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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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Two chapters over the weekend because I was ✨ inspired ✨ and my neighbors can't stop fucking (noisily!) and I'm,,, envious.

Strange adventures in Hell. There are descriptions of desperation and doom, lots of magic and - hear me out - forced/reluctant hand holding 😌 Oh my God, they held hands!!!

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Strange was seething, his enormous figure and broader height towered over me, the blood-red of his cape vibrating, the only spleck of colour in the grey and dusty dark world.

"I had no choice in the matter," I replied as calmly as I managed, gritting my teeth, memories of our past stand-off fresh in my mind. We could have bickered until the end, until one of the beasts flying overhead spotted us and decorated the bleary grounds of this forsaken planet with the crimsons of our life blood. "I think it's best if we get to safety first, argue later. I have no desire to become somebody's lunch."

That much was true: I had taken a good look at our surroundings as soon as I recovered from the vacuum-like sensation of being pulled into a magical gateway; the visibility was terrible, the planet's natural light very scarce. Several suns were hardly visible in the sky, their rays barely penetrating the mists and the ashes freely floating in the air.

There was oxygen even if breathing in a full lungful seemed impossible; I tried not to think about the contents of the air, or the possibility of radiation poisoning, as the multiple amulets and charms seared into my skin where they rested under my clothes. I had four bottles of water, some bandages and salves and a sacrifice for a single ritual to my name and absolutely no conviction that Mother Earth would be able to hear the call of an earthling gone so astray.

But it was hope, so I held on.

"Fine," Stephen sighed, suddenly looking tired and weary, glancing around with furrowed brows. "Let's see if I can open a portal," his hands did that complicated set of gestures that I'd grown to associate with a golden circle and sparks on the ground. The thing flickered, once, twice, before disappearing, as if the Sorcerer's magic had run out of batteries. "Yeah, I thought so," he whispered to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The bad news first, please," I interpreted his hesitation with a realistic outlook on our predicament.

"I can't open a portal just anywhere on this planet. We need to find a... Rift, of sorts," the man was anxiously looking around. "And those things, they'll smell us... Right about now," his eyes shot up at a winged, rapidly approaching shadow. "No good news, I'm afraid."

I allowed myself a small sigh of disappointment, keeping a tight leash on the panic slowly creeping up my body. The feeling of determination, the power of Gaia within me was still present, laying in a cozy dormant ball slightly south of my solar plexus. "Give me your hand, please," I reached out to Stephen only for him to promptly recoil.

"You should've thought about the consequences of your actions, I'm not going to hold your hand because you're scared shitless," his words were sharp but they lacked the venom. He wouldn't, or couldn't, meet my eyes.

"I know you have scarred hands. I'm a healer and you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed I, I've seen worse," I stated in my best 'mutant nurse' voice as Stephen's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Those things can't sense me. And I know they won't be able to sense you too if we have skin-to-skin contact. So unless you want me to get under your... Robes," I gestured to the layers upon layers of clothing he had wrapped himself in. I considered the possibility of his whole body being covered in scars, too, and couldn't help the pang of sympathy. "Take one glove off and give me your damn hand before this trip to Jurassic Park goes full pterodactyl massacre!"

I saw the thing in the sky open it's mouth - but no sound came out, the clouds reducing it's outline to a vaguely triangular shadow. There was something very unusual about this planet's atmosphere.

With a couple of jerky movements, Stephen slid off the glove from his left hand, looking away as his large, dry, warm palm encompassed mine in a gentle, trembling grip. It made no sense to interlace our fingers, so I help onto him like a child holds onto their parent; the size difference of our hands and his imposing aura surely made me feel like one.

We stood a foot apart, watching the shadow in the sky begin to circle the place we stood in, it's gaping maw opening again and again, before it zigzagged across the sky with a strong dash of confusion, it's graceful glide becoming a series of rapid turns and twists. With a final inaudible shriek, it flew off into the dusty greys of the horizon, becoming a dark spot far away in mere seconds.

The silence was so loud in this world. Like the eerie stillness of my, undoubtedly haunted, apartment, I was eager to dissipate it with something beyond our combined heavy breathing. "Please don't tell Tony," I timidly gave our touching hands a sway. "He'll never leave it alone."

A chuffing noise coming from above had me whip my head up to see Stephen holding in a puff of nervous laughter; his shoulders dropped slightly as he eyed me in turn. "What makes you think I won't tease you about it?"

"You wouldn't dare," I took mock offense, rising my leaking nose to the skies.

The grumble and the eyeroll I expected, the smirk that faded into a ghost of a smile I did not. "We should go. Usually there is a rift within a few miles of every location everywhere," he tried to keep the content expression as he spoke but the storm in his eyes betrayed his concern. They were so blue, I felt like I was drowning.

I let myself to be tugged in a direction - everything seemed exactly the same, a never-ending ashen wasteland with the occasional dark grey rock that crumbled to dust as soon as the heel of my shoe touched it. My light blue sweater quickly became the colour of rotten wood, a sickly, dull monotone between brown and gray.

The complete lack of any kind of natural noise brought out the desolation of this wretched place; if we gripped each other's hands tighter, neither of us chose to acknowledge it. It was too easy to get lost in your own mind when the surroundings were dead set on rebuking anything that was in any shape or form alive.

I caught myself thinking that this must be what people think Hell should look like.

Strange walked briskly for the most part, periodically clearing his throat and eyeing me when I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It could have been an hour, or maybe two, of aimless wandering and rapidly imploding portals accompanied by Stephen's increasingly overcast face before I made the man stop and offered him a water bottle, which he insisted we split between us two.

It didn't take me a tarot reading to figure out our chances were grim. Needless, I gave him the same look I give to injured, scared mutant children when they come to the bodega for the first time; a look of quiet temperance.

And then we walked, and walked again, as Stephen grew moodier and moodier, marching on with the force of a seasoned soldier, only taking breaks when I forced him to stand still and breathe with me. As cautious and closed-off as he was, I pressed onto the fact of me being a healer of sorts, and he relented if briefly, always reluctant, always seasoned by a great dose of bewilderment.

"Do you feel that?" Stephen's stride halted, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

The ground had tremors had coming from deep within, small shocks that could have been easily missed if not for the complete lack of sound on this world. My nod was mute, I didn't trust my voice not to break when I clearly knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, endless fields of nothing all around us.

"Hold onto me," promptly, I was grabbed and pushed into his chest, his long arms easily picking me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. "Hold tight, I might need my hands," my face grew hot as I wound my arms around Stephen's neck, clinging to him like a monkey, a palm resting on the soft fine hairs if his nape. It felt too intimate somehow, in the wake of imminent danger.

The Cape that previously swayed behind him in rhythm with his steps billowed, the red fabric of it tough as it levitated us a few feet above the ground. I felt Stephen tense with each tremor; within moments, the surface shook and stuttered more and more, cracks appearing in between the dust, turning the plains into a marble-patterned patch of darkness.

We rose above it, high enough that I could see the veins resulting from the quake stretch far out into the wasteland, jagged, abrupt lines of even more concentrated darkness. And as quickly as the quake started, it was over, leaving little evidence as the ground settled.

Stephen floated us to a larger patch of the ground, criss-crossed with thinner, less prominent lines, poking the ground with his foot before allowing it to fully bear our weight. He was shaken, there was no doubt. "That was... Something," he stated lowly.

"Mhm," I hummed, fighting the urge to frantically look around, forcing my hand from clutching at his palm like a lifeline. I had decided on a plan while I was busy playing baby koala - not that there were many other options except to wander these god forsaken bare badlands until our painful demise. "Listen, Strange, I'm aware you don't hold my people in particularly high regard but you're going to have to trust me on this," my words came out derisive as I placed his palm on the back of my neck and kneeled, forcing him to do the same behind me.

The contents of my bag greeted me grimly with out last bottle of water and the couple knick-knacks that gathered the black dust on them. I hastily poured the water into a bowl, dipping my fingers in it, and added the crushed bones to the mixture.

The time that was required to make a paste-like mixture, I used to address a bewildered Stephen. "This is a last resort. I don't know if it will work, we're not on Earth," I briefly breathed my distress. "I don't even know how far we are from home. But I refuse to die here, in this grotesque Hell, without putting up a fight and Gaia has always looked out for her flock. I might get very, very sick if this is successful."

The warning had him attempt to object before he cast a long look around us, shoulders sagging, as motioned for me to continue, those piercing blue eyes boring into my face. "Tell me what do I need to do," his voice quietly attempted to soothe my very obvious fear.

I was terrified, both of dying, nameless, faceles in this world full of Nothing; the prospect of withering away after depleting all my resources was, perhaps, equally unappealing, but dying on my home planet sounded better than dying here. "Have faith," I replied curtly, beginning to chant softly under my breath as soon as Stephen's expression hardened.

My eyelids grew heavy, limbs filling with lead and molten lava as I summoned the forces of Mother itself; my body was aching, exhausted by answering her call as it was. The warm ball in my chest that previously comforted me grew, spreading its smelten power through every vein, every vessel. No part of my body was left cold. A sense of purpose filled me, pushing me forward, driving me to move, to run, to leap.

"This way," even to my own ears, my voice sounded pained. It felt as if I was walking through swamp waters, full of clay and debris, each step taking my barely coherent form through an individual bog full of pins and needles. The force of Mother Nature burned inside of me, enraged at the state of her surroundings.

Stephen spoke to me but all I could hear was mumbling, thousands of voices, low and shrill, unintelligible to the human mind. I could feel the sorcerer's pain; the itch and burn in his throat, the constant, dull throb in his scarred, broken hands. His hand in mine only intensified the situation and I fought with his injuries like I fought with the black dots in my eyes, I forced down the unpleasant sensations, setting fire to them, letting the reigns of control on the raging inferno within me slip just the smallest, tiniest bit.

The steps of his long feet stuttered as I felt the discomfort lessen yet I simply towed him along. Time leaked through the cracks in my eyes, which were mostly unseeing anyways. The useless things grew blind at some point, not that I noticed it on the greys and blacks of the surrounding scenery. It was harder to walk, my breathing grew laboured with the extertion as we finally reached the place that felt right.

"Here," I rasped, voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for a breeze. I craved to feel it; the soft puffs of wind, the sound of running water. I had called for Earth and she demanded its child back.

The portal appeared without a stutter even though Stephen's hands shook; I saw the uneven channels, the energies traveling through them at an uneven pace. As soon as I pushed through the wormhole, coming to my senses in an unfamiliar, light room, I fell to my knees.

Stephen's pained moaning told me he was probably experiencing the same stinging, burning sensation on his skin; my eyes, they were the worst - my eyeballs felt like they were melting, leaking out of my sockets into thick, gelatinous tears streaming down my face. I blindly groped for the sorcerer's hand, directing the forces within me to soothe his hurts much like I had done in the wastelands.

"Strange?!" A masculine, shocked voice exclaimed before footsteps crashed into my sensitive ears with the force of an elephant herd. "Oh my God, they're here! Tony, come!"

"Stop fucking screaming," Stephen gasped out as I felt him curl into himself.

"Friday, scan them," I recognised Tony's voice, the tiredness and desperation standing out in it more than it did in the rest of the whispers in the room.

"They appear to be experiencing a sensory overload. I would recommend to engage Peter's Cooldown mode," the mechanical voice replied, barely audible. The noise still grated on my ears after spending... How long were we gone?

"Do it, Fri," Tony's soft footsteps reached us; I smelled the spices of his cologne next to my and Stephen's prone forms. "You gave us a scare there," the tone was admonishing but gentle.

"We were scared shitless ourselves," I attempted to speak, only now noticing how grating my voice sounded. "We were in Hell," I mumbled to myself, slowly removing my hand from Stephen.

"That," he coughed up the word, breathing through his nose before speaking again, his voice sounding much better than mine. "That place was as close as possible to biblical pits I have ever seen," there was shuffling and gentle murmurs as the two men ensured each other of their presence and well-being.

The burning sensations receded back to my core, the embers of the fires dying out, leaving me feeling like deflated beach ball, all shell and no filling. With a groan, I rolled over onto my back right in the middle of the pristine carpet on the floor, forcing my eyes open and breathing through the pain until I could somewhat see the champagne coloured ceiling without black dots obstructing my vision.

Shuffling noises reached my ears as a familiar round face with light red hair came into my line of sight, Wanda's gentle features concerned. "Star, do you need to go to medical?" She eyed me almost suspiciously but the question was earnest.

The idea of a doctor fixing a magical burnout was bizarre to me, as if it ever was that easy; I chortled sardonically. "No, Wanda, there's nothing wrong with me that a doctor would be able to fix," I replied honestly. "I should call Odette."

"I've called, she said to notify her when you return," Sam's voice was gentle as he approached. I could feel him glaring daggers at a rapidly reddening Wanda. "She was the one who said you'll definitely come back," he offered me his hand.

I had to choke down a moan of relief as I grabbed it. The warmth, the life of another human being, the precious gift of a beating pulse under my fingertips was divine. "You should listen to her. She knows her stuff." It was easy, talking to Sam as if he was an old friend. He had one of the most pleasant auras I've seen on a human being.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen suddenly perched up, sounding almost bashful. "And I can aid the healing process," he stated over Tony's disgruntled mumbling. "If you can explain to me how the hell you managed to hold a... an entire sun's worth of energy!" The more he spoke the more bewildered he became, tone growing in pitch, ending the sentence with an exclamation.

"I don't know," I replied with a sigh. The whole indignation in this man, I was not prepared to face. "When I took this up," I gestured vaguely to the burned, bent metal adornments I began to remove off my body. "I thought I was going to get an increase in tips and a better outlook on life. Help my friend with her asthma as much so she wouldn't have to use her inhaler every time she gets suprised or scared," my jewelry hit the floor with a dull clank, piling up into bent silver I wouldn't even be able to cleanse and repurpose.

Sam whistled lowly, poking at a necklace that had twisted on itself, a grotesque spiral of dull ashen grey.

"I certainly didn't think that a bleeding mutant accepting his fate as cannon fodder will call for the Earth itself," my tone grew vicious. Exhaustion was nesting in my bones. "And that Mother Nature would take over my body, pour lava into my veins and bleed recklessness into my thoughts. But here I am, freshly out of Hell and alive and kicking."

A stunned silence was interrupted by Tony's frantic whispering. "You are not leaving my penthouse for the foreseeable future," as the weight of the incident set on him. The knuckles of his hand clutching Stephen's dirty tunic turned white.

"I am," Stephen eyed me with a strange look in his eye, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes then turned to Tony, who'd began rambling, arguing with Stephen. The sorcerer stopped the word vomit with a grim confession. "I'd be dead if not for Starlight. I'd be meat and bone, splattered across a barren, radioactive land in the deepest, darkest pits of the universe."

I felt my face droop in slow-motion. My throat flexed, swallowing a thick lump of filthy mucus, I coughed up, "Ra-radioctive?" As soon as I could work my voice without it squeaking.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

#practical alchemy #bun writes #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader x tony stark #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #im zoomin with a bag full of creepy

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moody-cowdaddy · 5 years

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That's The Way It Is

Arthur Morgan x Reader | Oneshot/Drabble #2

Summary: Everything comes to an end sooner, or later.

Category/Trigger Warning: Emotional Turmoil, Angst, Drama, Character Death.

A/N: This is really just a blurb/drabble. It's not part of an actual story or the imagines. I just wanted to write an emotional turmoil/devastating piece of what I think Arthur's last words to the reader would be.

××××

"And for you,

For you, I would brave the wolves,

And for you,

For you, I would sacrifice my heart.

Starting with the most obvious part,

That sad enough place has gotten me through the dark,

Dying just to reach you,

As the horizon fades,

The sun begins to rise."

××××

Things had gonna from bad to worse. On top of the Saint Denis bank heist going to shit - Hosea and Lenny were killed, and that was one of the biggest losses the group had ever taken, loosing one half of the gang's voices of reason, especially. It shifted the whole feeling of the group. To top that off, you had been sick out of your mind with worry when Arthur and some of the others, including Dutch, had been stranded on some island for weeks called Guarma. It took all you could do to hold your sanity together, out of your mind with worry wondering where he was.

But, when they all finally returned, safely, it gave the group just the smallest amount of hope for the moment, that maybe this whole situation could be beaten.. That was until the Pinkertons showed up again, so, the last few weeks had been nothing but running and running and running. You were low on places to go now, and there was an ominous feeling that hung over everyone's head.

That ominous feeling manifested itself for you when Arthur became extremely sick weeks prior. You all had noticed for a while that he had a terrible cough that seemed to only persist day by day, but with the way you were all stuck living, it just seemed maybe he was under the weather due to circumstances. Once he finally went to a doctor, nothing about it was good news. He had contracted the white plague itself - Tuberculosis.

You didn't want to believe him when he told you what his diagnosis was.

"There's nothin' that can be done?!" You pleaded with him.

He shook his head, coughing, "N-no, darlin'. Doctor gave me a shot to keep me goin'. Said I needed rest," he laughed as he said it, amused by the statement.

You pressed your hands to his face, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you sat on his cot beside him. "This can't happen. Not now, not like this."

He placed a hand on your knee. "Things is about to change, (Y/N)."

"Yeah, an' not for the goddamn better, Arthur," you rasped, "Ya can't leave me." You laid your head over onto his shouler, a sense of dread filling you so completely that you thought you might pass out.

"I don't want to, y'know that, but y'gotta prepare yerself for the worst now. I still gotta take care'a you an' the rest'a these folks. So, I need ya to listen to me now, sweetheart." He turned to you, gently grabbing your face with his hands. "Dutch ain't the same no more, an' if you, or anybody else stays with him, y'ain't gonna survive another year. We had a real chance of gettin' outta here.. An' like'a fool, I was too blinded to see that he never wanted to. All this talk'a dreams an' goin' off to live on some goddamn island was a bunch'a bullshit. Dutch don't want outta this way of life. He never did."

"Runaway. Drop everythin' an' runaway with me now, Arthur. Please," you begged him with everything you had in you.

He looked at you longingly, like he wanted to say yes. His eyes that were once so bright and lively, were now bloodshot and weak. He was pale, and losing weight almost daily as the sickness grew inside of him as that tell-tale rattling in his chest became louder and louder.

He shook his head. "I can't. Not now, (Y/N). I gotta help these people. I gotta try an' help as best I can while I still got time. I'ma bad man, but I ain't gonna just run off an' forget my responsibilities. I gotta do what I gotta do to keep y'all safe."

"Then come with me after. I want a life with you, Arthur. I wanna do things right, an' I wanna stop runnin' for my life every goddamn day. I just want you. I wanna have your children, an' I wanna grow old with you in a place we can call our own." The tears streamed down your cheeks now as you looked up at him, still begging.

He squeezed your face in his hands. "I want that. I do. I want that more than anythin', sugar.. But when the time comes, y'gotta run an' don't look back. That means whether I'm with you, or not."

"But, Arthur," you growled.

"Promise me," he breathed, blinking at you with tears seeping from the corner of his own eyes.

"Arthur," you sobbed again, squeezing his shoulders.

"Just promise me, darlin'," his voice cracked as he spoke, "Or else all of this'll be for nothin'."

You glared at him, knowing that there was no real way to convince him otherwise. Once Arthur made up his mind about something, that was that. All you could do was sit here and nod your head, and try to accept that he wanted to do the right thing. It made your heart ache even more to know that he truly was a good man. You bellowed, throwing yourself onto him, burying your head deep into his chest. You closed your eyes tightly, the tears staining his shirt as you prayed to God to wake you up from this nightmare.

All you could do now was hold onto him and salvage the time that you had left.

~A few weeks later~

'When the time comes, you gotta run an' don't look back,' Arthur's voice rang through your memory.

In the last 2 weeks, the gang had completely fallen into ruin. Half of the members that had grown to become like family to you were dead now, and the other half had up and left. Dutch had gone completely mad, putting all of his trust and reliance into Micah, who turned out to be just what everyone else could see that he was - a rat. He had been the one sifting information to the pinkertons about the gang and their whereabouts, all along.

You, Arthur and John were on the run for your lives now. The Pinkertons were hot on your trail as you raced through the mountains east of the Grizzlies, trying your best to outrun them, but that had become harder and harder to do. They had surrounded the area, and as much as you wanted to escape, to go on and to live happy lives.. It really didn't look like that was a possibility anymore. Dutch had led everyone on for so long, and this was now the price of that.

Arthur looked back as you scaled up the side of one of the small mountains, overlooking the ground below to make sure that the Pinkertons weren't right on your tail for the moment. You closed your eyes tightly, fearing for the worst as you were coming to terms with the fact that this wasn't a fairytale, and every action had a consequence one that all of you would pay dearly for. There wasn't bound to be a happy ending for this story.

Arthur bowed over, gasping and breathing hard as he tried his best to gain some energy to keep going. He coughed wildly, spitting out blood onto the gravel beneath his feet. He pulled himself back up, looking to the ground below before he turned his gaze to you, taking a step closer.

"Push it, Arthur!" John encouraged him.

Arthur shook his head, "No. I think I pushed all I can."

"We ain't got time for this now," John urged to him.

Arthur put his hand up, silencing John as he looked at you. "(Y/n), darlin'. We can't choose our fate."

He looked over his shoulder, checking once more. You could hear the rattling deep down in his chest as he struggled to breathe, and you could hear the sounds of men far off in the distance as they tore the woods apart, searching for you. Arthur turned back to you again, the devestated expression becoming more and more pronounced on his tired, sickly face.

"Mine was laid out for me a long time ago," he continued, "I lived this life, an' I gotta answer for it now. I never gave it up. Not for Mary, not for my own good, an' not even for my boy. But since I met ya, it's left me wantin' to go back in time, an' made me wanna be a better man than I was. Maybe I wouldn't've went down this path like this. I wish i'da got the chance to do things different, an' I wish I coulda done it with you.." he coughed roughly, his breathe ripping through his swollen lungs like knives.

He laid a hand across his mouth. His breathing becoming more labored as he struggled to speak.

Tears began to fall down your cheeks as you squeezed his hands tightly. "Don't you talk like that, you still can. We can get outta here. Me and you."

He smiled weakly, shaking his head at you. "We ain't both gonna make it, (Y/N)."

"Arthur. Don't you dare." You glared at him.

The tears welled up so heavily in your eyes that he was just a blurry figure in your line of sight now. He pulled his hat off his head and placed it on top yours, along with pulling his satchel off of his shoulders to put it around your shoulders. This gesture from him made you gasp for breath, doing your best to hold back your desperate sobs.

"what I can make right is making sure you get the hell outta here and live your life. You're good, (Y/N). Too damn good for me, an' I was a lucky man to have ya for even a second," he said sincerely, pulling you into him to give you a hug.

You grabbed onto him tightly, digging your nails into his back as you buried your face into his chest. He had become more and more frail over these last weeks, and you could feel just how much he really had now. The Tuberculosis diagnosis had took a heavy toll on him, and he was terribly underweight. You cried into his chest, trying your hardest to savor this moment with him, hoping against hope that he'd change his mind and come with you. You loved this man more than anything in the world. You could hear the faint beating of his heart in his chest, it was almost drowned out by the sound of the sickness in his lungs.

The sounds of the men in the distance were starting to close in on you now.

"Go," he whispered, his voice cracking as he pulled your head back to look down at you. He gestured his head to you and John. "I'll hold 'em off "

"Arthur," John snapped, trying to persuade him to come with the two of you.

"John, I'm countin' on you to get her an' yerself outta here." He said, giving John the stern directions.

"Arthur Morgan," You growled so roughly through gritted teeth that you could feel it send a sharp pain through your vocal cords.

"Go," Arthur commanded louder to the both of you. He pointed at john. "Get the hell outta here an' be a goddamn man."

You frantically grabbed for Arthur's jacket, but he pulled you back by yours arms, forcing you to let him go. He looked down at you with tears in his own eyes now. "You told me once that were all gonna die someday, an' darlin', I'm sad to say that day is here for me. Even if I came with ya, I'd have a few weeks, maybe. Please, go an' live y'life for me. There'll be time for sorrow later, y'gonna be alright, girl."

"I can't lose you. You were it for me," you cried.

"An' you was for me, (Y/N). But they'd never stop chasin' us now, even if I wasn't already on my deathbed with this goddamn sickness. They want me an' Dutch dead. I love you, darlin'. More than anythin'."

"Let me stay," you pleaded, "John can escape. Let me stay here with you. Better I go out in a hail of bullets than to be without you."

He quickly shook his head at you. "You an' I both know I ain't gone let y'do that."

You gasped for your own breathe, the devastation was caving in on you quickly now. You had exhausted all of your options, none of them which he would let you go along with.

"I love you, girl. Just remember that," he said.

"I- I l-love you t-too," you stammered, crying so hard now that you could barely speak.

"You're my brother," John called out from behind you.

"I know." Arthur nodded, pulling away from you.

You still tried your best to hang onto him, in a last ditch effort to convince him, but John finally grabbed your arm, pulling you away, because you had no time left now. You tried to push him off, fighting and clawing at him as you screamed for Arthur, but he held you so tightly that all you could do was watch on in horror and complete despair as your whole world crumbled down in front of you as you saw the man you loved dying, trying to give you a better chance at life by sacrificing his own, but it was one that you couldn't imagine without him.

You dropped you your knees as you watched him go, with John's arms still wrapped around you to keep you in place. He pulled you up with all of his strength, throwing you onto his shoulder as he turned the opposite way to escape.

Arthur looked back at the both of you once more, exchanging a nod of goodbye before he turned and made his way back down the mountain towards the Pinkertons, his revolver in hand.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption 2 imagine #roger clark #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption x reader #rdr2

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ghostwinchesters · 6 years

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lost in the in-between, or so it seems // i'm out of control

@sahwen asked: “That’s it. If you throw up on more time we’re going to the hospital.” with sam and cas? platonic or romantic, either is good!

anonymous asked: “If you didn’t just blink I would’ve sworn you were dead, that’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!” w whoever ?? i rlly like that prompt sldkfjlskf

im allegedly still alive yo

it’s s8 trials!sam + samcasdean but like,, vv queer platonic which i fuckin love okay. he’s doing terrible both physically and mentally and dean and cas are desperately trying to take care of him and obviously there’s some vomiting so like,,,,, , just a warning my dudes xoxo

ao3

Sam is sitting huddled at one of the library tables, chilled despite the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the burning heat of his feverish body. He’s clutching a bloody tissue in one hand in case he needs to cough up his lungs again, but the other hand is methodically flipping pages and scrolling through his laptop. Maybe he should sleep.

Maybe he should die.

Dean is sitting in the war room, doing G-d only knows what on his laptop, but he keeps glancing at Sam every few minutes—if not every few seconds— to make sure he’s okay. Or at the very least not collapsing. He’s probably also hoping that Sam will eat a little more than one g-ddamn bite of the grilled cheese sandwich he’d brought him two hours ago for dinner. And Sam wants to, for Dean if not for himself, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The smell and the sight itself makes his stomach turn a little, and he can’t.

Sam sees Castiel come into the war room and talk quietly to Dean out of the corner of his eye, and that probably means they’re both gonna come in here and try to take care of him. It’s sweet, but Sam doesn’t even deserve it.

And they’re both so worried about him. It makes him feel terrible, even though the rational part of his brain is telling him that it’s illogical. That they’re two grown people who can decide who or what they want to worry about. That, possibly, he even deserves the worry. The last one is the hardest to believe, and maybe it’s really not coming from the rational part of his brain.

Castiel and Dean are walking into the library, which means Sam was right.

“Yo, Sam, you gotta eat something, man.” Dean is staring at him, his jaw obviously clenched, trying to keep himself from going into full on Big Brother mode.

“If you didn’t just blink, I would’ve sworn you were dead, Samuel.” Castiel touches his shoulder gingerly, almost like he’s scared Sam is just gonna… shatter and turn to dust. “That’s how sickly you’re looking. Go to bed, please!”

Sam knows how awful he looks. He’s refused to look in a mirror in over a week and every time he accidentally catches a glance he just wants to shrink into himself because he knows and it almost makes him feel ashamed because he can barely do the basics like brush his hair and wash his face. Shame and guilt are apparently his main emotions currently.

“I’m fi—” He starts coughing again and instead of letting them see the kleenex with the blood splotches on it and making them more worried, he coughs into his elbow, which is a mistake because he now has splatters of red on his pink flannel.

Dean’s whole face crashes with concern but he laughs shakily. “Oh, yeah, Sammy. Spitting blood out onto your clothes is totally fine.” Sam attempts a weak smile, and that breaks Dean completely because he’s kneeling next to Sam’s chair and holding his hand a little too tightly. “Sam, what the hell, just let us take care of you for once. Please.”

“You don’t have to, Dee. It’s okay.”

“Sammy…” Dean always complains about Sam’s puppy dog eyes, but Dean. G-d, Dean puts everything into his pleading when he deems it’s necessary.

Sam nods hesitantly, and Cas, who’s been standing there with his hand on Sam’s shoulder this whole time, helps him stand up. “You need sleep, but as Dean said, you should eat something first. Does… anything sound appealing?”

“Uh… Just not something greasy? I don’t… Actually whatever, I’ll just eat a little of whatever you give me.”

“Nuh-uh, Sammy. You’re telling us what you want, and you’re not gonna feel bad about it.” Dean is glaring at him, but it’s a… kind, concerned glare.

“Uhm… Not anything super greasy because it makes me feel kinda nauseous.” Sam notices Dean glance at the grilled cheese sandwich on the table and wince. “Maybe uhh… some fruits? Or something? Really it’s fi—” This time his “fine” gets interrupted by Cas kissing his cheek quickly instead of another coughing fit, which is a relief, really.

They help him to their room, the biggest bedroom in the bunker, where they have two beds pushed together so it’s big enough for the three of them. Dean follows Castiel out because “he wants to do something for Sam” despite Castiel’s protests.

Sam smiles and shakes his head slightly as they argue down the hall and let’s himself sink into the pillow. It’s soft and nice, and Sam is so tired, but he can’t sleep because 1) Dean and Cas want him to eat and 2) it’s hard for him to sleep alone right now. He can’t really do it when he’s feeling this shitty.

He glances down at his pink flannel and feels a flash of disappointment, which just adds to the feeling of despair and exhaustion, because it’s one of his favorite shirts and now it has blood on the sleeve.

“Cas fuckin’ kicked me out of the kitchen. Said I’d—” Sam looks up as Dean airquotes “—make it take longer.” He sits down on the bed next to Sam shaking his head. “I’m good at slicing fruits and shit. Hell, I make food for you all the time! I’m perfectly capable!”

Sam is trying to hide a grin, and Dean rolls his eyes at him. “Hey, it’s not funny!” He knows it’s more about Dean just wanting to be helpful than the actual cooking thing but it’s still amusing.

“It kinda is actually.”

Dean makes a face before his eyes slide down to Sam’s flannel. “You love that shirt…” He meets Sam’s gaze again. “I can get the blood out if you want…?” His eyes look hopeful and expectant and Sam nods.

“You’d do that?”

“Anything for my little brother.”

Sam winces as he sits up, and Dean gently unbuttons the front and gets it off Sam. “You maybe want a clean hoodie and sweats? Sleeping in jeans is bullshit.”

Sam sighs in exasperation but he appreciates it. “I… yeah, sure.”

Dean helps him tug the white shirt he was wearing under the flannel off and finds him a freshly washed sweater before getting him to his feet and trying to help him change out of his jeans even though Sam just shakes his head because he’s making it more complicated. Sam crashes back onto the bed, a little harder than he intended because his tiredness just made him drop. “Dude, be careful, dammit.” Dean pulls the blanket over Sam’s shoulder and presses his lips against his hair. “I’ll be back in a sec, and I swear I’m getting that blood out of your flannel. I’ve gotten blood out of so many clothes, I’m practically an expert.” He flashes him a grin and leaves with the shirt.

Castiel comes back a little after Dean leaves with a bowl of fruit salad on top of a tray. “Where’s Dean?”

“Washing my shirt since you shoved him out of the kitchen.”

Cas shakes his head with a dramatic eyeroll and sits down, putting the tray on Sam’s lap after he sits up against the headboard. “I hope this tastes good and won’t make you feel sick?”

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Of course.”

Sam’s too tired and wrecked to eat it all but he manages to swallow down more than half of it but it’s better than usual. He feels even more tired after Cas leaves to put the dishes away, turning off one of the bedside lights so it’s dimmer, but it’s a more content exhaustion now except for the uncomfortable churning in his stomach after actually eating again.

“Hey,” Dean whispers as he walks into the room and Sam squints his eyes open from where he was trying to fall asleep alone. “I got your flannel all cleaned up and it’s drying now.” Sam smiles softly in thanks. Dean strips down to his boxers and slips under the blankets.

“Dude, Dean, you don’t have to sleep yet. It’s barely nine.”

Dean grins his lopsided grin and curls up against Sam, his chest radiating welcome heat again Sam’s back through his sweater. “You sleep better with people and besides, I’m getting old and maybe I need to sleep more.” Sam can feel his lips twist into a smile against his neck and he shakes his head.

“Okay, old man.”

When Castiel comes to bed Sam pulls him as close as he can, feeling even colder than usual.

“G-d, you’re a fucking furnace, Sammy,” Dean whines but he doesn’t move away. “Like, more than usual. You okay, man?”

“I’m fine. My stomach feels a little weird but it’s okay.”

“Are you sure, Sam?” Castiel shifts against him and Sam nods.

“Yeah, really, I’m okay.”

Cas makes a noise like he’s not sure he believes him but neither of them say anything and Sam falls asleep for the first time in almost forty hours.

He wakes up to feeling straight up nauseous and he awkwardly clambers to his knees, almost elbowing Dean in the face and definitely kneeing Cas in the stomach.

“Sam-Sammy?” Dean mumbles, confused and half asleep. Castiel who wasn’t really asleep as so much as lying there with his eyes closed sits up and grabs Sam’s arm.

“Bathroom, G-d, fuck, I need to get to the bathroom.” He stumbles to his feet with Castiel still holding onto his arm and at this point Dean’s protective instinct has overridden his lack of consciousness and he’s off the bed.

“Sammy, what’s wrong?”

“I feel really sick, man, I don’t know.” Another wave of nausea hits him and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep from vomiting right here and now in the hallway. He pulls away from Castiel, somehow thinking that’ll help him get through the door to the bathroom quicker. Cas catches him as he drops to his knees in front of the toilet, barely pulling his hair away from his face before Sam throws up the little food he forced himself to swallow down.

Dean’s next to Sam and pushing away a few extra strands of hair from his sweaty forehead when he stops dry heaving. He groans and presses his forehead against the toilet seat. He feels exhausted, which is a normal feeling but it’s worse all of a sudden.

“Do you want some water?” Cas doesn’t even wait for a reply before leaving the bathroom and Sam mumbles a raspy thank you after him.

Dean rubs his back slowly, trying to help him relax. “Shh, it’s okay, Sammy. Just take some deep breaths.”

“G-d, Dean, I feel so sick.” Sam knows he sounds whiney but he can’t actually bring himself to care enough to stop.

“I know and I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly, still rythmically running his hand over Sam’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better here in a little bit, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Castiel comes back with the water and Sam gulps it down quicker than he should, his throat aching. He’s not sure whether it hurts more before, during, or after and for some reason he laughs; it’s a little high pitched and delirious. “It’s gonna come up again in a second.”

Dean gives him a concerned smile. “Jesus, okay.”

It takes closer to thirty seconds, but he vomits again, and by now both Castiel and Dean are on the tile, trying to soothe him by rubbing his back and keeping his hair out of his face. A hand presses against his hot forehead and he thinks it’s Castiel. “That’s it. If you throw up one more time, we’re going to the hospital.

“No, Cas, please. No—” He coughs. “Please don’t take me to the hospital. Please. They can’t do anything anyway.”

“Okay, shh, it’s okay. We won’t go then.” Castiel runs his fingers through Sam’s greasy hair gently. “It’s okay.”

Sam gives him a weak smile but it breaks into a another painful round of spitting absolutely nothing into the toilet bowl. “Could you… Could you get more water maybe?” He looks up at Cas pleadingly.

He ends up throwing that up too, but he’s slowly starting to feel a little less absolutely and completely horrible. Dean’s tugging on his shoulders and pulling him back against him and Sam just lets himself collapse against his chest. This time when he opens his mouth, it’s a tired fucking yawn.

“Hey, if you’re feeling okay enough to get up, you need to get to bed, big guy,” Dean whispers softly and Sam nods a little. Castiel grips his hand and they both help him back to their room after he washes his face by the sink.

Sam presses his face against Dean’s neck and he can feel the comforting thereness of Castiel against his back and he lets out a sigh of what might actually be contentedness.

lol validation welcome // come talk to me [peace sign]

#sam winchester #spnlittlebro #sam love club #sam whump #wincestiel #sam fic #jo writes #tfw #samcasdean #trials!sam #sick!sam #sam and mental health #s8 #what's up motherfuckers i wrote smth again #shout out to yngve bc he loves the Pink Shirt™#and huge shout out to judah for being super supportive thru this absolute writing drought

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