Ohhh… are we gonna be working in the off-view collections?” Pepper asked in a reverent voice.

“Sort of,” said Art.

They went down the stairs to the basement level, and through a maze of rooms full of shelves and boxes and things carefully stored in glass cases, to a door with no special signs or locks on it, just an ordinary lever handle. Beyond that was a little room with one tiny, dingy window way high up in the wall, looking out on a parking lot, and a lot of metal shelves stacked high with what appeared to be garbage. There were cardboard boxes full of paper, trash bags bulging with heaven knew what, stacks of old magazines, packages of unopened paper plates and plastic forks. Tony frowned as he looked around. He hadn’t seen anything like this on the website?

“Is this art?” he asked.

“This is our surplus from last year,” Art replied. “Menus and leaflets and merch. We need you guys to sort it out – what we can still sell, what we can recycle, what we can donate, and so forth. We save it all year so you kids will have something to do.” He looked so proud of himself, as if he were expecting them to be excited about this.

Tony glanced at Pepper. Her mouth was open in astonishment.

“The café and vending machines will give you sodas and snacks at half price with your lanyards,” Art said cheerfully. “If you need anything, you can call somebody there.” He pointed to a set of buttons below a speaker on the wall. “See you at six!” And he walked out, whistling.

Pepper’s backpack fell out of her hands and landed on the floor. “Word gets around,” she said aloud. “Nobody told me.”

The look on her face and the mournful tone of her voice would have been full as hell if Tony hadn’t been feeling pretty betrayed, himself. “This is bullshit,” he declared. His parents had donated thousands of dollars to the ESMMA over the years. He’d studied for this, and they thought all he was good for was sorting garbage? “I’m going to call my Mom,” he said darkly.

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Pepper felt like the bottom had dropped out of her stomach and all her insides had gone splat on the gritty concrete floor. She’d been looking forward to this for a month, as a chance to work in the stimulating environment of the museum, enjoying art and helping other people enjoy it, too. Now it turned out they expected her to spend the whole time shut in the basement? No wonder nobody else signed u for the museum! Why hadn’t she asked around? Clearly somebody was telling the seniors to avoid the assignment!

It was Stark’s statement that snapped her out of her moment of shock. Pepper had kept her head down the last few days at school, waiting for the ridicule to start, but it never had. It seemed like nobody had overheard the exchange, and Stark must not have told anyone about it. She’d begun to hope that he just wanted to forget about it, too. Her hopes had risen even further when he’d actually seemed to want to talk about the museum and the collection, and when she’d noticed his parents’ names on the big granite slab in the lobby floor. Maybe they were going to get along after all…

Now it was clear after all that he really was just a spoiled jerk. He was here because he thought his family’s involvement would get him special treatment and he was pissed because it wouldn’t. Well, maybe it would do him good to live in the real world for two hours a week.

“Is that what you do every time you don’t get what you want?” she demanded. “Go crying to Mommy and have her fix it for you?”

Stark scowled at her. “Oh, and I guess you’re totally fine with it? You were geeking out a minute ago!”

“I am not fine with it!” Pepper informed him. “I am bitterly disappointed, but some of us don’t have rich parents who can make sure we get our way!” She looked around again at the room’s ill-organized contents, then picked up her backpack and set it on a chair. The sleeves of her cardigan wouldn’t stay up, but she made a show of rolling them anyway before she dug into the first box of magazines.

“What are you doing?” asked Stark.

“I’m doing what I was told to do!” she snarled. “Because I need the credit to graduate, and unlike some people I can’t just nap through all my classes and bribe the school to pass me anyway!”

For a moment Stark just stood there as if she’d slapped him. Then he drew himself up to his full height, which was not impressive when he wasn’t any taller than Pepper, and demanded, “what is your problem? I never even met you until the other day, and you already hated me! You honestly think I can’t do this?” He gestured to the piles of junk.

“I think you won’t,” Pepper replied primly. “I mean, look at you – you’re just standing there! Your parents are so rich you’ve probably never had to do anything in your entire life! I bet your Dad pays off the teachers to give you good marks!”

“I get good marks all by myself!” Stark huffed. “I happen to be a genius!”

If that were supposed to make her think more highly of him, it failed miserably. Pepper threw a magazine at him. “You’re an egotistical twit!” she said. “If you can work, prove it!”

“Maybe I will!” he said. He stood there a moment longer, looking around, and Pepper wondered if he would refuse after all, out of sheer spite. But then he grabbed a box of merchandise from a now-defunct special exhibit on Lichtenstein and started sorting them, rather violently.

Pepper smirked. At least she’d gotten him to participate.

“You’ve got no right to pass judgment on me when you don’t know me,” Stark said after a while.

“Maybe you shouldn’t worry so much about what other people think of you,” Pepper retorted. She opened a second box, and found it was full of old calendars. The guy named Art had said they saved things all year for the Triskelion volunteers, but these were fully three years old. Whoever had been conned into doing this in the mean time couldn’t have been very thorough.

“I don’t care what other people think of me,” Stark said. He was stacking souvenir water bottles into two pyramids, one of bottles that had last year’s date on them, and one that did not.

“Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be mad at me for not liking you,” Pepper pointed out.

She looked around at the mess, and felt her jaw muscles tighten. This was clearly a job that desperately needed doing and, just as obviously, nobody wanted to do it. The museum staff didn’t want to deal with it, so they left it for the students. The students didn’t want to deal with it, so they didn’t sign up for the volunteer work. Pepper certainly didn’t want to do it… but that in itself awakened a weird form of rebellion in her. Fine, then. She would do it, and she would do a spectacular job, so that nobody else could ever do half as well! She dumped the calendars back in their box, and got out a marker to write the word recycle on the side.

“I’m not mad,” said Stark. “I couldn’t care less if you like me or not. I’m just saying you have no right to an opinion.”

“Of course I do,” Pepper said, “and you’re not making me like you any better by whining about it!” She grabbed another box.

“Maybe I don’t like you, either,” he retorted.

“Good thing I actually don’t care what you think of me,” sniffed Pepper. After their interactions so far, she would have been disappointed if he didn’t hate her. The last thing she wanted was to appeal to a spoiled brat like Stark! She looked over her shoulder at his pyramids. “What are you doing with those?”

“Seeing how high I can stack them,” he replied.

“We’re not here to play,” Pepper informed him. The next box contained multicoloured stress balls. For a moment she wrestled with temptation, then she threw one at Stark’s bottles, as if they were a setup pin a carnival game. They wobbled, then crashed down.

“Hey!” he protested.

“We’re here to work,” she told him.

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That interaction seemed to have set the tone for the entire evening, Tony observed. This girl was absolutely determined to do the job they’d given her, even though it was a stupid rip-off of a job, and if Tony hadn’t been so determined to hate her back he would have found it kind of admirable. If she had that kind of work ethic in her classes she might well end up valedictorian… and since the school was in the habit of choosing one valedictorian of each sex, that meant Tony might find himself sharing a stage with her in June. That sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

Art had promised to let them out at six. He’d also told them they were welcome to go for snacks or bathroom breaks, but Pepper – why was she called that? Because of her freckles, maybe? She certainly was peppered with those – didn’t stop. Tony was getting hungry and cranky, but he didn’t stop, either. Pepper had thought he’d know nothing abut art and he’d proven her wrong. Now she thought he wasn’t willing to work hard, so he was going to prove her wrong on that, too.

Six o’clock came and went. Upstairs the museum was probably closing up, and Art would arrive any minutes. Pepper kept at it, though, tossing vaguely cubist plush animals around like she planned to do it all night, using her phone as a flashlight to peer into dark corners of the room looking for more. Tony wondered if he ought to say something, but if he did, she might think he was being lazy and he wasn’t going to let her have that. He continued taking bundles of pamphlets out of their elastic bands and dumping them in the ‘recycle’ box as his watched ticked past six thirty and approached seven.

Then the lights went out.

For a moment the two of them just stood there in the dark, blinking. A little bit of light came in through that high-up window, but it wasn’t really enough to see by. After a few seconds, Pepper turned her phone flashlight back on, which made Tony yelp as she shone it directly in his face.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Sorry!” She quickly moved it. “Did you do that?”

“What?” asked Tony. “Turn the lights off? Why would I do that! They probably went off because it’s way past six and the museum is closed.” He went and moved a box so he could stand on it and look out the window.

Pepper stared at him, then looked at her phone screen. “Why didn’t you say something?” she asked.

“Because you would have gone aww, is the little rich boy tired?” Sure enough, there was nobody moving out in the courtyard. The café tables had been put away, and he thought he could make out somebody on the opposite side locking a door.

“So you do care what I think of you,” she said, but didn’t seem interested in arguing the point. As Tony opened his mouth to reply, she turned away and shone the light around the room. “Which way to the stairs?”

“This way.” Tony hopped down from his box and turned on his own phone for extra light. A fat lot of good it had done him, he thought, to memorize those museum maps. None of them had included the basement! But by the light of the LEDs the two young people managed to wind their way through the maze of rooms.

“Oh, Jesus!” Pepper exclaimed, grabbing Tony’s arm.

“What?” he turned around, and nearly jumped out of his own skin as he saw what looked like a winged, humanoid figure looming over them. Then he realized what he was looking at was the shadow of a sculpture in dark stone, projected on the wall and ceiling by the light, and recognized it from the website catalogue – at least that had done him some good. “That’s Csaky’s Messenger,” he said. A black granite cubist angel.

“I knew that,” said Pepper, relaxing her grip.

“No, you didn’t,” he teased. “What did you think it was, Mothman?”

“Shut up and let’s get out of here,” she said. “This place is creepy in the dark.”

It had been kind of creepy in the daytime, Tony thought, with all the old sculptures covered in sheets and so forth. When he moved his own light around the room the shadows seemed to come to life, and it did make the statues look terrifyingly animated. He tried not to think about that as they continued to the stairs.

It was an effort not to cheer when they finally sighted the red EXIT sign. Tony took the stairs two at a time and pushed on the bar handle, not really caring if it set off an alarm. It did not – in fact, the only sound was a dull clunk, and the door did not move.

Tony tried again, wondering if he’d simply pushed it too hard. He got the same result.

“Now what?” asked Pepper.

“It’s locked,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t panic, it’s not like we’re gonna run out of air or anything,” said Tony, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a locked door.”

“Yes, but that means we’re stuck in here!” she protested.

“It’s not like the museum’s empty!” Tony put his shoulder against the door to rattle it. “Hey! Hey, we’re locked in!” he shouted.

“Help!” Pepper chimed in. “Anybody out there? Help!”

They continued shouting for a few minutes, but it got no reply. If anybody were out there, they couldn’t hear them – or they were just ignoring the cries.

“Why didn’t that guy come back to tell us it was time to go?” Pepper wailed.

Tony very much wanted to know that, himself. “I guess he forgot about us.” He rattled the door one last time and waited a moment, but there was still no response.

She grabbed his arm again. “You can call your parents!”

Tony pulled free of her grip. “Oh, now who wants to call my rich parents to fix everything?” he couldn’t resist saying.

She narrowed her eyes. “That was a tantrum. This is an emergency. I’m sorry I made fun of you, okay? Please call them.”

The apology was startling, but it didn’t change one important fact. “I can’t,” Tony said. “Or if I did, it wouldn’t do any good. They’re in Vienna this week.” He scowled.

The light on Pepper’s phone shut off with an unhappy buzzing sound, but by the light of his own Tony could see that she looked disappointed. “So you were just ranting when you said you were gonna have your Mom yell at the museum people?”

“No, I was gonna talk to her, it’s just that it’ll probably take ages for her to do anything about it, because she’s out of the country and she doesn’t like staying up all night to make phone calls,” Tony grumbled. “Why don’t you call your parents? At least they live here in town.”

Pepper nodded and looked down at her phone, then swallowed when she saw the screen. “Uh… actually, I don’t think I can. I’ve had the flashlight on too long and the battery is dead.”

He reached into his pocket. “You can use mine. You know their numbers, right?”

“No,” she admitted, squirming a bit. “We haven’t had a land line since I was twelve. I’ve always had their numbers in my phone.”

“Well, that’s just great!” Tony kicked the door and then went to sit down on the top step. “So what do we do, just sit here all night?”

“You said you were a genius! Can’t you figure something out?” she asked.

Tony huffed. There she was again, thinking he was dumb. He knew that she was doing it on purpose, and that if he kept reacting the way she wanted, she would quickly come to decide that she could make him do anything she wanted by saying she thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t… but at the same time, he couldn’t let her think she was right. He thought back to the museum maps he’d looked at… this stairwell hadn’t been marked on any of them, which meant the public wasn’t supposed to use them. All the exits probably locked the same way. What he needed was a way to pick the lock, which was going to be difficult when it was inside the bar apparatus.

“Well?” Pepper asked.

“Shut up. I’m thinking.” Tony turned and directed the light from his phone onto the bar. There were some screws that would be easy to take out, but they were in the push panel at the hinge end of the door… he’d need to reach inside somehow. “Okay,” he said, standing up again. “There’s gotta be some tools in that basement, right? I need a screwdriver.”

“Is this a good idea?” asked Pepper.

“I won the Pym Prize for Robotics last month!” Tony reminded her. “My picture was on the cover of the school newspaper, and you don’t trust me with a screwdriver?”

She threw up her hands. “Okay, okay! Do your genius thing!”

Tony checked the battery on his own phone. With the flashlight on it was draining fast. If they didn’t want to be in here with no light but the EXIT signs, he was going to have to find another source of illumination. “And a proper flashlight,” he decided.

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said all evening,” said Pepper, and followed him down the steps.

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Pepper realized she was being mean and snappish, but she couldn’t help it. How was she supposed to feel when they were locked in a basement? They couldn’t just stay here all night. What about dinner? Her stomach was already growling. She’d been ignoring it earlier because she had wanted to show that she was willing to work. Where would they sleep? There was nothing soft down here to lie on. And good lord, what was going to happen when one of them needed to pee?

All that nervous energy had to go somewhere and the only possible target was Stark – and he was doubly convenient in that capacity because this was his fault. He’d noticed the time passing while she had not. He couldn’t have said something. If he’d spoken up, they could have decided it was time to go and done so, but he hadn’t, the staff had forgotten about them, and now they were stuck down here!

Back at the bottom of the stairs, Stark located a janitor’s closet. This seemed a good place to start looking for emergency supplies – there was a first aid kit and a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, and on a shelf above them he found a utility flashlight. He gave the latter to Pepper, and had her hold it while he rooted around inside a cupboard, looking for something else.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

“I’m looking for tools,” he replied. “A screwdriver. A hammer. Something. I’m gonna take the door apart and open the lock from the inside… and don’t ask me if I can do that,” he added, pulling his head out of the cupboard to look straight at her. “I told you, I’m a genius. I can figure it out.”

Pepper sniffed. She would wait and see how he did at getting them out of the basement, but she knew one thing for certain. “You may be a genius, but talking about it all the time still makes you sound like a jerk. Why do you care so much that people know how smart you are?”

“Because it’s important!” said Tony, going back to his rooting around. “Fine, I admit it: yes, I want people to know I’m smart, okay? I’m proud of it. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“It’s fine to be proud, but if you go around talking about it, you’re bragging,” Pepper said to his butt, which was the only part of him she could see. “What happened to humility?”

“False humility is just another kind of lying,” he said.

“It’s polite,” Pepper insisted. “You don’t see me go around bragging. I could be standing here going, oh, they gave me this job because nobody else wants to do it so I’m going to be awesome at it just to show them.”

This time, he actually wiggled back out of the cupboard and sat up, frowning at her in evident confusion. “Is that really what you’re proudest of?” he asked. “That you’re willing to do crappy jobs?”

“I’m willing to do them well,” Pepper clarified. “The people who left all those three-year-old calendars in the box sure didn’t do a very good job of it. Just because nobody wants to do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it properly. I’m a Hufflepuff,” she said firmly. “I believe in doing things right.”

“Yeah, but that seems like a weird thing to brag about,” he insisted.

“I just said I don’t brag about it,” huffed Pepper.

“No, I mean, it’s a weird example of a thing you might brag about,” Stark said. “Most people would say something like, I’m good at math, or I can beat a new video game faster than anybody I know, or I’ve won prizes for my robots. Your thing is doing terrible jobs?”

His mention to the robotics prize made Pepper wonder if all three of his examples were things he personally considered himself amazing at. “No, they wouldn’t say that, because most people don’t go around bragging.”

“If you asked them,” Stark said, frowning in frustration. “If you go up to somebody and ask them what are you best at they’ll always tell you something! Like, my friend Rhodey is really good at building model airplanes. He’ll tell you all about how he changed them to be more accurate than they were on the box. Or there’s Janet from my physics class who’s really good at her fashion Instagram. What’s your ‘thing’?”

Pepper winced, wishing now she’d never spoken. Everybody had a ‘thing’, didn’t they? Something they were really into. With Jane it was astronomy – everyone knew she’d been accepted to Culver for astrophysics and she could take you out on a dark night and show you three planets, nine constellations, and tell you about how people could figure out the date of supernovas from tree rings. Pepper never understood half of what she said. With Natasha it was ballet and gymnastics, and the phys. ed teachers said she’d probably be in the Olympics someday. Pepper was madly jealous of both of them for having something they were so good at and so passionate about… because she didn’t.

She was silent for a moment – and her very hesitation must have told Stark all he needed to know. “Oh, come on, you must be good at something,” he said. “How about art?”

Pepper shrugged awkwardly. “I like art, but I can’t do it. I took art in freshman year but I wasn’t any good at it. I never felt inspired. I’m more interested in the history than in actually doing it, but that’s not really… not really something you can make a career out of. I guess I could be a museum curator, but…” She looked around the dark room, with that unsettling statue still looming in a corner of it. “A museum doesn’t sound like a great place to work right now.”

“I hear that,” Stark grumbled.

“I’m gonna do accounting in college,” she went on, “because I’ll be able to get a good job that way. I get decent grades in math, but they’re not any better than the grades I get in anything else. My Dad was always one of those if you put your mind to it you can do anything people, and he’s right, because I can do a lot of things well but there’s not really anything I’d say I’m good at.”

Pepper stopped there, because… why had she told him that? It wasn’t something she ever discussed, even with her friends or family. They wouldn’t understand. All of them had a ‘thing’, but Pepper was just… Pepper. She worked hard because if she couldn’t be good at something, she wanted to be decent at as many things as she could. Jill of all trades, mistress of none.

Stark was looking at her like he didn’t know what she was talking about. He probably didn’t. If he was so damn smart, he was probably good at everything and couldn’t imagine what mediocrity was possibly like. What would he know about insecurity?

“Look, just find your tools and get us out of here,” said Pepper.

He crawled back into the cupboard, while she knelt down to shine the flashlight over his shoulder. After a minute or two of sorting around amid cleaning supplies and a set of wrenches, he sat up triumphantly. “Aha!” he exclaimed, holding high a beat-up screwdriver with an orange handle.

“Finally!” said Pepper. “Let’s go!”

They returned to the main floor and Pepper continued to hold the flashlight while Stark knelt down to turn the screws. He tried for a few moments, then stopped and muttered a bad word under his breath.

“Now what’s wrong?” Pepper asked. She could feel her stomach sinking again.

“It’s a Phillips,” said Stark.

“What’s that?” Pepper wanted to know.

“It’s a Phillips head screwdriver!” He pointed it at her like a magic wand. “The screws are all flat heads!”

“Can’t you still use it?” she asked. Pepper admittedly knew very little about tools but she had assembled furniture with her parents, and she was sure her father had once said she could still use a particular screwdriver even if it was the wrong shape.

Stark appeared to disagree – he tossed the screwdriver back down the stairs, and she could hear it clink as it bounced off the concrete steps. “No. You could use a flat head screwdriver in a Phillips screw, but not the other way around.”

“The Phillips… is that the one with the plus, and the flat head is the one with the minus?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Stark sat there for a moment, then examined the screws again. “You got a dime?”

“Nobody carries cash in New York,” Pepper scoffed. She thought for a moment, herself, and then unzipped her backpack and started sorting through it, looking for her keys. “Here!” She pulled them out. “I have nail clippers on my keychain!”

“So what?” he asked, annoyed.

“So they have a flat end!” She took them off the loop and lifted the lever to show him. “Will that fit in the screws?”

Stark blinked, then snatched them out of her hand, grinning. “You’re a genius!” he said, and turned around to start removing screws.

“Oh, like you?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Maybe not quite like me,” he said, but he glanced back over his shoulder to smile at her, and something inside Pepper gave an involuntarily little flutter. Stark was clearly joking, but when he’d said you’re a genius, it had sounded so sincere and spontaneous she couldn’t help but think he meant it.

“There we go!” Stark dropped one screw on the floor, then removed another, and took the entire bar off the door. “Shine the light in here, would you?”

Pepper directed the beam over his shoulder, while he first peered in and then reached to feel around. For a moment he frowned, and Pepper started getting worried again, but this time he seemed to figure out a solution quickly.

“Another equipment run!” he declared. “I know I saw wire cutters in there… I need a coat hanger. I’m gonna snip a length of it so I can manipulate the lock from the inside.”

“There were coat hangers in the junk room!” said Pepper. “They had a box of souvenir sweatshirts that were already on them inside the plastic!”

She pulled open one such packet, and Stark cut himself a length of wire about six inches long. Pepper was starting to feel quite pleased with their collective problem-solving abilities. Stark could find, or at least make, whatever tools they needed, and Pepper had a good memory and could tell him where to find things. When they returned to the door, Stark stuck his makeshift lock pick into it, his hand disappearing into the bar mechanism right up to the wrist, and within a few second there was a clunking sound, and the door creaked open. The light that flooded in was faint, just the evening glow of the city and the fading November sky reflecting off the white walls and tile floors of the lobby, but Pepper was so happy to see it, she almost cried.

“Ta-da!” said Stark proudly. There was a clink from inside the bar as he dropped the piece of wire. “There we… ow!” he exclaimed, and quickly yanked his arm out… or tried to. Something clearly went wrong, because he stopped short and howled!

Pepper almost dropped the flashlight. What? What happened?” she asked. Her imagination offered up horrible possibilities. Maybe there was a mouse or a spider or something in there. Maybe he was going to need her to suck the venom out. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to do it, and she would be known as the girl who let Tony Stark die…

“I’m stuck! I’m caught on…” he gritted his teeth and swore again. “I’m caught on… I think I stabbed myself.”

Pepper felt herself go cold. She set the flashlight down on the floor so that its beam would still illuminate him. “Okay, well, don’t panic,” she said.

“Don’t panic? You’re the one who screamed because you thought the statue was Mothman!” he pointed out.

“Only for a moment! When you’re hurt,” she explained, “you shouldn’t panic because it’ll only make you freak out and do more damage. Now, take a deep breath.”

He breathed in, hard.

“Let it out,” said Pepper.

It came out in a woosh.

“Now tell me what happened.”

Stark grimaced in pain. “I dropped the coat hanger wire,” he said, “and I think it got caught on something. When I tried to pull my arm out it poked me, and when I tried to yank it out fast it went in really deep and I think I’m actually sort of impaled right now.”

In the dim light, Pepper couldn’t see his face very well, but he sounded like he was on the verge of passing out. She thought fast – if he did that, he would go limp, and the weight of his body would pull on that arm, and if what he’d just said was accurate, that could make things much worse.

“Okay,” she said. “Can you back your arm up so it comes out?”

He tried. “I don’t think so. The bar isn’t long enough.” Stark looked at her hands, held up in front of her as she tried to reassure him. “You’ve got small hands. You think you can reach in there and move it?”

“I’ll try,” said Pepper. She took off her cardigan and examined the situation… how would she do this? Stark was right up against the door and couldn’t exactly move over to give her space. She was going to have to practically sit in his lap. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, moving into place.

He snorted. “I’ve got my arm stuck in a door! Getting ideas is about the last thing on my mind.”

She settled down, sitting on his knee, and wiggled her fingers in around his arm. Immediately she felt something wet and sticky. She pulled her hand back and held it in the flashlight beam, and was horrified to see the red on her fingers. “Oohhh,” she said.

“What?” Stark looked over her shoulder. “Oh, no. You’re not gonna faint, are you?”

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to do this,” said Pepper. She almost stuck the fingers in her mouth, but that wasn’t a good idea when it wasn’t her blood. She couldn’t wipe it on her clothes, either, it might stain. How much more blood would there be if she managed to pull the wire out?

“There’s nobody else here!” he protested. “That’s the whole problem, remember?”

“Yeah, but…” Pepper said helplessly, and stopped there because he was right. It was just him and her. Like sorting the garbage downstairs, it was a terrible job but nobody else was going to do it. It was up to Pepper.

“Right.” She tried to wipe her fingers on the floor, which didn’t work very well, then took a deep breath and tried again. Stark’s chin was on her shoulder watching as she stuck her fingers in between his flesh and the edge of the opening, feeling around for the problem. She could follow the piece of wire for about two and a half inches, the length of her thumb and index finger, and then had to stop. There just wasn’t room to fit the rest of her hand inside and go any further.

“Don’t tug on it,” said Stark weakly. “It’s definitely under the skin.”

“That’s so disgusting,” she whimpered. The blood had been pretty awful, but she could handle it. The phrase under the skin, however, was horrible. Pepper hated things like needles and IV lines.

“Can you get it out?” he asked.

“No,” was Pepper’s immediate reply. “That’s as far as my fingers will go. I’m gonna see if I can find the other end.” She felt her way back, trying to ignore the feeling of warm, damp blood between her fingers. The other end of the bit of coat hanger turned out to be stuck under a lip of metal at the edge of the piece next to the one Stark had removed. She tried to pick at it with her fingernails, to no effect. “I can’t. It’s stuck.”

Pepper wanted to pull her hand back, but realized if she did, it might be covered with blood. For a moment, she didn’t move.

“Okay,” Stark said in her ear. “If pulling it out won’t work, can we push it a little further in?”

“What?” Pepper asked. “No, I’m not going to do that! I wouldn’t do it even if I could!”

“I didn’t mean into my arm, I meant into the space!” said Stark. “I’ll push my arm in as far as I can, and you see if you can get the other end loose and hold it there so I can get out without it getting stuck again, okay?”

“I can’t do that!” she insisted. “What if it pierces something major and you bleed to death?” There was already enough blood on her. The idea of more made her feel ill.

“You won’t if you’re careful,” he said. “Even if you do, I don’t think there’s any major blood vessels in that part of an arm.”

“You don’t think there are? You mean you don’t know if there are? I thought you were a genius!”

“That doesn’t make me an encyclopedia!” he protested. “Being smart doesn’t mean I know everything. Intelligence is a stat – knowledge is a skill! You have to roll a check for it!”

“What?” Pepper asked. The statement made no sense whatsoever for the first few moments, until she realized what he was talking about. “Is… was that a Dungeons and Dragons joke?” His arm was impaled on part of a metal coat hanger, and he was joking?

“Yes! I’m trying to distract us,” Stark said. “Just do it, okay? Stop thinking about it. The faster it gets done, the faster it’ll be over with and we can both get out of here.”

“Right.” Pepper took several breaths in and out, the way she’d told him to do only a few minutes earlier. “Keep distracting me,” she said.

“How?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Tell me about… tell me about your parents.” It was the first thing that occurred to her. She worked her fingers further into the space, to press the piece of wire against his skin.

Stark snorted. “What’s to tell? My Dad’s the smartest guy in the world and nothing I do is ever good enough for him. Have you got it?”

“I hope so,” she replied. “I thought you said you were a genius.”

“I am a genius, just not as much of a genius as he is,” said Stark. He moved his arm a little further, but it wasn’t enough for the wire to come loose.

“Keep going,” said Pepper.

“No matter what I do,” Stark went on, “he’s like, oh, I did that when I was younger than you, and I didn’t have all this money or this fancy edu…” he hissed through his teeth as something hurt, and Pepper began to ease off the pressure she was putting on his arm. “No, hold it there!” he said. “All this fancy education. I didn’t even… oh shit… I didn’t even tell him I won that prize or that I was on the cover of the school newspaper, because he wouldn’t have… oh shit… wouldn’t have cared…”

“Am I hurting you?” Pepper asked. The end was still, just barely, under the lip.

“No, it just hurts!” he said. He moved a little further.

It was only a fraction of an inch, but it was enough. Pepper felt the end of the wire come free, and held it as tightly against his arm as she could. “I got it! Pull it out now!”

He yanked his arm out of the bar. The door, now free to swing, fell open and dumped both young people onto the lobby floor.

Pepper held up her hands. The lobby was semi-dark, but there was enough light to see that her fingers were smeared with blood. It was getting sticky as it began to dry, and the metallic scent stung in her nostrils. Her stomach lurched.

“Oh, man,” said Stark.

She knew she didn’t want to see his injury, but she turned and looked anyway. It wasn’t as bad as she was picturing. The end of the piece was very sharp, but it was only under perhaps half an inch of skin and so close to the surface that the dark metal was visible through the translucent layer of tissue. It was still horrible to look at, but impaled was an exaggeration.

“I gotta… I gotta…” Stark stammered.

“Lie down!” Pepper pushed him onto the floor. “Don’t you dare pass out on me. Wait right here, and I’ll be back.”

She ran back down the steps and grabbed the first aid kit out of the janitor’s closet. When she got back, she found Stark lying there with one cheek on the cold tile, but his eyes were wide and he was still very much conscious.

“I’m gonna pull it out,” she told him.

“Tie something around my arm first, so it doesn’t bleed too much,” said Stark.

“Got it. I think that’s what this is for.” Pepper pulled out a stretchy strap and tied it around his arm above the injury. “There… now like I said, keep talking. Your Dad isn’t impressed by you. Is that why you want everybody at school to know you’re a genius?” Honestly… it would explain an awful lot.

“I guess,” said Stark. “I didn’t think about it that way, but… yeah, probably. It’s nice to be able to brag a little without him telling me how much better he could have done it, you know? He actually wanted to send me to boarding school. Mom talked him out of it, but he just wanted to get rid of me.”

Pepper nodded. “You ready?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Me, neither,” she admitted. With her left hand she held his, while gripping the wire with her right. Should she pull fast or slow? If she were doing this to herself she would have done it at slowly as possible, probably crying the whole time, but this wasn’t for herself… so she decided to just yank. She held on tight so it wouldn’t just slide through her fingers, and pulled.

It came right out. Pepper tossed the wire aside and grabbed a wad of gauze out of the kit to press against the wound. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Way better,” said Stark weakly. “I don’t think I could have done that myself.”

“That’s my thing,” Pepper said, her voice shaking. “I do stuff nobody else is willing to do.”

“You sure do,” he agreed. “That’s a really great thing to be good at. Go ahead and brag about it, okay?”

Pepper of couldn’t wouldn’t do any such thing, but she nodded, giggling a little in relief.

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded a voice.

A light was suddenly in their faces. Pepper shrieked and grabbed Stark, as he hollered and grabbed her back. Both of them looked up, and then relaxed again as they realized it was just a museum security guard. He was a tall white man with a shaved head and a mustache, staring at them both in horror.

“Who are you two?” he asked.

Pepper couldn’t help it – she started giggling again. “We’re the kids from Triskelion High!” she managed in between bouts of laughter. “We were sorting the stuff in the basement, and they forgot about us and locked us in!”

“Why are you covered in blood?” the guard asked, aghast.

Pepper looked down – she’d now gotten blood from her hands all over Stark’s shirt where she’d grabbed him, and he’d smeared it on her arm. He was also now wiping his face, which got more blood on his cheeks and forehead, but whether because Pepper was setting him off or just because he was relieved, too, he was also laughing.

“I cut myself trying to take the door apart,” he said. “She helped me get unstuck.”

“Why didn’t you call 911?” the guard demanded.

Pepper blinked. That was a good question – why hadn’t they? They could have done that before they even started trying to open the door. They definitely could have done it when Stark first got his arm stuck. Pepper’s phone had been dead, but Stark’s had some time left on it. It just hadn’t occurred to either of them.

Stark laughed louder. “Yeah, why didn’t we do that?”

“I don’t know!” Pepper said. “So much for being geniuses!”

“We’re idiots!” he agreed.

💘 - 💝 - 💌 - 💝 - 💘

The security guard was not laughing. He dialed 911 himself, and summoned the janitorial staff to repair the door and clean the blood off it and the tiles. When the ambulance arrived – along with someone who had the front door key to let them out – the EMTs bundled Tony into the back for inspection. Since it was a chilly evening, they let Pepper sit inside with him while they slathered disinfectants on his arm.

“Are you put to date on your tetanus shots?” one woman asked him.

“Yes, absolutely,” said Tony. “I work with metal all the time, so I keep an eye on that.”

She nodded. “You said your parents are in Austria. Who is your emergency contact?”

“Mr. Jarvis, my Dad’s old butler. I’ll give you the number.”

The medic went to make the phone call, and Tony looked up at Pepper, sitting next to him. He smiled at her, and was gratified to see her smiling back. Apparently she… well, she obviously didn’t dislike him anymore. He’d take that.

“I have a confession to make,” he said.

“Oh, really?” Her thin ginger eyebrows roses.

“Well, you’re sitting there with my blood on your shirt, I figure you deserve the truth,” Tony said. “I don’t know anything about art. At least, I didn’t before last week. Mr. Coulson said he thought the reason you were upset was because you didn’t think I knew anything about it, and I decided to prove you wrong, so I did a bunch of research.”

“To impress me?” asked Pepper. “You didn’t even know me!”

“Well, as we established, I do kinda care what people think of me,” said Tony.

She shrugged. “If my Dad thought I couldn’t do anything right, I’d probably want everybody at school to think I’m a genius, too.”

“I bet everybody at school does think you’re a genius, if you work at everything as hard as you worked at sorting that garbage.”

“Then I’ve fooled them all,” she sighed.

Tony gave her another smile. “No fooling me,” he said, “you’re awesome. Maybe not as much of a genius as I am, but not every girl would get covered in blood to help you get your arm out of a door.”

Pepper shook her head. “Never ask me to do anything like that ever again, okay?” she said. “Next week, you tell me when it’s six o’clock!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Tony.

A car horn honked outside, and the EMT peeked back in. “Miss Potts?” she said. “Your parents are here.”

“Tell them I’m coming!” Pepper stood up and grabbed her backpack. “See you next week, Stark.”

“Maybe sooner,” said Tony. “We both go to the same school, after all.”

“Yeah, we do,” she agreed. “Maybe sooner, then.”

He reached out and took her hand, and pulled her a bit closer for a kiss. She ducked out of it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, pulling her arm free. “I know what you’re like with girls!”

“Do you?” Tony asked. “You don’t know me, remember? Give me a chance!”

“Pepper!” a voice called from outside.

“Please?” He pouted and showed her his best puppy dog expression... the one that always worked on Mrs. Jarvis.

She hesitated a moment, then smiled. “Maybe. See you on Monday, Tony,” and leaned back down. She only kissed his cheek, and then she was gone in a hurry, her cheeks flushed as she ran off to meet her parents at the car. Tony, however, was grinning as he watched her go. As evenings when he’d nearly stabbed himself went, that one hadn’t been too bad at all.

#pepperony #valentine's day exchange #tytythepilot

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tloujm · 3 years

Text

Part XX: Champ de Pâquerette

Author’s Notes: This takes place a day after the previous chapter. This part is dialogue heavy and at 3,365 words. Because there is discussion on Joel’s background, it strays from canon. Is it considered “straying from canon” when certain details were never presented officially in the first place?

Genre: Can I get a McFluffy?

Summary: Just another day during the honeymoon. The two of you flirt and talk more about each other’s background.

Ship: Joel x Fem!Reader

You woke up the next morning to the sound of hammering. You tossed sluggishly around the bed with the expectation of bumping into Joel. Instead, you’re met with an empty bed. As you pushed away the last bits of sleep, it made sense that he was responsible for the sound that woke you up. You walked up to the window with no more than your hair to cover your breasts. You opened it to let in the fresh morning air. You looked out into the backyard and found your husband off to the right fixing the fence blown down by the storm. It was a beautiful view. The backyard was basically a meadow full of wild flowers, mostly daisies. There were less trees in the back than in the front, however, so it was blanketed by rays of sunlight. You smiled as you watched on and you contemplated greeting him. You imagined his reaction; him turning around at the sound of your voice, a smile breaking across that hard exterior at the sight of your disheveled nudity.

You decided against it in favor of surprising him. He’s surprised you enough these past couple of days; you figured he deserved a little something. You took a quick bath and went down to the kitchen. The refrigerator was one of the things he stocked before he brought you to the place. It wasn’t running, as the cottage did not have electricity, so half of the space inside was full of ice. Just that detail alone, Joel lugging ice from Jackson to this little house so the two of you could eat something other than canned food on your honeymoon warmed your heart. You didn’t know if he had eaten breakfast yet, but knowing him he probably didn’t, so you decided to make some food and bring it to him. Wanting to enjoy the day and eat outside as well, you put together a little picnic. You packed up one of the empty suitcases that he used to bring things over with plates, cups, cutlery and the food that you packaged up so neatly.

Joel grunted in frustration after the nail he hammered split a piece of wood. He used the back hook of the hammer to take it out and he placed it between his lips. With the hammer still in his hand, he flipped the wood over and positioned it against the other part of the fence. A drop of sweat fell down the side of his face. He only wiped it off with the collar of his shirt after he successfully got the nail through. He took the baseball cap off that he was wearing to fan himself.

“Working hard, cowboy?” You asked as you walked through the back door.

He squinted his eyes to block the light. “Just fixin’ your fence ma’am. Your husband insisted I get’er done ASAP so the place could look nice when you got up.” He raked his fingers through his short hair and placed the cap back on.

“Oh did he? Well why don’t you take a break from all this hard work and have brunch with me while my husband is gone. I made enough food for two and I hate eating by myself.” You stopped in front of him and the fence; He was still on his knees. You handed him a glass of iced tea that you brewed.

Joel stood up and took a sip. “You sure your husband wouldn’t mind, ma’am?”

“Let me ask him.” You replied coyly. He let out a breathy chuckle as he watched you turn away from him then turn back around. “Joel, I’m sorry it’s come to this but I’m leaving you and running away with the handyman, but first I’m having brunch with him and there’s nothing you can say or do to change my mind.”

“Ouch.” Joel playfully grabbed at his chest. “You’re a natural heartbreaker ain’t ya?”

You shrugged playfully. “You started it. I just went with it.”

“Well that’s not where I was going.” Joel responded with a chuckle. “ ‘Sides, it’s never too early to start role playing.” He reached up and gave you a sloppy kiss.

“Meet me ‘round front. We’re having a picnic.” You said with a smile.

“A picnic?” He repeated.

“Yeah! Just wait. I’ll bring everything out.” You ran back towards the door.

“You need help with anything, (Y/N)?” Joel shouted.

“Nope, just relax in the shade.”

Joel watched as you struggled to bring everything out in one trip. He got up and rushed over to you, but you insisted that he sit back down. He couldn’t just sit and do nothing, so he compromised and stayed on stand by just in case you dropped something. He watched as you laid a blanket down and opened the suitcase full of picnic things. The first thing you took out was the iced tea that you made in what used to be a bulk pickle jar. You refilled his glass before unpacking everything else.

The two of you ate in relative silence. “What are you thinking about?” You asked him.

Joel let out a satisfying sigh after another sip. “You.”

“Oh? What about me has you so enthralled.”

“Everything, but I will admit I’ve had a question on my mind since you came out with the drink in your hand.”

“And what’s that?” You asked innocently.

He sat the cup down and leaned in. “When you broke my heart back there with such ease,” He offered a half smile. “I was wondering if maybe it was because you had a little practice back in the day.”

“Is that your silly way of asking me about all the men I had before you?” You winked.

“You don’t have to share with me anything you don’t want to, but I do feel like you know more about my life than I do yours.”

“Do I? How many women have you been with between me and Sarah’s mother?”

He made a face as to say ‘touche’. “No more than I can count on my left hand.” He exhaled. “The first woman I’d been with after Sarah’s mom was a blind date. Tommy convinced me that I needed to get back out there. At this point Sarah was in kindergarten---”

“Kindergarten? How young was she when she left?” You asked.

“Her mom left us without any warning, only a note saying that she dropped her off with Tommy and my dad. She couldn’t have been any older than 2 years old.”

“So, she didn’t grow up with any memories of her mom?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, and I was fine with that. It was just me and Tommy in her life.” He cleared his throat. “So, yeah, he called himself helping me out by setting me up on a blind date after I refused to try online dating. She was pretty, I’ll admit that, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that me and her weren’t goin’ anywhere past the first date.” He glanced up at you for a moment. He noticed how you were eating his words up before looking back down at his plate. “Despite that, we went back to her place at the end of the date and we slept together.” He sighed disappointedly at himself. “I don’t know why I agreed to go over. It’d been a while since I had any...fun I guess. Taking care of a baby by yourself is lonely.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” You spoke up. He shook his head.

“After her, I told my brother no more blind dates. On nights that my aunts or cousins would spend with Sarah, I would go on down to the bar. I’d usually just flirt with the women there, buy them drinks if it was going somewhere. One night though, a woman took me into the bathroom and we had sex in a stall. It wasn’t,” He shrugged. “Nothin’ special. It felt good in the moment, but as soon as it was over and we went our separate ways, there was this feeling of...I don’t know how to describe it.” He took another swig. “You know, I used to work in construction. The guys I worked with, most of ‘em weren’t fathers. The ones who were, were much other than me. I lost most of my school friends after I got married. It was hard for me to make more because all of my time was either at work or at home with the baby. The guys at the site were cool but I was never gonna meet up with them after work for a beer. I had to pick Sarah up from daycare. Imagine how hard it was to meet someone to be more than friends with. My loneliness made me crave those few minutes I had in the bathroom stall again, so the next time I had a free night, I went back to the bar. I was more confident because I knew what I wanted. I ended up having sex with another woman in her car in the bar’s parking lot. Sarah ended up catching pneumonia sometime soon after that. Scared and watching over her in the hospital caused me to realign my priorities. I felt guilty for not being there for her. I was away drinking and fucking to make myself feel better. As tough as it was raising a little kid, Sarah was the only thing that truly made me feel joy. So that was the last time until…”

“You’re telling me, no woman has come on to you? A tall, fine, good with his hands, rough-around-the-edges-but-really-a-big-softie like yourself?” You giggled, he smirked.

“Every once in a while a lady has slipped me her number, but nothing ever came of any of them?” He smirked at the confession.

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Mostly ‘cause I convinced myself not to. I would tell myself that giving it a chance was not worth it. I’d only been with one woman after the pandemic. Her name was Tess.” With that sentence alone, you already knew that she meant the most out of all of them based off the fact that he remembered her name. “We met at a quarantine zone years after I left the fireflies. I was by myself after Tommy decided to stay with ‘em. I found myself smuggling things in and out of the zone to earn extra ration cards. That’s how our paths crossed. She was a smuggler too. She was one of my contacts. After a while of building up trust, we decided to team up and work together for bigger payoffs. I suppose it was only a matter of time that we’d get together. We had this silent pact that she wouldn’t ask about my past and I wouldn’t ask about hers. It wasn’t a relationship though, I don’t think, not in the traditional sense. We never talked about what it was before she died.”

“How did---” You began to ask.

“She got bit. She didn’t tell me until we were surrounded by some really bad people. She convinced me to leave her behind when she showed me the bite on her ankle. She said that I still had a chance to get away, that she was gonna hold the other guys off while I ran. I almost died that day, but I kept getting back up because I didn’t want her death to be in vain. After a while of hiding, I snuck into another quarantine zone and began smuggling there. I’d only done one job before my contact told me that my next job was to smuggle a person. I immediately rejected the offer until I heard it was for the Fireflies. I wanted nothing more to do with them after I left their settlement in Texas, but I couldn't help but think about my brother. That combined with the payoff is why I decided to escort you across the whole damn country to their base in Utah.”

It was silent for a moment before you began to share yourself. “My first time was when I spent a few weeks in Britain. It was my high school graduation gift to myself. I wanted to do something fun and adventurous over the summer before starting college. I had never been anywhere before so I saved up for the plane tickets, booked the accommodations; I did everything myself and I was so excited. I stayed at this hostel in Brighton, a seaside city south of London. A Spanish man named David was staying there as well. We’d become friends off the bat and everyday we’d flirt and spend time together.”

“What did he look like?”

“Why? You jealous?” You teased. “He was a little older than me. I was 18, I think he said he was 25. So I guess I got a type.” You playfully wiggled your eyebrows at Joel. “He was tall and very slender and had long, dark, curly hair. So the night before I checked out, I told him I was leaving. He kissed me for the first time and you know what my response was? I asked him if he wanted to fuck! I wanted to be bold and I did have a crush on him. That’s not how I imagined my first time being. I’d only known him for a week. I mean we got along very well, but I always imagined it being with someone I was in a relationship with first.”

“You’d never dated in high school?” He asked.

“No, I had dates to school dances, but never dated. So I went back up to his hostel room. He rented a private room while the room I stayed in had bunk beds, so I was sharing it with others. I told him I was a virgin before anything happened and he was ok with that. He was gentle and kind and everything I needed that night to trust him. I didn’t expect much for my first time, like I didn’t think there were going to be fireworks. I didn’t ask how experienced he was, but I assumed he wasn’t a virgin. The experience as a whole was good. The guy that I was crushing on my whole stay in Brighton respected my mind and my body. That was more than enough to make me swoon. Still I had to leave in the morning. He invited me to stay the night with him and so I did. I had to leave early, just before dawn, so I planned on slipping out and leaving a note, but he caught me before I left and we hugged and said goodbye and he whispered something in my ear in his native tongue. I didn’t know what he said and to this day, I can’t remember the words, so I guess I never will. I’m glad he woke up though. I’m glad he did that.” Joel didn’t know if you had more stories, but he could tell already that this was the one that stuck with you the most. You took in a deep breath before continuing. “So, spring semester of my freshman year I got into my first relationship. He came up to me in the library. I was just watching videos on my laptop, killing time between classes. What’s funny was that I didn’t want to be bothered that day, and there this man was coming up to me saying that he saw me as I walked into the study quad and thought I was pretty. So I close my laptop and sit with him at his table. We ended up talking until I had to leave for class. He asked for my number before I left and the rest was history with that one.” You shrugged.

“That’s it? What happened there?” Joel asked curiously.

“We grew apart.” You shrugged again, thinking back on it. “He was more into me than I was him and after a while, I didn’t see myself getting serious like I knew he wanted and don’t you dare call me a heartbreaker for that.” A tight lined grin broke onto your face. “I didn’t want to dump him, but stringing him along would have been worse. I know what it’s like to be convinced someone’s into you when they’re really not. He was sad, but I’m sure he got over it. I told him we could be friends, but that never happened. I got into another relationship my junior year of college with a classmate from my photography class. I’d known him since my very first semester. We were in the same financial aid program, which meant we had to take a lot of the same gen ed classes. We were always just acquaintances until he asked me out before class one day. I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t find him physically attractive at first, but after we went on several dates and I got to know him, he was all I could think about. I was infatuated and we fucked everywhere.” You blushed. “We fucked in the dark room more than once, in my car, his car. We got caught by the campus police when it was in his car. We did it in the library stairwell, under a small bridge at a park across the street from campus. Things ended when we graduated. He was from out of state, so he was gonna move back home and look for jobs there. I wanted to travel more before committing to a job. I really tried to convince him to travel with me, at least for the summer, and he really tried to convince me to go move with him to his hometown. Neither one of us compromised so that was that.”

“Did you love him?” He inquired.

“I don’t think so. If we loved each other, I feel like we would have tried harder to find a solution. In the very least try a long distance relationship. We were infatuated, horny young adults. I loved my time with him and I definitely cared for him, like I did for my first boyfriend, but I don’t think I ever loved them. Did you love Sarah’s mom?”

“Tyra?” There it was. Now you knew her name. He looked down as he wrung his hands. “I thought I could, but she never gave me a chance to. We liked each other and I grew to care for her and I think she cared for me back. I grew to respect her a hell of a lot more after I watched her give birth, but she didn’t make the idea of loving her easy. Towards the end, we argued a lot and then not at all. There was just nothing until she left.” You took his hands in yours. He accepted your comfort, but did not want to dwell on it. “So where did you end up going?”

“Hmm?” You hummed in question.

“After you broke up with the second guy because you wanted to travel.”

“I had brought a plane ticket to Italy. Trieste, Italy. That country is like an art student’s mecca so I had to go sooner or later. But it never happened. About a week before I was scheduled to go, the pandemic hit and the borders closed. I only chose that date because the layover time was shorter. It cost me though. Just think If I had purchased an earlier plane ticket, because I almost did since it was cheaper. What if I would have gotten stuck in a foreign country when all this went down. Wouldn’t know anybody, wouldn’t know if my family was ok, wouldn’t know how to get back home.”

“We wouldn’t have met.” Joel commented.

“No, I don’t think we would have.”

“Well, I’m glad you bought the more expensive ticket. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see Italy though.”

“I’m sorry too!” You laughed. “I can’t imagine that being the worst country to be stuck in. But I would trade Italy for you any day.”

The two of you laid on the blanket and enjoyed each other’s company until Joel decided it was time to get back to the fence. You asked him if he needed help, but he declined. You settled for sunbathing while you watched him work. After a while, he called it quits for the day and he got cleaned up while you made dinner.

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itrytowrite-things · 4 years

Text

Shifting into the supernatural

Sam x reader (platonic), Dean x reader (platonic)

Summary: Y/N has a tendency to leave her world for the supernatural word and Sam Wonder why.

A/N: From what I understand shifting is a super realistic version of lucid dreaming. It is a big thing on tik tok at the moment. So that is where I got the inspiration for this fic. I have not attempted to shift realities so I am not 100% sure how it works so if you are interested in attempting to shift watch a youtube video and do research.

I sat in the small hotel bathtub. My knees pulled into my chest at an attempt to make myself as small as possible. The tub was only about 4 feet long and half that deep, which didn't mix well when you put two people in it. Especially when one of them was Sam Winchester who stood at 6’4” without shoes. Sam let out a small grunt as he tried to sit up taller, his left foot kicking me in the back.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, moving around trying to fit his legs at a more comfortable angle. I quickly shushed him. Dean was just outside of the door, a girl screaming at him as he calmly tried to explain why he was also sleeping with her friend after their night of so-called “passion”. It would be quite funny if he hadn’t forced Sam and I into the bathroom after getting the angry call from said girl claiming she was coming to get “something off her chest”. I am pretty sure he thought she was gonna come in, rant about her day, and then take him away to have a “good” time, meaning Sammy and I would only be in the bathtub for the five minutes it took Dean to suggest heading back to her place. But when she came in yelling about Dean being a “no good dirty bastard” we knew we would be in here for a while.

The creaking under Sam's weight felt like the loudest sound for miles, even though it hardly made a dent against the sound waves traveling from the hotel room. The yelling soon grew repetitive and old, no longer being gossip to hold against Dean. I looked at Sam for a while, trying not to laugh as he grimaced about the details the girl was giving about her night with Dean. Dean’s voice soon came into the conversation. Sam and I had both zoned it out at that point.

“Kid, there actually is something I have been meaning to ask you,” I nodded at him to continue. “Why do you come here?'' The question stumped me. I knew why I shifted into their world everyday, why I sat anxiously in my last class waiting for the bell to ring so I could come here and be with them. Why I hold in a tiny breath every time I start to shift, praying that this still works. I had just never had to put those feelings into words. Now all of the words I was thinking felt wrong. Like the weight of them didn’t match the weight in my heart.

“Not that we don’t love to have you here Y/N. I mean we wait around all morning for you to get here. I just don’t understand why. You’ve told us about your world. There are no monsters or demons or angels in your world. No looming apocalypse every year or death waiting around the corner. You are safe there, so why come here?”

They waited for me, they sat here anxiously waiting to see if I would show up. That’s why I came here, I thought.

“I matter here, Sammy,” he looked confused at me, his puppy dogs eyes shining through. “At home I am always second best. You know the friend you talk to after your first friend said no. Or the filler friend until you can find someone better to replace me. I am average in my classes and just in life in general, but here; I matter. I am on Team Free Will, saving the earth.” My voice starts to lose its edge and volume. “I am truly loved here, you and Dean and Cas make everything better. I guess because you care about me so deeply, that it makes me care about myself. So you’re right, no death threatening event in my world, but also, no you. No Dean. No Cas. Hell I would appreciate Crowley being in my world.” We both let out a laugh that dies down quickly as we soak up the new knowledge we were each given.

Sam suddenly had that protective big brother look on his face, the one that was normally displayed on Dean's face. It felt weird to go from being the one that cares and makes sure everyone is okay to being looked at like a fragile being that someone else is willing to hold together while you fall apart. I cried the first time Dean looked at me like that, I wanted to be mad and tell him piss off that. I didn’t need a big brother to watch over me. I had gone my whole life without one, but the truth was, I desperately needed a big brother and now I am realizing, I needed two.

“Don’t tell Dean though, don't need him getting all sappy on me.” We both let out a loud chuckle that rippled off the small bathroom walls. Sam leaned back into his laugh.

Cold water jolted out of the shower head, spraying me directly in the chest. A gasp escaped me, as it soaked straight through my clothes. Sam’s laugh became nuclear, he seemed unbothered by the water that was slowly making it way to his side of the bath. Too distracted by my current shivering state. I pulled sharply at the edge of his flannel to catch him off guard. He fell forward, giving me just enough room to slip underneath him to the other side of the tub. The laughter stopped abruptly, the cold water knocking the air out of his lungs. It was my turn to let out a loud cackle.

We were so caught up in the water war that we didn’t notice the lack of yelling followed by the loud sound of the front door slamming. Dean threw open the bathroom door. His mouth formed around words but stopped at the sight of me and Sam laying on the tub floor soaking wet, water still cascading down on top of us. His angry expression vanished.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” I could tell that it was taking everything in him not to laugh at our position. He was putting on what me and Sam call his dad face, his face set in a stone cold serious expression. It always had a way of making you feel like you’re three years old and you just got caught cutting your siblings hair with the kitchen scissors. His eyes betrayed him though. There was a glimmer of light in them that said he wanted to laugh.

“We are doing what you told us.” I squeaked, moving into an upright sitting position, smiling sheepishly at Dean.

“I told you guys to hide in the bathroom, not create a tsunami in the tub.” Sammy let out a bark of a laugh that was silenced by Dean's crossed arms. My lips curled involuntarily inward to stop my own laughter from spilling into the room.

Sam now stood, making me so tiny on the bathtub floor, alone surrounded by two giants. I stood to suppress that feeling. It didn’t work. I was always a foot or so shorter than the boys even while standing. The water now hit the top of my head, spraying around me.

“What did you expect Dean? We were in here for thirty minutes while that girl screamed about the ‘night of love making’ you two shared and how you had one with her friend two days later. We got bored.” Sam reached up and moved the shower head so it was now pointed at the very front of the tub.

“Yeah,” Dean reached around and scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry you had to hear that kid.” I gave him a real smile followed by a shrug of my shoulders. I knew Dean was a player, I could have gone without the details, but I am not scarred for life or anything.

“Hey, what about me? I deserve an apology.”

“You deserve nothing.” Dean pointed an accusatory finger at Sam. “I told you that was her friend the other night at the bar, ‘No Dean, her friend was shorter with lighter hair’.” He mocked Sam's voice as he turned around in a small circle to face the opposite wall. Sam bumped his shoulder into mine lightly. Looking up I saw a mischievous grin displayed on his face, he was holding the shower head in his hand. He gave a short nod towards Dean, before mouthing a wordless countdown.

“You no good dirty bastard!” I yelled when he got to one. Dean whirled around fast, confusion riddled his whole body. Sam was quick to lift the shower head up, spraying Dean straight in the face. His face the moment the water hit was priceless, he was truly in disbelief.

“You two are asking for it.” Dean growled, lunging towards us.

I quickly tried to jump out of the tub, unfortunately so did Sam. We crashed into each other landing on the tile floor, a heap of legs and elbows. Sam manages to catch my head in his palm before it smacks the ground. The room echoes with laughter, each of us wet, cold, and unbelievably happy.

“Alright we need dry clothes or we will all catch pneumonia.” Sam says breaking the laughter.

“Like that would kill a Winchester. Right kid?” Dean splashes water in my direction, I laughed nodding my head. My heart was growing as Sam threw a towel around my shoulders.

I could stand being Y/N Y/L/N in my world as long as I got to be Y/N Winchester here.

#sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam x reader #dean x reader #big brother dean #big brother sam #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn #fluff #spn fluff #supernatural fluff #sam fluff #dean fluff

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driversmutbucket · 4 years

Note

I wanted to ask you if you plan to do a sequel on the fic where Phillip finds his childhood love? It’s one of my favorites. And if yes, it would be possible to include "There’s not enough makeup in the world to cover up this hickey, what did you do to me?" "Look at us, we're basically a couple already" please, but if it’s no, it’s ok.

Hey bb,

Sorry it took me literal weeks to get to this, Kitten has taken over my brain!

Glad you liked the Altman fic! I can totally do a sequel for those two horny humans ;)

Phillip Altman x Reader

Warning: NSFW, vague sub/dom, oral

You let out an exasperated groan as you examined the hickey on your neck in the bathroom mirror.

“Fuck sake Phillip.” You grumbled.

“What!?” He asked innocently from where he lay in the bathtub.

“There’s not enough makeup in the world to cover up this hickey! What the fuck did you do to me Altman?” You glared at him in the mirror.

“It’s just a little love bite Babe, don’t stress.”

“Little?!” You said in a high pitched voice. “Only teenagers walk around with hickeys all over them. Jesus, Im going to have to do some creative accessory placement.”

It had been two weeks since you had reconnected at the party, and ever since you were joined at the hip, or would pelvis be more accurate?

Phillips mom had found out about your - whatever this was, and had insisted your come over for Sunday lunch. Mrs Altman was so well put together, from what you couldn’t remember, you hardly wanted to be showing up with a gigantic hickey on full display.

“My mom won’t care.” He scoffed.

“Well I care, Phillip, you could walk in there looking like you rolled out of a dumpster and she would still think the sun shone out your ass.”

“True that.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, dabbing concealer on your neck aggressively.

“Look at us, we are basically a couple already, going to Sunday lunch at my moms and squabbling” Phillip mused with a lazy smile as he watched you.

You couldn’t help but mirror his smile, meeting his gaze in the mirror, he winked.

—

“Y/n has a giant hickey on her neck and she doesn’t want you to see it.” Phillip announced, near moments after you arrived at his mom’s house.

“Thanks for that.” You deadpanned, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Oh Phillip, leave the poor girl alone!” Mrs Altman swatted at him, before pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you kids have come together, It’s a wonder nothing happened when you were teenagers, gosh Phillip used to follow you around like a puppy, y/n.” She mused, smiling at the memory.

“Alright mom that’s enough.” He groaned steering his mother into the kitchen.

You smirked triumphantly.

—

After lunch Mrs Altman went to rest, having just got over a nasty bout of pneumonia she still needed regular naps. She apologized profusely but insisted you both stay for a while.

Phillip was eyeing you in a way you knew meant he was scheming as you dried the remaining dishes.

“My bed from when I was a teenager is upstairs.” He said casually.

“Is it just?” You said airily, drying a plate.

“Yeah, I always fantasized about fucking you on that bed.”

You knew the exact bed. You had sat or laid on it many times, years ago, hell- a decade ago?!

You used to love it because it smelled like him. You would try and memorize the scent.

“Hope you mom burned the bedding, the amount of cum stains there would have been on that....” you teased.

“Mostly from thinking about you in that tiny bikini you used to strut around in.” He murmured, coming up behind you and running his hands over your tummy.

“I did not strut!” You spluttered.

“I distinctly remember the way your ass jiggled in those tiny bottoms.”

“Pervert.”

“I used to imagine you would come upstairs dripping wet from the pool in that bikini. That you would bend over my bed, begging to be fucked. I would think about just pushing those little bottoms aside and sinking my cock into you while you moaned my name.” He murmured as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

You breath hitched at his words, heat surging to your nether regions.

“I wish you would have.” You breathed, as his hand l crept under your tee.

“You gonna let me now?” He asked slyly fingertips toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“Your mom will hear.” You groaned.

“The old lady sleeps like a rock, trust me I’ve tested it many times.” He chuckled.

“Ok, but be quick about it, i will honestly not recover if your mom catches us.” you urged.

You hardly finished your sentence and he was dragging you upstairs, pushing you in a guest room and shutting the door. There is was, the bed. The pine frame and slightly dipped mattress that you had hung out on as teens. “This old things creaky as fuck.” he grinned, throwing himself on mattress, it groaned with his weight. “No fucking way, Altman, nah uh, people will hear that down the street.”

“Babe, chill, bend over and hold the frame like a good girl would you?”

You shot him a dirty look, before bending down and planting your hands on the solid frame at the foot of the bed. “You’re sexy when you’re stroppy.” he smirked.

You could only huff in response as he ran his hands up the back of your shorts and squeezed your butt cheeks. You wiggled impatiently, as he reached around and unbuttoned your shorts and pulled them down. Underneath you had a simple black thong, he grunted and spanked your ass, drawing a soft moan from your lips.

“You’re keeping this on.” he murmured, pulling the fabric out from between your cheeks then letting it snap back.

He stroked your pussy through the fabric of your thong with one hand as he pushed down his own shorts with the other.

You pushed your pulsing cunt against his hand with a whine, wanting more.

“Desperate are we?” he teased, eliciting a growl from you.

He pulled aside the thong and teased your entrance with the head of his cock.

‘Phi-! Oh god!” He pushed in with a sharp thrust, knocking you forward so you had to truly brace yourself on the bed frame.

“Oh fuck yes!” He hissed, “you look so good bent over my bed babe.”

“Just missing the- mmmmph!...virginity and bikini.” You panted, trying to push back into his thrusts so the bed frame didn’t shake too much.

You reached back and rubbed your clit, gasping as you quickly began to cum, clenching his cock.

“Jesusshitfuck!” Phillip gasped.

“Stop!”

He froze mid thrust, “you ok?” Voice tinged with concern.

You pulled away and got down on your knees.

“Yeah, yeah, just want you to cum in my mouth.” You grinned up at him.

He bent down with a growl and grabbed your face, kissing you hungrily.

Some people didn’t like giving oral, but goddamn, you loved it. Having that much power over someone’s pleasure with your mouth was exhilarating.

He groaned as you took him in your mouth greedily, sucking and licking, spit dribbling down your chin.

“You’re a fucking dream.” He moaned, fucking your mouth gently.

You hummed, your vocalisation vibrating around his cock, he gripped a handful of your hair.

“Gonna cum.” He breathed a few seconds before shooting cum into the back of your throat.

You pulled off his cock with slow, sucking pop!

He collapsed onto the bed, laying on his stomach with a happy sigh.

You got up of the floor and smacked his bare ass, “don’t stay there too long, I doubt your mom wants to find her precious boy with his cock out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He mumbled into the pillow.

You laughed, as you headed out the door.

#fan fiction #filth and smut #smutbucket #phillip altman x reader #phillip altman

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

#batfamily #batfam #fanfic commission #sickfic #jason todd #red hood #batman #bruce wayne #robin #batman and robin #fanfiction #fanfic

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years

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Cold As Ice

The Flash Captain Cold stars in: Cold As Ice

Dramatis Personae

Captain Cold, the pragmatic, constantly grumpy leader of the Rogues, alias Leonard Snart

Pied Piper, a Robin Hood-esque thief, alias Hartley Rathaway

Heat Wave, the dimwitted but surprisingly friendly pyromaniac, alias Mick Rory

Iris Allen, the daredevil reporter who is also the wife of Barry Allen

Mirror Master II, an extremely odd, extremely Scottish criminal, alias Evan McCulloch

Script

Act I

(Captain Cold is onstage. Enter Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: Captain Cold! It’s so good to see ya! (Hugs Cold)

Captain Cold: Two words, Mick: Personal. Space.

Heat Wave: Oh. Sorry, boss. I just got excited. (Releases Cold) It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Are you okay, buddy? Where’ve you been?

Captain Cold: Mainly, the prison infirmary. Got double pneumonia, and somethin’ called septic shock along with it, so I was in there for like a month. And then my ulcer started actin’ up again, so I was there for even longer. And THEN I had appendicitis on top of everything else. So, long story short, I was stuck in there until last week, and I only escaped two days ago.

Heat Wave: Oh, so THAT’s why I couldn’t find you!

Captain Cold: Yeah, that would probably be why. (Pause) What happened while I was out? I spent most of my time in the infirmary coughing, vomiting, or unconscious, so I wasn’t able to keep track of nothing.

Heat Wave: Well, the Trickster’s back in town, Captain Boomerang’s broken leg is healed, and your sister and the Top are in Hawaii for the fifth anniversary of their first date.

Captain Cold: WHAT? Heat Wave: Don’t worry, boss. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.

Captain Cold: That’s not what I’m worried about.

Heat Wave: Then what are you worried about? It’s not like they’re chasing tornadoes or anything.

Captain Cold: I’m worried about what that stuck-up snob might do to my baby sister when I’m not there to protect her. He thinks people like us are trash, and it would be just like him to decide that she’s not worthy of his affections and dump her. I don’t want her to get hurt like that.

(Enter Pied Piper)

Heat Wave: Boss, the Top wouldn’t do that. He’s our friend.

Captain Cold: No, he ain’t. He’s an arrogant creep who thinks he’s better than us.

Heat Wave: If you say so, boss. (Notices Piper) Boss, look who’s here! It’s the Pied Piper! I’ve been trying to find him for weeks! (To Piper) Hiya, little buddy!

Pied Piper: (Slightly surprised) Hello, Mick. It’s a pleasure to see you.

Heat Wave: How are you? Pied Piper: Homeless. Again. You see, I was going to get a nice little cottage in the suburbs somewhere, but then I ran into a very pregnant woman whose husband had just lost his job, so I had to give her some money, and then I met a poor little boy who really wanted a football, so I bought it for him, and then I stumbled upon a youth center that was about to close for lack of funds, so I gave them some money, and then I met a really nice old lady who needed an operation that she couldn’t afford, so I gave her some money, and then I heard about a flood in India, and so I had to donate some money to that cause, and then I met a family with a little girl who needed a wheelchair, so I gave her some money, and then I was broke, so I couldn’t buy the cottage.

Heat Wave: I can give you some money, little buddy.

Captain Cold: Don’t bother. He’ll just give that away, too. (To Piper) Kid, how many times do we have to go over this? You ain’t rich no more. If you don’t wanna be homeless, you have to keep some of the money you steal for yourself.

Pied Piper: I can’t do that! I spent the first twenty years of my life in palatial luxury. If I’m going without now, it’s only fair. My family has utterly ignored the plight of the poor in this city, and if I have to be homeless to make things right, so be it!

Captain Cold: You’re crazy. (Pause) When was the last time you ate, kid? You’re so thin I can see your ribs!

Pied Piper: Um ...three days ago? I think?

Captain Cold: Three days ago? Are you tryin’ to kill yourself? You ain’t used to bein’ cold and hungry. If you keep this up, one of these days the Flash is gonna be arresting your corpse!

Heat Wave: The boss is right, little buddy. It ain’t healthy to starve yourself to help people.

Pied Piper: I wasn’t planning to not eat for three days. It just happened.

Captain Cold: Then plan better, you idiot!

Heat Wave: (pulls out granola bar) Here, little buddy.

Pied Piper: Thank you, Mick. (Takes bar, eats ravenously) Do you have more? Heat Wave: No...but I can take you to lunch with me.

Pied Piper: That would be nice….

Heat Wave: Okay! Then let’s go eat! I’ve found a really great new barbeque chicken place!

Captain Cold: And by really great, you mean “full of chicken so spicy that no normal person can eat it”.

Heat Wave: Oh, yeah. I didn’t think about that. (Pause) Okay, how about we go to Steak ‘n’ Shake? I love their sandwiches.

Captain Cold: After three months of eating the stuff they give you in the infirmary? That’d be good. They have some great milkshakes.

Pied Piper: Right now, I’m so hungry that I could probably eat dog food. I’m happy with anything that won’t make my mouth catch on fire.

Heat Wave: Okay, then let’s go! I can’t wait to talk with you guys and catch you up on what you’ve missed while you were gone!

Act II

(Iris is onstage)

Iris: I’ll say this for being a superhero’s wife-it gets you the best stories! Unless I miss my guess, the information Animal Man gave me will get me on the front page. Why, this is the biggest government cover-up since Watergate! Just wait until Barry hears about this! He’ll be so proud! Maybe it’ll even cheer him up a bit. (Pause) Poor Barry. He just hasn’t been the same since Abra Kadabra stole his super speed. I hope Wally’s mission to get it back is successful, because he feels so bad about not being able to help people as the Flash. (Pause) Oh, well. Worrying about it won’t help, so I’ll just go back to my investigation. Watch out, bad guys-Iris Allen is on your case!

(Enter Evan McCulloch, the second Mirror Master)

Evan McCulloch: Howzitgoan, Mrs. Allen?

Iris: (Spins around) Who are you? And how did you get in here?

Evan McCulloch: My name is Evan; Evan McCulloch. As for your second question: well, I’ll give you a wee hint: it’s all done with mirrors.

Iris: With mirrors? (Pause) You’re a Mirror Master, aren’t you?

Evan McCulloch: Mirror Master? That’s a well good name, but up until now it wasnae mine.

Iris: But you can use mirrors as weapons or for transportation?

Evan McCulloch: Aye. Wasnae aware doing that came with a title.

Iris: My husband’s a superhero, and he fights a criminal named Sam Scudder, who calls himself the Mirror Master. By all appearances, you’re using his tech, but the only people who have access to any of it-besides Scudder himself, unfortunately-work for the government.

Evan McCulloch: Aye. How do ye think I got ahold of it?

Iris: You work for the government?

Evan McCulloch: Officially, nae. They’ve made it well clear that if I get lifted, they’ll deny that they had anything tae do with me.

Iris: So you’re working for the government.

Evan McCulloch: They’re paying me, aye. Ye see, in Glasgow, I had a reputation for making people's ...problems… disappear, and apparently your government decided that I’d be useful in making their problems disappear.

Iris: And I’m a problem? Evan McCulloch: Aye. Certain members of your government will be in big trouble if ye reveal what they’ve been up tae, so they told me to make sure that ye cannae tell anyone about what ye’ve found.

Iris: My husband and nephew are superheroes. If anything happens to me, you’ll answer for it.

Evan McCulloch: Calmy doony. I’m nae here tae kill ye. I’m nae saint, but I’m nae going to kill a woman, especially nae tae keep a secret that will come out anyway.

Iris: Then why are you here?

Evan McCulloch: Tae warn ye. I’m nae the only dangerous man on their payroll. They need ye silenced, so when I refused to kill ye, they sent another man.

Iris : Forgive me if I’m less than convinced that your intentions are benevolent.

Evan McCulloch: Nae danger. But I’d still advise ye tae come with me.

Iris: I’m licensed to carry a gun. I think that I can handle myself now that I’m forewarned.

Evan McCulloch: Not against the man they’re sending. I’m nae the only one they gave well dangerous technology, ye ken?

Iris: Is that so? Then I think I’ll borrow this! (Grabs mirror and disappears)

Evan McCulloch: Jings! She’s clever, isnae she? (Shakes head) I’d better follow her. She’s brave, but she does nae ken what’s after her.

(Exit Evan)

Act III

(Pied Piper, Heat Wave, and Captain Cold are onstage)

Heat Wave: Are you feeling better, little buddy?

Pied Piper: Yes, and thank you.

Heat Wave: You’re welcome. (Pause) By the way, do you know when Golden Glider and the Top are coming back from their vacation?

Pied Piper: Wait. You didn’t hear?

Heat Wave: Hear what?

Pied Piper: The Top and Golden Glider never went on vacation. They’ve been in Central City the whole time. James even told me that he, Sam, and Mark did a heist with the Top.

Heat Wave: They’re still in Central City?

Pied Piper: It seems that way, yes.

Captain Cold: Then where’s my sister?

Pied Piper: That’s the thing: no one knows. James said that he never saw her-although he does think that the Top knows where she is.

Captain Cold: If he’s hurt her, I’ll kill him!

Pied Piper: Captain Cold, the Top worships your sister. He would never hurt her.

Captain Cold: Then where is she, and why isn’t she with him?

Heat Wave: You know, boss, just because your sister’s not in our immediate line of sight doesn’t mean that she’s in trouble. She can take care of herself. After all, up until a few years ago, we only saw her a few times a year.

Captain Cold: She wasn’t dating the Top or a member of the Rogues until a few years ago either.

Heat Wave: So, uh, why don’t you just call her if you’re that worried about her, boss?

Captain Cold: Don’t be stupid, Mick. (Long pause) Hey, I’ve got it! I can just call Lisa and make sure she’s okay!

Heat Wave: You’re so smart, boss.

Pied Piper: Wait...didn’t you just say that Mick was being stupid for suggesting that idea?

Captain Cold: We’ll talk about it later. (Pulls out phone, dials number. Pause) Lisa! Hi! It’s so good to hear from you! (Pause) I was in the prison infirmary. I had double pneumonia, septic shock, and appendicitis. Oh, and my ulcer acted up some, too. What have you been doing? (Pause) You’re doing what? Why? (Pause) He’s sick, too? What are the odds? Do you know what his problem is? Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Yes, I’m sure you’ll get whatever it is he needs to get better. (Pause) No, I don’t want him dead. I hate his guts, but for some mysterious reason he makes you happy, so I want him to stay alive. (Pause) Have you been feeling all right? Has anyone tried to hurt you? No? Good. (Pause) Are you sure ? (Pause) Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. Good luck, little sis. I love you. Good-bye. (Puts phone away) My little sister’s a genius.

Heat Wave: Where’s she been?

Captain Cold: Apparently, her snob of a boyfriend is dying, and the only cure is at CCPD headquarters, so she’s posing as a police scientist named Patty Spivot in order to steal it. She’s even befriended Barry Allen! I’m so proud of her.

Heat Wave: Aww, that’s adorable! I always knew that little Lisa was one smart cookie.

(Iris appears in the background, then disappears again)

Pied Piper: So, um, now that we’ve finished eating, are we going to do something, or are we just going to go our separate ways?

Captain Cold: I’m not going to lead a heist today, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m still too far behind on recent events right now.

(Enter Evan McCulloch)

Evan McCulloch: Have any of ye seen a bonny woman with red hair around here?

Captain Cold: Who are you? And where did you come from?

Evan McCulloch: I dinnae have time for that right now! I need tae make sure that a hitman does nae kill a woman named Iris Allen!

Pied Piper: Iris Allen? The wife of the Flash?

Evan McCulloch: Aye, that’s the one.

Captain Cold: AGGH! (Collapses)

Heat Wave: Boss, what’s wrong?

Captain Cold: I ...I think it’s my ulcer. My stomach is-ARGH!-killing me!

Heat Wave: Bros befores wives of heroes, random guy! I’ve gotta get my boss to the hospital, so we can’t help you save Iris. Sorry. I’ll buy you dinner later to make up for it if you want.

Captain Cold: I’m-UGH!-fine, Heat Wave!

Heat Wave: No, you’re not, boss. You just collapsed, and you’re obviously in pain. We are going to the hospital.

Pied Piper: Can you get him to the hospital without me?

Heat Wave: Yeah. Why?

Pied Piper: Because Iris Allen is an amazing woman who definitely deserves my help.

Heat Wave: I guess I can get Captain Cold to the hospital on my own. So yeah, if you wanna go help the Flash’s wife, I guess you can.

Pied Piper: Great. (To Evan) I’ll help you.

Evan McCulloch: Ah’m glad for your help, wee man in green. Now brace yourself. Traveling through Wonderland is well tricky at first.

Pied Piper: What’s Wonderla-AAAH!

(Evan McCulloch and Pied Piper disappear)

Heat Wave: (Pulls out phone and dials) Hello? Operator? My friend needs an ambulance…

Act IV

(Enter Pied Piper and Evan McCulloch)

Pied Piper: Could you give me a little warning the next time you pull me through the Mirror Realm?

Evan McCulloch: The Mirror Realm? Is that what ye call Wonderland?

Pied Piper: No, it’s what the Mirror Master calls “Wonderland”. How did you get ahold of his technology, anyway? And who are you?

Evan McCulloch: Evan. Evan McCulloch. I was given the tech by members of the US Government who are buried so deep in a scandal they’ll do anything tae keep it covered. They hired me tae kill Iris Allen, but I refused, so I dinnae think they’re still paying me. In fact, if I’m nae careful, they might try tae off me tae cover all their loose ends. Who are ye?

Pied Piper: I’m the Pied Piper, one of the Rogues. The other two men you saw with me are Heat Wave, another member of the group, and Captain Cold, our leader.

Evan McCulloch: Rogues?

Pied Piper: Yes. We’re a group of thieves who work together to fight the Flash.

Evan McCulloch: What sort of thieves are so concerned about each others’ health that they’ll call ambulances for each other?

Pied Piper: I don’t know. What sort of hired gun refuses to kill a target and then goes out of his way to warn her about the planned assassination?

Evan McCulloch: Point taken, laddie. I’d like tae be in a group like that. I have nae been able tae trust anyone since I left Mrs. McCulloch, and it’d be nice tae not have tae watch my back all the time, ye ken?

Pied Piper: You abandoned your wife?

Evan McCulloch: I dinnae have a wife. Mrs. McCulloch ran the orphanage where I grew up. She’s the closest thing I have tae a mother.

Pied Piper: My apologies.

Evan McCulloch: Nae danger. Ye didn’t ken.

Pied Piper: Well, if you really want to join the Rogues, you’ll probably have to ask Captain Cold. He’s the one who makes the final decisions about who becomes a member of the group. (Pause) Oh, and you’ll also have to come up with a supervillain name.

Evan McCulloch: Oh, I’ve already got one. I can be the Mirror Master.

Pied Piper: I don’t think Sam will like that. It’s bad enough that you’re using his gear. I don’t think he’d take very kindly to you taking his name, too.

Evan McCulloch: Then I’ll call myself Mirror Master II.

Pied Piper: That would probably just make him angrier.

Evan McCulloch: Well, if he makes a fuss aboot it, I’ll just punch him.

Pied Piper: (Aside) If nothing else, he’ll fit in well. (To Evan) Why don’t we talk more about potential names later?

Evan McCulloch: That would be fine, aye.

Pied Piper: Good. So where do you think Iris is going?

(Enter Iris)

Iris: Hello, Evan. Hello, Pied Piper. What are you doing here?

Pied Piper: I’m helping Evan rescue you, I think.

Iris: That’s sweet of you, Hartley, but I don’t need rescuing. Thanks to the Mirror Gun, I took out my would-be assassin, and Jay’s taking him to jail right now. Now I just need to finish writing my article, and I can put this whole mess behind me.

Pied Piper: Well, I’m very glad you’re alright, Mrs. Allen. Good luck with your expose. I’m sure it will have the high quality of all your work.

Iris: Thanks, Piper.

Evan McCulloch: (Aside) If she defeated that assassin, we’d better get oot of here before she defeats us, tae. After all, we aren’t exactly innocent ourselves. (Aloud) In that case, my work here is doon. Ta! (Evan grabs the Mirror Gun, then grabs Piper, and both disappear)

Iris: Looks like I’d better tell Barry, Wally, and Jay that the Rogues have a new member. Hmmm ...that could actually be a story all on its own! If I play my cards right, I could have two award winning stories and help defeat two separate groups of bad guys all from one investigation. This is awesome! I love it when I help my loved ones bring justice. (Pause) I should probably get back home, though. Those stories aren’t going to write themselves!

(Exit Iris)

Act V

(Captain Cold is lying down onstage; Heat Wave is standing by him)

Heat Wave: You feeling better, boss?

Captain Cold: A little. I can’t believe that my stupid ulcer put me in the hospital twice in less than three months!

Heat Wave: Maybe it’s all the stress in your life. I’ve heard that stress makes ulcers worse, and your job is really stressful. Maybe you should take a vacation.

Captain Cold: And let the Top run the Rogues into the ground? Not a chance.

Heat Wave: It wouldn’t have to be for very long ...just a couple of days, maybe.

Captain Cold: I’m not taking a vacation, and that’s final!

Heat Wave: I guess you know best, boss. If you don’t want to take a vacation, you don’t have to.

(Enter Evan McCulloch and Pied Piper)

Pied Piper: Hello, Mick. Hello, Captain Cold.

Heat Wave: Hi, little buddy! How’d the rescue go?

Pied Piper: As it turned out, she rescued herself, so our presence turned out to be completely superfluous. That being said, I think I did find us a potential new member of the Rogues. His name is Evan McCulloch, and he wants to be part of a group that he knows will have his back.

Evan McCulloch: Howzitgoan?

Heat Wave: Hi, Evan! I’m Heat Wave, but you can call me Mick Rory. Where are you from?

Evan McCulloch: Glasgow, Scotland. The city of culture!

Heat Wave: Oh, so that’s why you sound so funny. (To Captain Cold) Can he stay, Captain Cold? Please? He’s funny sounding, and I like him.

Captain Cold: I can see that you have Mirror Master’s gear. The original is one of my best friends, and I don’t think he’d like you using his tech. That being said, my health hasn’t been great lately, so we could probably use another guy with his powers in the case of an emergency. (Pause) All right, Scostman, you’re in…...but you’re on probation until I say otherwise.

Evan McCulloch: That’s good eno for me, Captain Cold.

Captain Cold: In that case, your first job is to help me find the other Rogues. When we face the Flashes next, I want to be as well prepared as possible.

Pied Piper: Well, if everything is all right here, then I will be going. You know where to find me if you need me, and this city has a lot of people who need my help.

#flash rogues #dc comics #fanfic

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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ancient names, pt. xx

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xx: hell is empty

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7k

Rating: Just mature; some mature themes but nothing explicit.

Warnings: None, just Elliot's mouth and like uncalled-for sadness, John's a baby. What's new.

Notes: Hi henlo! I cannot believe we have one chapter and one epilogue left of this. I'm trying not to be emotional about so IT'S FINE but we're gonna keep the notes short otherwise I'm gonna get sappy!!

I want to thank you to @shallow-gravy for lending me her eyeballs on this and letting me stress out over nothing to her all the time; @lilwritingraven for being just an absolute peach a girl could ask for and listening to to me whine and cry; and @baeogorath, one of the first people to read this and suffer through the memes and dumpster fire writing to be here. Thank you all for loving my girl as much as you do!

@starcrier, idk man you know what's up. Elliot wouldn't be in any universe without you, and this fic just simply wouldn't have happened. I love you wit all me heart!

｡☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆｡

Cameron Burke had failed.

That was the flat, bare truth of it now, as he kept the blonde clutched to him. Elliot’s entire body was trembling; she was soaking wet, and her teeth chattered, and she looked like someone had been throwing her around for sport. Even though she was crying softer now, gentle hiccups rattling around in her chest, she felt small—tiny, and battered.

Yes, Cameron Burke had failed, and if the rapid decline of what was supposed to be a by-the-book arrest in a tiny Montana town wasn’t evidence enough of this, he certainly had enough evidence before him. Now, with John Seed looking at him as a man incensed. Now, with the eyes of the other Seed siblings pinned on him—the most unsettling of all being Faith’s large doe-eyes. All of them, bleeding in and out of his vision, the world swooning as the effects of Bliss rushed around in his bloodstream.

Now, with Elliot in his arms, having been laid out like a lamb for slaughter.

“I’m s-so—” The blonde’s voice hiccupped, fresh with grief. “I’m s-sorry, Burke, I—tried to find you—”

“Stop,” he managed out, his voice hoarse, “stop, Rook, I don’t—you don’t need to apologize, it’s not...”

Joseph was saying something over their conversation, but he only caught snippets of it; the voices echoed and overlapped as the world swam, so it was easiest to be focused on quieting Elliot. As his hands went to her face, he thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from someone; he couldn’t have said who even if he thought he knew.

“Well, we can’t stand around,” said John, impatient and brisk. “Elliot’s going to get pneumonia again if we do.”

“Can’t have that,” Jacob rumbled amusedly. “Why don’t we let her and Burke play catch-up back at the compound?”

And then Jacob looked at Elliot—and Burke could tell, because her cries were quieting and she seemed to be trying to steel herself—and the redhead said, “I’m sure they have a lot to talk about.”

“I’ll take Elliot back to get cleaned up,” John insisted. “And then they can chat all they want.”

The brunette turned and looked at them. Burke could feel Elliot’s heartbeat, held this close, and for a moment he was violently reminded of the way that it had felt when he was a child, catching wild rabbits that had hidden beneath the brush around his home; their pulses had been frantic, hard and fast and almost violent, and now Elliot’s was—

John extended his hand. For all it mattered, Burke might as well have not existed at that moment; the man was only looking at Elliot, perhaps mentally willing away Burke’s existence. He said, perfectly composed with only a thin tenor of venom in his voice, “Come on, El.”

Burke felt before he saw the way Elliot went to take his hand, like instinct, like she didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

He didn’t like it. He especially didn’t like John so casually using a nickname with the rookie, like they were familiar; thinking back on it, Elliot had seemed less angry about being baptized and more angry at not getting pulled out sooner, and had said his name like they were familiar, and—

He tightened his hold on her. “No,” he ground out, biting the words through his teeth.

John’s eyes flickered up to his indignantly. That spark of anger, of fury, gave Burke a tiny bit of vindication. Serves you right, you fucking psycho, he thought viciously, even as the Bliss pumped through his system and made it feel like every thought was being dragged through molasses.

“You don’t want to start this with me,” John said, his voice pitching low and poisonous, “Cameron Burke.”

I know you, he was saying. I know your fucking name, and maybe that would have bothered Burke before but it didn’t, anymore. He’d fried bigger fish than fucking John Seed, that was for sure.

“Fuck. You,” Burke spat. “John Seed.”

“Stop,” Elliot said, her voice wobbling. “Stop, it’s—”

She pulled back just a little, still shivering, her gaze darting between them like she was trying to find the best way to say something; but then her eyes stayed on Burke, like the person she needed to break something to was him, and he felt his stomach lurch.

Not you too, he thought, faintly, somewhere in the back of his mind. Tell me they didn’t get you too.

“John,” Joseph said, having wandered over, “we have a lot that needs to be discussed. Perhaps Faith can take them back to one of the bunkhouses in the meantime?”

“I’d be happy to,” Faith said sweetly. Her voice sent a violent jolt of panic down his spine, and Burke swallowed thickly, his head snapping to the source of her voice. She looked exactly the same as she had before, when she—

“No complaints about that?” John asked venomously. Burke looked at Elliot, his brows furrowing for a moment before he took her hand. He wanted to say no; he wanted to say fuck no, no fuckin’ way I’m following that siren of yours anywhere, but each time his eyes darted to her, the words got caught up in his throat.

Elliot said firmly, “We’ll go with you, Faith,” and it took everything he had to not swallow back the sound of distress that tried to come out of him.

He was Cameron Fucking Burke, and the idea of being remotely close to alone with Faith Seed had words failing him, his feet bolted to the ground. But Burke couldn’t tell if it was more favorable to letting John wander off with Elliot, and in the end—at least this way, they would be together.

Whatever that meant.

“Fine,” John snapped out. With Elliot no longer tangled up in Burke’s protective embrace, Joseph took this opportunity and snagged Elliot’s hand, placing it over his heart.

Joseph did not look at Burke a single time when he said, his voice slick with a rich, warm timbre that Burke was sure had to be practiced, “You make a most beautiful child of Eden, Elliot.”

Elliot swallowed. Burke’s grip on her hand loosened, just for a moment, but when she threaded their fingers together for a little extra support he saw the way that her jaw was clenching and her lashes were fluttering. They hadn’t doused her in Bliss, he thought—if he could trust what he saw in the clarity of her eyes, anyway—which somehow made the allowance of Joseph’s hands on her all the worse.

When Joseph moved away, and said something lowly to Jacob, John closed what little distance remained and took Elliot’s face in his hands; Burke’s grip on her tightened, waiting for John to do something. Threaten her, grab her—anything to live up to the reputation he had so carefully and diligently created for himself.

He did not. John took Elliot’s face in his hands and he leaned in like a lover. There was a moment as he did that where Elliot’s chin tilted, taking her mouth just that much out of his reach.

And they were looking at each other, like that. Like it was a game. Like they had done it before; John, chasing her for a kiss, just like this, because then the man grinned half-wicked and kissed her.

No fucking way, Burke thought, and waited—waited for the kickback, for Elliot to bite him, anything.

It didn’t come. His stomach sank. Not you too, Rook.

“I’ll come find you,” John said into her mouth, “when I’m done.”

It should have been a threat, coming out of his mouth—John Seed didn’t say shit like that without it being a threat—but after he said it, he leaned in and kissed Elliot again; longer this time, his hands only dragging from her face when it was time to step back.

John’s eyes fixed on Burke as he pulled away. Fucker, he thought with no absence of poison. You fucker, you got your fucking fangs in her, you and your fucking psycho siblings, and—

There was little time to think about it, around his anger. Elliot’s fingers stayed laced with his, and as Faith moved back up the slope to the compound and they trailed behind obediently, Burke could feel the eyes of the Seed brothers on him. Lingering. Watching. Calculating.

Faith looked back at him over her shoulder and flashed a smile that felt more wolfish than it should have for a girl in a white dress. It made his spine crawl. She took Elliot’s free hand, interlacing their fingers and bringing Elliot’s hand up to her cheek lovingly, her lashes fluttering.

“I didn’t know you and Elliot were that close, Mr. Burke,” she said, her words sugared and echoing in ripples around him.

Burke swallowed thickly. “She’s a good kid,” he managed out hoarsely, lamely, because the second he thought about telling Faith to go fucking die he felt his chest tighten. God, how long had he spent in that nightmare with her? It couldn’t have been longer than a week, maybe—but after she’d left? How many days had passed that he’d been trying to survive off of creek water and whatever food he could find in empty houses speckled across the Montana countryside?

Faith laughed. They were like a little daisy-chain, the three of them, speckling the early morning woods until they came out into the compound—and then there were eyes on them. Less than Burke remembered. Where had the rest of them gone?

“Well, that’s certainly right,” Faith continued, turning to face them and walking backwards as they slipped under the intricate white trellis caging the majority of the yard.

She stopped walking; Burke would have nearly ran her over if he hadn’t been paying so much attention to how close she was to him. With deliberate honeyed timbre, Faith murmured, “We love her around these parts,” and planted a chaste kiss on Elliot’s fingers, tangled with her own. “Just ask John.”

“We’re here,” Elliot said, a little too quickly to be casual, to be normal, and Faith shot her a sly look before she turned around and opened the door to the bunkhouse. Inside, it was mostly bare; as they walked in, Elliot released both of their hands, and Burke could see a duffel bag unzipped and laying open on the nearby tiny table, filled with a few books and clothes.

Like she was planning on staying, he thought tiredly, at least for a little while.

“Play nice, you two,” Faith said from the doorway.

The door clicked shut. They were left in silence for a moment, Elliot gathering up some of her things and putting them back into the duffel bag—like she was trying to tidy up her home for an unexpected guest. The idea of it made Burke’s stomach wrench.

“Hey, you don’t—” He started.

“—’m sorry, it’s—”

They both stopped. Burke rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling through his mouth.

“Let’s,” he tried again, “start from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured, swallowing thickly. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Great.” Burke pulled the chair out from the table and sat down; the world sighed in relief around him when he did, woozy and dreamy and green—all green, except for Elliot, in that blue fucking dress.

“Go on, then.”

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“What the fuck was that?!”

John could feel it—he could feel the strain, the anger, bubbling high in his voice, pulling tightightight until he thought it might snap. The second the three of them got into the chapel, Jacob sauntered toward the front as though nothing had occurred at all, as if it were business as normal.

“John,” Joseph cautioned, his voice pensive.

“No, I’m really curious,” John seethed, soaking wet and freezing, “why it is our brother felt the need to bring the U.S. Marshal back alive.”

“‘I’ve got it under control’,” the redhead intoned, his voice coming out flat and biting, “isn’t that what you said, Johnny?”

John stared at his eldest brother. There was just a shred of his self-control left—just one tiny shred, and the only reason he still had it was because the look on Burke’s stupid fucking face when he’d kissed Elliot was singularly propelling him along.

This was bad. It was bad, because Elliot was still in a fragile state of being: she was still thinking about things rather than just doing what felt good and right, and that was the most troublesome fucking thing about her—that those gears were always turning, always rattling around, even when he managed to make them go the other way for a moment.

He didn’t want her gears shut off. He wanted them working for him.

“I’m—” John sucked in a sharp breath. “Burke was supposed to be dead. This is an unprecedented—”

“If everything’s under control, then why the fuck is Burke being alive a problem?” Jacob replied sharply. “I’m thinking about the long game, John. I’m thinking about sending you to live underground in a fucking bunker with her and some of our people. But mostly—” His voice came out between gritted teeth. “—I’m thinking about us. You know, our family? You’ve been acting like a loose-fucking-cannon this whole Goddamn time, and if one person Elliot’s known for a handful of days is going to derail your entire operation, maybe you don’t have everything under control.”

Fuck you, John thought viciously, but the words wouldn’t come; they stayed strangled in his throat, because a part of him said maybe Jacob was right, and maybe that meant that things weren’t going to go as well as he planned.

He pushed the thoughts from his head just in time for Joseph to say, “I do find this troubling.”

John took in another short, sharp breath. “It’s not a problem,” he insisted, feeling more than a little frantic. “It’s not. You just—you don’t see what it’s like when—”

“John,” Joseph said, sounding almost tired now, “she looked right at you and chose Burke instead.”

“She didn’t! She didn’t choose Burke, she just—she just—” He swallowed thickly. “She wants me to reveal her sin. Why would she do that if she didn’t want to be with me? With us? She wouldn’t just say that, and—and maybe seeing Burke again made her feel something different, but it’s like you said, Joseph, she’s strangling the person she used to be and that’s—”

“She’s becoming,” his older brother articulated, “more trouble than she’s worth.”

“And might even be a bigger problem,” Jacob added, “isn’t that right, John?”

John’s mouth twisted as he tried to figure out what exactly it was Jacob was alluding to. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you’re not using protection when you’re fucking her, are you?” the redhead snapped, and Joseph sighed—a long, suffering sound. John didn’t want to feel shame, but when Joseph tilted his head to the gray morning light filtering through the chapel’s window as though for a respite from this conversation, he did.

Jacob plunged on, “And since you felt the need to kick your fucking window open the other night, I got a real good idea of how much self-control you actually have when it comes to preventing problems.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re practically begging for a mishap.”

No, he thought furiously, pushing the memory of Elliot gripping his jaw and telling him to beg for it out of his head, no, this is not how this fucking goes. This is not how this goes at all.

“I’m finishing Elliot’s baptism,” he bit out. “She’s mine—”

His brain halted and stuttered on the words, and when his brothers looked at him, he amended, “My wife, and she’ll join us. She will. She almost already has. I have it under. Control.”

For a moment, silence reigned supreme. Finally, Joseph said, “We are out of time, John.”

“We’re not, we planned for at least another week of reaping.”

“That was for emergencies only,” Jacob bit out. “What, you want to fucking push the end of the world?”

“One week,” Joseph interjected. “You have one week. I want our deputy’s sin revealed, I want her converted, I want her under control.” His voice was hard now, flinty and unforgiving, when he looked at John. “If she is not, John—”

“She will be.”

“If she isn’t,” he continued, his mouth twisting, “you understand the consequences.”

The Gates of Eden will be closed to you.

John swallowed thickly. “Yes, Joseph.”

Joseph looked at him for a long moment—a moment of suffering, of John waiting for something, anything that would indicate where the conversation was going to go. Blessedly, Jacob remained silent too, and another set of agonizing heartbeats passed before Joseph spoke again.

“We will be collecting the last of the supplies from Fall’s End and anything within quick reach,” he said, looking down at the map on the table and adjusting it. “You have until then, John.”

He opened his mouth to say something, his mind scrambling; I will, Joseph, I can do this, I know I can, but his older brother lifted his hands to stop him.

“We’re done here,” Joseph said. “Leave us, John.” And then, almost as though to soften the blow of his words: “You’re going to catch ill if you stay in those wet clothes.”

John swallowed thickly. He looked at Jacob for a moment; his words were still ringing in his head. I’m thinking about us. You know, our family?

“Yes, Joseph,” he managed out after a moment, turning and heading toward the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing lonely and cold in the mostly-empty chapel.

I am too, he thought. I’m thinking about us too.

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Burke’s head was in his hands.

He was disappointed.

All things considered, Elliot thought that maybe this was the best way this conversation could have gone. After all, Burke wasn’t her father; he was just a man, a U.S. Marshal, and at one point in time he’d talked her through a firefight with a bunch of cultists and then she thought she’d died but she hadn’t. That didn’t make it any different from telling any other person about this, right?

But that was wrong. It was different. Because Burke had looked at her file—he saw her restraining order, her psych eval—and the only thing he’d said to her was he was glad she was around and she’d kicked ass at the Academy. It was the first time she’d ever felt anything close to regular with someone who wasn’t Joey Hudson. Even Whitehorse hadn’t stopped looking at her like she was a loaded fucking gun.

“So what now?” she asked after a moment, shifting on her feet. She’d rushed through changing into dry clothes in the bathroom and came back out to tell him everything—about the other cult, about Joey. About John, too.

She’d skipped over that part as much as she could. Now that she thought about it, she’d had to muck painfully through a lot of things she had been trying to tell Burke.

“You see, don’t you?” Burke asked, lifting his head from his hands. “You see that they’re fuckin’ with you, right?”

Elliot sat down on the floor, her back pressed up against the bunk. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment, and he groaned.

“Rook.”

“I mean it, Burke,” she protested, her chest tightening at the pure, unadulterated exasperation in his voice. “It’s—if you saw the way Joseph talks to him, and... The things he said to me—”

“You mean the things that the cult lawyer said to you?” Burke asked. “You’re smart, Rookie. Too smart to fall for this shit.”

Elliot’s stomach wrenched violently at his words. “Well—” She started, her voice hitching. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Burke, I—I tried, you know, I did it fucking by myself for this whole time, alone, and then they took Joey from me and I—” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her brain felt like it was rattling around in her skull, pain pounding behind her eyes; the most unforgivable crime had been committed, that of letting down one of the only people who looked at her like she was normal, and she had been the one to commit it.

“Rook.”

“I—” She felt her lashes flutter, her heart stuttering against her ribs in a painful mockery of what her heartbeat should have been. “I f-fucking—I f—”

Cameron said, gentler, “Elliot.”

“I f-fucking tried,” she told him vehemently around the wobble, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, I’m just a girl, I’m just a girl, this wasn’t supposed to be my life. How was she supposed to say to Burke that sometimes, she felt like she was a passenger to herself—sometimes, the world felt like it was splitting in half and more than once John Seed had taken her face in his hands and put her back together, let her dig her nails and teeth into him to feel real? How was she supposed to tell him and make him understand?

All of those times, and the way John had said, I want a home with you, and the way he said, I’m yours, and—

“I know,” Burke said, his voice quieter now. “I know, kid, I—”

But she shook her head, because he didn’t know, not really. “I tried, even though I was alone, and now I’m—now you’re here, but I’m... I’m t-this and I don’t have anything left and John, he—h—h—”

He swallowed, coming down off of the chair to sit next to her. Burke’s hands found one of hers, still cold and chilly from the river and maybe from something else and brought it to his neck. She could feel his heartbeat there; just like before, it was fast, but steady as his body burned through the Bliss he’d been exposed to.

“How long’s it been?” he asked. “Since we tried arresting that psycho.”

“I don’t know,” Elliot managed out, having mimicked Burke’s breathing patterns already, without thinking very hard about it. “Two weeks? The—season changed—”

“Yeah. Leaves falling. Maybe two, probably closer to three,” Burke murmured, sighing and rubbing his face with his free hand. “Fuck. This whole thing’s gone to shit. My guys—they should be swinging in here any minute now.”

“Your—guys?” she asked.

“Yeah. You know, the government?” Burke looked at her for a moment. “What, you think they just send a guy in and he fucks off for three weeks and no one asks what’s up?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Elliot replied uncertainly. Of course the government was going to come and figure out what happened. They’d sent a U.S. Marshal to arrest a man leading a cult. Why wouldn’t they try and check in and see what was going on when he failed to show up? “Jerome always said that—it was just up to us now.”

Burke tsked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s his—that's a small-town militia, you know. And in his defense, shit was pretty fucked up. No phone lines? No signals? Feels apocalyptic.”

“Yeah,” Elliot whispered, remembering Dutch’s words, “yeah, it does.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, finally letting her hand go but not moving from their close proximity, like maybe he was afraid she was going to teeter off the edge again at any moment. She didn’t like that feeling. She didn’t like thinking maybe Burke was starting to be afraid of her, the way that Whitehorse had been afraid of her.

“We gotta play it normal,” Burke said after a moment, rubbing his face with one hand. “You and me both, kid. You sounded like you had a plan, before?”

She nodded after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was going to go through with the whole… Baptism, or whatever, and then try and get to this radio they have in the chapel,” she explained. “John’s been—I told him I want to leave, but I didn’t tell him that I planned on trying to get in touch with someone.”

The older man watched her, his dark eyes quiet. Finally, he nodded. “That’s good. You stay not telling him, got it?”

“Okay,” she said, and there was a wash of relief that flooded her. It reminded her that she wasn’t, by any means, someone who wanted to be in a leadership position—she didn’t like making executive decisions. The only reason she’d made it this far was because she’d been making executive decisions for bare-minimum survival. The idea of getting to the radio had only just been rooted in her brain, the ticking of the channels scanning the only noise that had been in the chapel the last time she and Joseph had been alone.

When John had left them alone, because Joseph had told him to.

I want a home with you.

But she wasn’t sure that John did—not in the way that he was letting her think. It was easy to think all of these things when it was just her and all she had to rely on was her own murky brain, but what about now? What about now that she had to look at Burke and explain how she’d caved a man’s skull in with an empty gun?

Joseph was right. There was no life for her, not really, not after this; not after everything she had done. But that didn’t mean she had to let him get off free, either.

“Play it normal,” Burke said again, lower this time. “Whatever you have to do to keep them focused on you, but not suspicious of you. Don’t bother with the radio—I’ll figure something out. Sounds like it might be a military kinda radio, could have better luck if I try to get in there and see if anyone’s even in the area.”

“And what about—” Elliot paused. When the dark-haired man waited expectantly, she took in a little breath and said, “What about John?”

Burke stared at her for a moment, working his jaw before he exhaled sharply, letting his head loll a little. He clearly didn’t enjoy what he was going to say next, and Elliot worked her fingers against her palm absently, worrying the muscle there.

“Not making any promises. That man’s got a rap sheet about three times longer than whatever you’re convinced you’ve done,” he said finally. “But if he cuts a deal—agrees to testify against his brothers and Faith, no holds-barred, maybe there’ll be a lighter sentencing in there. Not a non-existent one. Just a lighter one. I don’t fuckin’ know, I’m not a lawyer and I’m not gonna put my ass on the line for that fuckhead.”

She nodded. It just confirmed for her what she had been afraid was already true—that maybe it had been over-ambitious to think she and John could just up and leave. At least, now that she knew that someone was coming to clean up this mess.

Regardless, it felt good to talk to someone who wasn’t a Seed—and it made her painfully aware of how much she missed Joey, a deep and bottomless grief that kept swallowing her up over and over. Just like that, it felt like the scales had fallen from her eyes. Like Saul.

“You should probably try to avoid talking to me,” he continued after a moment. “Make up something about how—I’m a big asshole, or something.”

“So tell the truth,” Elliot ventured, a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Burke rolled his eyes and nudged her with his foot.

“You always been this mouthy?” he asked, taking a swig from the water bottle she’d given to him to try and help his sobering gentle up a little.

She said, “Only with people I like.”

“Cute.”

A moment of quiet silence passed, comfortable and easy, before Burke reached over and gripped her shoulder with his gloved hand. She looked at him, and for a second, something crumpled in his expression.

“Elliot,” he said, his voice lower, “I’m sorry. For all of this—fuckin’ garbage you’ve had to do.”

She blinked at him, feeling a warm, fresh feeling expand and grow in her chest. It was sadness, she realized too late, the tears already starting to burn in her eyes; sadness, and a little bit of relief, because she couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and said they were sorry she had suffered.

“It’s fine,” she said automatically, without thinking, because it was—she was here, and breathing, and fine, so that meant it was fine, right?

Burke shook his head and said, more firmly, “I never wanted to leave you alone, kid. I mean it. And I’m not gonna let that happen again, okay? You and me, we’re a team.”

Elliot swallowed back a hiccuping little cry and nodded her head, passing a hand over her eyes just once so that she could gather herself and push the tears back. Burke hauled her in and gave her a firm, one-armed squeeze.

“Said we’re gonna get the fuck out of here,” he said into her hair. “And I fuckin’ meant it.”

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When John returned to the bunkhouse—the one that had become his base of operations, not Elliot’s—she was there.

“I’m surprised,” were the first words that came out of his mouth, before his brain even had time to register in what order the sensory details were coming into his brain. First that she was there at all, without Burke, giving him a pleasant little thrill; second, that she seemed to have shucked a sweater and jeans in favor of sporting only his shirt, loosely buttoned up just far enough to cover her but not all the way to the top; third, that she was tucked up in the bed like that was where she was supposed to be always.

And it was where she was supposed to be, always. Where he could have her.

Elliot’s eyes flickered up from the book she’d been reading. He tried to catch the title of it, but she dog-eared the page and tossed it onto the floor face down before he could.

“About?” she prompted. He let the door swing shut behind him and moved to the bed, stepping out of his shoes before making his way to the dresser so he could get out of his wet clothes.

“Well,” John said casually, trying not to let the words sting on their way out, “I thought you’d still be with Burke. You know. Visiting.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. He still hadn’t shaken the irritation at hearing Burke tell him no—like he had any idea what kind of person Elliot was, like he had some kind of claim on her. It had taken everything in him not to blurt out that Elliot was his wife, his girl, his—

“We did,” Elliot replied. Her eyes were on him as he changed and then doubled-back across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. She snagged his hand as it slid up her bare thigh and brought it to the juncture between her neck and shoulder; his thumb swept along the front of her throat. “Visit, I mean.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

John hummed, low and non-committal, before he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her neck. She sighed; he dragged his lips downward, tracing over each bruise there from Kian’s hands; things he had memorized, that he thought he could tell Elliot liked, because her breath hitched in her lungs when he did. Maybe it felt like he was erasing Kian from her, or maybe she just liked the sting.

“I can’t imagine Burke’s very thrilled with our...” His words trailed off. “...Recently-developed relationship.”

“You’re right. He’s not,” she said, and she nudged him back so that he was sitting upright and she could swing herself onto his lap. This close, with her arms draped over his shoulders, John could smell the faded scent of his cologne on her; his hands slid up beneath the hem of the shirt to splay against the dips of her spine, and he nuzzled the hollow of her throat. “He’s—protective, that’s all.”

“So what did you talk about tonight?” he asked. He pressed his mouth to the spot just below her ear that made her squirm in his lap. “You and daddy Burke.”

Elliot guided his face to hers and kissed him; but it was an unkind kiss, and she dragged her teeth against his lower lip until John made a low noise at the punishing pace of the kiss, and she said, “Do not call him ‘daddy Burke’, John.”

“Fine,” he defended against her mouth, “I won’t, I’m just curious as to the nature of your conversation. And your relationship.”

“Yeah? Okay, I told him that I let you fuck me filthy in a variety of places, sometimes covered in another man’s blood,” Elliot snipped. “What do you think I said?”

“It’d be pretty good if you said that.”

When her mouth left his, he made a small sound of complaint; she trailed her lips down his throat, and she smoothed her hands along the bare skin of his chest, fingers dipping and running along the curves of his scars, tracing the shape of the tattoos that he knew were there. She didn’t need to look at them to know their shape now.

“El,” he murmured when she nudged him back until he was laying on the bed and she could trace the lines of his Sloth scar with her mouth. The second he felt her tongue flickering against his skin, he felt a bloom of heat spread through him. “El, I want to talk about—”

“So talk,” Elliot replied, and then she kissed a spot on his chest reverently. “If you want. I want to enjoy you.”

John exhaled sharply out of his mouth. He’d never gotten to indulge a more wanton Elliot—their moments had always been heated, slipping through his fingers, faster than he would have liked and more brutal than he would have thought—but this was different. She was in his shirt, and she smelled like him, and her breath fanned hot against his skin and she was touching him like he was—

Something good. Something holy.

“Are you distracting me?” John managed out, just as Elliot settled back on his lap, and fuck that was so unfair, watching the shoulder of his shirt slouch off of her, too big and a little loose from being worn, just as she pressed herself against him. “So that you don’t have to—t-to—”

“To?” Elliot replied. “Talk about Burke? I told you, I want us to have—” She paused, lashes fluttering for a moment, and then rested her chin there on his chest. “I don’t plan on going through the system and the paperwork after this. Not after everything I’ve…”

John sat up a little, looking at her. The blonde moved seamlessly with him—no clunking movements, no awkward tangle of their limbs; when her attention was fully on him and nothing else, it felt like they had been made for each other, like they had always been each other’s fate.

“What if—” He stopped, watching her. “What if we didn’t do…Any of that?”

Elliot regarded him for a moment, a little tense. “What do you mean?”

“What if we stayed,” John ventured, “here?”

She blinked. Sat on his lap, wearing his shirt, her cheeks warm and her eyes bright and clear, John might have had more apprehension about saying the words out loud. But this time, it wasn’t like he was coming clean about a lie—it was more like… Shifting plans. Just a little. Just testing the waters, that was all.

“So what if we did?” Elliot said at last, watching him.

“We could just stay,” he murmured, taking her face in his hands. “You and me. We could just stay, the two of us, and—”

“Stay with your brothers,” Elliot clarified, “one of which is a cult leader.”

“Well—”

“And the other being a Darwinian elitist who admitted, out loud, he wanted to kill me ‘more than anything’.”

“That’s just Jacob,” John relented.

“This is not what we talked about,” Elliot said, her brows furrowing. “We did not discuss staying here with your—psychotic brothers—”

He felt the way her voice pitched up, felt it high in her throat, like a panic; her little rabbit heart fluttering hard and fast, and he leaned in and kissed her, felt the dig of her nails in his arms where she gripped him.

She said, “John,” into his mouth, a warning; one single warning, and that was all he was going to get, his little rattlesnake. He knew her well-enough by now.

“You and I both know that there isn’t a normal life waiting for us,” he said urgently, against her lips. “We both know that. I know that you don’t want to sit down in a bunker—”

“Stop—”

“—but regardless of what you think of my family, they understand you, Elliot—”

The blonde shook her head, her nose brushing his as she did so. “No. Fuck that, John. Fuck that, and fuck you for—”

“For what?” he demanded, pulling back to look at her. “Wanting to be around people who get it? You’ve killed a hundred people—maybe more, fuck if I know. I see the way you get. I’ve been there, and you know I have, and we can have that safety. We can have a place to belong, Elliot.”

She slid out of his lap. Her fingers carded through her hair; she looked like she was trying to parse through something, pinning out the wings of a butterfly that she couldn’t quite get a grasp on. Come on, he thought, come on, Elliot, come on, you’re mine and you know it.

Elliot turned to look at him. She looked emotional—her nose and cheeks were pinker, her bottom lashes dotted with unshed tears. It pleased him a little, to see her like this; before, she’d worked so very hard to make sure he never did.

“No,” she said, standing in his shirt, one arm across her chest and the other propped on it while she dug her thumb nail into her lip. “No, I’m not fucking doing it, John. I’m not getting in a bunker with your fucking peggies—”

He sighed, passing a hand over his face. “Elliot—”

“—and I’m sure as fuck,” she bit out, “not asking Joseph to take me in. Fuck. That.”

“You are impossible,” John ground out.

“I am literally the most flexible person!” Elliot exclaimed, her voice bordering on hysteria; there, something in him said, there’s the switch, there’s the flip, all that venom she’d been holding onto. “There’s nobody more go-with-the-fucking-flow than me, John Seed. Oh, a second cult takes over my hometown? Cool, I’ll evacuate everyone. Oh, they have my best friend captive? The one that you were supposed to be taking care of? Whatevs, it’s super fucking cool, she’s fucking dead and my family’s gone and everyone I’ve ever known is fucking gone, might as well be dead, and I can’t fucking go see them. I can’t, because I’m fucking—”

She sucked in a breath, dragging her hands through her hair. “I’m fucking covered,” she seethed, “in blood, I will never be normal again, and none of this would have fucking—”

“Elliot,” John started, coming to a stand, because he didn’t want her to say it; he didn’t want her to say none of this would have happened if it weren’t for you, but he felt it, right there, sitting between them. “Hellcat, come here.”

“No.” Her voice broke. “No, I’m so fucking tired of coming to you, John.”

“Then I’ll come to you,” he insisted. Maybe it was a little dirty—maybe he was thinking, this is perfect, I need her just like this, raw and desperate and turbulent, and when he crossed the small space between them and reached for her she didn’t shy away from him; just turned her face and fixed her eyes on the wall. “Joseph gave me everything,” he said urgently, pressing their foreheads together. “In a way—he even brought you to me. I don’t want to stay here forever. So what if the world doesn’t end? Then we get out of the bunker and we go wherever we want to go.”

“This is fucking insane,” Elliot said, her voice wrecked. She sounded so tired. “That you’re even asking me to—”

“I’m asking,” John clarified, “for you to be realistic. About the things that you’ve done. That I’ve done. At least—” He turned her face to look at him, and he thought, come on, you little viper, come on. So fucking close, we’re so close. “—tell me you’ll think about it.”

She watched him and sucked her teeth. He could hear the draconian gears in her head turning—churning, grinding, and hopefully for his benefit.

Elliot said, “How long do I have to think about it?”

“A week,” he replied earnestly. “I can’t reveal your sin until these bruises clear up a little, anyway.” He reached up, skimming his fingers along the wine-colored bruises dappling her skin. Her lashes, soft and damp, fluttered; she worked something in her jaw, molars grinding as she stared at him, like she couldn’t figure out what it was she wanted to say to him.

Finally, she said, “I don’t like feeling like this was what you wanted all along.”

“I meant it when I said I wanted a home with you,” John replied, and it wasn’t a lie.

“If I tell you I want to go,” she began, “then what?”

That won’t happen. “Then we go,” he murmured. “You and me.”

Elliot nodded once. Her mouth twisted, like she wanted to say something else, but when John leaned in to kiss her, her expression relaxed a little; he felt it like a sigh, his fingers knotting into the hair at the base of her skull.

“I’ll tell you,” she said into the kiss, “what I decide. When I decide.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I told you, Elliot—"

"I know." This close, their foreheads pressed together, he could feel her lips brushing his with each word.

"Anything I want."

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fic: ancient names #my writing #john seed x female deputy #I HATE IT HEREEEEE #i'm not emotional don't @ me #john seed x original female character #far cry 5 fic #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #alternative title to this chapter is elliot has a meltdown all the time #let her rest!!!

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sengoku-revolution · 4 years

Text

Frozen Waters [Shingen/OC]

Author: Terra Series: Ikemen Sengoku Pairing: Shingen Takeda/Original Female Character Length: 6,308 words Rating: Explicit Tags: emotional sex, character study, Shingen’s POV Brief summary: A an unexpected event forces Shingen and Terra to trust each other. Warnings: explicit sex, tense situations, potential for loss of life Cross-posted to ao3 Here

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Its winter in the province of Kai, and for the first time in a long while there was a significant amount of snow on the ground. Terra was so thrilled by the recent snowfall that she hadn’t stopped smiling once. Her boundless energy seemed to be vibrating out of her core as she walked with more of a bounce in her step everywhere she went. Shingen found her good mood contagious. He really couldn’t help it. He didn’t think he’d seen her so positively enamored with her surroundings until now, with rosy cheeks and eyes glittering like stars in the night sky.

He’d been working a lot lately, making sure that the right goods were coming into his territories and the people were doing ok. Terra had been of great help; organizing his papers and listening when he’d needed someone to talk to or get a new perspective from. She’d work close by on her own projects. As a biologist, Shingen noted that she had a very observant nature to her as she made notes on the nature and wildlife of Kai. On more than one occasion he’d asked a few questions just to get her to endlessly talk about the things she’d studied in her time, and what had most recently fascinated her here 500 years in the past.

Shingen knew that most of all Terra loved the sea, as she would most frequently talk about her experiences and how captivated she was on all her scientific work she’d done in the future. Terra called herself a marine biologist, someone who studies the oceans and its creatures. It felt like a dream every time she’d talk about diving, and all the places she’d travelled to. She never complained about being so far away from the ocean, but still, Shingen often made a note to himself to bring her back to the coast once summer came. Even though her heart belonged to the seas, she seemed happy enough to document her findings of Kai’s wildlife all the same. Shingen knew that if he ever couldn’t find her in the castle, she was likely out walking the forests nearby or down by the river. He found her sense of adventure to be just inspiring.

Shingen looked up from his scrolls to gaze at his love as she diligently worked on her own manuscripts. She had opened the door to their shared study to let in just the smallest amount of cool air. She sat close by, strangely enjoying the cold. Shingen wondered if in the future she came from people didn’t have to worry about warmth in these cold months. She seemed to gravitate to it in a way that was alien to this time. In fact, more often than naught she’d be out and about in the cold as though it was an afterthought. She’d spoken once of something called skiing, when people would actively go out into the cold to slide down mountains on planks attached to their feet. It perplexed Shingen, trying to picture it and how Terra liked to talk about just how fast she’d fly down the slopes. Clearly his love was a bit of a daredevil.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked her.

She perked up right away, turning her sparkling eyes on him. Terra was positively thrilled already from the suggestion.

“Can we? I’d like to go down to the river. I wonder if it’s frozen.”

Terra picked herself up from the floor and went to grab his haori before draping it over his shoulders.

“But dress warm, it’s the afternoon and it’ll be getting dark soon.” She warned him with a peck on his cheek.

Shingen caught her hand, and pulled her back for a more proper kiss.

Still holding her close he said, “All I need is my angel’s warmth.”

Terra’s blush was expected, but all the more adorable as she got flustered and couldn’t think of an immediate reply. Instead she just kissed him again, and then pulled his haori up over his head. Shingen started to laugh at her antics.

“I’ll go get ready, be back in five. I’m not kidding Shingen, dress warm.” Terra warned sternly.

Shingen only caught a glance of her long brown hair as she left their shared study. He chuckled to himself, but then got up to get ready. He found his heavier haori and tabi, dressing himself securely before leaving to join Terra. She was right after all; he did tend to get cold easily. His prior illnesses had left him more cautious in the winter months to prevent any potential for relapse.

Terra met him as he exited their study. He noted that she hadn’t dressed much different than she usually did in the winter. Terra wore a dark blue kimono with a simple pattern. In her hands she carried a scarf and gloves. When she stopped in front of him, he leveled a knowing look at her.

“Shut up.” she said with a smirk, before wrapping the scarf around his neck. “You get cold so easily. Just wear it.”

He chuckled, letting her do as she pleased. His love was very attentive, and he’d let her dote on him all she wanted.

“My dear,” He chuckled again as she handed him the gloves she’d been holding. “Your blood must run with fire as you never seem to get cold.”

“I find the cold refreshing.” Terra answered simply with her own little laugh. “I’ll be fine, once we start walking I’ll warm up quick. The clothing in this time is a lot thicker with more layers than what I used to wear.”

Shingen smirked.

“Get that smirk off your face. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“All I was going to say is that if my Goddess gets cold, she can simply come into my arms.”

“Chances are you’ll be the one asking to get warmed up by me at the end of this.”

“Is that an offer? I’ll take you up on that once we return. I have a few ideas in mind. However they all start right-” He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “here.”

Terra couldn’t stop her slight smile, even though she tried to. But then she crinkled her nose at him and reached for his hand before pulling him along. “One track mind. Let’s go you big dork.”

They walked hand-in-hand through the castle and out into the surrounding town. The market was still lively despite the cold temperature. The people bustled along, and it was lively enough that Shingen was proud his people were surviving well this winter. The trading between Tsutsujigasaki and Azuchi had been of great success, regardless of Shingen’s lingering aversion to Nobunaga and his supporting cast of vassals and warlords. He could at least appreciate that Terra’s friendship with the Azuchi warlords and Maru brought prosperity to his people. Sometimes he couldn’t help but think how his life had turned around from meeting her was beyond anything he’d ever thought possible. He wouldn’t be here without her.

“What are you smiling about?” Terra asked him. He hadn’t realized she was watching him.

“Just thinking about my Goddess.”

She shook her head as though exasperated, but snuggled up a little closer to his arm as they continued their walk. Having her warmth close by was certainly welcome. Shingen held her tighter too.

It wasn’t long before they reached the bridge crossing the river. Ice covered about halfway across from the forested side of the river, before thinning into dark flowing water. The water looked almost black to Shingen as the strong current carried it under the bridge. Snow was beginning to fall again, and he knew that with the setting sun, it would bring much colder temperatures.

Shingen was jolted out of his musings when Terra suddenly gasped.

“There’s a kid out on the ice!”

He followed her line of sight, and sure enough there was a young child walking out onto the ice down by the shore. The ice would be too thin even for a child; it would break under their weight.

Terra was out of his arms before he could do anything. She’d started to run across the bridge, calling out to the kid to stop where they were. Shingen took off after her, only catching up when they were both on the shore, and the child was at least 20m away, standing out on the ice near the center of the frozen river. Shingen felt his heart clench as he heard the ice groan under the child’s weight.

“My baby!” a woman screamed from further behind them. She too came running to the shore, tears in her eyes, worried and unsure what to do.

That’s when the ice cracked, and the child wobbled before falling through. The young boy desperately started to scream as he grasped out for the ice to hold on and pull himself up.

Shingen was ready to throw off his haori when Terra caught his hands.

“Uh-uh. Not you. I’m going out there.” She started to undress herself from the kimono. “I got this.”

He felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as he imagined Terra out there on the ice. His blood ran cold at the thought.

“Terra- No!” he tried to protest, reaching to tie her obi back on.

She smacked his hands away and continued to undress.

“No, you listen!” She pleaded, her eyes alight with determination and resolve. “I’m lighter than you, I’m a stronger swimmer, and you have a history with pneumonia. I will not let you go out there! I got this!”

Terra was down to her underclothes before he could stop her, standing on the shore of the freezing river. Shingen was about ready to protest again.

“No, Terra, listen, it’s too dangerous!” he argued, reaching out and grasping her by her shoulders. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. “I’m not letting you go out there! I don’t care, I can handle this.”

“We don’t have time to discuss this.” She met his gaze head-on unrelenting, and Shingen could see how sure she was. “I’m going out there. Shingen, I’ll be right back. And I’ll need you when I do come back, okay?”

The child was still screaming, and his mother was now in hysterics trying to call out to him to hold on. Shingen had to make a decision, and he hated the conclusion he came to in those few seconds he could spare.

He had to trust her.

“Okay, go.” his blood felt ice cold as he said this. His mind still screamed at him, warning him that this could be a fatal mistake. “But, come back to me.”

“Always.” She squeezed his hand once more before stepping out onto the ice.

Shingen watched Terra gingerly step her way further and further out onto the ice and away from him. His heart was still beating so hard he could hear it in his ears as it rammed against his ribs. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he watched her go further and further away from him. He could hear the ice groaning under her added weight. Even though she tried her best to distribute her weight over a wider area, it really wasn’t a possibility as she tried to steadily walk towards the child. Terra was half-way to the child when the boy stopped thrashing and his head fell beneath the water.

Terra seemed to throw her caution away as she now walked faster towards the hole in the ice the child had fallen through. It was getting thinner and thinner, and soon the ice began to crack around Terra’s bare feet.

“Shingen!” She called back to him. “I’m going to go under the ice! I’ll get the kid and swim him to the other side of the river. Be ready when I get there!”

She didn’t give him a chance to protest as she rammed her heel into the ice beneath her. It let out a sickening crack that radiated out from her in splinters. When she did it a second time, she fell through. Shingen was sure his heart had stopped beating for the few seconds she was under before surfacing again. He watched as she took a deep breath and then went under again without looking back at him.

He didn’t think as he sprinted back away from the shoreline and the crying mother. His feet just carried him as he ran across the bridge and to the opposite side of the river to wait for Terra. The water flowed freely on this side along the shoreline. It still looked black and dark. He couldn’t see Terra or the child.

How long had she been under? Surely she would’ve surfaced by now?

It felt like it’d been too long. His heart still hammered at his chest. Shingen felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited, counting the seconds that passed. He was ready to throw off his jacket and clothes to dive into the frigid waters after her.

He counted to ten.

One.

Two.

Three.

He took off his haori and scarf.

Four.

Five.

Six.

He loosened his belt, ready to throw off his robes to dive in.

Seven.

Eight.

Terra broke the surface of the black water with a heavy gasp for air. She began to swim towards him, with the young boy in tow behind her. Her head of brown hair was barely visibly in the dark waters. Using all her strength against the fast current, she swam with powerful strokes through the freezing water. When she reached the shallows she picked the boy up, and ran splashing through the water to the shore. Her chest still heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

She laid the unconscious boy down on the shore, and began compressions. Her hands piled one on top of the other as she pushed into the boys’ chest and started to count to 30, before leaning down to blow two breaths into the child, and then starting again. Her long hair drenched with water ran over her back and stuck to her arms as she worked.

Terra began to shiver, with hands shaking as she worked to revive the child. Shingen laid his hoari over her shoulders, and began to rub her back through the fabric to warm her up. She kept working, putting all her remaining strength into the compressions.

Then suddenly the boy sputtered and began to choke up water. Terra rolled him onto his side, arranging his arm to support his head, and bending his leg to keep him secure on his side. He began to breathe normally again. His mother had joined them on the shoreline, throwing her jacket over him and firmly rubbing him through the fabric.

“Get him home.” Terra ordered the woman. “Get all his wet clothes off, and get him warm.”

“Thank you, miss. Thank you!” the woman cried, before going back to caring for her child.

Terra still hadn’t fully caught her breath. She seemed to take in short little breathes, nothing deep enough to expel the CO2 in her lungs. Her hands shook and she still shivered. Shingen wrapped her in his haori properly, and pulled her drenched form to his chest and helped her to stand. She still shook in his arms.

“We have to get you home now.” He said, bundling her up. “C’mere, you can’t run back to the castle. I’ll carry you back.”

Shingen steadied Terra before lifting her into his arms bridal-style. It was a testament to just how tiring the event had been because Terra didn’t protest at all as he held her close to his chest. She kept her arms close to her core, but turned her head to press her face into his neck. Her breathing hadn’t fully leveled out yet, at best guess Shingen thought this was because the cold water had somewhat put her into shock and stolen her breath away. The cold was limiting how deeply she could breathe, and he didn’t want her to pass out. It would be best to get her home and warm her up before this possibility could happen.

He ran them back to the castle as fast as he could. Ignoring the questioning looks of those he passed by. The sun was setting, and it was imperative that he get Terra indoors before the temperature dropped any further. By the time he reached the castle, he passed several maids who were beginning to turn in for the night. As he briskly walked through the halls he called to a few of them, asking them to get a fire started in his and Terra’s shared room and bring him some hot tea.

Once inside their room, Shingen lowered Terra to the ground so she could stand. Her teeth were chattering as she tried to talk to him.

“I-I need to get a-all the wet clothing off.” She stammered through, her hands were still shaking. And her fingers numbly tried to work at her clothing but she couldn’t get too far.

The maid had then just finished with the fire, and pulling the futon closer to it. She left quickly as another left the tea just inside the door, closing it behind her as she left the room. Now with their privacy, Shingen began to undress Terra. He tied up her long brown hair into a bun to get the wet hair off her back. Then he removed all her underclothes, leaving her naked and shivering in front of him. She wobbled on her feet before moving to the futon and climbing in under its covers close to the fire.

“Tell me what I can do to help.” He asked her, desperate to warm her up. Shingen realized then that his heart still hadn’t stopped hammering against his chest.

She’d curled up into a ball beneath the covers, but then extended a hand to him. “Sharing body heat helps. Take all your clothes off, and just hold me.”

Shingen undressed without hesitation, and slid under the covers naked as well. He pulled her close, cradling her head against his chest. Her skin felt like ice against him, and he couldn’t stop the shiver that worked its way through his body at her touch. Terra slid her leg over his hip, and grasped around him at his back holding herself against him. She let out a content sigh as she snuggled in close, burying her nose into his chest.

It was only now, in the safety of their room, lying with Terra in his arms in their shared futon did he allow himself to properly breathe for the first time since she’d made her way out onto the ice. The fire was steadily warming their room, and being so close to it, Shingen felt its heat against his face. Still though, Terra shivered in his arms. He could hear her actively trying to take deeper breaths, trying to calm herself after the surprising event she’d just gone through. It was only then that he allowed his mind to slow down, and go over everything that had just happened.

He’d been so scared.

He watched her walk across thin ice as it cracked around her. He’d been powerless to stop her as she fell through. Shingen didn’t realize it then, but he too began to shake as he held Terra firmly against his chest. He could see in his mind over and over again, the picture of his Love falling through the ice into frozen waters and then disappearing under into its depths. He should feel proud of her for saving a child’s life, but all he could feel was the heart wrenching dread of what could have been.

Terra could have died today.

Even having her in his arms almost didn’t feel like enough to really confirm she’d survived. As she shivered and adjusted herself closer to his warmth, Terra began to stroke his back as though he was the one needing comfort. His breathing began to hitch as the image of her taking a deep breath before plunging under the ice played over and over again in his mind. If she hadn’t made it back to him, if she hadn’t been able to swim against the current, if she hadn’t found the boy under the ice, if the cold water had been too much for her…

“Shingen?”

His thoughts came to a halt. He realized then that he’d started to cry, the wetness on his cheeks couldn’t hide it. His arms had gone rigid around her, holding her tightly against his chest with steel like strength. Slowly, Shingen worked to relax himself into her embrace. He realized then that she’d started to warm up again, and didn’t feel nearly as cold as before.

“I-I’m sorry, Love.” He barely whispered, but then leaned down to kiss her forehead more so to chase away his own thoughts.

Terra leaned back from his embrace to stare up at him, before brushing away his tears with fingers that were still far too cold. It felt like her frozen touch burned his skin worse than any flame. He reached up to catch her hand in his, and pull it down to his chest where the core of his heat was to warm her. Terra’s concerned gaze travelled over his face. Even in her state, she was looking out for him. It made his chest hurt and his eyes burn. What would he ever do without her? He couldn’t fathom the thought.

Her sharp brown eyes must’ve caught something in him, because before he realized it she’d shifted their positions so that she lay on top of him. Her legs straddled his hips, and her bare chest was pressed against his. Instinctively his hands landed on her hips, as she pushed herself forward to kiss him.

He gasped as her lips captured his. She pushed forward still to deepen the kiss as her cold hands came up to cup the sides of his face. Terra took control of the kiss, as if trying to physically remind him that she was right there in his arms. Insistently she tangled her tongue with his, biting down on his lip when she’d pull away, only to dive back in to steal his breath away. Shingen’s grip on her hips tightened as he held her firmly against him. Terra let out a little sigh of pleasure at his heavy touch. She knew she wasn’t going anywhere, so instead just surged forward with her kiss and with one cool hand raked her fingernails down over his chest.

“Terra!” he gasped out, feeling a warm flush of arousal through his body.

Terra’s lips left his, but trailed down and under his jaw. He moved his head to the side, allowing her to do as she wished. Her teeth grazed his throat before she kissed over his pulse and then back up to his ear.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She whispered only for him.

Shingen found himself choking up again, his breath hitching in his throat. He’d still been terrified and just thinking about it again was making him feel like his heart was breaking. Terra caught this as well, and kissed her way back to his lips.

“I’m going to be just fine. Shingen I’m not leaving you ever.” Terra said against his lips.

She stopped her kiss, sitting back onto his hips to gaze down into his eyes. In the firelight her brown eyes looked like honey and living fire. There was a strength to her he’d seen many times before, powerful like a tigress, she had him captivated completely. Her eyes glowed and the strength of her naked body was fully on display. In this moment he couldn’t take his eyes off her. His Goddess.

Terra reached behind her head and untied her hair, allowing the long brown tresses to stream down her back. Her hair was still wet, but from being tied up in a bun it fell in rings around her shoulders. She still felt cool to the touch as Shingen allowed his calloused hands to travel over her hips and down her thighs. Her cool hands landed on his waist, causing a shiver to run through his body. The room was steadily heating up, and a fire began to grow in Shingen’s body as well.

He sat up from the futon, now with Terra firmly seated in his naked lap and kissed her. Where her kiss had been steady and reassuring, his was desperate and hungry. He wanted all of her right in that moment. With one arm like a vice around her waist, keeping her tightly against him, the other tangled into her hair behind her head. He kissed her relentlessly. It didn’t take long before she’d started to squirm in his lap as she kissed him back moaning out her pleasure. Her own interest becoming plainly clear as she panted between kisses and her nails dug into his shoulders.

Shingen loosened his grip around her waist just enough for her to shift up and reach down to take him into her hand before slowly taking him into her body until she was seated over him again. He’d always get a thrill of pleasure run down his spine as he was enveloped in her wet heat. Her deep sigh was like hearing angels sing. His need for all of her was almost too much. Her hips bucked against his, sending shivers of pleasure throughout his body.

He broke his kiss with her, but continued along her jaw and neck before biting and sucking a mark into her neck. She leaned back in his embrace, and so he continued down her chest leaving his mark above her collarbone and another over her left breast. She shivered in his arms again, but Shingen noted that this time it likely wasn’t from the cold. Terra cupped his face in her hands and guided him back up to her lips.

“I love you.” She said softly, belying the intensity of her eyes holding his gaze.

Shingen’s fears started to crumble away. Terra didn’t feel cold anymore in his arms; only the coolness of her fingertips reminded him of snowflakes that would melt against his cheeks. He thought again in that moment of his Love’s strength. She’s never faltered or let him down in the past, always his equal and his support. Today had deeply frightened Shingen, but all the same it had confirmed to him that his trust in Terra is absolute. His hands that had been holding her hips now grazed up her back to her shoulder blades.

Terra smiled warmly down at him, “Still looking for those angel wings?”

“I’ll find them one day.” Shingen said with his own small smile.

Terra started to grind herself down onto his length, pulling sighs of pleasure out of him as he went back to kissing her neck. Her hands had found their way to his back, one gripping into his hair at the back of his neck and the other running over his shoulder. She began to rotate her hips, back and forth, in circles and bucking against him. Her moans of pleasure were enough to steal his thoughts away as he was still buried deep inside of her. And as the heat between them grew, Shingen’s need to make love to her was only getting stronger.

He shifted them then, and supported Terra’s back as he lowered her down onto the futon. Her hair splayed out behind her in waves. Her legs were spread for him with knees bent for his viewing pleasure in the firelight looking incredibly erotic in her nakedness. For all her confidence before, now she turned away from his gaze with a heavy blush. He leaned down then kissing his way over her neck, whispering his love for her and sweet nothings. Before long she was grasping at his back again, with her legs locked around his waist urging him on to continue.

He nearly pulled out from her then, before thrusting his length back into her body, eliciting from her a quiet moan of pleasure. His Love was never very loud, but as he made love to her in earnest she gradually let go of her control. Terra had her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he thrust into her. Their movements weren’t rushed or frantic, rather a constant deeply penetrating strength of his body into her as he used his strength to take her completely. The emotional connection they maintained seemed more powerful still. She allowed herself to be completely enveloped by him, clinging on as her nails raked down his back and seeking his kiss between gasps of pleasure.

Time seemed irrelevant as their passion grew and her cries for him became more demanding, with her back arching up and her legs still around his waist pulling him in deeper. Shingen felt about ready to lose his steady control as she quietly begged for her release with choked out gasps of Please Shingen, please! He reached down between them then to rub at her tender core. Terra gave out a strangled cry as her legs tightened around him and she started to tremble and shake beneath him.

The simmering but powerfully growing need between them was hitting its apex. Terra’s slowly building climax reached its peak as she cried out with her back bowed, riding out its force that took her in waves. Her grip on him tightened, with her legs keeping him buried inside of her as she rode out her orgasm. It didn’t take Shingen much more than a few thrusts to follow her over the edge. Just watching her fall apart beneath him was enough to pull him over with her. Terra’s legs kept him tightly bound to her, not allowing him to pull away in the slightest.

His release hit him hard, his hips stuttering as he let out a deep groan as he came inside of her. Shudders wracked his body as he spent himself, and his arms suddenly felt weak as he still held himself above her. Terra pulled him down to her then, tenderly cradling his head against her chest where he heard her still rapidly beating heart. For several moments they just enjoyed the afterglow of their lovemaking, and Shingen found himself ready to drift off into sleep. But he roused himself, pulled away from her body and then lay back down beside her, sufficiently exhausted from their coupling.

Terra snuggled up against him, pillowing her head on his shoulder and throwing a leg over his and twining them together. Shingen noted she still trembled a little as he wrapped his arm over her back holding her close. It seemed tonight had deeply exposed her and she still sought his support. Shingen held her a little tighter, more than happy to have her in his arms as he kissed the crown of her head.

“I love you, Terra.” He said.

Terra shifted to wrap and arm over his chest, and made herself more comfortable in his embrace.

“I love you more.”

He chuckled warmly, knowing that his Love was going to be alright. The days’ events were behind them, and she was back to her normal body temperature. Her natural warmth burned like a fire against his side. Shingen reached for the blanket to pull over them both before contentedly falling asleep with his sleeping Goddess in his arms.

… … …

Several days later, Shingen and Terra were back in their shared office working on their individual tasks. However, Shingen had been reluctant to let her out of his grasp for more than what was deemed necessary. Terra didn’t seem to mind at all, allowing him to keep her close and even enjoying his touch.

They’d had a discussion about everything that had happened the morning after the event. Terra had told him that she valued his trust in her, but to also recognize how often she put her trust in him. Shingen had spent a long time after that thinking about all the times he’d left her behind to fight in skirmishes and lead battles. And he thought of how scared she must be every time he left. It was a shock for sure to finally understand the terrifying dread of losing the one you love most, but he also felt deeply sure of his earlier conclusion that he trusted Terra completely.

Now, sitting in their office working, he sat with his legs crossed with Terra in his lap. She leaned forward slightly to continue her writings of her manuscript, while he hooked his chin over her shoulder as he read over more documents that needed his attention.

A knock to their studies door roused Shingen from his readings.

“Lord Shingen, may I come in?” It was Yukimura.

Terra went to move out of his lap, but Shingen stopped her by embracing her from behind and firmly holding her against him. She snorted at his antics.

“C’mon in Yuki.” He called back.

His young vassal came in, only to blanch at seeing his lord and Terra so tightly involved.

Yukimura sputtered before saying, “Do you have to be so indecent? A warning would’ve been nice.”

“My dear Yuki, you know of my terrible affliction. I cannot bear to be without my Goddess.” He laughed back at his cranky young vassal.

Terra gave a small bark of laughter before moving to elbow him. Shingen stopped her by fulling enveloping her into his embrace in a hug that firmly kept her in place.

“Goddess?” Yuki snorted, “This boar woman-“

“Hey!” Terra interjected crossly.

“-Temptress, thing, has got you bent to her every will.”

Shingen hummed his agreement, pressing his cheek against Terra’s. “I am powerless to her.”

“You’re both gross.” Yuki just groaned at his Lord with his hands covering his face in defeat. “You have a visitor. A woman with her son. They say Terra jumped into the frozen river to save her kid. They wanted to thank you. I told them they were probably wrong.”

“I did jump into the river to save her kid.” Terra said crossing her arms over her chest.

Yuki wrinkled his nose at Terra but held his tongue. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Terra was a hero to have saved the young boy. And Shingen knew Yuki respected her in his own contemptuous way.

“We’ll go greet them.” Shingen said, allowing his embrace to loosen around Terra as she stood up.

He followed her to a more spacious meeting room, where Yuki then led the woman and the young boy to meet them. The woman graciously expressed her thanks to them, bowing deeply to Terra and saying how grateful she was to see her healthy. The woman pushed her son forward, who held a folded blue kimono in his hands. It was the one left behind at the river when Terra had undressed to follow the boy out onto the ice.

“Here you go miss- I mean, Lady Terra.” The boy corrected himself. “I learned my lesson. Mama says you saved me. I promise never to go out on the ice again.”

Terra bent down to the little boy and took the offered kimono. She smiled at the boy and ruffled his dark hair.

“Thank you, and good.” Terra beamed at the boy. “I’m glad to see you’re alright. I can tell you’ll grow big and strong when your older.”

“I told Mama I wanted to learn how to swim just like you!” the boy exclaimed proudly. “I wanna be a strong swimmer too, the best in the village!”

“That’s sweet; just make sure it’s in the summer ok?”

“Yes Lady Terra.” The boy conceded with more maturity and grace that a young boy his age should’ve possessed, bowing deeply to her.

They left not long after, with the young boy holding onto the sleeve of his mother’s kimono as he bounced along beside her.

… … …

It started to snow again as the sun began to set, staining the sky golden and red hues. Shingen found Terra standing out by the frozen gardens that were covered in snow. Again, Shingen noted she didn’t even seem fazed by the cold despite the events only a few days past, still dressed in a simple kimono with her long hair down. She stood gazing up at the sky as light flurries of snow fell around her. Every time she breathed out a puff of air followed, and her cheeks took on a rosy hue.

Terra reached out her hand to catch a falling snowflake in her palm. She seemed ever drawn to the cold. Even as a soft cold breeze hit Shingen’s face and a shiver worked its way through his body, Terra stood unbothered.

Shingen went out to join her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. She looked up, meeting his gaze with one that seemed genuinely happy. Strangely she seemed to thrive best in the winter.

Without intending to, Shingen shivered again as he held her close. She frowned immediately.

“I swear, I tell you all the time to dress warm.” She admonished.

He leaned down to chastely kiss her lips and hummed softly, enjoying her warmth against him.

“I guess it’s your turn to warm me up tonight.” He said against her ear suggestively.

Terra crinkled her nose at him, stifling her laughter before taking his hand and leading him back inside the castle. He followed after his Love willingly and he thought to himself once again that truly his life had changed for the better the day he met her.

#shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #ikesen shingen #fanfic #Terra's writing #Shingen/OFC #Shingen/MC #Shingen/Terra #ikesen #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikesen fanfic #Fic length: +5k

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cagestark · 5 years

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Ok here's my prompt: college winterironspider, established winterspider and they want to do a trio costume with Tony as a way to show him they want him 💕💕

A late Halloween Prompt whipped up in thanks for boosting my friend’s rpg. Thank you! (Also you all say that Halloween is a 365 day event so 3 days late shouldn’t stop you right? ;)

Warnings: homophobia including slurs, some mention of smuttiness but nothing explicit, foul language. WinterIronSpider. 3.6k.

Tony flings open the dorm room door, already toeing off his sodden shoes. New England weather could turn on dime, and it had a habit of turning unfavorable on the 15 minute trek from the Chem labs back to his dorm room. His shirt is sticking to his skin, jeans heavy with rain. He can feel his hair, getting just this side of too long for how Howard likes it, dripping down the back of his neck.

Mother Nature hates him, and she’s not the only one, because Peter Parker is lounging on Tony’s roommate’s bed. Bucky is nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door is closed, so deductive reasoning is barely required. They’ve probably been fucking; the room has that musty scent that makes him twitch in his wet pants. Parker lays among the mussed sheets and blankets like the pillow princess he must be, curls riotous, beaming at the sight of Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” says Parker in the softest, cracking voice that Tony’s ever heard come from a nineteen-year-old. He blinks dazed, whiskey-colored eyes. “Y’re all wet.”

“I know. Where’s Barnes?”

“Bathroom.”

Tony hums. Barnes liked to take ridiculously long showers, conditioning his ridiculously long hair, moisturizing his ridiculously huge and attractive body. The guy was the antithesis to his boyfriend, large where Parker was small, dark where he was light, brooding where Parker was a goddamn ray of sunshine sneaking in through a crack in the curtains and blinding Tony. With Barnes in the shower, Tony is stuck shivering in his wet clothes, wishing he’d stayed out in the downpour and smoked a cigarette. Instead, he just sits on his bed—his sheets have seen worse than some rainwater. Opening up his bookbag, he sees that his textbooks are unscathed. Thank fucking God.

All the time, he feels Parker’s eyes on him. The kid is too pretty for his own good—both he and his boyfriend. When he came to MIT, he had envisioned dozens of nightmare scenarios regarding roommates. Maybe they’d steal his clothes, eat his food, leave their hair in the drain. Instead, he’d gotten a goddamn Calvin Klein model and his twink. Sometimes, Tony had to lay awake facing the wall on his side of the dorm room, pretending he didn’t hear the breathy giggles and dirty, foul whispers as the two fooled around while their roommate was ‘sleeping’. It left him unbearably hard, determined not to rut into the mattress lest they find out that he was still awake (and stop, God, please don’t stop—).

It was all very, very fucked up: how much Tony liked them; how much it made him hate them.

“You’re gonna catch pneumonia,” Parker says.

“What do you want me to do about it, kid?” Tony asks. He’s only three years older than Parker, but the kid seems so young—the enthusiasm, the naivete, the buoyancy. Tony can’t help but call him kid.

Parker raises his eyebrows. “It’s your room. Take off your clothes.”

Tony stops where he’s flipping through his textbook. He lets it fall closed with a thud, assessing Parker’s gaze. He looks innocent enough, maybe a little sleepy, but he wasn’t dumb by any means (a full ride to MIT proved that). Surely he had to know how that sounded, for him to tell his boyfriend’s roommate to undress in front of him.

“In front of you, Parker? I’ll take the pneumonia.”

The kid just grins, shaking his head. “Whatever. Are you going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi?”

“Everybody is going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi,” Tony answers flatly.

“Are you going to wear a costume?”

“Fuck no.”

“Because you have no idea what to wear, right.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re a shit, Parker. So, what if I don’t? I’m an engineer; what do I need to dress up for?”

“I’m dressing Bucky; I could dress you too.”

“Yeah,” Tony snarks. “That’s just what I want.”

The bathroom door opens. Bucky appears in nothing but a towel around his hips. His abs violate state and federal laws—or at least if they don’t, they should. His hair is wet and up in a bun. Eyes like the ocean iced over drag up and down Tony’s body, making him feel heated despite the goosebumps on his skin. Tony is keenly aware of how his nipples have hardened, somewhere between the icy downpour and the sight of Parker looking fucked out on the twin-sized bed.

“Took you long enough,” Tony mutters. He grabs some clothes from the drawer and disappears into the bathroom, cranking the shower (and the drain is spotless because Barnes is a fucking good guy who cleans up after himself, the asshole) up to hellish proportions and peeling his wet clothes from his body. On the other side of the door are warm voices that are easy enough to tune out, or to tune into when he’s standing under the burning spray with a hand on his cock.

When he gets out of the shower, Parker is gone back to his own dorm. Bucky is eating a bowl of cereal, still shirtless. The words come out of Tony’s mouth before he can stop them: “Barnes, I think your boyfriend hit on me when you were in the shower. I just thought you might want to know that.”

Barnes stops chewing. He’s got the best poker face Tony has ever seen, no hint of anger or jealousy or surprise. His jaw closes again with an obscene, sugary crunch. After he swallows, he says, “Thanks, Tony. You’re a good friend.”

The first package arrives two days later. It’s for Tony, with no return address. He rolls his eyes—that’s just like his mother to be so dramatic as to not even say she’s sending him anything nor leave her mark. When he opens it though, there are no deliciously baked treats, no heartfelt (maybe a little distant) cards with carefully crafted handwriting, no trinkets that are hideous which he will be forced to cherish. Instead, it’s the ugliest pair of pants he’s ever seen: straight-legged and a size too big for him and a dirty gray.

“The fuck, mom,” Tony mutters. He tosses them aside. “Really off your game, crazy old bat.”

But when Barnes gets out of class and spots the box sitting on Tony’s desk, he points to it. “Did you get the first part of your costume?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your costume?” Bucky enunciates more, the fucking asshole, like Tony didn’t hear him the first time. “Peter told me that you said you were cool with him getting you a costume. He gets really fucking into Halloween. I saw this picture of him up in his Aunt’s apartment in Queens—”

Tony holds up a hand. “Stop. Rewind. I in no way told Parker he could dress me up for Halloween. Period.”

Barnes just raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what Peter thinks.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks, I’m not some doll for him to play with.”

“Next time he’s over, you can tell him so.” The guy’s pale eyes fucking glitter—glitter—like he knows that’s not going to go over well for Tony. And maybe it won’t, maybe Tony’s going to have to break some fucking hearts, but there’s no chance in hell he’s going to be caught dead in a costume, especially not one picked by a doe-eyed little twink like Parker.

But when Parker arrives for his date with Bucky two hours later, pink-cheeked from the windy cold, he’s got another little box tucked under his arm that he thrusts into Tony’s hands.

Tony thrusts it back. “Nope. Don’t want it.”

Parker frowns, looking up at Tony with those flat brows curled in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s for your costume.”

Barnes watches everything through the reflection in the mirror he keeps by his bed. He’s currently combing his hair like a schmuck (fuck, he looks so handsome), mouth pressed into a flat line, though Tony suspects that it’s more from holding back laughter than expressing any discontent. Tony chooses a point on the wall above Parker’s head and stares at it. The kid’s got eyes like vortexes, and Tony isn’t getting sucked in, no sir, not today.

“No costume. I’m not wearing a costume.”

“Sure you are, I’ve already bought the stuff. It’s started to arrive—did you get the pants?”

“Pants? Is that what they’re called? They’re hideous—” Barnes makes a noise in the corner that has Tony throwing a fuming glare his way. “I’m not going to wear them, or anything else. So return the stuff, kid.”

Parker stares down at the small package in his hands. “I—I can’t. I had it expedited so that it would get here in time for Halloween. No returns.”

“No re—? Well, fuck. That’s not my problem. I didn’t ask you to buy me stuff for a costume. What the hell were you going to dress me up as, anyway? A corpse from the 80’s?”

When Parker looks up, his eyes are a little misty. He rubs at one with his forearm, probably scratching himself with the wool from his coat. “It was gonna be a surprise.”

And yep. There it is. That does Tony in, because as much as Tony wishes he was the no good cruel piece of shit that plenty of people around MIT and the New England area like to label him as, he’s a sucker for tears. He’s seen his mom cry too many times, it just—it gets to him.

Tony snatches the package out of the kid’s hands. He points a finger at him. “No cartoon characters. No cross-dressing. No dorky inanimate objects, like a fork or a wet floor sign. Got it? Swear to God, kid, if you embarrass me in front of the whole school, I will never forgive you.”

“Why would I want to embarrass you?” Parker asks. He holds out a pinky. “It’s not embarrassing. Promise.”

“Fuck your pinky, man. Go on your date. Get out—you too Barnes, I don’t want to see either of your faces for like, two hours or something. Swear to God. I’m at the end of my rope, do you hear me? The end of my fucking rope.”

In the box is a scarf, long and plain and red. Tony rolls his eyes and sets it with the pants.

That night when he returns from his evening class, he finds that Barnes and his boyfriend have dragged all the blankets off of Bucky’s bed and onto the floor creating the warmest, coziest looking nest Tony’s ever seen. It looks like a slice of Heaven after coming in from the brutal cold. The best spot of all looks to be somewhere in between Barnes who is sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and the other outstretched, and Peter who lays with his head cushioned on that ridiculous bicep. The size different between the two of them makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

On the wall, a Star Wars movie plays: The Empire Strikes Back.

Parker leans his head up, blinking at the sight of Tony in the doorway. He smiles, so soft and sweet that it hurts. “Hey Tony,” he says. He pats the blanket beside him. “Want to join us? There’s room.”

Tony hasn’t the slightest idea what to make of that. Not even a little one. Doesn’t Parker know how awkward that would be? For Tony to just cuddle in a pillow fort with Barnes and his boyfriend? Doesn’t Parker know how much that would hurt—

“No, I’ve got somewhere to be,” Tony lies. He steps out the door he had just came through and shuts it behind him. The library is always open on campus, and Tony falls asleep bent over the table there, cheek pressed into a book about the latest breakthroughs in Artificial Intelligence.

The next day arrives a plain white t-shirt in a plastic bag. Begrudgingly, Tony tries it on. It clings to his chest and the gentle six-pack he sports (nothing like Barnes who spends five days a week at the on-campus gym and drinks protein shakes in the morning). Turning sideways, he eyes himself in the mirror. At least this doesn’t look bad, certainly not with the way it clings to his biceps, but he will be fucking freezing.

Barnes comes in and catches Tony checking himself out in the mirror. For a moment, Tony thinks that maybe Barnes is checking him out, too, but—

“Looks good,” Bucky purrs. Making fun of Tony, surely.

Tony flips him the bird, but the guy just laughs.

“What is he dressing you up as?” Tony asks. Purely out of curiosity. Knowing how whipped Barnes was, Peter could dress him up as anything and he’d take it. Even something embarrassing or emasculating.

Barnes just rolls his eyes. “You know him. It’s a secret.”

The comradery with which he says it, like of course Tony knows how Peter is—something about it itches at the back of Tony’s brain, a mosquito that has landed and started to suck at his blood. But it’s no surprise that Barnes and his boyfriend are weirdos who like to spend more time having ‘dates’ in their dorm room with Tony rather than at a restaurant or the movies or any fucking where else.

But, like all things that Tony doesn’t want to wonder about, he pushes to the back of his brain.

The next day, it is a denim jacket and hideous combat boots.

“Fashion homicide,” Tony mutters.

The day before Halloween brings Tony a red flannel shirt.

“Goddamnit,” he says, holding it up so Barnes can see. “What is he dressing me up as, a lesbian?”

It isn’t until he’s assembling it all in the bathroom that he puts it together—and okay. It’s not bad. Bender was easily the coolest character in the Breakfast Club, though his fashion sense was nothing like Tony’s. The layers—white shirt under flannel under denim—are a little stifling, but out in the cold fall air, it would be perfect. He even combs his hair back.

All in all, Parker could have done far, far worse.

But when he comes out of the bathroom and finds the two of them in the dorm room, he sees that Parker has done worse.

Matching costumes.

Parker is Brian through and through. He looks like a total scrub in his khakis with Nike sneakers on, the long-sleeved sweater that clings to his thin frame. A ballpoint pen is tucked behind his ear, wrist-watch circling the delicate little wrist, and to top it off, a pair of sunglasses are looped over the collar of his sweater.

And Barnes? Forgone are his goth threads. He sits on his bed wearing blue jeans that hug his broad thighs, the whitest shoes that Tony’s ever seen, and a goddamn blue wifebeater that shows off his arms, both heavily muscled. Folded on his pillow is a letterman jacket, and Tony doesn’t even like jocks, but his cock twitches at the sight, thinking of slipping it down off of Bucky’s bare shoulders.

“No—we match,” Tony says.

Peter lights up. “Yes! You got it! The Breakfast Club is a classic.”

“I should have said no matching costumes. We look like—” like boyfriends, Tony thinks, “—like queers. I’m not going out like this.”

“Watch the slurs you throw around,” Barnes says, his mouth an unhappy, flat line.

Tony winces. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. But this is taking it to a whole new level that I’m not comfortable with. Not to mention, three gays all going out in matching costumes? Isn’t that a little suggestive?”

“Suggestive of what?” Parker asks. He’s holding fingerless gloves—the last part of Tony’s costume. It’s the cherry on top. With the cigarettes that Tony plans to be chainsmoking thanks to the stress of this whole event, he’ll be method acting his character all night.

“Come on. Suggestive, suggestive. Like we’re all—” Tony mashes his hands together.

Barnes reaches out, hand flat, arm flexing nicely. He doesn’t even look at Parker and Parker doesn’t look at him, but they slap hands in a high five.

“Am I speaking in tongues? I’m not fucking leaving like this; I’m not going to have the whole campus thinking I’m your loser third wheel.” It would be too painful, when there’s a shameful part of him that would gladly be the third wheel to them, that’s desperate to be between them. This feels like the crudest parody.

“You wouldn’t be,” Peter says.

“Pete, maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” Barnes interrupts.

“No, Bucky, this was supposed to—supposed to be cute!” Parker turns away from them, towards the wall by Tony’s bed. He drops the gloves there and crosses his arms. It would be petulant if it wasn’t so heartbroken, the curve of his shoulders, his head drooping down morosely. Instead, the kid just looks like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Tony sighs. It takes Herculean strength not to roll his eyes. “Kid. I’m sorry. Clearly this meant a lot to you. Fuck knows why, but—”

Peter turns around, eyes tearful and flashing with anger. He reaches up to his ear, fiddling with the lobe with trembling fingers. Grabbing Tony’s wrist, he puts a little diamond earing in his palm, just like Claire did with Bender.

“What’s this?” Tony says, shoulders hunching. “My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Yes they are,” Peter says through his teeth. “You probably got them pierced five or so years ago, but your dad was an asshole about it and made you take them out. It’s been ages and the holes are hard to see but they still won’t close.”

Tony blanches. He can still hear the way Howard demeaned him, spent the whole dinner talking his Tony’s mother about how ridiculous the boy looked, how it gave people ideas about him, because pierced ears are for women and the only men who have them are faggots. “How the fuck do you even know that?”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” This is the loudest Peter’s ever been, his usual fragile voice replaced by this one that is sure and angry and doesn’t crack. “One: I spend every moment that I’m not looking at Bucky looking at you. I’ve got eyes; I know what a hole in an ear looks like, thanks. Two: your dad is an asshole about everything. He’s probably the reason why you don’t drink mixed drinks, why you call us queers even though you’re bi, why you lie and say you’re going to spend the whole holiday break at home but then come back and spend it here alone in the dorm. Because your dad is an asshole.

“He’s probably the reason why you’re such a fucking dunce too. A thick skull must run in the family, because Bucky and I have been hitting on you the entire semester and even though you go into the bathroom to jerk off every time you come back to the dorm and catch us making out, you won’t make a move or, or let us make the move, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tony says, his own voice rising to a shout. “You’ve been doing all this bullshit on purpose? Blowing Barnes when you know I’m awake? Skipping around here in your underwear because, what, you know it turns me on? Because you want to out me? Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“No,” Peter shouts, slapping a hand flat on Tony’s chest. “We like you, fuckface!”

The force of Peter’s tiny hand barely makes Tony sway, but the words—those might as well knock him to his knees. He feels like the scarf around his neck is on too tight, like there’s not enough air in the room. He licks his lips, his eyes moving between Peter’s red-rimmed eyes and nose (he’s an ugly crier) and Bucky who is still sitting on the twin bed watching them, his face white and afraid.

“You like me?” Tony asks. “What does that even mean? You two are together.”

“It means,” Peter says, taking Tony’s fist, coaxing open the anxious fingers to wear the diamond stud earring still rests, cutting into his palm. Peter presses his thumb against it, tenderly. “That we like you. We want you. To get to know you. You—and not your hang-ups.”

Tony shakes his head, taking his hand from Peter’s burning grip. “I—I can’t do that. My dad—”

“—is an asshole,” Bucky mutters.

Tony snorts softly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“We don’t have to go home with you at Thanksgiving or Christmas or ever, if you don’t want,” Peter says. “We just want a chance. We want you to do something for yourself. Not your dad. Does that make sense?”

The silence lingers around the room. Somewhere in the distance, Halloween music is playing, ghoulish noises and moans and witch-like cackling. Mouth dry, Tony takes the backing off of the stud earing and reaches up, feeling for the holes in the lobes of his ears. It’s been years since he wore them, and his hands are trembling so badly that he can’t even find them—

“I’ll help you,” Peter says tenderly, taking the earring. He has it in in a moment and leans back, taking Tony in from head to toe.

“Well?” Tony asks. He clears his throat—there’s something stuck in it, some lump that he has to swallow away. He holds out his arms. “How do I look?”

“Gay,” Bucky says from the corner, smiling.

“That’s it!” Tony shouts. “I’m not going! Thanks for nothing! I’m out!”

“Tony,” Peter groans. “He was just joking, he’s—”

But Tony is already stalking to the dorm room door and pulling it open. He stops to glance over his shoulder at Bucky and Peter who are watching him with wide eyes. “Well?” he says. “I’m all for being fashionably late, but if we don’t get going, there’s not going to be anything left of the keg—”

The two scramble for their jackets and follow him out the door.

#winterironspider #tw: homophobia #tw: f slur #tw: q slur #college!winterironspider #Halloween prompt #cagewrites #longfic

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achtung-attitude · 4 years

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CHAPTER 38: Weezer - Part 3

Toto lurches forward, and unable to steady himself with his feet encased in dry ice, WEEZER keeps him from toppling face down onto the convention floor. Where the dry ice touches, frostbite raises blisters on his flesh, turning it blue, then black, then peels it away to reveal bright crimson underneath.

He is still in better shape than Kilo.

“Fuck, fuck, no no no…! Kilo! KILO!” Moya calls out, and gets no response. He lies face down, his breath shallowly. Blood leaks out of the deep gashes in his chest and pools beneath him.

She crawls to his side, clutching her own wounded abdomen and shaking still from the symptoms of pneumonia.

A voice screams bloody murder raises over the general moaning din of the convention floor. She pauses, startled by the sound, and spots someone writhing on the floor as his leg twists around the wrong way with audible, sickening cracks. Near him, a cut forms on a woman’s head, staining her auburn hair scarlet. Wounds appear on almost everyone in the centre, but some are minor, scratches and scrapes from childhood misadventures, nonetheless summoned out of the past by WEEZER.

“WEEZER is… a time-traveller…” Toto murmurs, a terrifying calm in his voice despite the damage inflicted on him, “It reaches into your soul, your memories… searching through your personal timeline for any moment of pain… Of suffering… Then it pulls it back into the present! Then it finds something else, and adds onto it… Carefully, methodically… until every horror you ever went through comes crashing down on you all at once! … Life ain’t nothing but suffering, right, Moya?”

She doesn’t answer, but scowls at him while trying to quell the shivers running down her spine. Toto goes on, still as calm as ever. He glances at Kilo, “Sometimes it don’t take that long. Looks like… he only needed one shot. But not you, huh, Moya?... You’re a lot tougher than your buddy… I hope you don’t think I’m mad…!” He gestures to the ice clinging to his body “Yeah, this hurts real bad, but that’s on me… My mistake was underestimating him. I should’ve remembered that you two was the ones that took down Tarantula… I wanted you to know that, maybe help you find a little peace… Before you died.”

Moya stands, struggling to get to her feet in a token gesture of defiance. She can hardly see straight, and WITCH MOUNTAIN’s appearance inspires no confidence, as it’s barely tangible. In the state she is in, she has no hope of matching WEEZER’s speed. Through bleary vision, she watches it wind it fist back. Under her breath, she mutters “Sorry, kid…” and winces as WEEZER brings its fist forward.

But before it connects, SATURN BARZ emerges, rising up from the ground and batting the enemy Stand’s arm away. Then, with the same momentum, it swings its other arm up and drives a crane strike into WEEZER’s face.

“AAAAHHHH!!!!!” Toto cries, as the force of the attack transfers to him, knocking him down like a bowling pin. He groans, then begins screaming again as steam and the scent of frying meat emanates from the left side of his face. The skin bubbles and melts away, exposing his teeth. Tears stream from his eyes, but he clenches his jaw through the pain. WEEZER picks him and sets him upright again, to face his opponent.

Kilo also stands, shakily, every inch of him drenched in blood from wounds that SATURN BARZ attempts to heal. However, as soon as the wounds close, the open right back up again, spilling forth more lifeblood. He attempts to take a step forward, and nearly collapses yet again.

“I wasth only…” Toto hisses, his speech almost illegible due to his brand new disfigurement, “Supphosed to khill the two of you! Brother Dusst… Wanted that Joesthar girl for himsthelf… But! Now I sthee… we can’t kheep takhing you lightly…! That’sth why…! THAT’STH WHY THIS WHOLE PLACE HASTH TO GO DOWN!! WEEZER!!!!!!!”

Toto’s Stand slams it palms onto the floor, and for a moment, nothing happens. Moya glances around the room, expecting some new horror to appear at any moment. And sure enough, it does, as the space begins to shake. Subtly at first, only enough to disturb the light fixtures in the ceiling. But before she even knows it, dust is falling from the ceilings and cracks are forming in the walls.

“What have… you done…?!” She asks, catching Kilo when he loses his balance and fighting to keep her own balance.

“Earthquake…” Toto replies, and immediately, Moya understands, “Twenty yearsth agho, a 6.6 sscale earthquake hit Anaheim… desthroyed the bastheball sthadium… And the aftersthocksth reached all the way out here… thisth convention centrer now sthands…!”

A light fixture detaches from the ceiling and falls, nearly crushing someone. Cracks form in the glass windows. The pillars holding up the mezzanine balcony lurch dangerously. Moya, still shivering from her childhood fever and losing blood from the hole in her gut, puts Kilo down and begins moving towards Toto.

“Moya, wait…!” he mutters, but she ignores him.

“Gotta do something,” she thinks, “Even if this place is made to withstand a quake, if it goes on too long, he’ll bring the whole place down on top of our heads…! I’m in bad shape, but so is he…! He can’t even move on his own right now, and…! His Stand is busy summoning this quake…! I can do it…! Just need to get close…!

An impact like a vehicle collision to her face stops her in her tracks. Blood shoots out of her nose like a water fountain and splashes on Toto’s shirt. He doesn’t seem to notice. Similar invisible impacts collide with her, all over her body.

“You’ve got to be kidding…!” she chokes, even in the throes of her trauma, “This is… Phantasma…!”

“Phantasthma…? Ohh, right… I remember now…” the Congregation assassin says, absentmindedly, “That’s what we here inna firsth place… So we can avenge da big lady… WEEZER startsth from most shevere to least when it pullsth out injuries… With the state you in, sturvive that beating a second time…”

Moya tries to guard instinctively, but it is pointless. The strikes hit her nonetheless, the invisible fists of her nemesis and mentor pummelling her over and over. “Is this it...? Is this how it ends for me...?” she thinks between beatings “Useless, unable to help those I swore to protect...? Again...? Am I going to let these people take everything from me again...?

“Shizuka... You defeated Phantasma... She was my responsibility, but... I couldn’t even put a scratch on her... in the end, all I could do was sit back and... let you take care of my problems... hell with that... TO HELL WITH THAT! I will not die like this...! Not without giving something back!”

Like a sputtering film image, WITCH MOUNTAIN appears. Moya roars, and her Stand’s long, oily hair flies wildly in all directions, sending its viscous dark fluid into the air. Around her, people groan in agony. Those conscious enough wail in terror as the ceiling above cracks and begins to collapse.

“What’sth that... You gonna try usthe your sanctemoniousth power on me?” Toto asks over the carnage, “Make me sthee da ‘error o’ my wayst’? Ya can forget it. It ain’t gonna work on me! It’s outta my handsth, Fate decided that this wasth to happen! I don’t have any guilt!!”

Moya ignores him. “It’s not like Phantasma…!” she thinks, “I still have my Stand! There’s still something I can do…! And since I can, I have to…!”

Out loud, she cries “KILO!”, just as the ceiling begins to collapse. Bleeding out, he still finds the strength to raise his head and his arms, extending SATURN BARZ hands to touch the black oil that flies over everything, covering the walls.

“Toto…!” Moya keeps thinking, falling to one knee, “You and Tarantula…! Dust, too! You’re all the same! You really don’t have any guilt! Because you pawn it off onto some higher power, Fate or God…! It’s too hard for you to be good, so you use them as excuses to keep being what you are! Well I’m not like that! No matter what happens, no matter how we’re hurt! I’m not like you guys! And neither… is he…!”

At that point, Moya loses consciousness, but Toto doesn’t notice. He is focused upward, staring at the blue sky exposed by the collapsing ceiling. “Not… possible…” he mutters, and yet it is. The ceiling has collapsed, but the rubble hangs suspended in mid-air, held up by glistening black columns. WITCH MOUNTAIN’s oil, solidified and shaped into a safety net, keeping the giant chunks of stone from crushing the helpless bystanders below.

“That’s from… when Tarantula first gave you a Stand…”

With a thumb, Kilo pushes the disc back into his head and glares at the enemy Stand user. “Now it’s my turn. What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you? Don’t bother answering…” he summons SATURN BARZ and flexes its talons, “Because I’m about to do worse!”

“Let’st see… who diesth firstt then... KILO STAPLESH!!!”

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #kilo staples #moya pezzente #toto #weezer #ch38

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winchesterbrotherstan · 4 years

Text

Supernatural- Something Wicked (1.18)

im crying again this boy was a... ChiLd

Pairing: Slight Olive Winchester x Hunter Richmond, usual Olive Winchester sister oc

Summary: John sends the siblings on a hunt, the Winchester and Richmond rivalry rears its head, and the past comes back to haunt the Winchesters

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sickness, guns, probably a knife in there somewhere, etc

Word Count: 6995

“Something’s not right about this, Dean.” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah. You probably missed something, that’s what.” Dean snapped back.

“Dude, we ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers.” Sam sighed.

“De, we couldn’t find a single red flag.” I piped up, glancing between the two.

“Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, he double checked. Fitchburg, Wisconsin.”

“Dad wouldn’t have sent us coordinates if it wasn’t important, Sammy.” Dean was trying to stay calm.

Sam ran his hands through his head, frustrated. Jinx whined from his lap, sensing the tension.

“Well, I’m telling you that Olive and I looked and all we could find was a big steamy pile of nothing.” Sam snapped. “If Dad’s sending us hunting for something, I don’t know what.”

“Well maybe he’s gonna meet us there.” Dean offered with a shrug.

“Yeah. Cause he’s been so easy to find up to this point.” Sam snarled.

Dean lost his patience. “You’re a real smart ass, you know that?”

“Hey.” I snapped, glaring at them both. “Both of you calm down.”

Dean snorted. “She’s right. I’m sure there’s something in Fitchburg worth killing.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned. “What makes you so sure?”

“Cause I’m the oldest, which means I’m always right.”

“No it doesn’t.” Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

“It totally does.” Dean sassed back.

Dean glanced at Sam, then back to the road with a grin on his face. I leaned into his side with a huff. Jinx let out a sigh as we passed the sign for Fitchburg, population 20,501.

***

“What do you think’s here?” Sam asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Jinx tugged at the leash, and Sam tugged back with a sigh.

“I dunno.” I shrugged, wrapping my jacket tighter around myself. “But Dean’s right, there’s probably something worth our time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and I licked my lips.

“What? Don’t understand the blind faith I have in him?” My arm began to throb.

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes again. “No, actually. I don’t.”

“Has Dean ever let us down?” I narrowed my eyes as I turned to look at him. “Has he ever betrayed us? Hurt us?” I scowled at him.

“Ol-”

“Sam, just answer the question. Has Dean ever led us astray?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. Jinx let out a small yip, and I looked up.

“Hey!” Dean came running across the street with a grin, two coffee cups, and a bottle.

“Juice!” I smiled and plucked the bottle from his hand. “So, what’s going on?”

“Well…” Dean handed Sam a coffee. “The waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but other than that, nobody’s heard about anything freaky going on.”

Sam said nothing, staring ahead. I followed his line of sight, only to see an empty playground. I blinked, confused.

“De, you got the time?”

Dean glanced at his watch. “Uh, ten after four. Why?”

Sam nodded to the playground. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

“School’s out, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. So where is everybody?”

“This place should be crawling with kids right now.”

Dean nodded. “C’mon.”

Sam and I followed as he approached the single woman sitting on a park bench, reading a magazine. Jinx sniffed a trail on the floor, then let out a tiny bark. The woman turned around and smiled at us.

“Sure is quiet out here.” He smiled his charming smile.

“Yeah, it’s a shame.” She sighed.

“And why’s that?”

“You know, kids getting sick. It’s a terrible thing.”

“How many?” I inched forward, leaning into Dean’s side.

He wrapped an arm around me as the woman spoke.

“Just give or six, but serious. Hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it’s catching.” She nodded her head at me. “I would make sure you keep your daughter safe.”

Sam made a bitch-face, lips curled up. Dean only tightened his hold on me. “Yeah, thank you.”

I sighed and watched as a little blond girl played by herself on the swings.

***

“Dude.” Sam growled. “Dude, I am not using this ID.” He slapped it down by his side.

“Why not?” I asked, leaning forward and pulling my bag onto my shoulder.

“It says bikini inspector on it.”

I giggled. “They usually don’t even look that close, Sams. You’ll be alright.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “It’s all about confidence.”

“Alright, be careful. Anything weird, you call us. Keep a weapon on you at all times, don’t let anybody see it.” Dean pecked my cheek.

“Okay. Be safe. Love you guys.” I scratched Jinx behind the ear.

“Love you too, babes. We’ll swing by later to pick you up, alright?”

I nodded as I climbed out of the car and shut the door. “Bye!”

The boys drove off and I turned to face the school with a sigh. This was going to be, by far, one of the longest hunts so far.

***

I dropped into a chair at the back of the room with a sigh. I had pushed through chemistry and trig, although I understood nothing. English II was a dim lit room, and I took a nap. Advanced painting was a breeze, although the sleeve of my flannel now had a strip of red paint on it. Spanish was a bore, it came naturally to me, and the same could be said for the current mythology class.

“Connors? Ms. Connors? Olive Connors?”

I blinked. We had blown through so many fake names since St. Louis I always forgot which one we were using.

“Here.” I didn’t look up from my journal.

“Richmond?”

“Present.”

I looked up, eyes wide. Hunter was on the other end of the room, staring at me. I narrowed my eyes. How’d they get here? There wasn’t anything to lead them here.

Why are you here? I mouthed, glaring.

We found it in our mom’s journal.

I sighed and sunk into my seat, flipping back to the start of my own journal.

This was going to be even worse than I had originally thought.

***

“In your mom’s journal? We can’t even find it in our dad’s. And I can’t find it in mine.” I spoke to Hunter through gritted teeth as we elbowed our way through the halls.

“I thought you had, like, the master journal. Haven’t you been putting all of your research together since you were nine?”

“Six. I started training when I was six. What’s your mom’s journal say?” I grabbed onto his arm as a group of freshmen pushed past us.

He wiggled his arm out of my grip and slipped his hand into mine. “Come on, we can’t be talking about this stuff in public.”

I rolled my eyes. “God, you sound like Sam.”

“Well, he’s right. For all we know, one of these kids is doing something.”

I rolled my eyes again, this time throwing my head back for effect. “Fine, come here.” I tugged him into the girls bathroom.

He opened his mouth to protest, and I elbowed him as a girl popped out of one of the stalls. She eyed us as she washed her hands, and then hurried out into the hall. Hunter glared at me.

“Nice, so now we could get suspended.”

I grinned. “No school means we get in on the hunt. Now show me your mom’s journal.”

He shouldered his bag and unzipped it, pulling out a yellow journal with a faded heart on the cover. He flicked it open, smoothing the pages out.

“Shtriga.” He handed it over.

My blood ran cold as I looked at the picture of a rotted handprint. I shivered, and I didn’t know why.

“I think our mom and you dad went after this together.” Hunter pointed at the journal.

I swallowed hard as I looked up at him.

***

On the other side of town, Sam and Dean prance around a girl’s room. She’s sick, in the hospital with her entire family. The boys need to find out what they’re up against.

“You got anything over there?” Sam asks Dean.

The eldest Winchester shakes his head, staring at his EMF meter. “Nah, nothing.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Sam sighs, moving to the window.

His eyes widen and he calls out to his older brother. Dean comes as called, confused. Sam lets out a breath as he stares at the windowsill.

“You were right. It’s not pneumonia.”

“It’s rotten. What the hell leaves a handprint like that?”

Dean stares over Sam’s shoulder, eyes widening when he sees the same handprint, rotted into the wood. His blood freezes at the same time as Olive’s, and his stomach drops. He knows this handprint. He’s seen it before.

***

Dean, aged eleven, stares at a photo of the same handprint. John comes out of the bedroom, loading his sawn off.

“Alright. You know the drill, Dean. Anybody calls, you don’t pick up. If it’s me, I’ll ring once, then call back. You got that?”

Dean nods. “Mhm. Only answer the phone unless it rings once first.” He butchers it on purpose.

He’s tired of hearing the same thing over and over. He knows what to do to take care of his siblings. Ever since Olive was dropped on their doorstep, Dean’s become a single father of two, fighting tooth and nail to keep his siblings safe. He loves his little brother and sister, but he wishes they could stay with Bobby, like the Richmonds. Everett is four, Sutton is two, and Hunter is the same age as Olive. They can’t take care of themselves, but John believes Dean can take care of his own family.

“Come on, dude, look alive.” John pats Dean’s chest. “This stuff is important.”

“I know, it’s just…” Dean sighs. “We’ve gone over it like a million times and you know I’m not stupid. I can take care of them.”

“I know you’re not stupid. I know you can.” John suppresses a prideful smile. “But it only takes one mistake, you got that?” He continues to pack his bag. “Alright, if I’m not back Sunday night…” John trails off.

“Call Pastor Jim.” Dean repeats the chant imprinted on his brain stem.

“Lock the doors, the windows, close the shades. Most important…”

“Watch out for Sammy and Ollie. I know.”

John and Dean look to the two younger children. Sammy, seven years old, is sprawled out on the couch, watching ThunderCats on the TV. Olive is about half a year old, small and fragile, tucked into a bouncy cradle. She’s wide awake, big brown eyes taking in everything in the room. Sam picks her up and holds her in his arms, eyes still on the TV. Sam loves her too, maybe a bit more than Dean does.

“Alright.” John takes Dean’s attention back. “If something tries to bust in?”

“Shoot first, ask questions later.”

John grabs his shoulders and leans down to be eye-level with him, a smile on his face. “That’s my man.”

***

Dean blinks himself back to reality, standing by the window and feeling ill. Sam stares at him, concerned.

“I know why Dad sent us here. He’s faced this thing before, with Irene Richmond. He wants us to finish the job.”

***

“Dean!”

“Yeah, Ol. We’re running late, I know, we’re sorry.”

“No, it’s not that. Look, the Richmonds are here. I know what we’re dealing with.”

“A shtriga. I know.”

“Everett and Sutton already found a motel. We can get a room there.”

He sighed on the other end. “Yeah, okay. They picking you up? I mean, I’m assuming you’re with Hunter?”

I giggled, looking up at the boy next to me. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Meet us at the motel? I’ll text Sammy the address.”

Another sigh. “Yeah, fine. See you soon, baby.”

I smiled. “See you, bubba.”

***

“So what the hell is a shtriga?” Sam asked as the boys climbed out of the car.

“It’s… kinda like a witch I think.”

“We don’t know much about them. It’s not in Dad’s journal, or mine.” I called from my spot on the Richmond’s car.

“Hey, beanie!” Dean grinned at me before turning back to Sam. “Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about fifteen years ago. You were there. It was a couple of months after Olive was born. You don’t remember?”

I jumped off the car and met my brothers halfway, holding my arm out for a hug.

“No.” Sam shook his head before kissing my head. “I’ve never heard of a shtriga before.”

“I guess he caught wind of the stuff going on now and kicked us the coordinates.” Dean kissed my forehead.

“Dean, do you think this is the same one Dad hunted before?” I asked as he handed Jinx’s leash to me.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?” Sam narrowed his eyes.

“Cause it got away.” Dean grumbled.

“Got away?” Sam echoed.

Dean began to lose his patience, and I pulled Jinx up to my chest with a sigh. She let out a whine, and I watched as Dean’s jaw clenched.

“It happens, Sams.” I offered.

“Not very often.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. Maybe Dad didn’t have his wheaties that morning.” Dean snarled.

“What else do you remember?”

“Nothing. I was a kid, alright?” Dean snapped back, defensive as he opened the door.

Sam looked at me as Dean rang the bell on the counter. I shrugged. Something about this case was deeply personal for him. I didn’t know why, or what, but I knew it was bothering him.

A ten year old boy came around from a back room, where you could see a younger boy watching TV.

“A king or two queens?” The boy asked, eyes on Jinx.

“Two queens.” Dean spoke, glancing over his shoulder at Sam.

The boy glanced back at Sam and snickered, mumbling something under his breath.

“What’d you say?” Dean fronted.

“Hey.” I hit his arm.

“Two queens, please. Pet-friendly, too.” I smiled at the boy.

Jinx looked at him with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. The boy smiled back.

“Can I pet her?”

“Yeah, sure! She’s really sweet. Her name’s Jinx.” I put her down on the floor as the boy rounded the counter.

A woman came around from the back room and smiled at us.

“Hi. Checking in?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, a polite smile on his face.

“Michael, do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner.” She spoke to the boy.

“Mom, I’m helping a guest!”

She gave him a look, and he grimaced. “Thanks for letting me pet her.” He got to his feet.

“Of course.”

He turned to his mother and raised his eyebrow at Dean. “Two queens.”

Dean faked a laugh. “Funny kid.”

“Yeah, he thinks so.” She sighed. “Will that be cash or credit?”

“You take MasterCard?” He asked, and she nodded. “Perfect. Here you go.” He handed her his card, staring at the back room.

I stood, lifting Jinx once more. She snuggled into my chest and I leaned against Dean. He kissed the top of my head, but kept staring off.

***

Sam, seven years old, places Olive in her high chair. She slams her fat little fists against the table, and Dean shushes her as he pours Sam a glass of milk.

“When’s Dad gonna get back?” Sam asks as he sits down.

Dean grabs a pot from the stove, careful not to burn himself. “Tomorrow.”

“When?” Sam pouts.

Dean sighs as he pours the noodles into a bowl. “I dunno, Sam. He usually comes in late though. Now eat your dinner.” He places the bowl in front of Sam.

“I’m sick of Spaghettios.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted them.”

Olive hits the table again, this time beginning to cry. Dean shushes her again, plucking her out of her chair and holding her to his chest.

“I want Lucky Charms!” Sam whines.

Olive cries louder, and Dean bounces her up and down.

“There’s no more Lucky Charms, Sam.”

“I saw the box!” Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

“Okay, maybe there is but there’s only enough for one bowl and I haven’t had any yet.” Dean sighs, trying to calm a screaming Olive.

Sam gives Dean puppy eyes, and Dean breaks. He grabs Sam’s bowl, ready to dump it in the trash. Olive falls silent, making grabby hands for it. He smiles, putting the bowl down on the table. He grabs the cereal box and puts it down in front of Sam before sitting with Olive in his lap, spoon feeding her.

Sam reaches into the box and pulls out the toy, holding it out to Dean. “D’ya want the prize?”

***

“De.” I grabbed Dean’s elbow and shook him.

He blinked, and the woman held his card out to him, “Sir?”

Dean blinked again, taking the card and tucking it back into his wallet. “Thanks.”

I looked up at him with big eyes. He looked down at me with a sad smile and handed me the motel keys. Jinx licked his hand, and he patted her head.

“Come on, let’s go.”

***

“Well, you guys were right.” Sam chuckled, sitting at the table with his laptop open. “It wasn’t very easy to find, but you were right. Shtriga is a kind of witch. They’re Albanian, but legends trace them back to Ancient Rome.”

“Yeah. They feed off spiritus vitae.” Sutton nodded, feet kicked up on the table.

“Spiri-what?” Dean echoed.

“Spiritus vitae.” Sam repeated.

“It’s Latin, translates to breath of life. Kinda like your life force or essence.”

“Didn’t the doctor say the kid’s bodies were wearing out?” Dean settled onto his bed.

I yawned and curled up on the couch. Jinx jumped up with me, snuggling between my legs and Hunter’s head.

“It’s a thought.” Sutton shrugged. “You know, she takes your vitality, maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold.”

“Anyways, shtrigas can feed off anyone, but they prefer-”

“Children.” Everett cut him off.

“Yeah. Probably because they have a stronger life force.” Sutton noted.

“And get this. Shtrigas are ‘invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man’. So what do we do?”

“No, that’s not right.” Dean looked up. “She’s vulnerable when she feeds.”

“What?” I looked at him.

“If you catch her when she’s eating, you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron, uh… buckshots, or rounds, I think.”

“How do you remember that?” Sam tilted his head.

“Dad told me. I remember.”

“Oh.” Sam hummed. “Anything else Dad might’ve mentioned?”

“Nope, that’s it.” Dean shook his head.

Sutton and Everett looked between the boys, and then to me.. Hunter looked up at me, and I looked away.

“What?” Dean barked.

“Nothing.” Everett blinked.

“So, assuming we can kill the bitch while it eats, we still gotta find the thing. It’s not exactly gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they’re not hunting.” Sutton broke the silence.

“What kinda disguise?” I asked.

“Historically, something innocuous.” Sam sighed. “Could be anything, but it’s usually a feeble old woman, which might be how the witches as old crones legend started.”

“Wait, hang on.” Hunter and I got up at the same time.

“What?”

“Tack it up.” I plucked the map off the coffee table and handed it to Dean. “Check this out. Hunter and I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are all the houses that have been hit so far.” I pointed to all the red circles.

“And what’s dead center?” Hunter pointed to the meddle.

“The hospital.” Sam realized.

“The hospital.” Dean repeated, eyes widening. “I saw a patient there, an old woman.”

“An old person, huh?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, and I tilted my head at him.

“In a hospital?” Sam let out a whistle and shook his head. “Better call the coast guard.”

Everett snorted, and Sutton giggled. I looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He rolled his eyes.

“Listen, smartasses. She had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

I smiled at Dean as the others looked up at him, wide-eyed and serious. Dean raised an eyebrow, and I rested my head against his arm, and he squeezed my shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

***

Hunter clapped a hand over my mouth, and I grabbed Dean’s wrist, yanking him back. Everett hushed Sutton, and Sam pushed us all back to hide behind the corner.

“Good night Dr. Hydecker.”

“See you tomorrow, Betty.”

“Try to get some sleep.”

Sam peeked his head around the corner and nodded, leading the way. Dean looked around, on edge. He took the lead, opening the door. He snuck in, drawing his gun. Everett and Sutton followed him in. Hunter pushed me in, and Sam was the last, closing the door behind us, softly. I padded over to Dean and hooked a finger onto his belt loop. He reached back and squeezed my hand before shuffling closer to the woman. She was in her wheelchair, facing the corner. I pulled at him, and he looked over his shoulder to face me.

Is she asleep? I mouthed at him.

He nodded. I think so.

“Who the hell are you?” The woman yelled, turning to Dean.

I jumped a foot in the air, and Dean instinctively snatched me mid-air, holding me against his hip. The Richmonds aimed their weapons at the woman, and Sam was in front of Dean and I in a split second, arms spread wide and shoulders squared to protect us.

“Who’s there? You trying to steal my stuff?” She groaned to herself. “They’re always stealing around here.”

Hunter turned and flicked the lights on, and I let out a silent breath when I saw the cataracts in her eyes.

“No, ma’am!” Sam sputtered. “Uh, we’re maintenance. We’re sorry, we thought you were sleeping.”

“Ah, nonsense.” The woman snorted. “I was sleeping with my peepers open.” She laughed before pointing to the inverted cross on the wall. “And fix that crucifix, would ya? I’ve asked four damn times already!”

Dean and I only stared, clinging to each other. Sam spun the cross around so that it was the right way as Dean tried to put me down. My legs were hooked around him, and they would not go down. I tightened my arm around his neck, and he sighed as we turned to leave the room.

***

“I was sleeping with my peepers open?” Sam let out a cackle, and Dean frowned at him.

“I almost smoked that old girl, I swear! It’s not funny!” Dean hissed back.

“Oh man, you should’ve seen your faces!” Sam snickered.

“It was horrifying, Sams!” I snapped back.

“Your legs wouldn’t work!” Sam laughed harder, beginning to wheeze.

“Oh, shove it.” I snarled as we entered the lobby.

“Alright, alright, laugh it off. Now we’re back to square one.” Dean sighed as he fished out the motel keys.

“Alright, I’m gonna hit the hay.” Everett saluted us before going straight for their room.

“See ya later.” Sutton waved, following her sister.

Hunter sighed, leaning down to kiss my cheek before following his sisters across the parking lot.

“Hang on.” Dean shoved the keys into my hand and turned to the boy from earlier, who was sitting on the curb. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“My brother’s sick.”

“The little guy?” Dean asked, face softening.

I sighed. Poor kid.

“Pneumonia. He’s in the hospital. It’s my fault.”

“Aw, come on.” Dean shook his head. “How is it your fault?”

“I should’ve made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't have gotten pneumonia if the window was latched.” He pouted.

Dean looked back at us, a sad look on his face. Sam and I looked back, identical frowns on our faces.

“Listen to me.” He turned back to Michael. “I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?”

“It’s my job to look after him.”

Dean’s shoulders dropped, and I sighed again.

You see yourself in him.

My chest clenched, and Sam grabbed me by the shoulders. The mom came hurrying out of the lobby.

“Michael, I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I’m gone. I’ve got Denis covering room service so don’t bother with any of the rooms.”

“I’m going with you.” Michael stood.

“Not now, Michael.”

“But I’ve gotta see Asher.” He begged.

“Hey, Michael.” Dean caught his attention. “Hey, I know how you feel, I’m a big brother too, but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, okay?”

She dropped her handbag in her haste and cursed under her breath. I bolted out from under Sam’s arm and grabbed it.

“Here.”

“Thank you.” She wiped her hair out of her face.

“Listen, you’re in no condition to drive. Why don’t you let me give you a lift to the hospital?” Dean offered.

“No, I couldn’t possibly-”

“No, it’s really no trouble. Let him drive you.” I cut in, and Dean held his hand out for the keys.

“Thank you so much.” She smiled, then turned to Michael. “Be good.”

Dean turned to help her slide into the passenger seat and then turned back to us. He cupped my cheek before looking up at Sam.

“We’re gonna gank this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?”

***

Hunter let out a snore from his spot on the couch. I was next to him, half asleep. Sutton and Sam were researching, and Everett was calling around to see who knew what. My phone buzzed under my thigh, and I untangled myself from Hunter, making my way to Sam and Sutton.

“Hey.” Dean whispered on the other end.

“Hey, bubba. How’s the kid?”

“He’s not good. Where are you guys?”

“We’re at the library. We’re trying to find out as much as we can about the shtriga.”

“Whatcha got so far?”

“Well, bad news. We started with Fort Douglas, the hunt you said Dad was on.” I whacked Sam’s arm to get his attention.

“And?”

“Um, same deal. I think Sammy said that before that there was Odgensville? Before that, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every fifteen to twenty years it hits a new town.” I sighed. “This thing is just getting started. In all these other places, dozens of kids before it moves on. The kids just stay in comas and then die.” I shuddered.

“How far back does this thing go?”

“Uh, Sammy, how far back?” I whispered, leaning over his shoulder.

“Earliest mention we could find was called Black River Falls, back in the 1890s.”

“Holy shit.” I hissed, staring at the microfiche screen.

“Ollie?”

“Hold on, De. We’re looking at a picture of a bunch of doctors standing around a kid’s bed. Sam, that’s Hydecker, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded slowly.

“Okay, and?”

“And the picture is from 1893.”

“Are you guys sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

Dean hung up without a warning, and I sighed.

“We can’t leave him in that hospital alone, he’ll lose his cool.” I whispered.

Sam shook his head. “We can’t do anything.”

I growled under my breath and padded back to Hunter. He was awake now, rubbing at his eyes. I dropped back next to him with a sigh, and he yawned.

“What happened?”

“It’s the fucking doctor.” I hissed.

He huffed. “He’ll go after the older brother now.”

I nodded. “We have to stop this. Tonight.”

***

“We should’ve thought of this before.” Sam sighed. “A doctor is a perfect disguise. You’re trusted, you can control the whole thing.”

Dean wrestled with his jacket, angry. I yanked him by the wrist and helped him take the jacket off before he continued to pace, agitated. I folded the jacket in two and held it in my lap as I sat down on the bed with a sigh. Jinx settled at my feet with a whine. She could tell he was anxious.

“That son of a fucking bitch.” He snarled.

“I’m surprised you didn’t draw on him right there.” Everett snorted.

“Yeah well, first of all, I’m not gonna open fire in a fucking pediatrics ward.”

“Good call.” Sutton noted.

“Second, wouldn’t have done any good, because the cunt’s bullet proof unless he’s chowing down on something. And third, I wasn’t packing, which is probably a really good thing cause I would’ve burned a clip in him on principle alone.”

“You’re getting wise in your old age, Dean.” Sam teased.

Dean said nothing, and I stood, padding toward him softly.

“We know how to get it.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Shtrigas work through siblings, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“If last night it went after Asher…”

“It’ll go after Michael tonight.” Hunter finished.

“We gotta get him outta here.” Sam’s eyes widened.

“No, no. That could blow the whole deal.” Dean shook his head.

“What?” Sutton’s eyes bulged out of her head.

“You wanna use the kids as bait? Are you nuts?” Sam scowled.

“No! Forget it.” Everett shook her head.

“Out of the question.” Sutton made a face of disgust.

“It’s not out of the question, guys. It’s the only way! If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance.” Dean protested.

“Michael’s a kid. And we are not gonna dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook.”

“Dad did not send me here to walk away.” Dean hissed.

“Send you here? He didn’t send you here! He sent us here!” Sam snapped.

“Hey!” I called, trying to get them to stop.

Jinx howled, sensing the obvious tension.

“This isn’t about you, Sam! I’m the one who screwed up, alright? It’s my fault! There’s no telling how many kids have died because of me!” Dean shouted.

“What?” Everett tilted her head.

“Dean, how is this your fault?” Sutton spoke softly.

“Dean…” Sam trailed off. “You’ve been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to us, man. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Dean.” I whispered. “Please.”

“Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. It was our third night in this crap room, and I was climbing the walls. Man, I needed some fucking air. I was only eleven. Olive wasn’t even a year old, and she was teething.” Dean breathed heavily.

I rubbed his back as he stopped pacing and dropped onto the bed. “It’s okay. Just tell us.”

***

Dean is eleven. He’s watching TV in the motel room. He’s losing it. It’s the third day that he’s been cooped up in the tiny space. He turns the TV off and peeks into the bedroom. Sam is asleep, laying on his stomach with one hand reaching into Olive’s crib. She’s sleeping on her back, covered in blankets, tiny fist wrapped around one of Sam’s small fingers. Dean smiles before leaving, locking the door behind him.

He goes to the arcade. It’s in the same motel. He’s only a few rooms away. They’re both sound asleep, and Olive sleeps for hours at a time. He’ll only be out for a little while. What’s the harm?

He plays until the owner tells him they’re closing for the night.

Dean, now calm, returns to their motel room. He sees an eerie light coming from the bedroom. He hears Olive whine, and then she screams, bursting into tears. Dean’s blood freezes, horrified. He pushes the door open, seeing the shtriga leaning over Sam, breathing his life in. Dean reaches for the rifle by the door. The shtriga hears him cock it and rears up, hissing at him.

Dean hesitates, terrified. John breaks down the front door, handgun raised. He shouts an order at Dean, who ducks and rolls. Olive screams louder as John shoots the shtriga. It jumps over Sam and through the window. Olive cries so hard that she begins to choke, and Dean is made in action, rushing to his feet and lifting her out of the crib, patting her back.

Her crying dies down as John cradles Sam close.

“Sammy? Sammy, Sammy. You okay?”

Sam blinks as he wakes up, confused. “Yeah Dad. What’s going on?”

“Are you alright?” John repeats, holding Sam close.

Olive coos as John turns to glare at Dean. “What happened?”

Dean hesitates, again scared. “I… I just went out.”

“What!” John roars, and Sam pulls away, confused.

Olive begins to cry again. John plucks her from Dean’s arms, and she lets out an ear-piercing wail. She reaches for Sam, who takes her from their angry father.

“Just for a second. Dad, I’m so sorry.” Dean whimpers.

“I told you not to leave this room! I told you not to let him out of your sight!”

***

My heart ached as Dean blinked away tears. I reached for his hand and he took it without a word, sniffling. Jinx jumped onto the bed and let out a whine, curling up by his side.

“Dad just… grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim’s, three hours away. Irene went after it, but by the time Dad got back to Fort Douglas, the shtriga disappeared. It was just gone, and it never surfaced until now. You know, Dad never spoke about it again, and I didn’t ask. But he… he looked at me different, you know.” He sniffed. “Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order, and I didn’t listen. I could’ve gotten you both killed.”

“You were a kid.” Sam and I spoke at the same time, voices soft.

“Don’t.” Dean shook his head. “Don’t. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it.”

“But using Michael… I dunno, Dean. I mean, can’t I just hide under the covers? Ya know, we can be the bait?” Sutton asked.

“No, it won’t work.” Dean shook his head. “It’s gotta get close enough to feed, it’ll see us. Believe me, I don’t like it any more than you do. But it’s gotta be the kid.”

***

“Well, that went shitty.” Dean scowled as he laid back on the bed. “Now what?”

“Well what did you expect?” Everett sighed. “You can’t ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid.”

There was a knock on the door, and Hunter stood to open it. Michael stood there, looking horrified. Jinx barked.

“Michael?”

“If you kill it, will Asher get better?” He asked.

“Honestly?” Dean sighed. “We don’t know.”

“You said you were a big brother.”

Dean nodded, glancing back at me and Sam. “Yeah.”

“You take care of your little brother and sister? You’d do anything for them?”

Dean nodded again, without skipping a beat. “Yeah, I would.”

Michael sighed. “Me too. I’ll help.”

***

“Alright, got it?” Sutton asked Sam as she stuck her head in one room and then the other.

“Almost.” Sam called back.

“This camera has night vision on it, so we’ll be able to see clear as day.” Dean spoke to Michael, voice soft and tone gentle.

My heart melted. I loved Dean with all my heart.

“Are we good?” He looked at Sutton.

“A hair to the right.” She repeated Sam’s instructions.

I tapped the camera a bit, and Sutton put a hand up for me to stop. Hunter checked his handgun before tucking it into his pocket. I leaned against the wall as I did the same, watching Dean.

“What do I have to do?” Michael asked him.

Dean sat on his bed. “Just stay under the covers.”

“And what if it shows up?”

Dean glanced up at us, and Michael did the same. Hunter winked at him and I sent him a smile.

“Hunter and Olive will be in your closet. The rest of us will be right in the next room. We’re gonna come in with guns. So, as soon as we do, you roll off the bed and crawl under it.”

“What if you shoot me?” Michael asked.

“We don’t shoot you.” Dean smiled softly. “We’re good shots. We’re not going to fire until you’re clear, okay?”

Michael nodded, hesitantly.

“Have you ever heard a gunshot before?”

“Like in the movies?”

Dean chuckled. “It’s gonna be a lot louder than in the movies. So I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, and do not come out until we say so. You understand?”

Michael nodded again, paling by the second.

“Michael, you sure you wanna do this?”

He said nothing, and Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to, it’s okay. Nobody will be upset with you.”

“No, I’m okay.” He sat up tall. “Just don’t shoot me.”

“We’re not gonna let anything happen to you. I promise.” Dean whispered to him.

***

I rubbed my eyes as we sat on the floor of the closet, heads against the door. I watched through the wooden slits as a shadow moved outside the window. Hunter stood, pulling me up with him. The window slid open, and I clutched my gun tighter. I closed my eyes, knowing the others were preparing themselves to run in here.

The shtriga stood over Michael, and opened its mouth. Michael was horrified, but his eyes were shut tightly. The light of his energy began to light up the room, and Dean and the others burst down the door.

“Hey!” Sam shouted.

“Michael, down!” Dean ordered.

I kicked the door open as Michael rolled off and under the bed. Each of us took multiple shots, firing at the shtriga until it fell to the floor.

“Mike, you alright?” Dean called.

“Yeah.” His voice was meek, but he was okay.

“Just sit tight.” Dean ordered as he took a step toward the shtriga.

It was limp on the ground, and Dean let out a small sigh as he glanced back at Sam. It jumped up, and a growl left my mouth as I went at it, tossing my gun aside. It grabbed me by the throat and pushed me into Dean, slamming us both into the wall. I spit blood as it slammed the Richmonds to the ground.

“Ol! Dean!” Sam called as the shtriga forced him against the wall, drawing his energy out.

Danger. Sam. Dying. Sam. Sam!

Sam began to go grey. I let out another noise as Sutton stumbled for her gun. The shtriga looked up. Sutton shot it in the head, and Sam went limp, gasping for breath.

“Sams!” I ran to him, speaking through pointed teeth.

“You okay, little brother?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam nodded, holding two shaky thumbs up. I helped him to his feet. Dean and the Richmonds met us a foot away from the shtriga. We stared as the energy began to spill from its mouth. I took Dean’s gun from his hand and shot it. Dean took the gun back and shot it twice more. It fell in on itself as the rest of the energy escaped.

Michael peeked his head out, and Dean nodded.

“It’s okay, Michael. You can come on out.”

More blood fell from my mouth, and I spit it onto my flannel so it wouldn’t end up on the carpet. Michael shuffled to stand next to Everett, smiling tentatively. Dean pulled an arm around me and the other around Sam, winking at Michael.

I glanced at Hunter, and he nodded.

We got it.

***

“So, we’ll see you around?” I looked up at Hunter.

He nodded. “Probably.” He bent down and scratched Jinx’s ears. “Bye, sweet baby.”

“Hunt, come on, I wanna get going.” Everett called as she climbed into their car.

I nodded in her direction. “You should go.”

He sighed. “You know, you’re lucky to have Dean.”

I glanced over my shoulder at said boy and smiled. “Yeah.” I turned back to Hunter. “I really am.”

He chuckled. “Catch ya later, Ol.”

I popped to my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Bye, Hunt.”

He winked as he climbed into the backseat. Everett started to move before he could even shut the door. I giggled, waving as they drove off.

“Hey, Joanna.” Dean greeted Michael’s mom with a grin. “How’s Asher doing?”

“Have you seen Michael?” She asked.

“Mom! Mom!” Michael came running from inside the building, hugging his mother.

“Hey, sweetie!”

“How’s Ash?” He asked with large, hopeful eyes.

“Good news.” She smiled. “Your brother’s gonna be just fine.”

“Really?” Michael gasped.

“Yes, really.” She smiled. “No one can explain it. It’s a miracle. They’re gonna keep him overnight for observation and then he’s coming home.”

“That’s great!” Dean grinned.

“How are the other kids?”

“Good! Real good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward’s going to be a ghost town.”

“Dr. Travis?” I asked. “What about Dr. Hydecker?”

“Oh, he wasn’t in today. Must’ve been sick or something.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Must’ve.”

“So, did anything happen while I was gone?” Joanna asked Michael.

“Nah.” He glanced at Dean. “Same old stuff.”

“Okay.” She smiled. “You can go see Ash.”

“Now?” His head popped up, excited.

He glanced at Dean again, and Dean nodded slightly.

“Only if you want to.” Joanna smiled at him.

Michael waved goodbye to us before running out to the car.

Joanna laughed. “I, uh, I’d better get going before he hotwires the car and drives himself. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Sam waved as she hurried to the car.

Dean wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we turned back to the car.

“Ya know, it’s too bad.” Sam sighed.

“Oh, they’ll be fine.” Dean shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant Michael. He’ll always know there are things out there in the dark… he’ll never be the same, you know?” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish that…”

“What?” I looked up at him.

“I wish I could have that kind of innocence.”

We turned to lean on the car, watching as Joanna and Michael drove off. I leaned into Dean’s side, and Jinx whined, scratching at our feet.

“If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too.”

Previous Ep: Hell House (1.17)

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id-on-parade · 4 years

Text

A New Day

This will probably be a pretty long post. I’m gonna put the positives at the front, then i’m gonna exorcise some demons from my mind. This exorcism is to remove them from my head, not to put them into someone else’s, so i’ll go ahead and put an end to positives notice, and i guess read on at your own risk.

I am currently waiting on a list of approved Mental Health care providers in my area from my insurance company, I’ve just gotten off the phone with them and they said they would send it to me and I should pick one. After picking one and confirming they are accepting patients I should call the insurance folks back to get approval for a number of appointments. They close at five, so hopefully I’ll get the list soon so i can get this rolling - hopefully i’ll get this sorted today. Its funny that I feel this sense of almost giving up on doing it myself, this outdated cultural stigma at the same time that I feel a strong sense of hope that this will be a turning point in my mental health. I look back and wonder with a decent sense of awe how different my life might have been had I received mental health care as a teen when this all started.

I had a pretty heavy depressive episode yesterday, and am happy to report that today feels more like my standard levels of depression, i’m me again today - the me that most know, not the me that’s falling and can’t seem to catch hold. this information that today is a new day, i’ve survived, and the pit appears to have closed is the end of the positives for this post. here on in will be an unloading of a very stressful and difficult week, read on if you wish, but i gotta get these demons out somewhere, so here they go.

I guess i should start at the start. I returned this last week from a week of sick leave wherein I had some Covid symptoms, my wife had some Covid symptoms and at the start of that sick week, that was majorly stressful. I got tested, nasal swab, x-ray, and found to be negative for covid, or pneumonia. my wife’s insurance, however, had her do an online appointment, she answered some questions, the internet told her it was likely viral sinusitis, and wrote her a note to take the week off as well, no seeing a doctor, no actual tests. now, luckily, we both seem to have gotten better over that week - but boy was that frustrating.

When I returned to work, my boss and I had a bit of a disagreement about what a sick note through Saturday meant, he thought i should have come in Saturday, I thought i shouldn't. I even called Saturday and someone over the phone told me i was not scheduled Saturday. at the end of the conversation he had basically made it seem like i was dumb for thinking about it the way i did, that it didn’t matter about the call on Saturday, and that i might get in trouble. then he said “so, for next time, you know - come in on the day that’s listed.” So far, no trouble has come down the pipeline about that, but he’s been much less jovial with me of late.

That’s probably a decent bit of paranoia, we’ve all been less jovial of late, at my work. Providing mental health care to inpatient teens is hard. there’s a lot of secondhand trauma. (more on that later) there’s a lot of firsthand trauma. (more on that later). These kids are quite ill, and they are trying so hard, often put up against a life that’s honestly too difficult for even most adults, my whole heart goes to them. Right now, With the pandemic, and the rioting, they have more stress than ever, and less access to their loved ones, and anyone who knows anything about mental illness, knows what that means for their mental health. And with all of our patients having suddenly much worse mental health it means not only that my coworkers and I are dealing with more unsafe situations, and absorbing more trauma, but on the back-end we’re watching these kids backslide through months of progress, and sometimes that’s so heartbreaking. It’s normal, to backslide, and it doesn’t mean anything negative about the kids, but it doesn’t make it less heartbreaking. so yeah, coworkers are all in their stressed out, panic, survival modes, and its pretty visible right now - which means sometimes we are not as awesome to each other as we could be.

One of my coworkers was especially not awesome, to himself, this week. I really looked up to this guy. takes heart to be openly flamboyantly queer with these kids, and he was, and he was always honest with them as far as accountability, a real no-sugar-coating type guy. when things got rough, it wasn’t unusual to hear him say “look at your life, look at your choices” to these kids, where other staff might handhold, and walk them through an analysis of what they’d been doing. Well, this week he must have finally snapped from the stress, as about 5 cop cars and a firetruck arrived at the neighboring cottage to retrieve him from the bathroom, where he had sequestered himself to huff aerosol mid shift. He won’t be returning, and he was damn good at this. he’ll be missed, and I hope away from the job he can recover.

Stream of consciousness, this brings us to kids and trauma. To avoid trauma, as the kids also care about that coworker, I ushered the kids I was outside with into the building. well, all but one. This is a fairly new patient, AFAB NB, spent a long time homeless before coming to us, family ain’t about the identity. As the cops rolled up, they were hurling insults, flipping them off, and generally saying things that I had to remind them to watch their language for. not that i reminded them very loud, because honestly, mood. But then they got silent as the cops sent to work, and they got real still. they stopped responding to me, and that was when i decided to walk around in front of them and force eye contact. they were on the verge of tears. I said “They aren’t here for you, you’re safe here, let’s go inside - it isn’t helping you to watch this.” they said It’s just --- the last time I saw the Cops they were hauling away my boyfriend”. - “that is extremely traumatic, if you come inside with me we can work on some coping, and help you to get the thoughts out, will you come inside with me?” -- “I wan’t to, But I just Can’t, I Can’t Make Myself.” - “Can you take my arm and we’ll walk together?” --”NO! I Can’t Have Anyone Touch Me Right Now, PLEASE” - “Absolutely, you’re safe here, how about if we take it slow, and I walk beside you instead?” -- “o-okay” it took us roughly 5 minutes to walk the 20 steps to the door. Once inside, they wept in a ball for some time, before beginning to work on coping skills with me. In processing, they let me know they were having such trouble because the boyfriend they were remembering had been very abusive, and the cops were hauling him off because of the beatings he had heaped upon them. that they hated the cops because they thought they loved him at the time, even though they now know he was not good for them, but knowing that hadn’t made them hate the cops less. And that seeing the cops had put their mind firmly into memories of being abused, and that they were having trouble breaking free of that thought trap. eventually we were able to get them involved in group activities and somewhat distracted, at least.

There’s a kid who reminds me of me as a teen, he’s depressed, and angry. unlike me as a teen he’s also very slow to process, and to avoid falling behind when he fails to process things he either makes cruel jokes, or explodes with anger. His dog is dying. His family barely sees him normally, but with the virus they don’t do much at all. His only contact is family therapy, and when he remembers to call them. he often doesn’t remember to call them until after phone time is over. then he wants to scream and shout and tear everything apart when he doesn’t get to make the call. This story though, is about a day he did remember to call. And his family let him know about the riots, all across the country. He’s trying hard to understand, but he doesn’t. He thinks, his being here, after drug and assault charges, has something to do with whats going on out there. that maybe his case is also unjust. but he also knows he needs this care. but he also sees himself backsliding and feels hopeless about progress, due to the depression. This is when he decides to try to recruit his peers to escape with him. All of his peers, to their credit, stayed the fuck out of it. but it did mean convincing him of the value of treatment, and the potential risk of breaking down a door - while he was trying to break down a door. he’s one of the few that I honestly don’t know, if i’m alone with him and he swings on me, if i could defend myself well enough until support arrived. he didn’t that day. but boy was that A Lot Of Stress.

The kid who has assaulted the most staff and peers, physically, verbally, sexually. started a plan that had him out of Low Stim and with peers in Close Attention this week, because we were receiving a new kid this week, at six foot, straight from juvie, a known fighter, and an off-meds psychopath. and, even though Low Stim has 2 rooms, we’re trying to get sexually assaultive kid out of there so there isn't risk in the dual occupancy. i’ll talk about new kid later, for now lets talk about the more long term patient. this patient has trouble with building relationships, an echo of the abuse he experienced in younger life, frequently he gets sexually explicit, physically assaultive and perhaps fecally oriented while doing so, especially when he is worried about relationships, or feels “too silly”. the trouble being of course, our counseling works best when we build strong relationships with patients, and even regular jokes can push him into the “too silly” category. He did well for the first bit. after about three days the back to back escalations began. a peer told a joke, he laughed too much, the staff pulled all the other kids inside and away from him to protect them. he whipped out his dick, pissed all over the place, tried showing it to staff, then began throwing sidewalk chalk everywhere, windows, doors, the roof, towards other buildings, whatnot. when the support staff arrived and 12 of us asked him to proceed to a quiet room, he did so of his own volition, rather than us taking him, and due to that, my coworker did not lock him there. no sooner had the extra staff gone than he came out banging around.we went hands on and locked him there. at the end of an hour and a half, my coworker deemed he had calmed enough to rejoin his peers. no sooner had he made his way back into the milieu than he began trying to hug and grope various staff.we again hauled him into a quiet room and locked him there. as the shift neared its end, we called security and had them help us get him back to his room in the LSA, not wanting to leave night shift with a kid in a QR. once back there, he tried to show staff his dick, again, and eventually settled into refusing to go to his room, when it was clear staff wouldn’t interact with him anymore for the night and expected him to go to bed, he went in his room, drug his mattress to being half down in the doorway, looked at me and said “is this in my room enough?” before laying down to try to sleep. he was scared, after everything he didnt want to be alone, and would rather not follow directions and potentially be in trouble, than be by himself in his room. I let him stay there. More of the same throughout the following day, and the day after that is when his story intersects with new kids in just about the most traumatic way.

New kid is over six feet, muscular, dead eyed, and arrived wearing a juvie orange jumper which he refuses to change from. developmentally, it is hard to distinguish this mustachioed individual from a fully grown man. in all of his dealings with staff, he was robotically polite. out of staffs sight he could be heard screaming angrilly, wailing in dispair, cursing out people who aren’t there, and then pleading “ oh no, no no no, NO NO NO NO” like you would expect to hear from a prone person while someone with a bloody knife walked towards them. I know because for a lot of the week i sat and listened to this. i listened to him strike himself after the pleading as well. and while I personally was not threatened in any way by his actions, it was still extremely stressful and distressing. Throughout the week, whenever the longer term patient overheard these things, he would should “would you stop, damn” to the new kid, and less polite versions. I tried to remind the long term patient that everyone struggled with different things, and that it would be better to ignore his peer, or at least make politer requests. no such luck. it seemed, throughout the week as though new kid simply did not hear long term patient.he proved that wrong on saturday afternoon, when he marched out of his room and began wailing on long term patient. after long term patient fell, new patient grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into a room, where the beating could be heard to continue. By the time we had enough staff to safely go in, new kid was standing one foot on long term kids throat, looking him in the eyes and repeating “i’m going to kill you” but, dispassionately.

I think thats it for work stress, I covered viral stress earlier. I am stressed by the riots. it makes me profoundly sad that it must come to this, but i also find myself firmly believe it HAD to come to this. that this rioting is righteous, and the only road to social change. I’ve been a punk since I was a teen, and I feel like i should do more for this movement, but honestly all of my energy is being spent keeping me going and treating these kids.

My depression has picked my relationship with bestie to fixate on in these trying times, and I fear I may have damaged that relationship because of it this weekend. bestie has just started a new schedule which is excellent for her. I’m so happy that she is now on a schedule that works for her needs, and will allow a healthy amount of sleep, and time at home, and for her to sleep close to the hours she’d prefer to be sleeping. I had been very lucky in that her last schedule was very close to my own schedule, and so our time at home nearly entirely overlapped. she chose to spend a number of mornings, and late evenings after the rest of the house just hanging out, her and I, and I absolutely love that time. I don’t want to sound entitled to it, at all. it is a gift she gives to me, that I am so happy to receive and which i am so glad she wants to give to me. With the new schedule she will have to leave early enough that the morning hangouts will not be an option, and because of this likely ought to go to bed early enough that the hangouts while the house slumbers aren’t a healthy choice. My depression tried hard to have me believing that this meant those times were just gone. After work saturday, bestie and wifey were listening to an excellent, but extremely despairing/sad audio drama.It was very enjoyable. It was probably not a mentally healthy choice for me to partake in that, and had I requested a different hangouts activity, they might have been a little sad, but probably would have swapped. instead, rather than be an even minor inconvenience I joined because i wanted the hangouts, and had a great time listening to a great story and felt like while the despair was growing in me, in resonance with the story, i’d sleep on it and it’d be alright sunday. I woke up sunday honestly too depressed to get out of bed. just laying in spiral. I asked bestie to join us in bed, when i heard her going to get her phone charger, hoping extra cuddles would help me get through, i don’t know why i couldn’t ask for what I wanted, I had the opportunity and I’m sure it would have been fine, now, in hindsight. I felt like at the time I was so certain something would go wrong. eventually everyone came to the bed and there was a semi-cudllepuddle. people didn't want to fall back asleep, it makes sense not to full cuddle puddle for that. as people set in on their various phone activities I started to get that feeling like i wasn’t part of what was happening (despite being there. I know, I don’t know why, but when the depression gets going it gets harder to fight.) and rather than grab my phone and to the separate activities together thing I just withdrew. i recall someone commenting on it, and I thought i said something confirmatory about it. The blondes (wifey and besties husband) went to the store, and I could tell bestie might fall asleep, so i tried to get her to stay awake, she needed to for the new schedule. in interacting i’d asked to hold her hand, and she observed i was sad to relinquish it when she wanted it back. admitting that made me sad, led to just an outpouring of all of this stuff sans work stuff. and the worry about time to spend. I shouldn’t have dumped all of that on her, she didn’t consent to listening to that, and she certainly had a stressful enough time. I hate that when I’m in the throws of this damn disease I can’t seem to stop this. I don’t want to hurt the people I love. I don’t want to push them away. She reminded me I ought to go to therapy. I worry I may have offended her by talking about worrying about time we’d get to spend together. That voice in my brain is trying to convince me that her response means that those times mean so much more to me than to her. thats a damn lie. its a damn lie and it needs to get out. I’m exorcising it with the lot.

I’ve just received the list. I’m ending this here, and moving forward with that productive enterprise

#depression #Work Stress #bestie #wifey #therapy #Begone Demons

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