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reidgraygubler · 3 years

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a different type of high (spencer reid/reader) pt 8

Title: A Different Type of High (part eight)

Request: no

Couple: spencer reid/gender-neutral!reader

Category: angst

Content Warning: kidnapping, drugging, needles, mild stalking, mentions of drugs (oxycodone and tranquilizers), mentions of guns (but not actually being used), mentions of anxiety, swearing, allusions of sex (from the night prior), kissing

Word Count: 2,162

Summary: While Spencer is at work, Reader does some out of the house chores and makes plans for dinner.

A/N: this is possibly the shortest part of this series. i didn’t struggle with it, per se, i just didn’t know what to do because i just had to get reader’s pov from what happened in the last part… that’s why it’s short. i was worried about it being too repetitive. i haven’t updated this series in a hot minute and i’ve been thinking about it the last few days :D thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

last part series masterlist next part

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I smiled as I skipped up to Spencer. He cautiously moved the mug away from his body as I wrapped my arms around his middle. “Have a good day,” I smiled before going on my toes to press my lips to his. Spencer hummed happily as he carefully deepened the kiss as he wrapped his free arm around my body. I couldn’t help but smile, wishing I could stay in this moment forever.

“You too,” he whispered, looking down at me with a soft smile. Although he had a certain exhaustion in his eyes, he looked at me like I was his everything. And he held me like that too.

I smiled again when he pressed his lips back to mine for the briefest of moments. When he pulled away from me, he smiled, and that was when I noticed a purpley mark on his neck. My smile grew mildly wicked as he slowly walked away. The grip I had on his hand tightened for a moment as I was left holding just his finger tips. My body instantly longed for him.

I sighed as I watched Spencer leave his apartment, leaving me alone in his home. It was comfortable, and nice that he trusted me in his home. I’d rather be here than in my gloomy apartment. His home was… lived in and nice.

I frowned when he got into a taxi and finally rode away from me and his home. I wished so badly that it was our home. But, I understood why it wasn’t.

With a deep sigh, I pressed the door shut and returned back to his place. I went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. My reflection caught my eye, forcing me to stare at myself and smile. A purple mark on my neck got me to bring my hand to it and brush my thumb over it.

“Bastard, no wonder why he was smiling at me,” I scoffed before grabbing a hair elastic off the counter and pulled my hair back in a messy ponytail. When I was okay with what my hair looked like, I stole a bit of his mouth wash and deodorant. Surely he wouldn’t mind. I looked fine, wearing his button up and cardigan with my jeans. It was more so the comfort I sought out.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” I looked around the apartment with my bag over my shoulder. “I won’t be gone long,” I spoke mostly to myself as I stepped out of the home with a key in hand.

I began my trek back to my own apartment. There were a few things there that I needed cleaned and wanted back with me at Spencer’s. Then, with the little bit of money I had, I wanted to get food. Spencer’s cabinets and fridge were basically empty, with all the travelling he did for work it didn’t surprise me. But, if I was going to be staying there more often, I would be needing food. I think he’d be happy with a semi stocked fridge. Maybe I’ll make dinner for him too... Although it’d just be spaghetti.

“I think I’ll do that,” I whispered as I looked down at the ground. With each step I took, I found myself further from our home and closer to a place I never really wanted to return to. I knew the day would come when I had to go back to my own apartment. But, I felt safe at his home and I think I needed a certain level of safety and security. And Spencer had it.

“Where is that key,” I muttered to myself as I rifled through my bag. I was happy when I grabbed the bronze key to my place. When I did enter the dingy, mildewy place, I sighed. Of course, it was left a mess. It’d been days, if not weeks, since I was last here.

I tried to be quick, quicker than I’ve ever been, as I grabbed a laundry basket and clothes. When I went into the bathroom to grab my toothbrush, an orange bottle caught my attention. And, then I realized… It’s been six months since I’ve touched it. I missed it, I really did. But I didn’t need or want it… Well, maybe the tiniest little part of me wanted it.

“Not today,” I muttered, grabbing my toothbrush before leaving the bathroom and apartment all together. I didn’t need to be in a place like that. I didn’t want or need that shit in my life right now, or anymore.

I could just imagine… Later tonight when Spencer and I are in bed, my body curled into his side, talking about our day… I could feel how proud he would be when I told how I didn’t take into any temptations. I looked forward to that.

I thought about life in the future as I walked down the street to the laundromat near my apartment complex. All the possibilities of what could come and what could happen? I’m not saying it’s looking good, but it’s looking good.

The laundry basket bounced on my hip as I happily hummed a silly little tune. When I entered the laundromat, 2 men were inside, sitting and leaning by a washing machine. I kept my eyes low as I walked past them and towards the further washing machine.

“Hey there, Honey,” one of them spoke as I hurried past them. I glanced at them, not saying a word. I was thankful they only muttered things to themselves as I walked away. But, it still left an unsettling feeling with me. I didn’t like it.

My eyes shifted between the washing machine and pay phones. I was tempted to call Spencer or Penelope to keep myself busy while I waited, but I know they’d both be busy with work and didn’t want to be a bother. But, I know Spencer would rather have me call him than be left alone…

“I shouldn’t,” I muttered as I sat on the ground by my machine. The rumbling of the machine only caused a minor headache, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve suffered. And, it could be worse than a minor headache that I inflicted upon myself.

Even after an hour of being in the laundromat, the 2 men stayed, well after their laundry was done. And I hated the way they looked over at me. It was uneasy at the moment, but I ignored it.

Which, now, I’ve learned I never should do.

I didn’t bother folding my clothes, just crammed them into the basket and was quick to leave. I kept my head low as I rushed past the men, and made my way back towards Spencer’s house. After I dropped the basket of clothing off, I went to the market down the street.

“Spaghetti… or… I’m sure he’d like whatever I make. And, to be fair, so would I,” I muttered as I grabbed a box of pasta and a jar of sauce.

“I think just ice cream would work,” I whispered, looking at the freezers filled with various flavors. Strawberry was calling my name, but I knew Spencer liked birthday cake ice cream. Okay, to be fair, I liked any type of ice cream. Growing up it was rare that I got it… So I guess any flavor of ice cream will be good. Birthday Cake it is!

I quickly grabbed a few other groceries before leaving the market. It was weird, I was alone… It felt like I was alone, right? I mean, I went into the store alone, so I should be leaving the store alone… There was just something that I couldn’t explain.

My step hastened as I walked down the street back to the safety of Spencer’s apartment.

But for some reason, I felt a gross feeling taking over my body. The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and a sick feeling grew in my stomach. It felt like someone was watching me, following me from each place I've been to today. But whenever I looked over my shoulder, no one was there, no one was following me.

I was quick as I reentered Spencer's apartment building. Fighting myself as I struggled to pull out the key to unlock his home. It was even more of a fight when I got back in. I didn't feel safe like I usually do when I'm in Spencer's apartment. His apartment is usually the safest place I could be in, other than by his side.

So can someone please tell me why I didn’t feel safe as I got back home?

I swallowed roughly as I locked the door with my face glued to the peephole. A figure moved past the door before something was pushed against the small hole. I stumbled back, knocking into almost every book shelf and side table I could. I didn’t even care when I accidentally pushed everything off the surfaces. All the bags I was carrying dropped to the ground, and dinner and dessert was no longer my concerns.

I looked around the room, looking for Spencer’s home phone. A sigh of relief fell from my mouth when I finally picked it up and pressed it to my ear.

“Fuck, phone number,” I muttered as I looked around the surface for his number. I swallowed roughly as I finally got his number punched in and the dial tone ringing through.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid,” Spencer’s voice was low, and I felt my body slightly relax as I heard his voice

“Hey,” my voice was soft, and I hoped as urgent and scared as I thought. I hoped the message got across that way, if anything what I said next certainly should. “Hey, I... I, uh… I know you don’t like it when I call… When you’re on, uh… You’re at the office. But I think… I think someone was followin-” my words were cut off short by loud and harsh pounding on the door. I swallowed roughly as I looked that direction, seeing the door and the knob shake on the hingines. My body tensed, my muscles shaking and tense as the seconds ticked by. I was fucked.

“Spencer, I think someone’s trying to break in,” I could feel a certain shaky timbre in my voice, and I really didn’t know what to do.

“Spencer, what… What do I do?” I whispered as I hid under the small table that held his phone. My heart was beating so hard in my chest and I could feel it in my throat.

“Don’t… Listen, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Okay?” Spencer replied, I could tell he was trying to be confident with his words. But there was a certain shakiness in his words. I hoped he could say more, to help me. I swallowed roughly as I looked back at the door, seeing the knob finally twist without any issue and the door slowly open.

“Spen-Please.. Please hur-” I widened my eyes as something was placed right at the side of my head. The phone stayed pressed to my ear and I couldn’t stop whispering Spencer’s name. Dial tone came through the receiver instead of his voice.

“Put the phone down, Honey,” the person spoke. I swallowed roughly as I pulled my hand from my ear and lifted it, and the phone, above to the guy. The man’s voice sounded familiar. The laundromat.

“W-what do you want?” I whispered, staying still under the table. My knees were pressed to my chest as I froze in place. I swallowed roughly as a certain dampness grew over my eyes.

“We just wanna show you something, Honey,” the person spoke before grabbing a chunk of my hair and pulling me out from under the table. I screamed as he dragged me out to the floor between him and his friend. I laid on the ground, looking up between the two guys.

The next thing I knew a needle was pushed into the base of my neck. The world around me spun and my skin burned. My body went limp, heavier than I could ever believe it to be, and my vision went dark.

I wish I felt safe… I wish I knew what was happening and what would happen next. But, that’s the thing with shit like this, the innocent never know. The next second could be the last, and the wrong thing could set the bad guys off. I don’t know what I did, but I know I definitely didn’t deserve it…

I just knew that what I had dreamt of last night, and so many nights before, a life and family with Spencer won’t ever happen. And my happy, domestic thoughts that I was thinking today, dinner and dessert with Spencer, getting ready for bed, telling him about my day… Was gone, lost… That feeling of a good and happy future… erased forever.

if you want to be a part the series taglist or have any comments/questions about this part, let me know here

series taglist: @itsametaphorbriansblog , @bxtchboy69 , @sammypotato67 , @seninjakitey , @thatsonezesty13 , @thebluetint , @honestlystop , @herecomesthewriterwitch , @mediocrity-atitsfinest , @honeyboysteezy , @aluna190 , @mggsprettygirl , @vampiracontessa , @cielo1984

tags that didn’t work: @takeyourleap-of-faith , @shameleswhorehourstm , @mediocrehamiltrash

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds fan fic #a different type of high

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wisepuma23 · 5 years

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The Butterfly Shelter Chapter 4

Summary: Logan brings Virgil for a doctor's appointment and receives more insight than he asked for from the odd Dr. Picani. Reeling from the visit, he gets a phone call with some troubling news. Just wonderful! Logan is brought back down to Earth from Cloud Nine of paternal fatherhood, and must now confront his new reality with a son in his life.

Warnings: Mild Angst

Pairings: Slowburn Logicality, Parental Analogical, Parental Royality

Word count: 5,634

Notes: Puma: God this chapter is finally out!! I swear the universe was working against me. But woo!! It's here! Huge thanks to Tashi @fangirltothefullest for her AMAZING art and my betas, @sher-soc-the-famder and @my-happy-little-bean for being super patient!! So enjoy :D!

Tashi: I'm so happy it's here! We all worked s hard for this chapter!

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3

Logan stared at a stuffed bison with six legs instead of four. How inaccurate and strange. Most likely a new addition to Dr. Picani’s office. Logan bounced Virgil on his lap, his son gurgling. Probably hungry. He pictured the supermarket on the way home. The ever stinging smell of cleaning and sticky floors made him long for an alternative option.

You’re almost out of diapers a voice nagged him. And formula, no matter how much Virgil scrunched up his face at it. Aside from it being adorable, Virgil would get no coddling from him. Logan has read enough books on infant dietary needs of course. He also paid close attention for signs when Virgil was ready to try something new.

“Logan?”

He snapped out of his thoughts, “Yes, yes. I apologize.”

“It’s all good!” Dr. Picani beamed, “Like your little waterbender there!”

Logan tilted his head, “What?”

“Oh, there’s a cool neat-o test based on hand shape online that tells you about what bender you are,” Dr. Picani brightened even more (as if that was humanly possible), “And I remember Virgil here got waterbender! You know? From Avatar: the Last Airbender??”

Logan pinched his nose, “I meant the test results, doctor.”

“Oh,” Dr. Picani’s smile softened, “The good news is that he didn’t catch anything. Aside from his ongoing colic, your son is incredibly lucky.”

His eyes crinkled around his laughter lines, “Roman was vaccinated, but even then, there was still that chance. Bacteria and all that. Kids just being kids like eating dirt or something.”

“And the bad news?”

“Babies can heal quickly even without Katara’s spirit water!” Dr. Picani said, but then bit his lips for a few moments, “But it looks like a permanent scar. So keep an eye on that arm. It might be sore and bruised for a while. And also watch his little fingers,” The doctor adjusted his glasses, his voice lost all goofiness from earlier, “I’m sure you would’ve noticed by now, but if either the arm or the fingers don’t work correctly, you might have some severed muscle tendons from the force of the bite.”

Logan’s bouncing came to a stop. His three-hour power nap left him in an instant. Exhaustion weighed down his bones. Barely a month into having a son and he already had a scar or worse, a disfigurement that would alter his lifestyle.

“I’m a terrible father,” Logan sagged, glancing down at his son’s eyes still so full with spirit, “Oh, what am I doing?”

Laughter rang through the colorful office, “Welcome to fatherhood, Mr. Crofters! I’ve worked here twenty years in the maternity ward and I’ve seen every sort of father under the sun. And you? You aren’t a terrible father,” Dr. Picani said as he reached over and patted his white-knuckled fist, “You treated his wound, then called me immediately, and all the while you comforted him. In my totally expert opinion; you’re off to a good start.”

“What kind?” Logan whispered, trying (and failing) to hide the desperation in his voice, “What kind of father am I, if not a terrible one?”

Dr. Picani looked at him, silent for the first time since he entered his office. Logan squirmed in his seat as the doctor deliberate over the question. No doubt judging him like anyone else. Virgil burbled a soft noise and tugged on his tie, insistent as ever. For the split second Logan looked away from Dr. Picani to look at his son, the knot in his chest loosened. He never knew he could house so much love in his heart for a small thing.

He looked back up at Dr. Picani and instead of the biting glare he expected, he wore a fond smile with wrinkles around the edges. Logan blinked. He didn’t know how to fit that expression in his world. His world full of square shoulders and horizontal grimaces. Virgil pulled on his tie again.

“You, Logan, are not a terrible father,” Dr. Picani said, warmth in every word that had Logan reeling, “I want to say you’re good, heck you’re doing much better than most new fathers I’ve met! But a good father takes time, come back in twenty years, and let me know how you’re doing then!” Dr. Picani’s smile softened as Logan let the wise words wash over him, ‘But you? You’re well on your way to being a good father.”

Logan didn’t feel particularly comforted by the words. Not with the large bruise that still lingered under Virgil’s onesie. A permanent reminder of his failure for years to come. Virgil didn’t seem too fazed, but Logan couldn’t understand. He knew logically resilience came with childhood and kids often bounced back. Yet, yet, he couldn’t help but think he might’ve done something to prevent it. Virgil wouldn’t have a bite at all if he hadn’t visited Patton so soon.

If anything, this was one scar Logan wouldn’t bounce from.

“What would you do?” Logan whispered, his chest tight with anxiety clawing up his insides as he looked at his son, “If you were in my place?”

“Hmmm, well,” Dr. Picani tapped his chin then beamed, “I’d be completely inconsolable, to be honest! And hold back my wife, because she’s so much like Garnet! But….” Dr. Picani clasped his hands over his desk, “I know accidents happen and it hurts now, but one day it’ll stop hurting. It’ll find its place in your life.”

“Actual advice?” Logan raised an eyebrow, “I would’ve expected more cartoon references.”

Dr. Picani grinned with a hint of mischief around the edges, “Silly! I wasn’t done. Rafiki said that sometimes the past can hurt, but you can choose to either run from it...or learn from it. And have you learned something, Mufasa?”

Logan blinked, “Well–”

“Actually it’s Simba,” Dr. Picani cut in, “That Rafiki said it to, but since you’re a dad, I said Mufasa. Here’s hoping you don’t meet a tragic end from unseen forces that actively plotted your demise and die protecting your son from people closer to you than you think.”

“What?”

“Never mind!” Dr. Picani laughed, “Just one of my cartoon rants, don’t worry about it. Or complain to my superior...please. She’ll give me that disappointed look again. So did you learn something from this whole debacle?”

“...Yes,” Logan said, “I believe I’ve learned some valuable insights after all.”

Logan looked at his son, running a hand over his pudgy little cheek. Virgil moved immediately to grab for his fingers and pull on them. His grip strong as ever, so by Dr. Picani’s assessment, he would be fine. No disfigurement anytime soon.

“Wonderful!” Dr. Picani picked up the stuffed bison and waved it in front of Virgil, “I know for a fact he loves you very much already! He isn’t the miserable little boy I knew him,” Virgil giggled as his fingers reached for the toy, “Golly, he’s so happy. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

“I’m simply following the guide books.” Logan coughed.

Dr. Picani winked up at him, “You love him too, and there’s no book in the whole world that can teach you that. I don’t blame you. Virgil is the cutest water-bender I know!”

Logan’s face turned a hot pink as croaks fell out. Dr. Picani laughed as Virgil grabbed the hairs of the bison, the leg too fat for him to grasp, and swung it up and down as he giggled. Logan didn’t disagree with Dr. Picani’s statement. He loved his son. And no one could teach the warm encompassing feeling in his chest whenever he looked at him. Virgil Crofters, his family.

That very love was what contributed to his worries, Virgil deserved a good father. Someone to watch over him and be there for every recital and milestone. Be there for every bruise and breakdown. Every triumph and award. He didn’t want to miss a thing. Ever. Logan’s eyes prickled with the threat of tears again as his thoughts drifted to Roman.

He loved that boy from day he was born. So much energy in such a tiny frame and his smiles never ran out. Roman pushed and shoved at the world like he wanted everyone to know he was there. Logan couldn’t forget the tantrums he threw, the toys he’s broken in his enthusiasm, and how he ran. Ran far and fast despite his stubby little legs for his age. It didn’t matter that Roman was Patton’s kid, a detail that had lost importance as he loved him like his own.

And why the bite stung so much. Lashing out because he didn’t want anyone else to leave him. Patton didn’t quite get the hang of teaching nonviolent ways to express emotion, but then again what did he expect from a five-year-old who loved swords? No, no it wasn’t Roman’s fault. A heavy prickly ball sat in his chest, disappointment so deep that it hurt to breathe.

Logan swallowed thickly as Virgil’s giggles filled the air. Dr. Picani told him when to get vaccines and shots for Virgil in the upcoming weeks and months. Yet Logan couldn’t forget Roman’s tears. He let out an exhausted sigh as a migraine blossomed behind his eyes. Why did feelings always came with such adverse effects? Virgil tugged on his tie again and snapped him out of his thoughts. Logan shook his head and paid attention to the rest of the visit.

+++++

Logan slammed the car door as he got in. Then slumped over his car wheel. Virgil burst into tears in the backseat at the loud noise. His shoulders slumped even more. Whatever Dr. Picani said from his silly cartoons couldn’t be right. Him? A good father?

“You’re deluding yourself,” Logan hissed under his breath, “I can’t do this. I’ll be just like my father and–”

Logan muffled a sob.

Virgil cries joined his, and he wanted to drive away into the sunset. Something ugly pierced his heart at the way he failed Virgil’s cry for attention. Damn feelings hindering his care of his son. He could cry all he wanted when he was dead. He’d have all of eternity to cry his pain and failures away.

Logan wiped away his tears with his wrist, “Pull it together, you idiot.”

He took in a shuddering breath. Then he swiftly beat back the thorny emotions at the back of his throat. Back and back and squeezed down at the bottom of his stomach. Thrown into a bottomless pit for all he cared. Then he turned around in his seat to face Virgil.

“I’m sorry, your Dad didn’t mean to startle you,” Logan reached with an arm and wiped Virgil’s thick tears away, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You’re likely starving, here let me just–” He unclicked his seatbelt and wiggled into the backseat, “Join you.”

Logan took Virgil out of his car seat and into his arms. He bounced Virgil up and down on his knees, earning some giggles. No more tears for now. Logan reached for a bottle in his bag and immediately his son’s eyes sparkled.

Virgil sucked on the bottle as Logan cradled him. It almost felt private, in the back of his car in a crowded parking garage. The shadows hid them from the world. Logan curled up into his knees, an extra shield around Virgil. The grit in his eyes from exhaustion and the ache in his bones faded.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said again, the line of his mouth slanted down, “I suppose I learned something from this whole debacle, you are my top priority. I won’t let anything else distract me again,” Virgil blinked up at him with a coo, “It wasn’t Roman’s fault, he’s only a child who doesn’t know much better, but I’ll watch over you. You won’t get hurt anymore, I promise.”

The strains of the Imperial March startled him then pulled his phone out from his pocket. By the ringtone, it had to be his boss. Wonderful. Falsehood, he hissed in his mind. Logan sighed as he pushed the button and propped his phone between his ear and shoulder. Quietly shushing Virgil’s coos to listen.

“Logan!!! Whatcha up to?” A sugary sweet voice replied, “How are you enjoying life on the outside, haha?”

“I’m spending quality time with my son,” Logan said, his professionalism the only thing keeping his tongue in cheek, “But I noticed something off about my payments recently. It appeared that I got a 40% cut in my pay? Is it some error or?”

He heard the whirs of a printer in the background, “Yeah so listen, I gave you two months paid paternity leave. Other places would give you two weeks,” The creak of Mr. Magenta’s smile could be heard through the line, “So I’m rather generous even paying you at all. How does four-hour shifts work for you? More time with your son after all!”

“Sir, I’ve been one of your best workers for the past five years!” Logan’s temper burnt inside of him, the grip on Virgil’s bottle tightened, “Lowering my hours and docking my pay is unfair! You said I could have a six-month leave. You were fine with it a year ago–”

“Yeah I was...” Mr. Magenta said, the steady spurts of paper being printed in the background, “But you didn’t have a little demon a year ago,”

“What?”

“That’s right, you play by my rules now,” Mr. Magenta snarled, all false cheeriness gone, “You do as I say or you and your kid end up on the streets. And I’ll hire another desperate college dropout.”

“You sick sonva–”

The printer beeped.

“Oh! Looks like we’re out of ink,” Mr. Magenta giggled, “Want to try that again, Logan?”

“....What do you want? I’ll switch to the night shift, the whole shift if I have to, I need those hours. Please reconsider.”

“Hmmmmm….”

Virgil gurgled, signifying he was done drinking. Logan took the bottle out and wiped away the milk mustache with his bib. The crackling silence on the other end made the back of his hairs prickle. If he lost this job, he didn’t know what he’d do. Perhaps pick up odd jobs again but with a baby to boot? He just can’t–

“Alright!” Mr. Magenta said at last, “Night shifts for you and I better see you in two months. I rather like your manila folder, hate to shred all of that work. It’s not often to have one so thick with perfect quotas.”

“But my pay–”

“SHUT UP!” The call clicked to a stop.

Logan threw his phone down and swallowed down his yell. Not in front of Virgil. He needed to reevaluate his budget plans then. Damn it! As much as he wanted to curse and scream and cry; he didn’t want Virgil to feel like he’d done something wrong. Logan sighed, forcibly unlocking all tension from his body.

“Shush, it’s gonna be okay,” Logan said, raising Virgil over his shoulder to burp, “Let’s go home. I’ll read you something nice before you take your nap, okay? With lots of pictures. At least one of us will be happy today.”

Virgil cooed and reached up to pat his face. Those chubby fingers clumsily hanging onto his frames. The last of his anger faded away. Logan weakly smiled down at his son. He would find a way. For Virgil, he would do anything.

+++++

The camera clicked on, quietly whirring through the recording. It shook as Logan fumbled in his haste to capture the moment. The world blurred until the camera came to a stop. Focused from above onto Virgil, laying on his back in his crib. His eyes bright as he giggled as a large finger came down to tickle his stomach.

“Hello again,” Logan’s muffled giggles behind the camera, “Up from your nap already? Someone is excited about their first day of work with Daddy, huh?”

“Guah!” Virgil grabbed his finger and started to suck on it.

“I know, I know it’s third dinner already,” Logan said, the camera zooming closer until Virgil’s brown eyes took up the whole screen, “Do you want formula or formula? Or chef’s choice, formula?”

Virgil kicked at the air as the camera zoomed out again, bubbly giggles as his answer. This was the perfect shot to capture a monumental milestone. He flipped onto his stomach for the camera to see as Logan gasped. A huge step forward in his development! Virgil giggled as he pounded his little fists against his blankets.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” The camera shook again as loud clicks filled the air, “I need to tell everyone right now.”

Ping after ping, text sounds flooded the audio output, but the phone camera kept faithfully recording. Virgil reached for a mini bear toy and started to suck on its ear. So oblivious to the giggles and pings of internal screaming from his father.

The camera shook as the pings became more insistent and finally clicked to a stop. End of recording labeled “Virgil’s first rollover at 4 months”. Preserved in an abandoned phone’s memory by the owner, Logan Crofters.

++++

The red light of a security camera turned on as it detected movement. The time stamp only a few hours after the previous recording. A man stepped out of an ancient car with a dark bundle on his chest and a bag slung across his shoulder. In the lowlight of a flickering street lamp, prim and proper were the only words to describe the man.

[08:48 PM]

Logan resisted the urge to pull his navy trench coat tighter around himself in the night’s chill. Virgil slept soundly in a wrap against his chest, a dark beanie on his head to fend away the cold. Logan hurried a little faster to the doors of the building. Central heating so close! He slid his keycard without looking, so ingrained at this point, and the doors opened with a whoosh.

A lobby camera turned in its steady path to capture his entrance far below.

“Hey hey, look who’s back from vacation!” Keith whooped over his newspaper, “Really odd to see you at night, Mr. Crofters.”

“You’re telling me,” Logan replied as he walked up to the metal detectors that barred him from the elevators at the back, “I have opted to switch to the night shift so I don’t disrupt as many co-workers if Virgil cries or needs to be fed.”

“Virgil, huh?” Keith stood up, his dark curls falling in front of his face to look over his desk, “So who’s the cute little bug from? You got a girl?”

“No, and I’m not planning to get one,” Logan said tersely as he put a hand on Virgil’s back protectively, “He’s sleeping right now so I advise keeping your voice low. But it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Smith.”

“Alright, same too,” Keith sat back down again, still smiling brightly at the tiny bundle, “Have a good night, sir. And don’t work too late!”

Logan waved as he walked through the detectors. Small talk, he never quite got the hang of it. He could hear the rustle of the newspaper being snapped back open. Keith and one other guard, Ned Fulmer, always switched their shifts. One or the other. For a mid-sized accounting firm, they really should hire more staff. And more competent ones too.

Then again, he shouldn’t talk ill of them. They hired him after all when no one else did. If they gave him a steady paycheck and a crappy office, it was better than nothing. And the benefits couldn’t be understated enough. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have Virgil right now.

The elevator camera watched him fidget to some outdated tune. The strains of too peppy music despite the miserable air of the whole building circled like carrion birds in his head. The lenses whirred and clicked, catching every minuscule twitch. The grey lights flickered as he glanced down at the buttons with smudged numbers worn down over the years. Not a single one replaced like not even the buttons could escape this infernal place. The man checked his watch as the elevator slowly went up the floors, the second hand counting down like to a final curtain call rather than the start of his shift.

The doors opened and he stepped out of the oppressive metal coffin to a dark floor. Only a scant few fluorescent lights of computers were left on. It cast the cubicles into boxes of shadows and darkness. The red light of an exit sign shone at the back of it. Logan swallowed at the almost menacing and frightening air of what once was so familiar. The dull lights made him almost ill as he remembered the neon meadow of baby toys at home. Then he shook his head, primal instincts couldn’t override his reasoning.

“Good evening,” Logan said as he navigated through the corporate maze, “Good evening, fellow associates. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” No reaction from the mindless drones, their eyes glazed over as they scrolled through datasheets, “No need to welcome me back.”

The clack clack clack of keys rang against the silence, interrupted by the occasional yawn or creak. Logan straightened his shoulders, sharp angles of professionalism even if no one cared to notice or comment on. He held Virgil close to his chest like he protected a flame from a blustery wind. If the elevator was a coffin, the whole floor was a black hole of no escape. Not even light. Logan passed cubicles with no posters, pictures, or even a favorite novelty pen in sight. The night shift workers sat there glued to their screens like good little robots, click, clack, press enter, input, new row, the spreadsheets filled one by one.

Logan swallowed back the illogical instinct to retch at the display, instead of a sterile cubicle he saw the picked clean bones of a life. Of any hope. Mr. Magenta preferred his workers to have no distractions, and Logan braced his son closer at the thought. Why hadn’t he noticed the leeching effects of this monotony and fixed lifestyle before? Logan shook his head. He would stay for however long to support his son and perhaps find a better job. He ignored how long he’d been looking for a ‘better job’ for the past five years.

He hastily clicked the door of his office behind him. Away from the mechanical eyes and ears. The camera’s movement did not falter as it continued to sweep the office. Right to left, right to left, over and over, repetitive and consistent, just like the workers it monitored.

Logan slumped against the door. He made it. Stifling a sigh, he pulled out his chair from his nondescript desk and sat in it. The blinds behind him were drawn up to reveal the skyline, dull grey lines against an inky sky. Then again, not much different than the sickly smog that dirtied his view during his former day shift either. The only other lights came from his dreary coworkers, sterile white and colorless as the rest of this soul-sucking place.

He looked down at his sleeping son. Virgil squished his face deeper against his suit with a faint sigh. Right, he needed to change out of it immediately. No one would bother him for the next eight hours anyhow. He found that old sweatshirts were the preferred attire when taking care of babies. As wonderful Virgil was so far, he still drooled and spat like any other infant. Logan’s ever so present thin line softened into a smile as Virgil sniffled in his sleep.

He opened his satchel and pulled out seven different rolled up blankets from home. Budget-wise, it would’ve been smarter to opt for cheap scratchier blankets but in this rare instance he took the less logical choice and took the softer ones higher on the shelf. Spun out of clouds and dreams it advertised on the side. Logan had to take a moment to look at them. The folded blankets checkered his desk like a manicured garden of patterned dinosaurs and rainbows across it. A piece of home totally out of its element in the conditioned room where the stale air wasn’t the only thing that chilled him down to his bones.

He pulled out an empty filing cabinet, shallow but large enough, and buried it in the blankets. No cold metal would dare disturb his star darling’s sleep if he had anything to say about it. Logan fiddled with it for longer than necessary. It just–It had to be perfect. His fingers shoved and adjusted the blankets until it became a miniature nest. Hmm, good enough.

Now for the finishing touch. Logan carefully, oh so carefully, pulled Virgil out from his papoose wrap. His son whimpered and his heart skipped a beat, Logan rubbed a hand down his back and shushed him before he could fuss. Virgil’s face scrunched for a few moments then smoothed out as he rocked against Logan’s chest. Logan let out a breath. Thank Newton, he truly wouldn’t know what to do if his son woke up. He rocked Virgil to a soft hum of Mozart around the room, each step quiet as a mouse.

Virgil remained peaceful, slumping almost boneless in his hold.

Logan set him down in the makeshift bed of a cabinet. Logan leaned over to give the lightest of pecks to his son’s head and murmured a good night. He didn’t know how Virgil could be so gentle and peaceful when he’d heard horror stories from Patton about Roman keeping him up for months and months. Although Virgil did have his fair share of sleepless nights, they became less and less frequent. This seemed to be aided by the fact that his Colic had settled, which was a relief to them both. He hoped Virgil would sleep through the night soon. His books noted it was a possibility at the five-month stage.

Hmm, he didn’t want to accidentally shut close the cabinet, so he stuck several rulers in the hole between the desk and cabinet. Adequate risk minimization of injury and accident. Virgil snuffled in his sleep, his fingers clutching at empty air. His thoughts melted at the sight like butter and far sweeter than jam. No, he had to remember this wasn’t home and he couldn’t dally on his objectives.

Logan was quick to shirk off his suit jacket after that, and he laid it around his chair before rummaging through his satchel for his folded sweater at the bottom. He doubted Mr. Magenta would check up on him; it was a documented fact that the vile man never came down from his office on the top floor and certainly not on nights. Best not to mix with the henchmen of course. Logan pulled out his sweater, the smooth beige fabric soft and easier on the eyes than the stiff lines of his monochromatic suit. He rubbed his fingers through it for a moment, appreciating the faint stains of milk and spit on it. A reminder of home.

But he had more important things to focus on and he needed to complete them before Virgil’s scheduled feeding in three hours. Logan unbuttoned his white collared dress shirt with deft fingers and an eye on the door. The unforgiving conditioned air bit at his exposed arms and through the thin wall of his tank. He bit back a shiver. In one graceful movement, he pulled on his sweater with a sigh. It even smelled like home, the thought surprised him. When did he think of his apartment as home? He shook his head and pulled his chair closer to his computer.

Logan pulled up his work emails and clicked through the various databases on his computer. His eyes already started to ache at the sight of the long rows. So much he missed on his paid fraternal leave.

But first...Logan took out his phone and to take a snap of Virgil. Hmm, it seemed his son’s nest was still missing something. Logan pulled out Cow from the bottom of his bag and tucked it in next to Virgil. Perfect. Now adequate to capture this adorable moment in time.

First father-son day at work today!

The grainy photo had heart and stars stickers all over it. Patton sent back a simple thumbs up. Logan’s smile grew bigger as another text came through.

Roman doesn’t want to sleep yet, monsters in the closet again.

A slightly blurred selfie of Patton with a flyswatter and Roman peeking out from his blankets in the background appeared on his screen. Patton sat in the entrance of the closet from what he remembered of Roman’s room. Logan pressed a thumb onto the photo and saved it to his archive. Roman was so brave some days, but all kids had fears, including the ‘prince’ himself. But he had nothing to be afraid of when his Dad was there. Always ready to the rescue.

He only hoped he could be half of the great father Patton was.

+++++

Patton giggled as he turned on the old VHS camera recorder from his college days. He flipped open the screen, a blue screen flashes before it showed the adorable scene before him. He muffled his giggles as he pressed the zoom in.

[12:43 Jun 24 2019]

Roman laid on his stomach, eye to eye to his arch-nemesis, one Virgil Crofters. Six months old and full of life. Golly, he remembered when the poor kiddo was so quiet.

Virgil laid on his stomach for the required ‘tummy time’ that Logan talked about. His eyes watching Roman’s attentively like they were a pair of shiny keys.

Roman covered his eyes, “Oh no, where did I go?”

Virgil giggled.

“Peek a boo!” Roman said with a gummy grin, “Did I getcha?”

“Hehehehe, peka!” Virgil babbled, “Pepe, pepe, pee!!!”

“Logan is going to love this,” Patton said as he squealed with excitement, fiddling with the camera controls to capture every adorable giggle both of their sons had, “It’s going to be so fun to edit this for your first birthday, oh yes it will! Oh yes it will!!”

Roman groaned, “Daaaaaaddd!!! You’re so embarashing!”

“It’s embarr-assing, kiddo,” Patton said, then waved a hand in front of the camera, “You’re doing great, honey!! We can totally take care of little Virge for a bit.”

“ASS!” Virgil shouted with all the enthusiasm of a new discovery, “Ass, ash, shh!!”

“DAAAAD, HE SAID A BAD WORD!!” Roman snickered as he pointed at Virgil, “Look who’s in trooooubblleeeeeee!!!”

“N-no he didn’t say anything bad,” Patton said, his voice shaky behind the camera, “How ‘bout I give you ice cream tonight and watch some movies huh? I’ll give Logan this a little later after I figure out how to edit again…” Nervous laughter echoed, “Just to give the very best moments of his adorable son!”

The picture froze, the snickers cut off by the end of the recording.

+++++

“What are you doing?” Logan’s face squinted up into the camera, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, no, don’t let me stop you!” Nate said, his snicker deep and graveled, “Do you want me to hide behind the door again? Virgil seemed to like it! Come on, pleaaaaassseeee?”

Logan blushed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Virgil babbled at the mention of his name. Almost squirming in Logan’s hold until he had to kick off the rocking chair again to calm him down. Nate shoved his phone’s camera into Logan’s face, a rosy blush crawling up until–

“Fine fine,” Logan caved, then looked down at Virgil, “But for him. You’re right, he does seem to enjoy it. And he does require intellectual stimulation, especially at the six-month mark.”

“Yes!”

Nate held true to his hold and shuffled away to give him space. He propped his phone up to catch the picturesque image of a father cradling his son in the room, lit up by soft blue lamps. Toys laid scattered on the ground along with a playmat in one corner. Then Logan did that smile again, so private and reserved for Virgil only.

He couldn’t believe Logan was letting him catch it on camera! Forever bottled in time as a wonderful moment to the robotic man he once knew. The room hushed, even Virgil’s giggles quietened. Logan drew in a breath as his whole posture changed and the sharp lines around his figure smudged into something indiscernible. Almost like he was dropping his lifelong act as a boring square.

“ Baby mine, don’t you cry,” Logan’s voice gentle as raindrops and honey, “Baby mine, dry your tears, rest your head close to my heart, ” Virgil’s eyes slipped closed as Logan cradled him closer, rubbing his cheek gently, “ Never to part, oh baby mine…”

Logan kissed the top of his forehead. Virgil’s stubby little hands clutched at his blue sweatshirt, the wrinkles smoothing out on his face where they remained on his shirt. His tiny puffs of breath slowed into sleep, entering his second scheduled nap of the day. The rocking chair creaked to a stop as Logan hummed soft notes to his lullaby.

He stood up, still slowly rocking Virgil in his arms. Then walked over to his crib and set Virgil down. The camera strained to catch Logan’s whisper as he hovered over his son. His lips moved but Nate couldn’t decipher it at the moment.

The camera could:

“I’ll never leave you, Virgil. Not until the day I die. I love you so much.”

Logan turned around then a blush overtook his face again as he noticed the camera.

“Always so camera shy!” Nate giggled as Logan marched over. His hand reaching out toward the camera, his palm blotting out everything. And then–

The phone ran out of battery.

[Recording lost.]

taglist:

@poisonedapples @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2, @milomeepit, @k9cat, @my-happy-little-bean, @thesocialbookwormishere, @sher-soc-the-famder @thebrokenbluecrayon, @confinesofpersonalknowledge, @mariniacipher @finger-gunsss @peanut0303 @ilylogan @princeanxious @khadij-al-kubra @smokeyrutilequartz @pipapatton @ironwoman359 @celestial-firestorm @virge-of-a-breakdown @bunny222 @rosesisupposes @wildhorsewolf @sander-fander-sides @teacupfulofstarshine @ashrain5 @deafgirl-and-hercoven @moonfang03 @karmels-stuff @everythings-coming-up-aces @a-little-bit-of-ace @thekeytohappiness-is-you @larkiaquail @wundergirllovesyou @gemini-the-kitsune-rp @squishyturtle44 @alotofstupidstuff @pridefox @doing-my-demibest @coffee-fueled-art @tinashrader @pr0bablypr0crstinating @theunoriginaldaisy @fiive-second-cookies @anxiousangel121 @llamaavocado @ever-after-aaa

#sanders sides #logicality #sanders sides fanfic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #myfics #ITS OUT #GODDAMN!!!#this took forever pls appreciate it #sob #ALSO THE ART IS AMAZING AND I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH

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missblissy · 5 years

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Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

(( Enjoy the angst!! WARNING!! PHYSICAL AND ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT BELOW!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! Enjoy the chapter!! Only more angst to come!!))

Description:

He cut you off. Why was he so angry? “You even a girl under there? Or you just some sissy boy?” He took a step towards you and you quickly backed away. He was quick though and snatched you up by your arm. You dropped the art book you were holding and it fluttered to the ground with a solid slam on the hardwood floors.

“L-let go of me!” You tried yanking away from him. He smelled so bad, like someone shit on him and dumped a bottle of rum on it and lit it on fire. Where was Dutch? Where was Annabelle? Why did he care what you looked like? You tried so hard to get away from him but you were stuck in the corner of the room now. You didn’t know how you got there.

__________________________________________

The sun was so hot. You had fair skin and it was not use to this much daylight. The sunburn that had worked it’s way onto your arms stung and itched at the same time. You and Arthur were sitting alone in camp, while the adults went off on a big heist. Dutch said they might come back with stacks of cash. The goal was to get enough money to head further northwest and into the Nevada territory.

You were slowly reading Jungle Hunt while Arthur scribbled away in his journal. On days like these, he was the baby sitter for little old you. He didn’t seem to mind though, he enjoyed your company. It was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t twice his age, though, you did little talking right now. It was so god damn hot, dry and terrible, that the two of you sweated in silence under the shade of the shallow cave you called home.

It was hard to believe, but about two months had already gone by since you joined the gang. Life was simple, but very hard at the same time. You worked a lot, doing chores, practicing your hunting and shooting skills, and every once in a while you got spoiled by Dutch who made it a habit to take you to town on Saturdays. That was today, and even though he was away on some big mission, he promised to take you into Dodge as soon as he got back. You knew he mostly went there to visit Annabelle, but he was kind enough to bring you and buy you things.

You had gotten to a pretty boring part in your book, and the heat was making it hard to think. Your little eyes wandered away from the pages and towards Arthur. He seemed like he was… angry? No… he looked more frustrated than anything. He sat across from you at the table. You thought he was just doodling, but it looked like he was trying to write.

“You spelled it wrong,” You sat up and pointed at his chicken scratch letters, “It’s spelled D-o-d-g-e. You forgot the D,”

Arthur groaned out and threw his pencil down onto the table, “God dammit!” He huffed and puffed and crossed his arms, “This shit’s hard. You don’t hear no second ‘D’ in Dodge! Where the hell did it even come from?” It was a little funny watching him get so upset over some words. He didn’t much like your giggles either, “Fuck off,” Arthur crossed his arms tighter and kicked back his seat so his chair leaned back.

You giggled a little more, waving a hand, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry. You just get so mad! It’s silly.”

This made him even more irritated, “Well you can fucking read!” Why was he so mad-… Oh.

You stopped your little laughter and stared at Arthur, “You can’t read?”

“Barely,”

Really now? How long had you know him? You had no idea he struggled with reading. He always had that damn journal. He lived for it, breathed for it, he bleed ink to soak on those pages. He also had that old torn up book too that he wouldn’t let anyone touch. And he couldn’t read? No way. You felt a little bad, in a way, because you remembered your father and how much he struggled with learning to read English. He hated every second of it, and you did your best to teach him, but after a while he just gave up. He could read fine, but only in French. He hated how English had so many words that could mean just one thing, he hated how silent letters could sneak up on you, he hated the way the letters didn’t sound or look the same as his mother tongue. You missed him. You missed him a lot.

You did your best to shove those thoughts away and turn your focus back on Arthur, “Do you want some help?” You asked.

Arthur didn’t seem in the mood, but he glanced back at you, “Help with reading?”

“Yeah. I use to teach my dad how to read until he got sick of it,”

Before Arthur could answer, the two of you could hear the low distant hum of horses running across the desert plain. The adults had finally returned. The two of you forgot your conversation and fled for the opening to your hideout. As you raced, you shoved Arthur out of the way, and in return he shoved you back as you both fought to get there first.

The second you made it past him you bolted, leaving Arthur in the dust. Dutch and Hosea seemed as cheerful as always, and Susan’s mild mannered mood told you that the heist was a success.

“What did you get!? What did you get!?” You were nearly jumping in place as you watched them all dismount and hitch their horses. Arthur joined a second later, frazzled and with new dust stains on his face and arms. Did he fall on the way here?

“Money!” Dutch grinned like a mad man, “Three grand!”

“And!” Hosea chimed in, “Some very handsome bonds. Thank you, Mr. Denis and your fine gold mines!”

Holy shit! Three grand and some bonds? All that hidden in some stagecoach? People out west sure were dumb, you thought. No one in their right mind back home would just leave stuff like that out for grabs. It’d be in a safe, within a safe, within another god damn safe and guarded by men with guns bigger than your arms.

“How much more do we need?” Arthur asked.

“A bit more,” Dutch handed the money off to Susan, while Hosea gave her the bonds. She was surely going to stash it away in the chest, “Maybe two more jobs like this and we’ll be good to go. Nevada’s got our name on it, and they’ve got land out there and people who need saving.” He always said that. What people needed saving? Who was Dutch going to save? Guess that was apart of the journey. You stood there, smiling wide at Dutch with an eager look on your face. Just like all the adults plus Arthur, he patted your head and walked past you, “Don’t you worry, my little lady, we’ll go to town soon. Give an old man some rest, though, would ya?”

And so you did. You patiently waited while Dutch talked over plans with Hosea, and pestered Arthur with philosophy lessons on nature or something like that. You didn’t really pay attention. You just wanted to get to town, buy a new book to add to your growing collection. And maybe possibly also ask Dutch to get you a candy bar. How on earth could he say now if you asked so nice and sweetly?

After what felt like years, Dutch finally saddled up and brought you to town. It was getting late and the sun was on it’s way down towards the horizon. You had just a few hours of day light left. The ride to town was always pleasant, it was just a good twenty minutes there. Ten minutes today because Dutch felt wild, and you laughed out as he spurred his trusty steed to race across the desert sands.

Like always, the two of you zipped right into Annabelle’s store. She was always happy to see you two, more so Dutch than anything however. She greeted you both with a smile.

“Well hello! Here for another book (Y/N?)” Annabelle’s kindness always surprised you. It surprised you because she was so smart and wise, yet she wasted her time with Dutch of all people. They did seem to make each other happy though.

“Mhm!! I’ve read Jungle Hunt two times now! It’s time for something new,” You stopped just short of the counter that was too damn tall, standing a few feet away so she could see you. Dutch made himself at home and easily went behind the counter and greeted her with a peck on the cheek.

Annabelle smiled like a freak, elated to have her dark and mysterious stranger back within her reach. Though she was sure to tell you, “I just got a new shipment of books. They’re up stairs. I was waiting for you guys to get here to put them out.”

Dutch was so kind to ask her, “Would you like me to get them, my dear?”

“There are two crates, we can each get one?”

“Lead the way,” Dutch gave her a gentleman’s bow and a flirty look that still made you want to barf, “We’ll be back down in a second, little lady. Don’t you steal nothing,”

Dutch pointed a finger at you and grinned while you both shared a laugh.

While you waited for them to return with the new books, you took your time looking at the ones already out. You worked your way into the back of the store, into corners you haven’t searched yet. It was dark back there, muggy, and the sent of old leather and yellowed pages wafted all around you. You found something neat, a book about art and history filled with more pictures than words. Maybe Arthur would like it? You knew he didn’t read much, but it didn’t hurt to start somewhere. You leafed through the pages, interested in the stories this book had to tell. It had pictures of famous paintings in it and statues from ancient times long ago. Arthur would love this, you just had to get it!

Maybe you could sit down with him, and read it together? The thought made you smile.

In the distance, you could hear the doorbell to the store jingle alive. Another customer? You paid them no mind, choosing to lurk around in the back.

This didn’t mean they didn’t see you. The store was like a hall way, and didn’t have any other rooms. You heard footsteps approach you, and a man say, “Excuse me, son-” When you turned and looked at him, clearly not a boy, but a girl just in boy’s clothing, he stopped and knitted his brows, “…Miss…”

This man didn’t look friendly. Or sober for that fact. You could smell the booze on him. He was old, with wild gray hair that was so messy that it probably never had been brushed before in his life. His face had patches of fuzz on it, with some stains that must have been from his day drinking. Whatever that man was thinking, must have been some fucked up thoughts. He seemed rightly angry at you for some reason.

“Anyone ever tell you how to dress, little girl?” His voice set off alarms in your head. What was he talking about? How many times have you walked through this town in pants, jeans, button downs and work shirts? No one ever said a thing before? “Didn’t your mama tell you how to act? What’s wrong with you?”

“I-..I’m sorr-”

The stranger grabbed your other arm, pinning them above your head, “What’s the matter, girl?” He got so close you could count the teeth he had missing, “You gonna dress like a boy, I’ll treat ya like a boy!”

“Let go!” You felt some swell of energy, fear, and anger manifest within you. It gave you the strength to buck your leg up and kick him in his knee as hard as you could.

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. He let go of one of your arms, but used his free hand to slap you so hard in the face that you saw stars. What you did only made him more angry. In the few seconds you were dazed by the sheer blow of his hand against your face, he grabbed your leg and pulled it out from under you, causing you to fall backward and slam into the ground. How could all this noise not have made it’s way to Dutch and Annabelle? You pleaded, and were about to scream when the man slapped his hand down on your mouth while pinning you to the ground. He was so much bigger than you, and stronger too.

“You nasty little runt!” With the hand on your mouth, he used the other one to grab at your shirt. You kicked him again, nocking the gun free from his belt and it wobbled away onto the floor a few feet away from you, “You’re a little freak, aren’t you? A bastard? I’ll show you what happens to little freaks and bastards!” How could this have happened? How did it happen so fast? You started to cry, tears welled in your eyes and stung when they reached your cheek that was already inflamed. His hand smelled like rotten food, and he clamped your mouth shut so hard that his nails were digging into your skin.

It hurt as he pinned you there. The man started to grab at your clothes, he was so damn intent on seeing what you had to hide, which was your pride and dignity. Your heart was racing a mile a minute and you wished, hoped and prayed Dutch would hear what was happening and come to your rescue. The drunk tugged so hard at your shirt that the buttons started popping lose one by one. When he pulled your shirt free, he grabbed and yanked at your belt. You noticed his gun just out of your reach and something rang in your head though, words that Arthur told you not to long ago.

It’s either you. Or him.

You tried one last time, kicking him as best you could, wriggling around and trying to free yourself. You stretched out your arm, reaching with the very tips of your fingers as they grazed the gun’s barrel. Come on! Come on dammit! The man had managed to finally tear your shirt completely open just as your finger snared at the gun and finally grabbed it.

It happened within a second. The loud bang of a sawed off shotgun echoed so loud that the people in the streets could hear it. Blood washed over you like a tsunami, splattering your face, soaking your clothes, as you fired the gun right into the man’s stomach. He went limp, his eyes changed from rage filled and bloodthirsty to nothing and hollow in an instant. You watched the life and color drain from his face and his dead body collapsed right on top of you, trapping you under it. The awful smell of him, the blood and the gunpowder made your stomach twist in knots and you had to fight from puking.

Footsteps thundered from above and crashed down the stairs, “(Y/N)!!” Dutch called, “(Y/N)!!” He couldn’t see you there from the front of the store, or from behind the counter.

You whimpered out, letting out a cry and he followed. Annabelle was soon behind him. Dutch couldn’t believe his eyes when he found you. You couldn’t see it, but so many emotions twisted on his face. It went from fear, to anger, to pure blood-boiling rage. The man was lucky you shot him, because Dutch wanted to do something far worse. He ran towards you and pulled the corpse pinning you to the ground and flung it away like it was nothing.

“(Y/n), (Y/n)-”

You were shaking like a leaf when he freed you. Instantly Dutch fell to his knees and grabbed ahold of you, wrapping you in his arms as you sobbed. Annabelle stood in shock behind him while Dutch asked, “Annabelle- please get her something- a blanket- towel. Whatever you got,” She ran away without a sound and came back with a blanket.

Dutch took it, still holding you tight, “It’s alright, my dear,” His voice was low and soothing. You buried yourself in his chest, not wanting to face the scene before you, “I’m here-” he cleaned away the blood from your face.

“He- He-” You started to hyperventilate, your mouth felt numb as you struggled to breathe, “I-I- didn’t-”

“Shh- hey. It’s okay,” It didn’t take much for Dutch to understand what happened, seeing the state you were in, “He’s dead, you’re safe now. My poor sweet girl, it’s alright,” Annabelle called the lawmen over. She told them what happened and they took away the body, and left you all alone. Dutch would not let you out of his sight, nor his grip.

You wrapped the blanket around you, covering your exposed body as you huddled close to Dutch, afraid that the man would show up again even though you knew you killed him. You couldn’t stop crying, but you did so silently as the tears just kept on falling. You had horrible flashbacks to the night your parents died. Their screams echoed in your mind, mingling with your own now. Dutch quickly helped Annabelle clean up the mess. She noticed the booked you had dropped and handed it to you.

“You can take this home, no need to pay, my dear,”

“It’s for Arthur…” You whispered out in a broken voice, raspy and rough. You were still to frozen in fear to really move.

Dutch took the book for you, stuffing it away someplace you didn’t see. He kept his arm around your shoulder and herded you out of the store, telling Annabelle he’d be back later in the week. Right now he just wanted to get you back home, safe and sound.

He talked to you lightly on the ride home, “I’m sorry,” He said, you rode up front, Dutch’s arms encased you, ensuring your safety. You leaned back into his chest and kept the blanket tightly held around you, “I should have heard- I… I was foolish. Stuck in my head,” He was admitting in his own way that he was distracted by Annabelle, “I should have done better.”

“It’s okay,” Your tiny voice was barely a whisper, but he still heard you. You had finally stopped crying. Your face hurt a lot, you knew there would be a bruise and several cuts on your cheeks. Your legs hurt, so did your neck, and back. Everything hurt really.

“It’s not okay,” Dutch’s voice was low and he sounded like he hated himself, “I swore I’d keep you safe. I…” He took in a deep breath, not wanting to worry himself over the if onlys. He shook his head, left with nothing but disappointment, “We’ll get you cleaned up, my sweet girl, feed you and get your face patched up.”

The rest of the ride was in silence. When you had gotten back to Fortunes Hollow Dutch let out a loud call beckoning everyone to come out of there hiding spots. When the rest of them laid eyes on you, the nearly lost it. While Dutch explained everything to Hosea and Arthur, Susan took you off by herself, seeing as she was the only other woman around.

She took you to your tent and gave you a sponge bath of sorts. She talked a lot, but you didn’t really listen, instead just enjoying the hot water she ran down your back and dripped onto your hair. It felt good to finally get the smell of death and blood off you. You could hear Arthur and Hosea losing their minds back in the center of camp, demanding they kill the bastard, until Dutch told them you did it already when he attacked you.

After you got dressed, Dutch called you out of your tent, and kindly offered to let you stay the night in his. You gladly accepted, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts, nor alone at all. He moved your cot to the other side of his large and luxury tent.

You sat with your legs crossed on the edge of your bed, watching Dutch loot around in some chest of his, “Arthur liked his book,” He told you. That was nice. You nearly forgotten about it.

“Where is he?” You asked, noticing you hadn’t seen him since you got cleaned up.

“Said he had something to do and left off in a hurry,”

“Oh… Is.. he mad?”

“Mad? Sweet girl, no. Well, not mad at you at least- Ah! Here we are,” He had found some old book tucked away. He wandered back over toward you and pulled up a chair beside your bed. He waved his hand at you a few times while showing you what he had, “You might like this. It might help you feel better. Arthur told me how scared you were to kill someone, I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

You did hate that feeling. You finally took a human life. It didn’t change the way you felt, it only reassured you that killing and taking lives just wasn’t something you had in you. The book’s title simply said A Way of Thought. You didn’t understand, so your silent question as to what exactly this where came from the blank stare you gave Dutch.

“It’s a book about human philosophy. It teaches you how to think outside the box, how to look at things from other angles.”

You slowly shook your head, “I don’t want to kill people Dutch. Even the bad ones,” You confessed. He sat there listening to you, giving you his full attention, “My mother always told me it wasn’t right. It still don’t feel… it didn’t feel right. Even then. I… don’t want to be..”

“Like us?” He finished what you were thinking. It was true, you didn’t really want to be much of an outlaw.

“I want to do what my mother did. What my grandfather taught her to do, what my family has done for generations.” You felt it rooted deep in your heart, you knew that this was your calling. Maybe yes, you lived with a bunch of outlaws, criminals and thieves, but that didn’t mean you had to be one.

“And what’s that?” Dutch raised a brow.

You mulled it over, then finally choked it out, “I want to be a doctor. I want to save lives. Not end them,” You stared up at Dutch, watching him react to your little dream.

You were surprised he didn’t laugh and tell you a woman couldn’t be a doctor like so many people told your mother. He didn’t call you silly, or foolish. He looked at you the same way your father used to. With a love and need to protect you, keep you safe, and make you happy. Dutch gave you a small warm smile, “Then I’ll be sure to make you the best god damn doctor this side of the Mississippi.”

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