#both with like acclimation to the sight and also maybe the cool air will help it feel better. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chrisgates · 1 year

Text

You Are A Sad, Strange Little Man...

TIMING: the early morning of may 28th PARTIES: @chrisgates & @declinlalune SUMMARY: andy finds chris after a bad shift and helps him back home. WARNINGS: parental death, suicidal ideation

Andy didn’t need to have enhanced smelling in order to recognize the scent of blood and the way it saturated the air. With the sun low against the horizon, just beginning to peek through the trees, she could see tattered clothing strewn across branches and other greenery. Blood followed its suit, and Andy grimaced at the sight of a dead deer, its chest ripped open with claw marks running down its sides and across its throat. She quickly stepped around it, several cans of repellent knocking around in her bag. The knife she had no intention of using sat in the breast pocket of her jacket as a reminder to anyone she came across that she did have protection.

The further she moved off of the trail, the thicker the trees became. She’d been trained in woods like these, though with different flora. In the past four years, it hadn’t been hard to become acclimated to their new surroundings– both she and Alex had developed the ability to adapt, and adapt quickly. However, no other place they’d been housed the supernatural quite like Wicked’s Rest. It was both a blessing and a curse. Andy stopped just short of the small clearing– if it could be called that. The trees were sparse, but sweetfern grew in large bunches across the ground, and if it hadn’t been for that same creeping feeling Alex gave her, she may not have noticed the figure behind the tree. Whether they were purposely hiding, or slumped, she couldn’t quite tell just yet. “Hello?” Andy called out, voice hoarse with apprehension.

How many times would he go through this? How many times did he have to wake up covered in blood or naked beyond legal reason? How many more headaches and missing hours, missing days, did he have to endure? Chris grew tired of the mornings he’d wake up in some godforsaken place, alone and confused. No manner of chain or cage would keep him, either, apparently. He’d fall asleep to the safety of the cool metal only to wake amongst wet leaves and flies. It made him want to cry — it made him want to scream.

This day was no different. The cold, unblinking eyes of a deer greeted Chris when he roused; it elicited a scared frustration, but also a determination to remove himself from the situation. There was so much blood. He needed to recuperate quickly if he wanted to make it back to the motel before the sun passed too far above the horizon; he needed the cover of dark if he wanted to remain unseen — as the old song went, the universe was against him. A limb didn’t set right during the ‘transformation’ which meant moving was going to be even more painful.

Chris couldn’t get the dislocation at first, so he crawled away from the scene of the crime and holed himself up against a tree. That was.. difficult. He may have passed out at some point, he couldn’t tell — there were times he couldn’t tell dream from reality. The pain didn’t help his disorientation, but a voice shot through, clear, as if he could see it in front of his face. It grabbed his attention faster than his pain did, and he slumped a little further behind the tree in the hopes that he would not be found.

Andy heard the shuffle of body against the greenery once more and she stopped where she was. She saw what she thought was a bare shoulder peek from behind the tree. So she’d been right in that the person she’d happened upon was the wolf she sensed. She had hoped it wouldn’t be, but she guessed it was better than coming across a mangled corpse of somebody who was human. She shook the thought as she took another step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Maybe they were afraid they’d hurt her. If that were the case, Andy did have her knife in her pocket. She genuinely didn’t think she would need it, because if the individual behind the tree had wanted to hurt her, they would’ve done so already. They didn’t want to be found for a reason, and Andy could understand that. “There was a lot of blood, I’m just trying to make sure you’re alive.”

She could hear their breathing, at the very least, and it didn’t sound desperate. “I can go, but just let me know you’re okay?” Andy knew it was stupid, and maybe it went against everything she had put up for herself– that the only werewolf she looked after was Alex, but the idea of leaving somebody else out here, helpless and alone? Especially considering the fact that she would have hoped somebody would do the same for Alex if she were in the woods alone after a shift.

Chris was grateful he had more time to get a bearing of his surroundings and the situation at hand. There’d been too many instances where he was too out of it to run, too out of it to save his skin — or his face. It was why he had to move so often. They’d have a face to the supposed crime and then all hell would break loose. He tried to lock himself away or shackle himself to the bed frame, but he always managed to get out somehow. He always managed to make a mess of things.

It was no different then. He still had his back to a tree, still hid himself from the impromptu visitor, still feared for his own safety. It was still the same song and dance. Chris closed his eyes. His body shivered between the cold and the pain, but he was aware — and, oh, he didn’t want to be. At least, whoever it was to stumble upon the ruin seemed concerned and not angry or scared. There was trepidation, undeniably so, but they pushed forward and continued to call out for him.

Did she want to know if he was okay just to judge the situation? To see if he were able to fight back? Or to run? Chris’ thoughts moved at about a mile a minute, and every minute was spent debating whether or not this was a safe moment. They never really were, but that didn’t stop him from tying — from hoping. He opened his eyes, then, and looked up towards the speckling of pale light that started to creep through the treetops.

That was quite the loaded question she’d asked; he did find the humor in it, as small as it was. “I’m alive,” he croaked out and swallowed. “‘Okay’ is a stretch.”

What Andy was doing was stupid and she knew it. She knew that this wasn’t Alex, but she couldn’t get herself to turn away. She’d met other wolves, as well as other shifters that weren’t Alex, and none of those situations had gone badly, but this was somebody she didn’t know, and she was in the woods, and they were covered in blood. She took a deep, steadying breath in order to ground herself. If she could shake the what-if’s, she’d be in a better position to help whoever it was that was hiding behind the tree.

She waited in silence for their response, not daring to move an inch. What if they thought she was going to attack them? The last thing Andy wanted to do was aggro the freshly-shifted werewolf. At their comment, Andy nodded, even though she knew they couldn’t see it. “Okay, well– I have um– water.” She swallowed thickly and twisted her pack around so that she could grab the water bottle out of it. “I’ve got a flannel, too– but it might be a little small for you.” She dug further into her bag, finding a pair of biker shorts that had a massive bleach stain on them. “You don’t happen to wear women's small, do you?” Andy let out a nervous laugh before she shook the water bottle awkwardly in the air. “I can drop it by your tree– the flannel, too.”

She sounded young and, frankly, a little awkward. Chris could feel the corners of his lips start to curl up into a slightly humored and pained expression as he listened to her rummage through her belongings. It was kind of her to do that. That didn’t erase the underlying worry that this could be a trick. Sometimes his own paranoia ran him out of town faster than murder did. He didn’t want to let her generosity blind him, but — did she know something he didn’t? She kept her distance, he’d realized. She offered him her things but she didn’t draw any closer, not like the other guy.

“The tree’s fine, thank you.. ” Chris replied; he was even more nervous now. Was it him? Did he give off the negative energy? He was injured and apparently there was enough blood to warrant concern for his life, so how was he the suspicious one? “I, uh..” he didn’t want to ask for this, but the last time he tried it ended badly. “I kind of.. Need some help.” Chris swallowed and closed his eyes, steeling himself. “My arm’s dislocated.. I can’t get it back in.” His tone, though tense, was laced with both desperation and defeat.

“Okay, okay.” Andy took a careful step forward and set both the water bottle and flannel down by the tree. She immediately backed up, careful not to make any sudden movements. Even though she knew he wasn’t looking at her, he could hear every move she made, which made her deeply uncomfortable that she’d do or say the wrong thing, or even step on the wrong tree branch. She wanted to be of more help, but she couldn’t be unless he trusted her, and what reason would he have to do that? Especially considering the fact that she knew what he was, but he had no idea that she was the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

After a moment, Andy considered turning back, to leave him be, but the mention of his dislocated arm had her stopping in her tracks. “Oh.” She had put her own shoulder back into place, and even Alex's time and again. She didn’t know full on how to approach medical care, but she had basic field knowledge– enough to get by until she could get to a real hospital. That’d been the point of the hunter camps, to set them up for real life situations. “Yeah, I can help you. I can come to you, is that okay?” Out of the corner of Andy’s eye, she was reminded of the blood on the leaves surrounding him. What had he gotten into aside from the deer?

Chris thought back to the first time he woke up from whatever it was that happened to him — the first time he actually remembered waking up. Before then, there were spots and years missing, nights and mornings simply gone from his memory. That was until he woke up to the sun and a bird with its beak in his face. There was no one around, no one to care for him, and he had been a mess. His body had been a mess and it was difficult to put himself back together. Over time it got easier, but every now and then, well-

He was grateful that she was there.

With a little effort, Chris managed to take hold of a sleeve and dragged the flannel to his side. This definitely was too small to wear as an actual shirt, but it would work around his waist. It was better than nothing. A beat later and the water went with it. He ensured not to touch the rim of the bottle in case she wanted it back — highly unlikely, but you could never be sure. His hand shook as he drank; he’d noticed the blood. He noticed it everywhere. It was on the foliage around him, on his feet, on his stomach, on his hands. He couldn’t see, but he felt a familiar sticky, dry feeling around his mouth and on his chin. Chris tried his best to ignore it, though licked what he could from his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah that’s okay.”

Andy watched with mild amusement as the items she’d handed over disappeared from the side of the tree. Then she remembered the blanket in her pack, too, at the very bottom. Sure, it was made of foil and meant for emergencies, but wasn’t this one? It wasn’t necessarily freezing, and she knew that the stranger would run at a higher temperature than normal, but still, it’d help with the modesty bit that she wasn’t sure he was concerned with. She pulled it out of the pack and began to unwrap it. It wasn’t the longest, but it’d go miles longer than the flannel would.

Once he gave permission, Andy moved forward, as well as around the tree. What she had expected to see once she got a view of him was better and worse than what she had expected. He looked disoriented and a little scared. However, something told her that he’d shifted before, that this wasn’t the first time. “I have this, too.” Instead of handing it over to him, she awkwardly laid it over his waist and legs. “Once we get your shoulder set, you can wrap it, right?”

The creeping feeling didn’t leave– it was loud, invasive, but she’d gotten good at ignoring it, especially with all the years of being by Alex’s side. She wouldn’t let pre-dispositions thwart this moment to help somebody. Andy pointed to his shoulder which had obviously been the one to be put out of place. “It’s that one, right?”

He was covered in blood and that in itself should have made her skin crawl, but Andy knew that it was possible that the deer behind her had been the only victim. How many times had Alex come home covered in blood after a shift? Andy hadn’t ever been suspicious then. Even if she didn’t know this person, she needed to treat him with decency. “Do you need a sec, or am I good to do it?”

Though he was grateful for the help, Chris felt embarrassed. He really shouldn’t — he’d gone through something traumatic, even if he was the cause, and he needed help. He wanted help, he just hated that he wanted it. He hated the fact that he felt so helpless. The company was, of course, greatly appreciated and their care and generosity would help his recovery process but he wished he wasn’t in the situation to begin with. That feeling had a tendency to yo-yo, usually alternating between ‘This is fine’ to ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’. Presently, he teetered towards the latter.

After some rustling, Chris heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps as they rounded the trunk’s girth. He didn’t move. Instead, he followed her with his eyes once she came into view. Redhead. Freckles. She was pretty, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t turn on him if she wanted to. He’d remember her face regardless.

He took note of the emergency blanket in her hands and truthfully was glad to see it — the flannel could only do so much — though he tensed when she set it over him. It was an unexpected movement, but he got over it quickly. Chris nodded in agreement. It would make him feel better if he could do it himself, he just needed to get through the hard part. He swallowed. “Yeah,” he answered, though his attention trailed from her to his shoulder. It looked gnarly and felt just as bad, but this wasn’t the first and he doubted it was the last.

“No, you’re good,” Chris confirmed and tried his best to relax his upper body. He thought back to the first time — he wasn’t nearly relaxed enough then and that ended with him having to seek professional help anyway. The arm never really felt right since. “I’m ready..”

To say he looked rough was an understatement, and it was by pure luck that Andy had found him and not somebody else. What would Kaden have done if he’d come across this man? Would he have helped, or would he have run? Would he have done something else? There were still so many questions she had for her cousin regarding his arrival in Wicked’s Rest, and though it had been weeks now, she still felt like she had no idea what his intentions were. It wasn’t a good feeling.

After a moment, Andy shook the thought. She couldn’t think about that now, not when somebody needed her help. Somebody who had no connection to Alex or Kaden– somebody who, for all intents and purposes, was good.

Once he confirmed which shoulder it was, Andy nodded. She had done this plenty of times, and she knew that doing it without a countdown was the way to go. The surprise came better than the anticipation. At least, for her, it did. “Okay, ready? I’ll count down.” Except, there were no numbers. Instead, she positioned her hands as needed and immediately shoved his shoulder back into place. The sound wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but it still made the back of her neck prickle.

Instead of letting him go immediately, she kept hold of his arm, just in case he reacted from the sudden impact in a way that would put them back at square one.

Truth be told, he may have lied a little — no, he wasn’t ready, but there was no point in dawdling. It would hurt regardless. Chris steeled himself, though tried his best to keep his body as relaxed as possible. That was going to be difficult with a countdown; with that, you knew when zero was going to hit. You knew when the pain would come. With her hands on his arm there was no time to argue.

There was no time to do anything, really. There was no countdown, nothing but the sickening ‘pop’ that came with the sudden force of shoving bone into another bone. The immediate and white hot pain that jolted throughout his shoulder and arm, though it didn’t last for too long. A dull ache would linger, however; he never really did heal right.

Chris’ cry of pain was brief and left a wave of shallow breaths in its wake. He needed to calm down; he was going to be fine. He stole a deep breath amidst the discomfort before offering her an exhausted nod. “It’s good.. I think. There’s no pain.” A beat, and then a slight smile. “Eh, less pain, I mean.. Thanks.”

Andy grimaced at the noise that left him. She didn’t like to hear others hurt, and though her father’s voice in the back of her head surged forward to finish the job, she ignored it. She wasn’t that person. She would never be that person. Her refusal to fall into line with ranger ideals had always been present. It wasn’t just Alex’s lack of hunter abilities that’d instilled it in her. She had never understood it; the way that animals, or people were categorized as monsters simply because of what had been inflicted upon them, or what they’d been brought into the world as. They deserved every right to exist, just as anyone else. There was no ‘other’ category in her mind.

Nearly losing herself to the tug-o-war, Andy blinked rapidly to bring herself back to the present. If she had felt uneasy before, now it was an entirely different ball game.

“I’ve never done that before. Glad it worked.” Andy grinned before continuing, “kidding, but still.” She got up from where she was crouched over him and took a step back so that she could give him space. He needed more help than what she could give him in the middle of the woods, but who was she supposed to take him to? She knew he would only heal with the full moon, but that was weeks away.

“Is there anyone I can call?” Andy could feel the blood from the deer on her hands from where she’d touched the stranger. “I don’t have to,” Andy quickly added, not knowing if he would panic at the idea. She wanted to do right by him. Maybe not for herself, but for Alex, and for all of the other wolves that’d met a similar fate.

You’re fine. You’re safe. Nothing is going to hurt you.

Many years ago, Chris would have laughed at the thought. He didn’t trust anyone, then, wouldn’t believe a word any of them said. He couldn’t stand to have their eyes on him or their concerns voiced in his direction. Many years ago, he would have lashed out and fled without a second thought, his sole intent to keep himself alive. Back then, everything would hurt him.

Now, the days were still tumultuous, anxiety and paranoia were still close-knit friends, but they were easier. At least, that’s what Chris told himself. He could make it through a conversation without feeling his skin prickle, but at what cost? There were more and more nights where control just didn’t seem possible, where he’d fall into bed and wake to the sky overhead or the sound of flies in his ear. The days were easier, sure, but the nights only grew worse.

He liked to tell himself that that was a problem for his future self — unfortunately, he was his future self and he had to deal with it now. Take it in stride, that’s all you can do.

Chris offered a tired snort of a laugh, “professional or not, I’m grateful.” With his shoulder set, he made a beeline for the thermal blanket and fixed it so it covered his lap a bit better. He hesitated at her next question before offering her a quick headshake. “No, there’s-” he shook his head again. “I’ll be okay.. I’ve.. done this before.” It felt like too much information still, but it was better than revealing that he was alone.

“I just… need a second.” Or an hour. Despite the fixed arm, Chris felt disoriented as hell.

I’ve done this before.

Andy had always been left to wonder what would have come of her sister if something worse had happened on that camping trip. Not to say that the worst hadn’t happened, but what if Andy hadn’t noticed the bite? What if her aunt had found out first? Andy knew worrying about the possibilities of what could have happened (but didn’t) was useless, but they came to mind anyway.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Andy offered another hesitant smile. He would need help getting out, probably. Maybe she should start bringing clothes with her on excursions like these, just in case. While she didn’t necessarily want to out herself as knowing it was clear that something was amiss here, even he would need to accept it. She couldn’t just suggest he bring a to-go bag with him when he was going to be shifting, because it was fairly clear that there was no control within this context.

“I can give you a ride though, if you would like.” Andy didn’t like the idea of him venturing into town on his own, not when the town was crawling with rangers. Really, she wasn’t entirely sure how anyone did it. How they frequented business, going along with their daily lives, ignorant to those who could end it all in one swift movement. “I don’t mind.”

The offer of a ride was incredibly tempting. Chris recalled those times when he’d have to hide and sneak his way to safety. He was sure he looked like a whole idiot with his ass out and using anything big enough to cover himself with, but what else was he supposed to do? He tried locking himself to the bed which only gave him a panic attack. He tried to confine himself to a room, that didn’t work. He tried to stay awake, go for a run, cover the windows — really anything he could think of to keep himself from wandering off and doing god knows what.

And they all ended the same way — with a walk of shame.

A painful walk of shame, at that, but embarrassing all the same. If he had a ride, he wouldn’t need to deal with any of the shame. There was shame in the moment, but the safety of a car would mean less prying eyes. On top of that, Chris felt obligated to agree. The prickling sensation of ‘what if’ lingered (it always did), but she’d been so kind, so accommodating — it only felt right.

And honestly, he really didn’t feel like walking this time.

Chris hesitated, his head pounded in return. He gave her a small nod after a beat of mulling it over. “Okay..,” he nodded again, more sure this time. “A ride sounds.. Good.” But then he’d caught a glimpse of the blood again and frowned. “Are you sure? I.. I don’t want to get.. blood everywhere.”

Andy waited patiently for him to either agree and accept her offer, or to decline. For a moment, she was absolutely sure he would tell her not to bother, that he would find his own way home, but instead, he nodded. She smiled gently at him and nodded in return as if to agree on their half-spoken deal.

Even though she didn’t know what had gotten him to this point, Andy had to trust that he was good. That whatever had happened wasn’t because he wanted to do it. She ignored the idea that there could be somebody out there dead because of him. She had to ignore that, or else she would be reeled back in by the teachings of her parents and of those like her. But she wasn’t like them, and this was proof of that. She wasn’t a good guy, not by a long shot, but she wanted to be. She had to be.

“It’s okay. It wouldn’t be the first time.” She paused, then added, “my sister, she’s… pretty damn clumsy.” Andy gave him a reassuring smile before helping him get to his feet. “Also, just in case you’re embarrassed about–” She gestured towards the fact that he was naked and only covered by the items she had provided. “I am very gay, so don’t worry.” It mirrored her conversation with Nicole, only in a totally different way. “It’s going to be a bit of a walk, so if you need to lean on me, do that.”

Slow and steady, but if anything felt awry or threatening in any way, Chris was ready to bolt. It was exhausting to live like that and truthfully, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. For now, though, everything seemed fine — it seemed good. Maybe he had some luck, after all?

“Not like this, though, I hope?” Chris gestured to the mess around him with a shy grin. The amount of blood on both skin and foliage was.. Alarming. He remembered the first time he woke up like that. The sheer panic had been overwhelming then and the confusion even worse — now, he barely batted an eyelid. Well, for the mess, anyway. Everything else that came still terrorized him.

He clutched at the silver blanket as he let her help him onto his bare feet. Small fabric remnants clung to the sparse dew and blood across his legs. Dirt was buried deeply beneath his fingernails. Fuck, he couldn’t wait for a shower. Despite being shaky and a little dizzy, it felt good to finally stand up.

Her comment, though it hadn’t come from nowhere, absolutely tickled him. Chris dropped his head with a laugh. “Ah,” he started in between the humor, “that’s, uh, heh, that’s good to know. Thanks for the reassurance.” It was incredibly kind of her to try to placate his shame, and while he appreciated and preferred it, it was one of the least of his concerns. Chris nodded; he was sure he’d have to rely on her for support, until he gained his footing. It definitely got easier over the years.

With blanket where he wanted it and water bottle under an arm, Chris felt ready to leave the bloody mess behind. “Okay.. I’m as ready as I can be.”

“Not like this, but still, it’s okay.” Andy didn’t want him to get home any other way. If it hadn’t been her who’d come across him in the middle of the woods, it might have been somebody else. Somebody else who would have hurt him, if they could sense him the way she could. Even if it was a warden or a slayer, would they have turned their back on him leaving him for dead, or would they have done their due diligence in assisting a faceless ranger who hadn’t made it to the injured wolf in time?

Once they were moving, Andy made sure to help support his weight. “I’m Andy, by the way.”

Whatever conversation they could have had was emptied out by labored breathing and Andy’s consideration for his still healing injury. The journey to her jeep was a long one, considering the pace they were going at, but they made it. After helping him into the passenger seat, she got in and started towards the main road. “Just tell me where to go.”

Was it actually okay or was this just ‘it’s not really okay but your relief matters more than the mess’? It was a heartwarming sentiment either way and it made Chris feel better about his decision in going with her. It didn’t make him nearly as nervous — he wasn’t completely relaxed, but he felt certain now that he would make it out of this without too much incident.

Of course, they still had the walk to go through and that was going to be quite the trek, according to her. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

Immediately he was reminded of Toy Story when she introduced herself, but he kept that stupid little thought to himself and instead offered his own introduction. “Chris,’ he winced through the greeting but still shared a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you.. I.. wish it was under better circumstances.” He did laugh, but it was true. He hated that he had to meet anyone like this, even if they wanted him dead.

The walk was long. She wasn’t lying. Chris felt completely exhausted by the end of it, and even though his shoulder was back in its place, it hurt. Getting into the car seat was also a little bit of a struggle, but once he was in and settled and they were off, that was it. That all was the hard part, he hoped. Chris directed her towards the Bearcliff motel — deep down, he really hated the fact that she now knew where he was staying, but he’d cross that bridge if and when he got there. He wouldn’t dare bring that up, he probably didn’t even need to. She could probably tell.

Though it was daylight, it was early enough that the parking lot wasn’t a mess of cars and people. Chris was completely ready to make the last leg of it by himself, but she stayed for that too. She stayed until he made it to the dingy motel door and stayed until it bolted shut. He was left with a hell of a body ache and a pretty good feeling about Andy — he severely hoped he wasn’t wrong.

#tr: andy b #tr: [ you are a sad strange little man ]#parental death tw #suicidal ideation tw

7 notes · View notes

criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

masterlist playlist

previous next

Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years.

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @lovesicksofi @idgafayiowf @shadyladyperfection @mercy-burning @sapphic-prentiss @itsmytimetoodream @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @enchantedcruelsummer @no-honey-no @inkstainedwritergirl @tnoh13 @xxconfettiitsaparade @calm-and-doctor @muffin-cup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @arcticrory @holl2712@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21 @stellabelle @me-a-hopeless-romantic @musicxlover97 @anightflower @andiebeaword @annesauriol @haylaansmi

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #fanfiction #icyhwm #my writing #spencer #reid

184 notes · View notes

arvandus · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 500 followers! Could I perhaps request 8 from the fluff prompts with Present Mic, but platonic? Like he's the reader's unofficial metaphorical dad and something bad happens to the reader and the prompt line is what he says at the end? Sorry if that's confusing.

Thank you so much! Ngl, I struggled with this one a bit. I’ve never written for Present Mic before, so this was new territory for me. Also never written platonic before, which was also a good exercise. Really though, it’s because this was INSTANTLY the idea that had popped into my head with your request, and it WOULD NOT BUDGE. Normally not a problem, but for some reason, I had the hardest time figuring out how to fit the dialogue prompt into it. BUT I DID IT! It only took me.... *checks* 1732 words to get there. 🤣🤣🤣

This makes it my biggest one yet for the 500 Followers Event. I hope you enjoy it! It’s a bit angst heavy in the beginning because of the nature of your request, but it does end on a happy note!

8. “You are my family.”

It happened. It actually happened. You had hoped it wouldn’t, but here you were, sitting on a park bench with nothing but a backpack and a duffle bag. Your mind replayed the sound of your family’s words in your head. Harsh, cruel, heartless words.

��Get out.’

Sure, there was more to it than that, but you didn’t want to dwell on it, to let it fester within you and take root. There was already more than enough damage tied to their memory, and the last thing you wanted to do was carry it with you. After all, you had enough baggage as it was.

Of course, this was easier said than done. The ache sat heavy in your gut, your heart a black void. Questions flew circles in your mind like crows, questions you’d likely never know the answer to. They mocked you, pecking at your resolution, tearing at your self-esteem. Tears soaked down your cheeks and you let them fall freely as you wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to find a strength you weren’t sure you had.

You began to shiver as the cold night air made its way into your jacket. You couldn’t stay here. You knew you couldn’t; it wasn’t safe. You looked at your phone for the tenth time. A single contact stared back at you.

Hizashi Yamada.

Hizashi was your mentor, your guide… and quite frankly, the closest thing you had to a good father figure. He’d helped you through your years at UA, both academically and emotionally, giving you the support you’d desperately needed, the support that was painfully absent with your own family. He treated you kindly and respectfully, taking you under his wing so that you could flourish. He praised you in your successes and guided you through your failures, all while keeping a light heart that constantly reminded you not to take life too seriously. It set up the foundation for a strong bond between the two of you that continued after graduation. It was a bond that you still had, ever evolving with occasional check-ins and coffee shop meet-ups, where he often gave you professional and even sometimes fatherly advice.

Fatherly was what you needed right now, more than anything. He was the only person you really trusted, the only one who knew about your situation. He’d even said for you to call him if you were ever in trouble.

This counted, right?

Still, you hesitated. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. And you’d never ever reached out to him in this capacity before.

But you didn’t really have any other choice.

You pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Y/N?” His voice answered. No doubt, your name came up on his phone.

You swallowed.

“Um… Hi, Mr. Hizashi…” you mumbled.

“Hey, kid! You okay? What’s got you callin’ so late?” he replied. You could hear the concern underlying his jovial tone, and you clutched your phone tighter to your ear, grateful to know that at least someone out there cared about you.

“I… I need some help.” You said. “They… they kicked me out.”

There was a silent pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber. “I’ll come get you. Tell me where you are.”

You thanked him and gave him your location. He kept you on the phone with him the entire time as he drove over, making you speak to him and describe your surroundings. Any people who walked by you, specific landmarks, anything he might need to know if trouble arrived before he did. When you finally saw his headlights pull up into the parking lot of the park, relief flooded you and you nearly ran to his car. He was a sight for sore eyes, his blonde hair pulled back into a casual man bun, his clothing simple. He stepped out of the driver’s side door to put your things in his trunk before opening his passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” You said as he settled back into the driver’s seat next to you.

“I’m glad you called me.” He replied.

As he drove, he spoke to you. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he asked.

Your vision blurred and you shook your head.

“Listen. I’m going to give you a couple of options for tonight. I can take you back to my place and you can crash on my couch. Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can reach out Nemuri. I’m sure she’d understand.”

You were grateful he didn’t offer to put you up in a motel by yourself or take you to a homeless shelter. The tension in your spine eased slightly.

“Um.. your place, please, if that’s okay…” you mumbled.

You could see relief smooth the creases on his brow and he smiled at you. “Of course it is.”

You arrived at Hizashi’s home and he helped you carry your things in. He retreated to his hallway to grab a spare blanket and a pillow and set it up for you on the couch. You looked at the space curiously, intrigued at his level of preparedness.

Hizashi noticed the questioning look on your face, and chuckled. “Shouta crashes here sometimes. Gotta be prepared.”

You gave a small chuckle at the mental picture.

“How about some tea?” Hizashi asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. You could hear the clinking of ceramics and the running of water. “Have ya had anything to eat?” He called out. “Are ya hungry?”

You shook your head, your stomach still twisted in knots. “No, I’m okay…”

“Well, if that changes, feel free to help yourself whenever you want.” He replied.

By this point, the dam of your emotions was beginning to crack, and you sat on the couch with your head in your hands. You could feel fresh tears filling your eyes, sticking to your lashes. You blinked at them, letting them fall into your palms.

A few minutes later, Hizashi returned with a cup of hot tea that he handed to you. You took it gratefully and sipped at its contents, letting the warmth coat your throat and fill your stomach. It helped to slightly ease the knot of anxiety that you felt twisted up inside you.

“I’m so sorry to ask for your help like this.” You muttered. “I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you gave me your number. I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

“It’s okay.” He replied. “Like I said, I’m glad you called me.”

“I promise I won’t stay long…” you said. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’ll stay as long as you need to. I’m not going to let you out back on the street by yourself.” He said sternly. “I’ll start reaching out to people tomorrow. I’m sure there are some UA graduates that might be cool with getting a new roommate.”

“Thank you.” You said again.

Another long silence filled the space as you sipped at your drink. He quietly sat near you, letting you acclimate to his space and this strange, new situation. Once the mug was empty, you set it down.

“So… do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

You began to recount all that had transpired hours before. The things your family did, the things they said… You tried to keep the emotions separate from your words, but it was impossible. Within a matter of minutes, the dam finally burst, and you were openly sobbing. As you cried, Hizashi offered you a box of tissues and put a comforting hand over yours. You clutched at it in return like a lifeline, his silent consolation tethering the broken pieces of your heart.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You whispered. “Hizashi… what’s going to happen to me…?”

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.” He replied.

You stared at him and he stared back, a small reassuring smile on his lips. He was such a good person. Already, he’d managed to give you more support in the past twenty minutes than you’d received from your family in months.

You gave a sad, ironic laugh.

“You’re like the dad I wish I had…” you muttered.

Hizashi’s eyes widened for a moment, and panic filled you. You hadn’t meant to say that; the words had just slipped out, a small confession of tired heart. But then he laughed and scratched the back of his head.

“Haha, really? Thanks! I guess we have gotten pretty close over the years…”

The tension in the room immediately evaporated. You gave a small smile, glad that your comment didn’t have the dramatic impact you feared it would. The man’s positivity seemed as immovable as the mountains.

Hizashi’s chuckles eased, and his expression softened. “To be honest, I always knew you had family troubles. When you teach long enough, you start to notice those kinds of things. And back then, there really wasn’t much I could do about it. But that’s part of why I wanted to help you, I think. To give you a chance to grow past that, so it wouldn’t define you.”

He stared at his hands as he continued. “I guess, maybe in some way, I did sort of adopt you, in my heart.” His eyes looked up at you again, holding your attention. “So, don’t feel bad about saying that, okay? If anything, it makes this old man’s heart happy.”

Your stared at him, your eyes freshly stinging as new emotions – happy emotions – bubbled forth.

“Hizashi….”

“Yeah?”

“Could I have a hug?”

He gave a chuckle and sat next to you before putting his arm around you. You leaned against him, soaking up the physical contact. It drove away the loneliness and replaced it with something you’d only ever really felt in his presence.

Love, strong and familial.

You had thought that you were all cried out, but you were wrong. Fresh sobs shook from your body like the boughs of a snowy tree, knocking loose all that you’d been carrying within yourself. The anger, the fear, the self-loathing…

Hizashi rested his chin on your head as you cried. “You are my family.” He said softly. “Only if you want to be, of course.”

You nodded fervently as a laugh bubbled from your throat, pure joy filling you. You were safe. You were loved. And maybe… just maybe… you were home.

#Arv's 500 Followers Event #Present Mic #Hizashi Yamada #Platonic!Mic x reader #family themes #angst to fluff #bnha #mha

62 notes · View notes

justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Merry & Bright {12}: All the Love and Joy

Previous: If Only in My Dreams

youtube

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!

Summary: Jungkook spends his first Christmas with you and your family.

Jungkook stood nervously fidgeting with his fingers. His suitcase next to him, a sleek hardcovered black bag, sturdy enough for world tours, waiting patiently to be opened in the hotel. You close by phone to your ear, telling your mom what door you and Jungkook were waiting at. Glancing at him, you smiled softly, his tongue poking from between his lips. His beanie was low, hands covered by his long sleeves to hide any of his tattoos from being seen. People might not recognize his doe eyes, but surely his BTS tattoos would give him away. He watched you carefully, how you stood, how your face contracted and smiled as you chattered on, coat draped over your forearm. He watched as you tucked your bottom lip into your mouth, teeth searching for loose and dead skin to nibble off.

“We should go outside,” You suggested, double checking the ringer on your phone was nice and loud before turning to him.

“Aren’t you going to put your coat on?” He asked following you out the nearest baggage claim door.

“I’m so hot, this happens every year,” You stifled a yawn. You hadn’t slept much in the three days leading to your flight to your aunt’s house. It was a combination of excitement, sex, and sharing every detail of the last two months with Jungkook, who had been holed up in Korea working incessantly. He’d finally finished, with no commitments until New Years, allowing you nearly a week of time together. You were giddy, enthused, excited beyond belief. Jungkook had never spent Christmas with you and your family, and this year, being the year your sister and her husband were joining, was the perfect opportunity to acquaint the extended family with your Idol.

“What if they don’t like me?” He had whispered, breath even, bare chest holding you to him.

“That’s nonsense, they’ll like you,” You reassured him.

“What if they don’t understand me?” He asked again.

“Your English is amazing, and my brother-in-law speaks English as a second language, so it’ll be fine,” You tried to comfort him.

“But I’ve only really been practice-

“Kookie, nothing I say is going to make you worry less, so can we just, acknowledge we’re both nervous? And accept that maybe this will go really well, but it also might tank completely?” You suggested, lips pressing lightly against his pecks.

“I, yeah, you’re right,” He sighed, your touch soothing him.

“Mm, what am I right about?” You asked, lips moving hastily up his neck.

“My wheels are spinning,” He whispered, a soft moan flowing freely after his words.

“That’s the Virgo in you,” You smiled.

“And in you,” He replied.

“It’ll be fun, and if you don’t understand something, just ask,” You said, lips now moving down his jaw towards his lips.

“Will people recognize me?” His question stopped you dead in your tracks. You pulled away, eyes staring at his serene expression.

“Probably? Maybe? But we don’t have to go out much. We do have to go to church, so maybe don’t sing like an angel and we’ll be good,” You tried to add levity to the situation. You didn’t know what would happen if someone screamed JUNGKOOK in a mall or tweeted his picture… You didn’t know.

“I love you,” He whispered, head tilting to capture your lips.

“And I you,” You said rolling on top of him.

Now, waving at your approaching uncle, Jungkook felt similarly to when he had to do press, no not the boredom that came from endless questions about meaningless topics which largely went to Namjoon, but anxious. Realistically, he knew that you getting along with the six members of BTS and his family was a far more challenging feat than him acclimating to your midwestern family. Rationally, he knew you would still love him and want a future with him if this week didn’t go well. Emotionally, he was scared shitless that your opinion of him would change. Sensing the slight change in his disposition, you walked up to him and carefully placed a kiss on his porcelain cheek.

“Hey, you and me,” You felt his shoulders drop at the gesture, and you smiled warmly.

“You’re here!” Your uncle called, stepping out of the minivan and walking to hug you.

“Uncle, this is Jungkook, Jungkook, this is my uncle!” You introduced, moving quickly to hug your mom who had accompanied him. Your uncle, and the rest of your family (bless them), had been practicing saying Jungkook for the last two months.

“You can call me Jungkook, or JK,” Jungkook smiled, his full bunny teeth on display and your heart doubled in size. He moved to greet your mother, whom he had met and spent copious amounts of time with. He was happy to have another familiar face, soon to be joined by your sister and her husband. Their familiar faces brought him comfort and attempted to lessen the nerves.

Sitting in the back of the van, Jungkook continued to fidget with his hands until you absentmindedly reached across the aisle, taking his non tattooed hand in yours. You gave it a gentle squeeze, and he relaxed, your touch always a source of comfort.

Your uncle prattled on about the neighborhoods and geography of the state. He asked little questions of Jungkook, which gave Jungkook a minute to adjust to the cadence of his voice, the way he cracked his neck as he drove, his desire to sip soda from a beaten up Hydro Flask. Jungkook enjoyed the snort of his laugh, and found comfort in the slight smell of tobacco from the pipe your uncle smoked.

It wasn’t long before your uncle was pulling up to the house, a house you had lived in during your childhood, a house which held your greatest treasures. Hopping out, you took stock of the cookies sitting on top of an additional storage chest, keeping cool in the freezing temperatures. Jungkook immediately moved to get the bags and help your uncle carry them in. He lost you momentarily as you disappeared in the house, hugging your aunts.

“Y/N, I’ve watched videos on Youtube, he’s very talented,” One your aunts said.

“He’s very hot,” Your other said giving you a knowing look. You laughed. In the two years you’d been dating, you’d heard similar comments from them, but they never expected to be meeting Jungkook. “He’s very well respected and highly regarded. He’s won so many awards.”

“All of those things are true,” You said kicking off your boots and hanging your coat in the closet.

“Just set them by the stairs,” Your uncle said, pointing Jungkook towards the staircase. He found you waiting, a smile on your lips as you breathed in the air of your second favorite place.

“It smells like Christmas,” You said, opening your eyes to take in the sight of JK. He’d opted for a matching sweat suit, which looked delectable on his muscular frame. “Hug me,” You said, arms extending. Jungkook greedily pulled you to him, cheek resting on the crown of your head.

“You’re so short,” He chuckled.

“You’re abnormally tall, I’m average, thank you,”

“Like Yoongi-hyung,”

“Mm, one of many things Yoongi and I have in common,” You said, smiling against Jungkook’s chest. “come on, you have to formally meet my aunts.”

Pulling Jungkook from the small entryway towards your aunts in the kitchen, Jungkook took in as much as he could. It was exactly as you described it. Holiday decorations older than both of you, a stunning tree dripping in red and gold, snacks and treats on every table, each placed in festive bowls or plates, and a back wall of windows, opening on the expanse of snow behind the house.

Your aunts were mid conversation, discussing what else they needed to get at the grocery store. They looked up to see you and Jungkook, your arm around his waist, a blush already on his cheeks. His hand tattoos were uncovered, and he was unsure how your family would react to his bodily decorations.

“Aunties, this Jungkook, Jungkook, these are my aunts,” You said, the hand around his waist squeezing him lightly. Out of habit, he bowed, and out of habit, your aunts pulled him into a hug, introducing themselves.

“Your very tall,” Your aunt said, eyeing him up and down.

“Uh, yes,” He couldn’t stop blushing.

“What are these tattoos? I’ve seen pictures, can you explain them?” Your other aunt asked.

“Of course,” Jungkook said, a shy smile playing on his lips.

They sat at the kitchen table, his right hand laid out flat, delicately pointing to each one, allowing your aunts to ask questions and run their fingers over the ink. You sat beside him, head rested on his shoulder, arm draped around his waist. Your family had always hoped you’d find a partner, someone that looked at you and understood you for the multitudes you contain. In Jungkook, through him explaining his tattoos and being a willing participant in your holiday traditions, your family could see the love and adoration that flowed freely from you.

Jungkook, hand splayed on the table, his love attached to his side, finally relaxed, realizing that Christmas, here with you and all your family, was all the love and joy he could ever want.

Next: I Sincerely Tried

11 notes · View notes

buck-nialled · 4 years

Text

Felicia - S. Mendes Imagine

USING STRANGERS’ DIALOGUES AS WRITING PROMPTS: day 3

LOCATION: school

NOTE: none

PROMPT: “If I was a girl I would’ve been named Felicia.”

2005

“Alright Shawn, it’s your turn.” The girl before him was sitting criss-cross applesauce, the scent of her strawberry shampoo wafting towards him. His heart began to pick up speed as he gulped. “Alright Shawn, it’s your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” Kimberly asks, batting her lashes at the boy. Timidly, Shawn turned his face downward and observed his light-up sketchers, and began questioning why he begged his mother all week to come to Kimberly’s birthday party. Especially when he knew his crush would be there.

“Well, I…”

“Oh, come on!” A boy from his class cute in, raising his arm. “We know you’re not cool enough to pick dare, Shawn. You’re just a chicken. Pick truth, already.”

“I am not!” At seven, Shawn knew when to stand up to his rivals. He knew not to let them push him in too far deep.

“Then prove it.”

But for some reason, peer pressure seemed to be the route he was taking tonight. He looked over at Y/N, who already had her gaze focused intently on him, before tearing her eyes away. Something that did not go unnoticed by Kimberly.

“Well, what’ll it be?” The girl pushed.

“Dare.” Shawn was surprised that word could even come from his mouth. Now he awaited the grueling task they were going to put him to.

“Okay, I dare you…to play seven minutes in heaven with Y/N.” Shawn’s breath caught his throat, and his face turned a darker shade of red by each passing second. Y/N observed his reaction and decided maybe this dare was not the best one.

“Kimberly, I don’t think that’s the best idea…maybe we should—“

“But Y/N, he chose dare. I’m giving him what he asked for.” Y/N sighs, looking back towards Shawn, who was too afraid to say anything to the girl. All that was running through his mind was how she looked at him with uncertainty a few seconds prior and tried swaying Kimberly out of the idea. Two affirmations that screamed how badly the girl did not want to be locked in a closet with him.

“Alright, no more wasting time! Follow me.” Kimberly says with a devious smile as she led both Y/N and Shawn to the nearest closet, the small white door and what might happen with both of them behind it was daunting. But once both of them were sitting down and the door was closed behind them, Y/N began speaking.

“Y-you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to, you know…” Shawn remained silent, trying to make out her features in the darkroom. “I know it was Kimberly’s idea but we don’t have to do anything…she’s just messing with you—“

“Because I’m a chicken. I know.” Shawn began pouting and crossing his arms. A hand finds his shoulder.

“No, Shawn. It’s because she’s jealous. Like everybody else. Because you’re nice and funny and wouldn’t let somebody force you to do anything stupid in truth or dare like kiss a girl you don’t even like.”

“But I—“he does like her. He likes her a lot. But Y/N was just so talkative from her nerves that it was almost like she was sparing him the breath.

“It’s okay, Shawn. I’m not mad at you.”

“Promise?” He held out a fist with a small pinky poking up, but it was nowhere near as small as the one that wrapped around it.

“Promise,” Y/N said, “Shawn?” The boy hummed and she took his face with her hands and planted a smooch right on his cheek. “Just in case people ask, you can say you got a kiss.”

A small grin came up to his face. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Shawn.”

2015 (PRESENT)

Y/N bit her lip as she watched the boy from the doorway to his bedroom. It was the most immaculate yet distraught she had ever seen it. Boxes were scattered about the floor, but at least his theories were right: there was, indeed, a floor beneath the mess. A few clothes and sundry items lay scattered about the room: that book Shawn wouldn’t be finishing this year for English, a picture of Shawn and Y/N on her tenth birthday that stood erect in a frame on his dresser. But the most important was the acoustic guitar leaned up against his wall. It was the impetus for his leaving and also Y/N’s competition. Shawn always swore he loved her as much as music, if not more. But all of the misgivings and qualms upon hearing the news of him going abroad for his music, she was beginning to believe it was not true.

She asked herself how rationally upset a friend could get for not being loved like the other friend’s passion. And honestly, it was a stupid question to ask. The most they shared was a kiss on the cheek as Kimberly Hoffman’s seventh birthday party, it was stupid to assume that she would be at the top of Shawn’s priorities when the two of them were not even an item.

“Hey, nerd.” She says with a smile and breaks Shawn out of his pacing. He pauses and looks her up and down, before racing over and hugging her so tight, his hands might’ve gotten all of the knots from her back out.

“There you are, you haven’t been responding to my texts all weekend.” Admittedly, she’s seen every single one. And debated heavily when the right time to go say goodbye was, but never ended up showing. This was Shawn’s last night, though. She knew she had to face him one way or another or he would have confronted her himself.

“Yeah, I’ve just been busy...ya know, preparing my goodbye speech and everything.” You muse, and like always Shawn plays along.

“Oh really? Well…” He seats himself on the bare mattress on the floor. “I’m listening.”

Y/N took a seat beside him, letting out a heavy exhale. “Um…well, I-“ her voice began crackling and she felt a glossy shield form over her eyes. After all the nights she promised his absconded would not make her cry did not instill the action in her as she had hoped. She turned away, and he looked up at her locks, all tangled and messy. A sign she has been running her fingers through them all day due to stress.

“Y/N…are you-“

“I don’t want you to go.” She sobbed out before a hand flew to her mouth to muffle her cries. She was still defiant when looking at him, which cued Shawn’s large, warm hand to go to her shoulder as comfort. “Honey, I…”

Y/N sniffled as she tried to let the words leave her lips. It was not as seamless as she imagined it would be. “I-I’m sorry…I’m sorry I know it’s…that’s so selfish for me to say I mean I’m your best friend for crying out loud!” She exclaims, now turning to face a worrisome Shawn. “And I’m crying for you to stay I mean it’s ridiculous! I should be happy for you, not holding you back…” She whines, before plowing her face in her hands. Shawn drank in the sight of her, now just realizing she was adorned in one of his hoodies he’d lent her long ago in freshman year that he refused to have returned.

“I’m…I should just go.” Y/N says, cheeks fiery and hands trembling. She attempts to hoist herself up from the mattress, before Shawn, like a roadblock, crouches himself down before her. His hands take purchase on her thighs and he was afraid the words would not come out of him fast enough. “No, wait. I can’t let you leave like this, not when you hate me.”

“Shawn I could never hate you.” She responds with a shake of her head. One of his hands slowly slides down from her thigh and raises until it’s in front of her face, a single pinky in the air, waiting for her own to embrace it.

“Promise?” The corners of her lips turn upward, and Shawn felt pride in his chest to know he could make her smile even when all she dared to do was cry. Her pinky came into his view, and just like a homecoming with the last slow song, just like when he made his first vine with her eternal support, just like when they shared that fateful kiss at Kimberly Hoffman’s party, in her closet.

Y/N has convinced the memory of the kiss was far from Shawn’s mind, but she remembers it like he was yesterday. Shawn wouldn’t ever tell her, but he wishes almost every night to go back and have it he be kissing her. But make it the right place. Have his lips meet hers.

Y/N interlocks pinkies with him, and by that point, the words just flow naturally.

“You know I uh-I was supposed to have left weeks ago…” Y/N’s gaze rises from their pinkies to the brown beauties focused on her. “I asked for just a little more time because there was someone I had to set things right with before I go…a girl who needed to know how I feel about her…”

“Shawn…” His name comes out as a hoarse whisper from her throat and the boy continues speaking.

“Y/N I love you. I mean, I’ve liked you since before Kimberly’s stupid party. But when you kissed me on the cheek and just…you just helped me through so much since then. You’ve always been supportive of me. And at homecoming last year I realized, when you saved that last dance for me because I made you pinky swear we would…I just…I knew I couldn’t let you go without you knowing.”

“Shawn.” She says again, before practically springing off of the mattress and into the boy’s arms. She had never felt more comfortable or acclimated in her life than within his warm embrace, his face in her neck and arms wound around her waist, tight. “I love you too. I love you so much.” The sudden weight falling onto him makes Shawn tip backward and land on the hardwood floor. But all he and Y/N could do was laugh. She brings her face back up to face his and slowly leans to plant a kiss on his cheek. Afterward, his hands come up and cup both of her cheeks, and like he always wished to do, collided his lips with hers.

“You know…” Y/N muttered between kisses, “Kimberly told me what she would’ve asked if you had picked truth…”

“Really.” Shawn hummed, breaking away from the quick succession of kisses. “What was it?”

“What’s your biggest secret?” She giggled. Shawn looked upward and pondered for a minute.

“If I was a girl I would’ve been named Felicia.” He says, and Y/N’s eyes grew twice their size.

“Really?”

“No.” This earned Shawn a light smack to his chest and made him giggle like mad. “It probably would’ve been that I liked you at the time, but…”

“But what?” She asks, tilting her head at the boy. Shawn can only shrug and thinks about his next words carefully, before responding.

“Don’t know. I kinda liked how it all turned out. How it led us…here.” He grins up at her, which she mimics almost instantly before their mouths were on one another’s yet again.

can’t get enough of Shawn? click HERE for more!

71 notes · View notes

flannelshirtandjeans · 4 years

Photo

Here’s a bit about Norma and Grace’s twins coming to see what dialysis is like, which I don’t know what it’s like, so pardon me my inaccuracies - and Sam makes a friend! UuU Above is an illustration for something in the story.

___________________________

The kids both held Norma's hands as they followed the nurse to the light, well lit and neat dialysis room, where other people were already being treated - beds and seats lined the wall, and the dialysis machines hummed as they circulated the blood of these other people. There was a little child there in one of the beds, alone, and an old man with who might have been his wife, and a woman who looked like a rockstar and spoke softly as a whisper was pulling on her jacket and following another nurse out. The twins stuck close to Norma's sides when they entered, and looked around the room with big wide eyes, taking everything in.

"This will be your mom's station, right here," said the nurse, Maire, and led them to the bed closest to the window overlooking the inner courtyard of the hospital, where little ant-sized people walked and scurried back and forth between the buildings, or were sitting down to have a rest on one of the benches by the little fountain set up there. "A view and everything, isn't that nice?"

"Very nice," said Norma, and the kids, temporarily struck silent by the newness of the situation, just hummed in response.

"Now, if you'd let your mom take her coat off and get on the bed-- there's chairs for you right here if you want to sit down, and I see you brought some coloring with you, you can use that little bedside table if you want to, or I can bring you some old folders if that's better."

"The table is good," said Margaret, and Sam said: "She's Mommy."

"Hmm?"

"They call my wife Mom," Norma explained, shrugging off her blazer and carefully folding it over the backrest of one of the chairs by the bed. She lowered her purse onto the floor gently, squeezed her children in quick hugs, and climbed onto the bed, testing the reclining position and finding it comfortable, trying to look confident and calm. She'd done this once already, she knew what it entailed, but somehow she was still nervous, and found herself pulling the provided blankets over herself for warmth against the cool air of the room (or maybe she was just cold - nobody else seemed to mind), and comfort both. "They're very particular about it."

"Oh! I'm sorry. You are very good to tell me - Sam, was it? Making sure you I call your Mommy the right thing."

She smiled at Sam warmy, and Sam smiled back, pleased at the qualified adult praise.

"Alright, I'm gonna tell you what's happening and what I'm doing - you can ask questions if you want to; it's really not scary at all."

Maire continued talking while she set up the dialysis machine, propped up Norma's arm on a pillow on an armrest attached to the side of the bed, and inserted the needles - Norma was watching her children while all of this happened, and saw Margaret pinch her eyes shut and Sam turn a little pale and sit up straighter at the sight of that, but stubbornly looking anyway.

"Remember to breathe, baby," Norma told them, and their eyes flickered to her. "Don't want you to faint."

"Not a fan of needles?" Maire asked Sam, and Sam laughed a little, shaking their head.

"No," they said. "One time I had to have shots and I puked on Mom. It's not as bad to see it done to others though."

Maire leaned towards the twins conspiratorially and whispered from the corner of her mouth: "You know what, I agree with you there. I STILL don't like my own blood taken but here I am sticking needles into people like your Mommy every day!"

Sam laughed, and even Margaret smiled uncertainly, daring to open her eyes to peek again, and looking away until Maire said: "all done!"

"Thank you," Norma said. "And thank you for showing the children. They like to know what's happening and we like letting them see so they aren't afraid of it."

"My pleasure," Maire said with a smile. "That is very smart. All this hospital business can look and sound very scary, but this really is not as bad as it looks, right?"

The twins both shook their heads.

"Good! I'll bring you some juice boxes if you'd like. You too, Mommy."

"Thank you!" Margaret said and Sam echoed her immediately.

The nurse left and Norma settled on the bed more comfortably, letting the children take their time looking around and get acclimated to the situation. Margaret soon lost interest in the medical equipment and the room and started spreading the coloring pictures she and Sam had spent all morning drawing for themselves and their mother, and digging out her coloring pencils, but Sam was really fascinated by the big machine, and watched the blood flow through the pipes and lines, wondered at the screens, and spent a minute examining the cuffs and needles on Norma's arm.

"Do you want to color with me, Mommy?" Margaret asked.

"Not yet, sweetie, you go ahead. I'll watch."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm okay, don't worry. Just tired." It wasn't quite true - her head hurt, she felt like she couldn't quite get enough air, and she was exhausted, but she'd felt the same the entire day, and dialysis and hypertension medication and diet would hopefully eventually help. "I can help you pick colors if you want."

"Okay. This is you, Mommy, look, I put Nugget on your head. What color shirt do you wanna wear?"

"That is BEAUTIFUL, and looks just like me," Norma told her, smiling fondly at the round smiling woman on the paper. Her lips had already been drawn with her signature red. "I think light blue would be nice, don't you think?"

"Yeah!" Margaret said and immediately poured all of her pencils on the little table to find the light blue. Norma watched her select a nice one, carefully sharpen it, and start coloring, tongue sticking out of her mouth when she neared the edges - she always took great care to only color inside the lines. They both did.

"Do you also want to color, baby?" Norma asked Sam, who was sitting on their chair, looking around the room in silence.

"Yeah, in a bit," Sam said absently. "Mommy, can ANYONE get kidney failure?"

"I suppose so, baby. You shouldn't worry about it though, Sammy."

"I'm not really, I just..." They studied the other patients in the room seriously. "I guess I didn't think kids could get it too."

"It's possible," Norma said. "It's usually older people though. A lot of diseases are like that."

"Okay."

Sam watched the kid on the other side of the room thoughtfully or a moment, but then turned to leaf through the drawing to pick one to color.The children colored for a while, and eventually Norma joined in to help them because she figured that sooner or later she wouldn't have anything left to color. The kids kept chattering about their coloring, or about their days, or their plans, or about cartoons that Norma only knew through their retelling, and lost herself in the coloring for a bit.

Sam kept looking up, and eventually asked: "Mommy? Can I ask the other kid if they want to color too?"

Norma's heart welled with pride at the question and her eyes threatened to leak.

"Sure, baby. But if they don't want to, let it be. They might be very tired too."

"Okay. Thank you, Mommy--" Sam hopped down from their chair, grabbed a couple of the uncolored pages and their coloring pencils. Norma watched them walk across the room (noticing the old man and woman watching with their hands over their hearts) with their relaxed stride that was so much like Grace's.

"Hi! I'm Sam. Do you want to color with me?" Sam asked the kid, and the kid's face broke into a big smile and they nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes please! I'm Conleth!"

"I have two pictures but if you don’t like them there’s a couple more I think, or we could draw on the other side -- this one was drawn by my sister and this was made by me-"

"You draw your coloring pictures yourself?" asked Conleth, and Norma huffed a short laugh. Several people had asked them the same question, herself included.

"Yeah! That way we can make it as easy or as hard as we want!"

"That is so cool! Can I color this one that you did?"

"Sure! That's out cat, Nugget, she's opened a faucet and sitting in the sink, she's really weird. There’s soap bubbles because she knocked over the dish soap bottle. Do you want to color it together or color different pictures?"

"You have a cat? We have a dog!"

"What's your dog's name?" Sam was practically beaming; they loved talking about animals and Norma could tell that this kid had a new friend right there as far as Sam was concerned. Maybe when the girl’s parents came to pick her up they could talk and exchange contacts.

"His name is Marda and he's SO OLD! Every time I come home from the hospital he licks my face until it's ALL WET!"

And so on. Norma watched them for a while with a smile on her face, half worried that Sam would ask something inappropriate, but the children seemed to be happy talking about their pets, and coloring, and favorite colors instead of anything serious.

"Do you also want to join your sister?" she asked Margaret, but Margaret shook her head.

"I want to color with you, Mommy."

"Okay."

She was so proud of both of them. Sam for making friends and bringing joy wherever they went, and Margaret for not wanting to leave her alone - not that she would have minded, she loved seeing her kids make friends, but Margaret's wanting to stick by her side touched her heart so hard.

"You have lovely children," the old woman whispered loudly when she and her husband were leaving, and smiled.

"Thank you," Norma said. "I know."

#norma #fisher-epping twins #my writing

4 notes · View notes

purpleskullcandys · 5 years

Text

Dying From Exposure Chapter 2

Summary:After the revelations following Remus' introduction, Logan suggests a way for Virgil to acclimate to the "Dark Sides" showing up in Thomas' Life: Exposure Therapy.

or: where Virgil is a reluctant video game protagonist, Logan, Patton, and Roman are in danger and simultaneously dangerous, and Deceit and Remus are along from the ride.

“H-hold on!”

Virgil dug his heels into the ground, feeling carpet turn to … something else as he was dragged across the threshold of Roman’s room. Virgil’s eyes blinked rapidly, his eyesight whited out by the drastic shift in lighting from the hallway to the room.

“Oh calm down,” Roman huffed, readjusting his grip on Virgil as the darker side struggled. “No need to be such a Shy Guy, Virgil!”

As Roman continued to pull him forward, Virgil found himself blindly tripping over his own feet, and … rocks?

Virgil wretched his wrist out of Roman’s grasp, bringing his hands up to shield his eyes from the blinding light of the other’s room. When the white spots finally faded from his vision, Virgil nearly felt his knees give out from shock.

Theoretically, Virgil knew that their rooms in the mind palace could change shape. Roman had showed the world this power when he turned the common room into a theater when Deceit had impersonated Patton. Deceit used this power again to turn the place into a courtroom for his prosecution of Thomas’ goodness.

Virgil had only used that power once: when all of the others and Thomas had entered his room. However, other than that, Virgil preferred to keep his room the boring four walls with posters and a bed that it always was. He found comfort in the predictability of it all.

He had seen Logan’s room transform from the mini library that it was during the day to a minimalistic bedroom for night time once when the logical side had accidentally fallen asleep at his desk while taking notes. Virgil quitely let himself out, stopping to place a blanket around Logan’s shoulders on his way out.

Virgil was sure that Patton’s room changed shape too at some point. Whenever he went in to relieve some pressure on the powderkeg that was his emotional state, he never saw a bed-- just beanbags, pillows, and blankets thrown around into a chaotic pillow fort. Surely the moral side didn't sleep in there all the time…

But Roman’s room made all of those adjustments seem like minor tweaks in comparison to the transformation his room must undergo. Virgil wasn't even sure he could really even call this place a room at all.

Before Virgil was a vast meadow, the long, green grass swaying in a slight breeze that Virgil felt gently ruffle the back of his hair. The open field was decorated with flowers that Virgil couldn't dream of naming, the blooms sprouting around the bases of small hills that rolled across the meadow, creating what looked like tiny rivers of color.

Beyond the field sat an overflowing forrest, pines and conifers basking in the sun and shade of even taller redwoods. Past the forest, a mountain side cut across the sky, white outlining its peaks as silvery clouds tumbled over the sides of the rockface.

In short, it was beautiful. In short, it was massive. In short, it made no goddamn sense.

“Like what you see?” Roman asked.

Virgil didn't even need to turn around to know that a victorious, smug smirk was plastered on the prince’s lips. He could hear it dripping from the other’s voice clear enough.

“It is pretty amazing, Princey,” Virgil admitted, eyes flashing from one sight to the next, before he turned fully to face Roman again, “... how unbelievably extra this whole place is, dude. Really fitting.”

“Oh hush,” Roman said, flipping a hand around his face before he landed in his signature pose, brown, curled hair glinting auburn in the harsh lighting. Virgil wondered briefly if Roman could control that too. The dramatic shit.

“You’re just jealous because your dark and dreary dorm could never measure up to my regally redecorated realm of a room!”

Virgil shaded his eyes with a hand above his brow as he eyed the bright sky. “I wouldn't exactly call this place a room.”

Roman gasped melodramatically, a hand placed over his heart.

“Excuse you!” he shrilled, hand on his chest moving to over his shoulder as he pointed his thumb behind himself, “This is totally a room. See? The door is right over there.”

Virgil shifted his weight onto one leg, leaning to see past Roman’s broad shoulders. Sure enough, a red door frame stood behind him, the doorway seemingly standing on its own in the middle of the field.

“As unfortunate a circumstance this is to make me utter such words, I must side with Roman,” Logan’s calm voice called from through the doorway, as he stepped forward into the light, followed closely by Patton.

“There aren't any walls,” Virgil heard himself protest, his mouth moving despite his shock at seeing the other two sides.

Well. Nice to know I can argue even when I’m too surprised to do anything else. Fight or Flight for the win, Virgil thought wryly.

Logan took a step to the side, now standing just in front of and to the left of the doorway. He raised one hand in front of him and formed it into a fist, before gently knocking against the open air. A soft, resonant sound echoed Logan’s actions, like he was tapping against a giant plane of glass. One of the logical side’s eyebrows rose, a small smile lighting his face.

“Huh. Invisible walls.” Virgil put his hands in his pockets, allowing a smile to mirror Logan’s own appear on his face. “Cool, I guess.”

Logan strode toward them, seemingly immune to the amazing sights the room held. Patton, meanwhile, was immediately side tracked by the flowers that stood near the doorway, bending down to pick a handful. Virgil could swear he heard the paternal side whisper, “What in carnation!” as he plucked the blooms, before racing to catch up with Logan.

“Yes,” Logan agreed, coming to a stop in front of Virgil and Roman, Patton coming to stand at his other side, flowers still in hand. “This is, by definition, a location that is enclosed by walls, therefore, making it a room. In fact,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “I would argue everything in the mind palace can itself be called a room, regardless of how massive it may appear, due to it being a construct enclosed within Thomas’ mind.”

“No wonder we can never mind our own business! We’re always head deep in someone else's!” Patton exclaimed, grinning sunnily. Virgil felt his shoulder untense slightly at the sight.

Good ole Padre.

“Quite,” Logan said decisively. “Now, onto our reason for coming here.” He looked pointedly at Virgil.

Now that got the anxious side’s shoulders tense again.

“Reason? Roman just told me he wanted to show me some stuff in his room. He said he could ‘imagine me up’ something to take my mind off of whats been going on.”

Logan turned his steely gaze from Virgil to Roman while Patton leveled the creative side with a Disappointed Dad Look™

“Technically,” Roman started, a smile that screamed ‘caught with hand in the cookie jar’ on his face, “I told him we would find something to help him in here. That’s not wrong!”

“Well, you also know what you said isn't right either,” Patton said sternly.

“A lie of omission,” Logan said in agreement.

“Well maybe I’m just getting into character!” he replied, defensively.

Into character?

All three of the others were talking now, Logan’s cool tone underscoring Roman’s seemingly operatic voice movements as he jumped octave after octave in his own defense, Patton’s voice offering a staccato of rapid beats as he entered lecture mode, something he didn't do often.

Virgil could feel himself spiraling to the music of their voices.

“Maybe I’m just experimenting with method acting!” Roman. “You know how he feels about Dec- well, you know!” Patton. “It's a breach of trust.” Logan.

Moving. Steady. Cool. Moving. Steady. Cool. Breath in. Hold… out.

“What are you talking about?” Virgil bit out, taking care to keep his voice steady, if somewhat strained. No need for his other voice.

The other three pulled apart. Roman was huffy. Patton seemed apologetic. Logan looked unaffected. They shared a look.

They’re all in on it. Except me. Of course.

“Well, kiddo, we saw how The Duke was getting to you the other day…” Patton started, eyebrows crinkled and lips pulled into a slight frown.

“And how Deceit gets to you, like, always,” Roman continued. His defensive attitude was long gone now, face nervous and concerned.

“Right! So we thought we should try to find a way to help you deal with how you feel about the Dark Sides in a more productive way.”

Virgil felt ice drip down his spine and across his ribs.

Oh. So it’s about that.

Virgil hunched deeper into his hoodie, eyes cast down onto the green grass beneath his feet. It was a little too cheerful looking for his taste, or maybe it was just his souring mood that made him feel so.

“You guys don’t want me to overreact like last time and hurt Thomas.”

“Oh, kiddo!” Patton exclaimed, and even without taking his eyes off the ground, Virgil knew that Morality was waving his hands rapidly, as if to dispel whatever thoughts Virgil was having.

“We don't blame you! Remember, I was just as at fault for what happened as you were. We both… got overly concerned about The Duke.”

“Correct,” Logan said. “We are not here to blame you for something that has already passed. Not only is that an unproductive exercise that’s only use is to unrightfully lay the blame at someone’s feet, it does not help us to prepare how to handle the situation, should it arise again. Rather we want to pursue a course of action similar to that which I prescribed to Thomas.”

Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed together even as his eyes stayed firmly locked on the ground beneath his feet.

“What Kaepora Geabora over there is trying to say,” Roman cut in, “is that we think we can use some psychology to help you deal with the Dark Sides.”

What?

“What?” Virgil said, eyes flashing up and darting between the others as his eloquence left him, if he even had any to begin with.

“Essentially, we would like to try using a form of exposure therapy to help you when confronted with the aforementioned Dark Sides.”

The three others looked at Virgil with varying degrees of concern. Patton’s eyes, brown and expressive, seemed to flit from place to place on Virgil’s face, a butterfly not sure where to land to get the most amount of information. Roman’s face, meanwhile, was twisted into that look it now got whenever he forgot he wasn't supposed to insult Virgil anymore, but had accidentally made yet another joke at his expense. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth somewhat pursed, as though he wanted to apologize but couldn't bring himself to let the words slip between is lips. Logan, for his part, looked unaffected, though Virgil saw his eyes glimmer with something.

Their combined gaze made Virgil itch. And not just because their eyes were cast so firmly on him, but rather that they looked at him with not only concern but thinly veiled hope .

They want to help me. They want to help me but they’re afraid I’ll refuse. They’re afraid I’ll run away. Afraid I’ll run away and hate them.

And the worst part was, they were right. Not that he would hate them, but that he wanted more than anything to run away.

Virgil felt cornered. He knows they didn't mean to--that they could never mean to because their own brains didn't make the twists and turns his own did whenever interacting with others.

They didn’t mean to put him in a lose lose situation.

Because on the one hand, the words “exposure therapy” have been echoing in his mind since Logan had uttered them, the six syllabuls bouncing against the sides of his skull and repeatedly beating out a fear inducing rhythm in his brain. He isn't sure what they mean exactly, but they seem to imply facing something head on. Something he would much rather run away from. Run away to his room where the light is minimal, the room is small and blessedly lacking invisible walls or growing, living floors, where he can bury himself in his cold but warming sheets and ignore everything except the physical sensations he feels. So he doesn't have to feel.

On the other hand, they are looking at him with hope. They want to help him and they all seem to genuinely think whatever they are doing will help him.

If he were Patton, he would know that regardless of his answer, the moral side would continue to support him. Would continue to call him kiddo. If he were Roman, he would know that the prince would not treat him differently for rejecting their plan, even if he did moan and groan about it for the next few weeks. If he were Logan, he would know that even if he did deny them, Logan would not be dismayed. Set back a bit, but never out of ideas.

But he was none of them. Virgil was himself. He was Anxiety, and therefore, all he could see in his future was soul crushing disappointment if he let them down.

It’s because you’re a coward.

He knew that. He knew he was a coward. It was in his nature. More than that. If he could borrow Logan’s words from earlier, he was by definition, a coward.

But , Virgil interrupted his own thoughts, I can be a coward that doesn't disappoint his friends.

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“Okay?” Roman echoed, awed disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah,” the anxious side said, taking a moment to look at each of them in turn as he continued. “I want to feel better.” Virgil took a deep breath, and forced a smile onto his face. He was sure the others could see how fake it was, but he wanted them to know. He was trying. “I want to help Thomas, even if it scares me.”

Patton’s smile could have blinded even the sun. "So," Virgil said, chest feeling warm and bubbly at the sight of the other side's proud smile. "What, exactly are we doing?"

#virgil sanders #anxiety sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #creativity sanders #dfe

10 notes · View notes

morphituu · 5 years

Text

Bell Peppers Ch. 10

“Stay”

Archive of Our Own: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

tumblr: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

The silence was at first welcome.

The lack of voices asking to recite his name, telling him where they would poke and stitch next.

The soft hissing of the IV pump where he could feel the lead of a catheter taped in the back of his hand, the soft beeping of the pressure cuff around his arm.

He started to recognize where all the pain was coming from. His bandaged hand was sore, but the throbbing in his skull challenged the misery of his knee he felt propped up on pillows, the chill of an ice pack beneath.

The shades were drawn, and he was thankful when he started to open his eyes-

Fuck, the brow above his left eye stung something fierce. When his hand rose to touch the stitches there and on his cheek, a small pump fell from his grasp.

The resonating throb in his ribs was great when he’d take in the sterile smells surrounding, as was the sensitivity in his stomach that couldn’t tighten without great agony.

The insides of his cheeks were raw.

There was no spot on him without pain he could concentrate on without another part demanding his attention.

Everything was hurt, and weak, yet he could recall everything.

That first time jolting awake, and the intimidating bustling of faces and hands around him, and lights flashing in his eyes as they triaged him. That’s what felt like forever- the waiting to be put under, or given something to feel less misery. He remembered barely being able to talk, and slurring for relief, sometimes grasping weakly at hands that touched something tender.

Fuck, he’d even cried, and begged to be left alone. All of which was probably completely indiscernible to the people helping him.

It wasn’t until after he was gowned and stabilized that they gave him something that heavied his eyes instantly, and let him float between consciousness and peace as he laid in the whirring machine of the MRI. Between then and when he got a room, it was quiet. Maybe the occasional of other nurses and doctors chatting through the hallways when he was wheeled around, but nothing louder than a sobbing prayer he’d heard someone reciting.

Quiet, and calm, even when nurses came in to check on him.

But he always took a few moments to acclimate, and remember, that he was viciously attacked in front of his own home, left alone all night. Recalling his attempts at calling out to anyone, but choking on spit and blood, and shivering in the cold.

He stopped moving his legs between the cool sheets; even that was too much.

Orcs don’t belong with humans.

Callie.

He struggled to look around for anything of his, but saw nothing behind the blurred sight of his one eye. Everything protested when he attempted sitting up. He stifled loud cries as pain spasmed through his form.

Callie. Please let her be okay.

He licked his dry lips, feeling the gash across the top, and closed his eyes to hide from the images that flashed before them.

With his head rested back on the pillows more comfortably, he pressed the button of the pump in his fist, the pain lessening ever so slightly.

↠

She held the heel of her palms against her temples, the onslaught of images brandishing her mind. Her cheeks were misty from tears, listening to Ward explain what they thought had happened, and how he’d found Nick that morning. That when he’d last seen him being taken away, he was still unresponsive.

How-

Why-

What if he’s…

She hid her face, her eyes pinching shut. No. You can’t think that way. Stop it.

“He was there all night?” she choked, wiping her face inattentively.

“We think. Blood on 'n around him was dried and some of the cuts on him were scabbing,” Ward answered, turning onto the winding lane that lead to the hospital.

“Oh my god,” she whimpered.

The cruiser silenced as it pulled before the entrance.

“This is his,” Ward spoke, handing her Nick’s phone and keys. She fought the tremble in her chin and lip as she looked at the blood on the screen, and the messy smears over the print reader.

He’d tried to call for help.

“Call and tell me if he’s okay,” Ward also said. The worried furrow of his brow gave away his fear, even if his voice was certain and steady. She nodded, wiping her eyes again before exiting the cruiser.

Her knees betrayed her sure footing, but she was infinitely horrified to walk in and be told he’d passed. It took her too long to find the front desk which was right in the middle of the vast room, but it was because she was looking for him right away.

The last thing I said to him was leave.

She banged her knee against the front desk once there, her hands unsure of where to rest.

“I’m looking for Jakoby? Nick- Officer Nick Jakoby,” she stammered, clearing her throat, pushing her hair from her clammy cheeks.

The receptionist scanned her computer, squinting. Callie’s leg started bouncing, watching the younger woman with wide eyes.

“Jakoby?” the woman asked.

“Nick Jakoby,”

“Hmm, when was he admitted?”

“This morning I don’t know what time,” Callie rushed, starting to tremble.

I told him to get the fuck out.

She still squinted at the screen. It took all her control to not spin the monitor and look herself.

I should’ve called him, I should’ve just fucking called him.

“J- A- C?”

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me-

“J- A- K,” Callie barked. Any tighter, and her hands could’ve snapped Nick’s phone in her grasp.

“Ahh, there he is,” the woman smiled, and Callie exhaled, a few shades lighter and sweat lining her brow. “He’s in the neuro wing under observation. Fourth floor, room 407, and you need to sign in for a visitor sticker.” the woman explained, handing Callie the clipboard as they exchanged for her ID.

Her handwriting was worse than usual; her hands shook uncontrollably.

Every floor higher became quieter in the elevator. She stayed at the back, watching people file in and out until she made it to the fourth floor, checking her sides for room numbers before walking down the marble floor.

She wasn’t ready to see how he looked.

‘Half his face was cut up and open, ‘nd there was other spots all over him.’

It was too silent, and on almost all of the doors she passed, there were signs reminding visitors to remain quiet for patients in healing.

His room was just around the curve of a hallway. Why couldn’t she pull her eyes from the tag spelling his name beside the door?

She had to turn away, moving her hair back from her face and steadying her hiccuping breaths. Her legs did not feel like her own in their unsteady gait, and even though her entire body felt a wrong turn away from fainting, she turned back, and opened the door.

Nick expected another nurse, so he kept his eyes closed, figuring if he could pretend to be asleep they’d leave him be.

But then, familiarity bloomed around him. Warm, spiced vanilla that made his nostrils flare and skin erupt with shivers.

That’s my mate.

He would know this in a room full of people that were her exact copy.

Even with… that haircut he could finally see once the film had been blinked from his vision, he’d know that was her. Eyes wide and glossy, supple mouth agape in horror, and knuckles white from gripping her purse tightly in front of herself.

It was a powerful, complex swarm of emotions and thoughts, and memories. But even when his heart reaffirmed that she had left him, all he could think was, there’s my girl.

“Daryl- Daryl came to get me he told me what happened,” she took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I can leave if you want,” she hiccupped, a palm over her mouth.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d envisioned, but it was also worse than she expected.

“I-” he tried, but his throat and tongue scraped like sandpaper. He coughed viciously, curling inwards around the agony of his protesting body every time he jerked forward.

Callie was at his side, inclining his bed and pouring him water when he finally calmed.

His hand overlapped hers when he held the cup, both of their hands trembling.

“I was worried about you,” he managed, his voice courser than normal. Her face scrunched.

“What?” She sat beside him. The closer she came, the more she saw. Gouges, stitches, bruises.

“The people that attacked me, the things they said- I thought they’d go after you but I’m glad they didn’t,” he said slowly, swallowing often. She gave him more water, looking at him silently. “Y’know,” he winced when he adjusted his back against the bed. “I thought it was your cousins at first,” he teased, the smallest grin tugging the corner of his mouth. Callie shook her head, a sad smile spreading across her face.

The cold sheets didn’t bother him so much suddenly. Her small, warm palms that could never cover his wide hands were such a soothing sensation as she caressed, stilling his fingers that plucked at the bedding.

“What happened, Nick?”

That question clearly tormented her as severely as him, but he could only shake his head. “Someone got tired of me,” he rasped.

Her face scrunched in torment, and his heart was breaking all over again.

Why like this?

“Your hair is gone,” he cleared his throat, wanting to talk about anything else.

When she scoffed, he grinned, sorely, the cuts on his lips stinging.

“I hate it,” she sniffled, looking down at his hand she was running her thumbs over.

Nick blew air, and she looked back at him. “You look really pretty,”

They both searched one another's eyes, desperate for something to make sense of this situation. There they were, before each other again, profoundly changed, yet he still could recognize the deep compassion in those balmy eyes. The memory he’d fought to forget, but the one that would loop in his mind endlessly was her crying, screaming for him to leave. Yet here she was, again, always.

“What can I do?” she asked softly.

“Stay with me a little while?” he tried to sound leveled, but the underlying desperation in his voice was obvious. Please don’t leave me alone.

She nodded, kissing his knuckles, pressing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Always, amore. Always.”

Dread left him in the wake of her words. Until then, he hadn’t been aware to the fear that settled around him like a fog, lying in wait for his attackers to finish what they'd started.

But his girl; the woman who in all senses was no longer his, but he could still pick up the slightest traces of himself on from just that arm's length, was calming his fluttering heart. With Callie here, she was the hand he wanted to hold in safety, and comfort. A sleepy contentedness pulled over him like the warm wash of a shower on a cold day, and his eyes started to heavy.

She didn’t jostle him when he started to drift off. Glimpses over him made it easy to put together how uncomfortable he must’ve been. The swelling and bruises, and cuts on his face were one thing, but how did the rest of him look?

“Who did this to you, baby?” she whispered. She traced his arm, looking at the other hand that was splinted and wrapped, following down to his knee that was twice it’s normal size. Callie exhaled.

With another kiss on his hand, she stood to grab her bag.

Outside his room, she breathed. Deep ones that should’ve calmed her fearfulness, but it wouldn’t be so simple. She was left with more questions than answers, and realizations she didn’t think she’d ever be admitting to.

Nick had been right. It could always get worse, he’d told her so many times. Someone would eventually act on their hate, and they did.

Callie scoffed, finding Ward’s name in her phone. She’d never tell Nick that. She could just see that little smirk, and the way his brows would raise as he’d stare at her, waiting for an apology, even in his damaged state.

“Hello?” he picked up quickly, and she blinked out of her daze.

“Hey- hi, it’s me. He’s okay,”

Daryl contained the audible sigh of relief, but still held a hand over his heart, thankful this hadn’t been the call reporting his partners demise. Hidden behind his cruiser, he leaned a hand onto his knee, suddenly conscious to how clutched he’d been for Nick’s well being.

“He’s really banged up, but he’s talking and can kind of sit up,” she explained. “I don’t know how long he’s going to be here though, he fell back asleep before we could really get into details,”

“It’s gonna take time. He looked…” Ward swallowed. “It was fucked up. Who ever did that is fucked in the head,”

“Is there any leads, or… clues yet? I don’t know how this works outside of TV,” she asked.

“Haven’t heard back yet, but I’ll tell you what happens. I’m sure his stubborn ass is gonna wanna figure it out himself once he’s able,”

Callie scoffed, but then went to kneading her bottom lip. “Nick is strong, Daryl. It had to be more than one person,”

Ward sighed. “I know, which makes it trickier,”

She wiped fresh tears from her eyes, pulling the phone away from her cheek to sniffle and cough. “Keep me updated about it please and I’ll tell Nick to call when he can, yeah?” she asked.

“For sure. Take care of him.”

“I will.”

The call ended, but then there was the other matter to tend to. She’d left work abruptly, and ignored a called from her uncle on her way to the hospital. Rolling her head back and adjusting her shoulders didn’t help the edginess of her body when thinking of dealing with it.

She leaned away from the phone at first, waving it in her hands before only leaning her head towards it’s screen as it rang. To her dismay, he also answered quickly.

“Calista? Calista are you there- where did you go?”

“There was an emergency Tio-”

“With who? Your mother? Who was it?” She didn’t think he’d be sent into a blind panic by her abrupt departure.

“No, for a friend. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything but I had to go,”

Though it was silent, she could almost hear the pieces fitting together in his head. He hadn’t been oblivious to Callie’s demeanor in the passing weeks, and the sudden absence of her cop boyfriend who no longer stopped by.

“So you’ll be coming back later to finish your shift?” he asked, flatly.

She looked at her feet. “I need some time off,”

A pause, and she wished she would have texted instead. “I can give you the rest of the day,”

Callie sighed, closing her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need more than that. He’s in really bad shape,”

“Let his family do it. I don’t have the money for a paid vacation,”

“This is nothing close to a vacation,”

“Either way, I can’t do it,” he replied. She only had fleeting seconds to make this decision, but where her mind landed was still uncertain.

“Than I guess today was my last day,” she cleared her throat, her head rested back against the wall, staring angrily at a dull painting across the hall. Her uncle exhaled heavily.

“This is a mistake, Callie. Let someone else take care of him. You’re not his girlfriend anymore,”

That's irrelevant, but she knew if she said it, it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d hear it, but would believe what was already assumed. This was about being there for him, when the world finally managed to beat him into the ground.

“I’ll pick up my last paycheck later.” she finished with, fumbling to end the call when she heard him asking something else.

It had only been a little under an hour since the day plunged into hell. Now she was jobless. Even though she’d started the process of applying to other places a while ago, she didn’t want it left messy like this. Word would spread. Her family would find out, and they would eventually call.

It might’ve been silly to do so, but she silenced her phone until she knew she could answer their questions; that this wasn’t about being in love.

But if not, then what else?

Loyalty? Because they were friends? ‘Friends’ who hadn’t spoken in weeks, and stopped talking over a blistering fight-

Callie shook away the intrusive thoughts.

She had now what she was left with, and that’s where she would start.

↠

Did she get enough? Maybe too much? She had no idea how long he was going to be here, but knew- hoped his insatiable appetite would kick in eventually.

Callie looked down at the two bags of snacks she’d filled from the cafeteria, all of it things that he liked, but she wasn’t so sure about the few bottles of green tea Nakeds she’d chosen. With her eyes on the bottle, observing the finer print, she didn’t see the doctor at the foot of Nick’s bed until she was in the room.

“Oh,” she squeaked, looking at Nick who appeared to have just woken up. “Sorry- I’ll wait outside,”

“No, c’mere,” Nick grumbled groggily, motioning her over.

“Are you sure?” she asked lowly, placing the bags down before moving to his side.

“Afternoon,” the middle-aged woman said, grinning at Callie as she stood by Nick. “I was just formally introducing myself to Mr. Jakoby here. We didn’t really get a chance to meet when you first came in, but I was the Attending that triaged you this morning when you came in. I’m Margaret Voelker,”

“Were you the one that kept stabbing my hands with sharp stuff?” Nick croaked, and his doctor chuckled.

“Could’ve been in a coma, had to make sure,” she smiled. Nick ‘hmphed’, shifting his shoulders.

“Good that you’re up and talking already, and you passed the assessment with flying colors,”

“Yeah and now I have spots in my one good eye,”

Callie flicked his arm gently, scowling when he looked up at her.

“The vision in the other one should get better once the swelling has gone down, so tough. How’s your pain?” she asked, moving to flip over a page of his chart on the bedside table after she’d pulled her thick framed glasses from the breast pocket of her scrubs.

“Could be a 3 if you gave me something like morphine,” he mumbled. Callie’s brow furrowed; where was this temperamental side coming from?

Margaret waved her finger. “Uh-uh, Orcs burn it off too fast, that’s why there’s such an issue with addiction amongst them,” she said without skipping a beat, skimming the notes. “Since you’re a cop I figured you would’ve known that,” she added, eyeing him from over her glasses.

Nick chuffed, but winced. Too hard on the ribs.

“Calm down,” Callie whispered, rubbing his shoulder.

“It’s okay, it’s a symptom of the concussion he has. Keep those shades closed cause apparently he has a sensitivity to light he didn’t bother telling me when I looked at his pupils,”

“What should I look out for if it gets worse?” Callie asked.

“Well if he keeps his mouth shut about how he’s feeling I can’t really answer that, now can I?” Margaret sighed, crossing her arms after placing the papers down. Nick eyed her angrily, ready to sleep again. He didn’t want to be poked or questioned anymore.

“Nick,” Callie intoned, and he looked at her. The desperation- no, concern in her eyes evened him, and silenced the snappy comeback he almost lashed out. Even he didn’t understand the ire he felt.

“Nauseous and a stupid ringing in my ears,” he mumbled, still looking at Callie.

“Scale of 1 to 10?”

Nick looked back over to his doctor. “Like an 8,”

“We can give you something for that cause you gotta start eating. Mouth all chewed up?”

He nodded.

“Soft foods then. No junk. Now for the rest of you- what hurts the most?”

“This and the knee,” he pointed to his swollen eye socket before his leg, and tensed when Margaret pumped the wall dispenser of hand sanitizer into her palms and slipped on gloves to examine him.

“X-rays didn’t show any breaks, but your kneecap did get shoved around a lot, aggravated the connective tissue,” she explained, bending his leg despite his loud protests and sharp snarls. Callie grabbed his hand, her jaw dropping and her face scrunching when he squeezed it with wraithlike power.

He was panting when she stuck the ice under his knee again, propping it higher than before.

“I’m not gonna look at that cause I already know it’s a hairline fracture,” she said, pointing to his eye. Callie followed her finger, to the swollen, stitched skin across his brow. There was also the two gashes under his eye and top lip, but they must’ve just been superficial, despite looking like he’d been downright stabbed.

“That bad?” Nick mumbled, and she nodded, massaging her sore hand.

“What about his hand?” Callie asked.

“Do I have permission to speak to her about your treatment?” Margaret asked, and Nick nodded.

“Okay. His middle and ring fingers were dislocated and snapped backwards, so it’ll be a few weeks before that comes off, but depending on how much damage there is, it could take up to six months for normal functionality to return,”

“Good thing it’s your left hand,” Callie commented.

“Other than that, you have some bad bruising on your ribs I need to look at and a whole lot of stitches everywhere you can’t get wet, so no showers. Let’s get you up,” she told him, shifting the bed rails down.

“First no morphine now I can’t even take a shower?” he grumbled.

“Not even with Aqua Guards?” Callie asked, grabbing behind his elbow as he did hers to help him sit up slowly.

“Those things are completely untrustworthy- arm up,” Margaret answered, adjusting her glasses before leaning down to observe the deep purple and green of the bruising all over his ribs and stomach after moving his gown aside. Square bandaging covered the various spots he had stitches. Just how hard did someone have to be bludgeoned to cut skin through clothes?

Callie watched in masked horror, wondering if it spread across his back as well, but didn’t move from holding his arm above his head, even when his breathing became labored. His solid chest and stomach trembled, and clenched, low whimpers slipping past his lips.

“Almost done,”

He flinched every time she poked, and sweat started to line his forehead. When Nick started to lean away from her evaluation, Callie held him around the shoulders, using her front to block him. What she would do to allow herself to lean down and hold him when he hid his face against her, letting louder whines to come forth.

“Are you hungry?” she hoped to distract him, rubbing his back. He nodded, slowly.

“I found some greek yogurt downstairs, and those dried mango pieces you like,”

Nick looked at her weakly when he could finally drop his arm and lean back again, and wiggled into his bed as they helped prop him up.

“Yogurt with m&m’s?” he asked, and Callie nodded. “What kind?”

“The mini ones,” she grinned. He held her fingers loosely, just a second before running his hand down his face.

“So, overall you’re looking…” Margaret weighed her hands. “Decent. Orcs can withstand a hellova lot more, but you still took quite the beating, my friend. You’ll need to stay a day or two longer depending on how your concussion settles and the blood in your gut does, but I’d say about a 6 week time frame is what you’re looking at before you start feeling up to work again,” Margaret explained, scratching her tight, dark curls that were tied into a messy bun atop her head.

“Can I get that in writing for work?” Nick asked, and she nodded. “Better pain meds?”

She inhaled, thinking it over. “We can try dilaudid, but the minute you start asking for double doses you’re out of here,” she explained. He nodded, finally compliant if it meant a moment without discomfort.

“Now, I’m gonna have someone come by later and talk to you about in-home nurses, cause you’re not gonna be able to walk around on that knee or move too much with your ribs like that,” she told him, writing it down on the little notepad she pulled out of her thigh pocket.

“Can I respectfully decline that?” he asked, absolutely disliking of the idea of a stranger following him around at home.

“Unless you have family you can stay with while you recover?”

Callie bit her inner lip. This could end badly.

“He has me,” she declared, and Nick looked at her, his brows furrowing.

Margaret looked at her. “He at least needs three of those weeks covered,”

“I can do it. I know how to handle his stubborn mood swings,” she grinned, earning a flat look from Nick, but Callie shrugged. “It’s either me or a nurse,”

He exhaled, nodding.

“Yeah I’d say you have that under control. Alright, I’ll be checking in now and again to see how you’re doing. Don’t try and wander around. Harass the nurses if you need. Nice meeting you, Officer.” Margaret grinned, patting his shoulder before waving to Callie as she left.

“Callie,” he said, waiting until he heard the door latch. She was pulling his blankets back up, then moving to pull his food from the bags.

“Callie,” he said again, but she looked at him now, her short waves framing her calm expression. “You don’t have to do this,”

When she lifted his arm and rested in her lap so she could sit on the mattress beside him, he instinctively stroked her thigh with his thumb, but caught himself, and stopped.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He shook his head.

“Then I’m gonna take care of you. I know we… we’re split, but that doesn’t matter. You need help, and I really do know how to handle you when you’re being stubborn,” she told him. Everything about the way she looked was decisive. There was no room for argument, but he didn’t want to say anything, really. Hearing her say ‘split’... still hurt. Too much right now.

“Plus, what were you going to eat if you can’t get up and move around by yourself?”

“I’d crawl to my backyard and eat the bell peppers and onions,”

She snorted, finally smiling as he did. “Yogurt?” she asked.

“Yogurt.”

She prepared the little cup and spoon for him, but told him she refused to feed him if he even thought about asking, and remembered to dump a handful of mini m&m’s into it. He chewed slowly, more of squishing it again the roof of his mouth with his tongue than anything as he watched her move around, organizing the snacks on the bedside table.

“What about work?” he asked.

“I can get some time off- that gonna fill you up or you want another one?” she asked, and he nodded.

“You only have to take like a week, I don’t need three-” but she stopped him, shoving the next yogurt cup in his face as he’d finished the first one already.

“Four weeks and I’ll leave you alone,”

He frowned. “I don’t- you can stay, don’t… nevermind,” he mumbled, staring at the yogurt.

“That’s not what I meant. I thought cause like…” she faltered, her eyes fluttering around before landing on her hands that folded before her. “You didn’t call,” she sighed, and he looked up at her.

“Neither did you,”

They both looked away, worried about where that conversation would lead. It was abrupt to bring forth such a discussion, and neither of them were ready in any sense to pick it apart.

“Six weeks?” he asked then. Callie held back a wide smile, and nodded, dumping more m&m’s into his cup.

“Six weeks.” she affirmed, and caught the little smirk he gave her before she turned away.

“You’ve been okay?” he asked. “I mean how you’ve been,” he corrected.

“Um…” she exhaled before sitting beside him again, thinking.

“You’ve made decisions,” he toyed, flicking his finger between the ends of her hair.

“Bad decision,” she smoothed her hands down her head. “Just working, though,” I’ve been sad again. Do you wanna hear how I don’t sleep in my bed anymore? “You?”

He shrugged, stirring the yogurt that would be done in another bite. “Working,” he mumbled. That’s all I do now.

They both looked elsewhere, unknowing of where to turn next in that conversation.

“Daryl wants you to call him when you’re up to it,” she remembered.

“I have no idea where my phone is,”

She rose to grab it from her purse, but hesitated. Still bloodied and in the bag with his keys. When she handed it over, Nick wavered, slowly turning it in his hands and observing. He looked like a child that had been yelled at for something he’d never done, like his eyes had finally been opened, revealing the world wasn’t as dreamy as he once thought.

He remembered trying to call, sometimes screaming for help. He remembered clawing at the ground, looking up at the night sky as the cold seeped in and his blood leaked out.

“Why do people hate me so much?”

Defeat.

She never thought it would come to this, but here they were. Callie felt for him. Hopelessness gripped her heart at the sight of him so crushed; this time, where was the silver lining he usually used to bounce back in the face of hardship?

Like he looked away and wiped his eyes to hide his anguish, she finally let herself wrap her arms around him, carefully embracing his injured form that shook with silent cries to hide her own tears she couldn’t repress.

↠

“Your phone is going off again,” Nick told her, his arm draped over his head and an ice-pack upon his sore ribs. He’d watched her phone light up and vibrate loudly on the bedside table at least 3 times in last hour.

She finished pulling the blankets up his legs before walking to her phone, chewing her inner lips.

Rosie this time. She hadn’t dared answer when Patricia called; that woman knew not how to deliver advice in any kind way, even if Callie usually appreciated her bluntness. She was sure those calls weren’t to offer any sage, older sister advice, though. It would've been to tell her how foolish she was for quitting her job, taking care of the ex-boyfriend, yada yada yada.

No one said shit when you stayed with Luis after he cheated on you 3 times…

“I’ll be right back,” Callie mumbled, finally greeting Rosie as she walked from the room.

Nick watched the TV, already starting to feel uncomfortable on his side, but the ice on his ribs was a welcome numbness. They’d only given him a small starting dose of effective pain meds, and since he’d agreed to not ask for more before the allowed time, he had to deal with ice and heating pads, and flipping side to side in bed.

But something else scratched at his calm exterior.

He wanted to shower. He was covered in dried betadine and blood that he had picked at the remainder of the day, not to mention the bedding he’d been laying in since the AM hours. A giant scab is the closest thing he could compare to how he felt when he asked Callie to guard the door so he could shower.

She only looked at him flatly, waiting out his puppy dog eyes until he sighed and looked away.

Now he was contemplating.

Even if he could wipe himself down, maybe rinse off his arms… stick himself under the shower head real quick.

He exhaled, glancing at the door. Callie was still out there, but he’d heard the door latch.

There was no need to set the ice pack down so quietly, nor was there any need to move the blankets aside so slowly, but everything seemed louder, even his legs sliding across the sheets.

He tensed, stifling a groan when he tightened his ribs. Although his body protested, urging him to lie back down, he kept his eyes trained to the door, biting his tongue every time something across his body rang with pain.

He allowed himself to breathe when he was up, his head hung down. Running a steep incline would've been a walk in the park compared to this.

Nick tested his knee, slowly swinging his foot in tight thrusts. It wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t seem unbearable, either.

Another look at the door, and he gripped the edge of the bed, staring determinedly at the floor.

“Okay listen I get the taking care of him but Cal why did you have to quit your job?” Rosie implored.

With the phone held away from her ear, she could still hear her, and knew that their mom or Patricia must’ve also been there after ignoring them all day.

“Even if I hadn’t’ve quit I wouldn’t’ve been paid anything missing all that work. I would've been fired eventually,” she repeated, maybe for the tenth time.

“You could have worked around the weeks-”

“Tio Gordo would not have paid me,”

“You don’t know that,”

“I do. I’ve asked for overtime before and he said no. He only pays what keeps him out of trouble,” Callie argued flatly. This conversation was running circles, and the pounding of a hunger headache was starting to grow in severity.

“You could’ve asked mom to talk to him,”

She scoffed, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palms. “Rose-”

“Callie!”

She spun against the wall, shoving through the door to Nick’s room.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, her phone call forgotten as she kneeled by his form sprawled across the ground, unsure of how to help first.

“Did you roll out of bed?” she asked, putting his hands on her shoulders and squatting over him to leverage him into a sitting position. He whimpered, trembling as he did his best to curl himself forwards. It wasn’t until he was sat against the bed did she notice the blood on her arm that was trickling from the back of his hand.

She looked up- his IV had been ripped out.

“Oh baby,” she breathed, bolting to grab the towels in the bathroom.

If his pain was a 10 before, it was a 13 now. He’d flopped right onto his bad side after the slightest amount of his own weight leaned on his knee.

“Okay here we go,” she said, wrapping a smaller towel around his hand. “Hold that,” she instructed, using another to wipe his face of sweat and blood. The stitch above his eye had popped, also.

“Did you hit your head?”

He nodded. “I need to call the nurses,” she told him, starting to stand.

“Wait,” he grabbed her arm, and she watched as he pulled his gown aside.

Blood was pooling beneath the patch tapped just under his peck.

Callie exhaled, looking back to his tired eyes.

↠

“One more, pumpkin,” Margaret mumbled.

Nick’s face scrunched, his hand tightening around Callie’s when the needle poked slowly into the gash over his ribs. Callie hushed him gently when he growled, her forehead against his where she leaned from her seat beside him.

He could feel the skin tug when line was pulled through and tied, but the sharp pinch of the curved needle was undetected. Callie still stayed close, her hand now below his cheek where he’d rested his head.

She knew he was embarrassed, and wasn’t speaking because of it, but she’d never deny the comfort he clearly needed. Throughout the time it took to restitch him, she’d silenced his angered protests, pulling his face back to look at her when he lashed out. The extra dose of dilaudid helped when he became too resistant, too.

He looked up at her with those sleepy ambers when her finger scraped gently against his cheek, and lingered.

She giggled. “You look so high,”

He snorted, but she stilled him so he wouldn’t disrupt his doctor. “My eyes feel like heavy windows,” he mumbled, adjusting his face back over her splayed hand. “You’re so soft,”

So she pulled from his grasp to hold his other cheek, and his grin was dopey, aided by his swollen, lopsided brow.

“Have the nurses given him a fall risk band?” Margaret asked. Nick grumbled, burrowing his face downwards to hide.

“Only the little sad face page on the door,” Callie answered.

“Unfortunately we can’t put bells on patients who are supposed to stay in bed,” she paused to clip the last stitch. “But I implore you to stay put. You’re lucky your ribs didn’t snap and stab a lung,”

“Are you listening?” Callie asked. Nick nodded, his eyes barely open. “Can he take sponge baths?”

“I recommend not? Water can still get under these bandages,”

“But it’s not strictly forbidden?” Callie asked, raising her brows when Margaret looked at her.

“No, it’s not,”

“We’ll tackle that in the morning then,” Callie told him, but it looked like he’d already fallen asleep again with his arm over his head and half his body exposed with clean stitches.

“When I hear back on when he’ll be getting that repeat MRI I’ll have someone tell you,” his doctor told her, carefully taping another gauze patch over the wound before starting to pull her gloves off and clean the tableside tray. Callie nodded, her head lolling sideways on the pillow beside his, looking at Nick.

“How much longer will the temper keep up for?” she asked, her thumb stroking his chin that puckered under her touch.

Margaret shrugged. “Probably when his head stops hurting. It’s easy to understand why he’s so irritable,”

It made perfect sense, but it still unsettled her. It was like the blows he took to the head had altered his very personality. All day he’d been resistant, and snappy, even when she’d done her best to assist him.

“Is it unlike him?”

“Extremely,” Callie sighed, slowly sliding her hand from under his cheek.

Nick stirred, his eyes dragging open.

“I’m sorry, go back to sleep,” she cooed, but he shook his head, which was actually more of a wiggle.

“Hungry,” he grumbled.

“Of course you are,”

“Okay, don’t try to stand up again because I will sedate you and tie you down if I have to,” Margaret pointed, her brows perked up as she glared at him suspiciously. Nick nodded curtly, but chuffed lowly when she turned her back.

Nick returned Callie’s sideways glare when the door was closed, but with foggy eyes. Her determination to win this stare off was hindered as she struggled to open the bag of dried mango pieces.

“Gimme,” he reached, but she snorted.

“You can’t do anything with that club hand,” she retorted. Now he chuffed at her, but she only snickered.

With the bag at last opened, and chewing sleepily on them with a handful cupped against his chest, she moved about the room, flipping the lights off so it was only the IV pump illuminating them and street lights poking through the curtains.

Nick hummed as he chewed, caught somewhere between consciousness and a strange state of mind that he’d never experienced before. College was the last time he’d been high, but it had worn off so quickly that he could barely enjoy any part of it. The differences in salvia and dilaudid were night and day, however.

He could recall the curtains around him melting, and the color storm swarming his vision. That was the last time he touched it, and associated with the ‘friends’ that laughed when he panicked.

But this was… this was nice, he had to admit.

He was pinching his gown in search of another piece when Callie finally settled beside him in a chair, spreading her own blanket over her legs that she propped up on the mattress beside his.

“Where’d you find scrubs?” Nick asked, at last noticing she was no longer in the clothes she had worn earlier.

“I know a couple people here,” she exhaled, leaning back and scrolling through her phone.

He toyed with a piece of mango between his lips. “Did you find them in a closet?”

Her smile was guilty, but made him grin in return. By the time he finished his mangos, she had set her phone down and pulled the blanket over her shoulders, wiggling her head against the backrest of the chair.

They looked at one another, the slightest of light silhouetting his lax form that was still only half clothed, but his sharp eyes could see her clearly, or as much as he could in his drowsy state.

“S’quiet,” he whispered.

“Music?” she whispered back, and he nodded.

She named off bands from her phone that he continued to grunt in disapproval to, but she was coming to the end of her library of choices.

“Choose or I’m gonna play Billie,” she said. He looked so deep in thought that she knew what he was about to say when he opened his mouth, his eyes barely open.

“No Cannibal Corpse,” she interrupted.

His face scrunched, his jaw shifting outwards. “What’d’you have against them?”

“I like thrash, not death metal,”

“But they’re-”

“Not romantic,” she interrupted again, locking sleepy gazes with him.

“You’re mean,” he mumbled, settling deeper into his bed. She snorted softly, finally choosing a song and resting the phone flat against her chest as she slipped further down her seat.

Nick’s good brow furrowed. “Is’this tha’ teenager?”

“Mhm,” Callie hummed, her eyes closed as the gentle harmony accompanied by the soft strumming of guitar floated across the room.

“Creepy song,” he grumbled.

“And let me crawl inside your veins,” she drawled softly, smiling after she’d cracked an eye open to find him staring intensely at her.

“Stop,”

“I’ll build a wall, give you a ball and chain,” she continued, but he flapped his hand around, only managing to keep one eye open as she sang. “I put it on repeat,” Callie smiled, patting his hand away when he reached farther to mess with her.

He yawned when she did, unbearably sleepy, yet unable to stop looking at her as she barely mouthed the words, the one eye she had open fallen shut. Her lips slowed, her grin dissolving as the last of her awareness faded by the time the song had completed again.

Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, alerting him she’d fallen under. There was also the way her left brow always rose when she was passed out, and always made him grin. Neverending attitude, even when she was unconscious.

Nick couldn’t reach the soft ends of her shorter hair around her cheeks, and exhaled with his arm hung off the bed after giving up.

But he could reach her lithe fingertips, hung off her thigh.

Carefully he stroked beneath them with his blunt fingers, secretly desperate to feel them scrape against his skin again, or caress his palms when she’d hold his hands and smile, speaking to him about anything and everything.

Slowly, he laced his fingers just to his middle knuckles with hers, forever amazed by the difference in size of their hands.

He brought his hand back to his own chest before the song would start again, but continued to gaze at her, detailing the curve of her cheeks, the fullness of her lips- how her honey-golden skin still glowed with warmth in the dark. He wanted to see those big eyes smile at him, without reservation, or in pity.

Nick swallowed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he whispered. “I wanted to call. I should’ve brought you home.”

But this feels right so stay a sec Yeah, this feels right so stay a sec

for anyone who's wondering, the song is Hostage by Billie Eilish yes callie is a metal head, BUT EVERYONE LIKES AT LEAST ONE SONG FROM BILLIE

our babies still have a long road ahead of them, so stay patient, my lovely readers, and as always, thanks for spending time with my story today! 🖤😊

26 notes · View notes

feral-renaissance-cat · 6 years

Text

Enjoy It While You Can (part 1)

(Okay, I’m still not coping well with...you know. As usual, I deal with emotions through writing, so here’s part 1 of a little something that my brain has been turning over and over for the past couple weeks. Part 2 will be out in a couple days.)

The ocean is more than Molly can describe. Both Jester and Fjord described what it looked like on a beautiful day — light sparkling on the waves, the feeling of warm sun on your back and a cool breeze on your face, the call of fishermen and seagulls both searching for fish in the shallows — but it’s overcast today. It’s still beautiful. The waves are iron gray with silver caps like moonlight on treetops. The air smells like oncoming rain with a hefty tang of salt. And it goes on forever. It goes on forever like land goes on forever, except you never think that way about land because at least the topography changes once in a while. The sea is just…the sea.

Molly adores it.

They take the long way to Nicodranas, driving their cart along the beach. It’s slower in the soft sand, but they aren’t in a rush. Not to get to the city, at least.

“Last one in buys the first round!” Molly shouts as he takes off towards the water.

At least two sets of footsteps thunders behind him. From the whooping, Molly knows Jester is among them. The footsteps that are catching up are probably Beau’s. Molly strips as he goes, but before he drops Summer’s Dance he uses it to teleport himself forward thirty feet.

“GODSDAMMIT MOLLY YOU FUCKING CHEATER.” Beau’s voice is far behind him, but the anger rings loud and clear.

Molly laughs. “You should have been faster!” he calls back. He has to slow down to take off his boots and pants. It doesn’t lose him his lead. However, he’s up to his knees by the time he realizes how cold the water is and it makes his whole body tense. His tail curls tight against his back. He’s waiting for the shock to wear off when a war cry grows louder behind him. Beau barrels straight into him, knocking them both into the water.

Beau’s shout becomes high pitched. “Shit this is fucking COLD.”

Molly snorts salt water out of his nose. It stings his eyes and disorients him as he tries to get to his feet. “Yeah, it is.” He wants to be mad, but it’s hilarious. Besides, the water is fascinating. He’s used to river currents pulling him in one direction while he’s trying to wash or relax. This water pushes and pulls at the same time. It’s as steady as breathing and as calming as a lover’s heartbeat.

The calm is broken by Fjord and Jester charging into the water as well. Jester is a ball of energy and joy. Fjord hesitates at first and everyone stop to watch him. He lets the water wash over one bare foot. When that doesn’t melt him or make him pass out, he plows forward into the deeper part of the water for a swim. He’s still wearing most of his armor, which is confusing at first, until Molly remembers it has that enchantment that helps him float. It hasn’t really come in handy until now.

Three figures remain on the beach. One is short, one is average-sized, and the third is fairly tall, though by his own admission he’s small for his kind. Nott is cowering behind Caleb, who is staring out at the water with awe. Caduceus is making his way down to the water, but more slowly, the way he does everything.

Molly wades out a little deeper, until the waves reach up and caress his outstretched fingertips. He turns back to the beach and playfully splashes water in their direction. “Which one of you is buying the drinks, eh?” he calls out.

Nott shouts back, “Round’s on me! I’m staying with the cart!”

“Suit yourself. Caleb? You coming in?”

Caleb continues to stare for a moment. Step by step he walks towards the water. Much like Molly did, he discards his clothes as he goes, until he’s down to the least amount he can wear while remaining decent. Molly traces the tip of his tail coyly along the surface of the water. It’s not as graceful as he’d like since the surface is always moving, but Caleb doesn’t normally respond to flirting anyway, regardless of whether it’s sincere or teasing. Instead, he walks into the water as though in a trance, past Molly and Beau and Jester, out to the deeper water, where he vanishes below the waves for a moment before emerging in a calmer area, floating on his back.

Caduceus is technically the last in the water. It takes him a while to take off his armor and delicate robes. Molly had seen him naked in the baths back in Zadash, and he has put on a few subtle pounds since then. He’s still gaunt and scrawny, but the milk and lavish city food have padded the space around his ribs a little. Molly has known the firbolg for a few weeks now, and he’s still fascinating. He’s so hard to read, which is saying something. Usually Molly can glean a few things from a first glance, but considering his first glance at Caduceus was after his resurrection, Molly’s priorities were elsewhere at the time.

According to Beau, Caduceus barely batted an eye when Caleb “flipped his shit” and shouted — half in Common, half in Zemnian — about all the things the surviving members of the Mighty Nein had done to get him there. Molly wished he could have seen that. He couldn’t imagine Caleb so furious, but then again, if Molly had rushed the body of his friend on the back of a druid towards the nearest cleric for four days and had to not only empty his pockets to bribe the guards to let them pass with a mysterious bundle on the back of their “horse” but also haul that bundle over three sets of fences to get to the cleric only to be told “Eh, maybe,” then he would have lost his cool too. Molly’s memory picked up shortly after, coming to on his unfurled tapestry with two unknown firbolg above him in addition to his three friends and Keg.

Now here they all are, in the ocean of all places. They haven’t even known each other three months — or three weeks, in Duce’s case — and already they’ve done so much together. They’ve had downtime for relaxing, and Hupperdook was an experience Molly will never forget, but this is the first thing they’ve done that feels like a break, even if they are technically here on business. With his body acclimated to the cold, Molly swims further out. Fjord hasn’t gone crazy yet or started spewing out gallons of salt water. He looks happy, which is good. He was shaken up after the rescue mission at the Iron Shepherd’s place. Molly did his best to keep Fjord’s spirits up, and it’s a relief to see a smile on his face again.

“Hey Molly, how’re ya likin’ it so far?” Fjord asks.

“It’s great,” Molly says. “Fuckin’ massive, too. How far have you sailed out here?”

Fjord shrugs. “Not as far as it goes, but pretty far. Heck, to get to Port Demali you’d have to sail that way for weeks.” He points in what seems like a random direction to Molly, but he does it with such surety that Molly trusts him, as he usually does. There’s nothing out that way, though. More ocean, maybe a couple of boats, but no land. Then again, the land is weeks away by boat, apparently.

“I’d love to see it someday.”

“I’d love to take you there.” Fjord’s smile fades into something more serious. “Now, Molly, I wanted to talk to you before… Well, let’s just say I know your history with…being entertained by certain people when we stop at places like this.”

Molly grins mischievously. “Or being entertaining to certain people, as the case may be.”

Fjord looks away for a heartbeat or two. He clears his throat. “Yeah, well, you might want to hold off on that here, if you can. Especially with a certain certain person.”

Molly feigns innocent ignorance by way of tilting his head with a confused pout.

Fjord sighs through gritted teeth. “What I’m saying is, for the love of god, please do not put the moves on Jester’s mother.”

Molly laughs. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I know how to handle myself around attractive people, even the notoriously attractive. After all, nobody has figured out which of our little band I have a crush on, have they?” He gives Fjord a wink and his most charmingly secretive smile. Fjord blushes immediately. Molly dives under the water, chuckling to himself.

Having his eyes open under the water is irritating, but Molly can see Caleb’s shape floating on the surface and he wants to stay out of sight until he gets there. Caleb is still lying with his arms outstretched. As much as Molly likes the idea of Caleb getting some peace and quiet, the opportunity for a harmless little prank is too tempting. Molly swims under him and tries not to disturb the water too much. He turns so his tail can lightly caress Caleb’s back. Caleb immediately lets out a sharp word in Zemnian and flails. Fortunately, the water is shallow enough for them both to stand with their heads just above the water, so Molly helps Caleb to his feet once he stops laughing at the human’s antics.

From the beach, Nott shouts, “Is Caleb okay?”

Molly waves to her. “Perfectly fine. Minor encounter with a sea monster.”

Nott brandishes her crossbow. “I’ll turn it into a salty pincushion!”

“I meant me, dear.”

“Oh.” Nott lowers her crossbow. A seagull lands nearby to pick at seaweed along the shore. Nott raises the crossbow again, slowly, sneakily. In an instant, the seagull has a bolt sticking out of its side. It flaps its wings franticly a few times before keeling over. Molly feels bad for the poor thing.

They’ve all avoided asking The Question, which is surprising. Beau almost asked once, during a watch on their way back to Zadash. Molly figures they were either so happy to have him back or were so focused on planning the rest of the rescue mission — or recovering from it — that the answer didn’t matter at the time, not until it was too awkward to ask. Molly knows what he’d say anyway: the truth, for once.

He doesn’t remember being dead this time. Not that he remembered the first time either, but this time he came back, well, himself. No Lucien or Nonagon or mindlessly rambling “empty” shell that looks like him again, just Molly. It wasn’t instantaneous. He didn’t blink with a glaive in his chest only to reopen his eyes in a strange temple. All that comes to mind when he tries to think back to that indeterminate period of darkness is something that reminds him of wings. He knows a little about the Raven Queen, as he knows a little about everything, but he doesn’t think this was a raven. It was wings and…and…

A wave of salt water splashes into Molly’s face. Caleb is pulling his hand back for another assault. Molly immediately dives to avoid the attack. He wraps both arms around Caleb’s waist and plants both feet in the sandy sea floor to lift him up. Molly savors every sensation. The grit between his toes, the current against his skin, the warmth of another living body in his grasp, even the sting of the salt in his eyes and the dizziness of holding his breath for too long. He wouldn’t be feeling these things if not for his friends.

That’s it.

Wings and a longing for his friends.

That’s what death was.

The Mighty Nine enjoy their time in the water until the sun goes down. No one enjoys it more than Molly. He was always a “live life to the fullest” guy because he never knew when whatever bargain got him out of that grave would expire. Now he does it to show gratitude. His friends gave him his life back, and he intends to thank them by loving every moment they stole for him.

Until those wings come and take him where they can’t reach him anymore.

Part 2

#critical role #cr #cr2 #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Mollymauk #critical role alternate timeline #critical role fanfic #I know how long it's been #I'm still not over it #promised myself I wouldn't completely rewrite the show to keep him in it #but he needed to be here #in my opinion at least #the mighty nein #m9 #mighty nein

50 notes · View notes