iluvroadrunner6 | fandom weekly { 2019 } entry tracking part 2

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fandom weekly { 2019 } entry tracking part 2

Fandom Weekly part the second.

001 strength means blessed with an enemy | the magicians (tv) | 826
002 and you, my love, are gone | the magicians (tv) | 175
003 i'm a man of wealth and taste | original | 1,000
004 i'm livin' for the day of reck'nin' | october daye series | 999
005 just to beat the odds | original | 658 **SECOND PLACE**
006 you're looking for a hero | dctv | 850
007 making time for love | original | 994
008 second chance you'll never get | teen wolf | 984
009 you'll always be the one that got away | paladinverse | 998 **SECOND PLACE**
010 you're the one it's gotta be | psych | 747 **FIRST PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
011 i feel a change on the rise | original | 817 **SECOND PLACE**
012 you're faking a smile with the coffee to go | leverage | 553
013 nothing but blue skies | marvel cinematic universe | 577 **FIRST PLACE**
014 i should have been away | white collar | 999
015 i was left to my own devices | supernatural | 600
016 all i wanted was to break your walls | xmcu/doom patrol | 914 **FIRST PLACE**
017 you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known | paladinverse | 826 **WINNER**
018 oh, do they think they could bury you? | marvel cinematic universe | 1,000 **THIRD PLACE**
019 they're only flying too close to the sun | dctv | 720 **FIRST PLACE**
020 here's where i end and begin | original | 927 **SECOND PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
021 my silence is my self-defense | the inbetween | 558
022 i'm getting older too | tvdverse | 762
023 no time to think of consequences | the umbrella academy | 903 **SECOND PLACE**
024 paint your palette blue and gray | whoniverse | 539 **SECOND PLACE**
025 waking up from a dream | marvel cinematic universe | 857 **FIRST PLACE**
026 then memories are films about ghosts | paladinverse | 735
027 put up your dukes, let's get down to it | dctv/marvel cinematic universe | 1,000 **FIRST PLACE**
028 i got my mind set on you | buffyverse | 633 **WINNER**
029 welcome to a show about death | original | 753 **FIRST PLACE**
030 there are so many lives i want to share with you | original | 716 **SECOND PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
031 say the word and i'm already there | original | 854 **WINNER**
032 from whence wayward westerlies blow | original | 826
033 what a happy sound | tvdverse | 1,000
034 i wanna grow old before i grow up | from dusk til dawn | 529
035 raise your arms and someone's always there | incryptid | 300 **WINNER**
036 and i'll try not to sing out of key | teen wolf | 882 **WINNER**
037 tell yourself you still live here | teen wolf | 999 **FIRST PLACE**
038 you're a ghost and i've been cursed | original | 723 AMNESTY
039 before it ends just tell me where to begin | paladinverse | 673 **WINNER**
040 the choice is made, the path is set | teen wolf | 581 **FIRST PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
041 don't touch me, i'm a real live wire | dctv | 997 **THIRD PLACE**
042 it's a shame about the weather | csiverse | 497
043 it's not kismet, it's not destiny | dctv | 760
044 he almost makes the day begin | paladinverse | 744 **FIRST PLACE**
045 my need is such; i pretend too much | supernatural | 600
046 but you have to stay, til you somehow find a way | paladinverse | 600 **SECOND PLACE**
047 and left a part of you behind | teen wolf | 600
048 and all that you know rearranges | paladinverse | 600 AMNESTY
049 and in a pinch, sure, they'll do | leverage | 732 **RUNNER UP**
050 put on your shades cuz i'll be dancing in the flames | dctv | 657
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
051 all i ever wanted was the world | the umbrella academy | 564 **RUNNER UP**
052 you never go far on the easy way | teen wolf | 546
053 i felt the change the moment you came | original | 529 **SECOND PLACE**
054 objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer than they are | dctv | 436 **SECOND PLACE**
055 and we sang dirges in the dark | original | 627
056 out of the water i heard her call to me | original | 731 **WINNER**
057 for love and loss until the end | the originals | 548 **WINNER**
058 we're what killed the dinosaurs | original | 687 **RUNNER UP**
059 why they changed it, i can't say | dctv | 872 **FIRST PLACE**
060 it's never been so hot and i've never been so bored | original | 849 **THIRD PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
061 where are they going without ever knowing the way? | psych | 410
062 arise ting ting like glitter and gold | original | 969 **FIRST PLACE**
063 i'd rather be dry but at least i'm alive | original | 884
064 sing a sad song just to turn it around | original | 803 **FIRST PLACE**
065 like walking into a museum somehow out of time | original | 662 **WINNER**
066 keeps raining all the time | marvel cinematic universe | 992
067 somebody make me feel alive | dctv | 992 **THIRD PLACE**
068 paper faces on parade | original | 999
069 for i love a girl who doesn't know i exist | wynonna earp | 852 **THIRD PLACE**
070 you don't know what you've got til it's gone | tvdverse | 823
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
071 tell that devil to take you back | original | 868 **WINNER**
072 why regret what cannot be | original | 832 **RUNNER UP**
073 we can make it if we run | original | 986 **RUNNER UP**
074 i met a girl who sang the blues | tvdverse | 613
075 they're singing deck the halls | original | 757
076 you say goodbye but do you really know it's over | dctv | 887 **RUNNER UP**
077 it's just a moonlight soaked ring of smoke | original | 784 **WINNER**
078 it's love's illusions i recall | original | 687
079 in the lane, snow is glistenin' | spamalot | 683
080 show a little faith, there's magic in the night | the empathy quotient | 733
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
081 i'm sleeping all these demons away | teen wolf | 698
082 so i'll hold my breath and stay | original | 927
083 let the fire burn the ice | original | 785 AMNESTY
084 my, what big teeth you have | tvdverse | 616 AMNESTY
085 i am meant to be wherever you are next to me | dctv | 607 **WINNER**
086 and i'm racing with destiny | original | 763 AMNESTY
087 my mind feels like a foreign land | teen wolf | 645
088 tell 'em the way that you broke my heart | original | 798
089 been a hell of a ride, but i'm thinking it's time to go | original | 544 **FIRST PLACE**
090 seeing things that i may never see again | original | 987 **FIRST PLACE**
- - AMNESTY WEEK - -
091 i'm gonna lure you into the dark | tvdverse | 684
092 let that fever make the water rise | candlekeep | 846 **WINNER**
093 turning circles time and again | from dusk till dawn | 672 **SECOND PLACE**
094 a totally secret scheme | original | 987 **WINNER**
095 don't know why there's no sun up in the sky | tvdverse | 812
096 five minutes to go | the umbrella academy | 554 **AMNESTY**
097 i'll have your heart on a platter | teen wolf/tvdverse | 807 **RUNNER UP**
098 my life is your legacy | tvdverse | 599
099 cause the fun is getting there | leverage | 725
100 nothing's standing in my way | original | 796 **THIRD PLACE**

Part 1 | Part 3
Running Word Count: 74,544 words

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jane Chatwin has never been one to bow to the whims of men who believed themselves to be more powerful than her. If Ember wanted to banish Martin from Fillory, she would find a way around it. If Christopher Plumber wanted to search for magic, she would find ways to hide it from him.

And if Martin wanted to let the world burn, to use Fillory for his own ends and destroy himself in the process, then she would find a way to put a stop to it.

Each plan she puts into place, however, he manages to find some loophole. She watches as her brother twists himself more and more into a monster, more and more into someone, something, so that he becomes Martin Chatwin in name only. One on one, she never manages to be as successful as she would have liked to be. When Quentin and Julia arrive, she starts to believe that there’s hope in there, somewhere.

That hope is dashed, just briefly, when the throne room at Whitespire is bathed red with blood and all of those pieces of hope are now dead. Horrifically, brutally, and incredibly dead.

The soft blue of the Fillorian sky almost seems dulled now, in comparison to what it once, in addition to the yellows and reds of the fall tinged trees. She makes her escape through the woods, hoping that once she gets close enough to the Clock Barrens, she’ll be able to do what she needs to do. She fishes the watch Ember gave her out of her pocket and begins to twist the dial.

Yes, a second chance is clearly the answer. Time to start over again from the beginning.

- - - - - -

“One more time, Henry.”

“I’ve heard you say that phrase nearly forty, Jane.” Fogg’s eyes looked heavy from his place at the desk across from her, still Dean even though in this timeline, Brakebills has been defunct for years. “How many more will I hear it until all of this is done?”

“Until it is done!” The words burst from her with the fury of someone who isn’t finished yet, who knows their role in the world and will not rest until it is completed. Ember and Umber are useless, the rest of the gods have nowhere to reach out to, and all she can do now is keep working the problem until it is completed.

It’s all she has left in this world, and she will not stop until it is done.

She pushes up to her feet, making her way over to the bar to pour herself a drink, and pauses before bringing it to her lips. “I think I’ve cracked the code this time.”

“Oh really? And what solution do you have this time?”

“Julia.” She takes a deep breath, before turning around to face him again. “Julia doesn’t attend Brakebills.”

The look on his face resembles that of someone who’s been slapped. “Julia was … is my most promising student. The strongest one of all of them. And you think we should just deny her magic?”

“If you believe that simply not allowing her access to Brakebills is denying Julia magic, then I think you don’t know her as well as you claim to, Henry.” She knows it’s not that. She knows that it’s more than Julia simply being the most promising, it’s her being Fogg’s favorite, a kindred spirit in the Knowledge discipline that only comes around once in a blue moon and in this particular timeline she is taking that from him, but at this point, Jane doesn’t know what else to try. “She’ll find her way. She’ll become stronger. And when the time is right, this will finally be done.”

Fogg looks away from her, and she sighs before taking another step forward, resting her hands on his.

“One last second chance. It may be all we need.”

Fogg’s eyes are weary, worn as he looks up at her. “There’s no way that I can stop you, is there?”

“If this chance means that your students live, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“How much is that worth if I continue to see them die?”

It’s a question that weighs on her, time and time again, but in the end, the only answer seems to be to push forward. “Never know until we see them live.”

- - - - - -

Turns out, it is the last second chance after all.

Jane doesn’t get to see the world make it to the other side of Martin’s cruelty. She doesn’t get to see how the dominoes fall, and the world may not be a better place than when it started. But in the end, the deed is done, and that’s all that really matters in the end.

The goal is achieved, the war is stopped, and for the most part, the students live.

That has to be worth something, doesn’t it?

“Penny, I love you.”

“Kady, this is Penny Twenty-Three.”

The key sits heavy in her hand and she doesn’t know what to do or say. She’s been chasing him so long, the idea of him, the idea of them and the ridiculous idea that one day, they might actually be able to be happy, that this option had never occurred to her. She never thought that one day, the world would just replace him.

Kady can’t just replace Penny. Her Penny, anyway.

The key hits the floor with a thunk!, and she doesn’t even realize that she’s dropped it. Part of her knows that she should probably bend down to pick it up, return it to the rest of the collection, but right now, she could honestly care less. Now, she actually has to grieve and move on, if that is even possible, and she can’t do that while focusing on the fucking quests.

Magic and the rest of the world could wait for five goddamn minutes. The Warrior is officially taking some “me time.”

Jonathan Walters sits behind a stack of files, frazzled and overworked. He knows that this is what he signed up for when he agreed to be a public defender, a kind of idealism that all of his law professors warned him against, but he had been so certain that he was doing the right thing.

And yes, he had helped some people. But there were a lot of people still, sitting there pending on his desk and he has no idea how he’s going to help them. Glancing down at his watch fitfully, he sighs again when he sees the time, grabbing the file off the top of the stack and making his way into the waiting area of the public defender’s office.

“Mr. … Morningstar?”

The man that rises from his seat in the back of the room is not what he’s expecting, to say the least. He’s an older, white man, wearing a suit that likely cost more than Jonathan makes in a year, and the younger man has no idea what he’s doing in a public defender’s office. It seems like he could easily afford a “real” lawyer, so why does he need him?

“Lucifer Morningstar. Pleasure.” He holds out his hand for Jonathan to shake it.

“Jonathan Walters. Right. Why don’t we step into my office?”

The man follows him, and he moves to settle behind his desk again, setting other folders to the side as he tries to make his desk more presentable.

“Busy job?” Morningstar asks, eyeing the files as they’re placed to the side.

“Never a slow day in the public defender’s office.” He flips open the file he’d been given and starts to scan the information. “Why don’t you tell me about your case?”

“Actually, it’s more that I have a proposition for you.”

There’s a pause as Jonathan looks up to meet the man’s eyes, a look of confusion on his face. “You’re … not here about a case?” While the confusion is winning out over the anger at someone wasting his time like this, he knows that isn’t going to last long and he’s trying to keep his cool for now.

“No. Well, not completely. I am in need of an attorney, but I was hoping this might lead to … a beautiful partnership.”

“Partnership? Sir, I’m a public defender.”

“Yes. You’re a public defender. A man who wants to help. And my question to you, is how badly do you want to be able to help? Your resources are already stretched thin – what if I could give you the means to do more? Be a … benefactor of sorts.”

There’s a long pause as he turns that over in his head, and he knows that the offer is likely too good to be true. But it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, right? He leans back in his seat and studies the man as he speaks.

“I’m listening.”

- - - - - -

Ten years later …

Jonathan’s shoulders are heavy as he makes his way into Morningstar Enterprises, making his way up to the CEO’s office as he does. It’s been a long time since Lucifer Morningstar has wanted to see him personally, and while he knows that it’s not anything good, he also knows that it’s not an invitation he can refuse.

“Jonathan,” Morningstar’s arms fly up from behind his desk as he makes his way in, a wide smile crossing his face as he makes his way closer. “So glad you could make it.”

“Did I have much of a choice?” Is his response, though he reaches out amiably to shake it all the same. It didn’t take long after making the deal for it to dawn on him that what he sold that day was much bigger than just his reputation as an attorney. As promised, he was able to help many, many people. But he’s yet to see if the cost is worth it.

“Well, it’s been ten years, son. Time to … settle up, so to speak.”

Jonathan swallows hard. “That time already?”

“Indeed it is,” Morningstar returns to the seat behind his desk, greeting the man with a small, placating smile. “I’m sure you’ve got your money’s worth, haven’t you?”

Jonathan’s fingers drum against the arm of the chair for a moment, before he straightens a little more. “Actually, I was hoping I might be able to renegotiate? Another ten years?”

The other man’s head tips. “For the same price?”

“Or a different price? We can … add to it, I suppose, though I don’t really know what’s left for me to sell.” It’s kind of hard, once your soul was already out there and on the line. “I just … I want to make sure my legacy will remain intact.”

“Your legacy.” The words slide over Morningstar’s lips as though he’s trying to taste the flavor, before shifting and leaning back against his seat. “Now that is an interesting question. I would be untoward to leave your work unfinished, now wouldn’t it? You’ve kind of run the gamut of your own soul, its worn out and put away wet. It’s not going to buy you another ten years. But that young upshot you hired – the one the world hasn’t quite worn the shine off yet?”

He drums his fingers for a moment, before nodding with a small smile.

“Yeah. She’d do. You convince her to deal with me, and that’ll buy you a little time.”

The color drains from his face, the horror of convincing someone to enter into this devil’s bargain that he’s come to loathe over the past few years. He can’t do it. Can he?

“What do you say, Jonathan? Are you going to be my advocate or not? Deal or no deal?”

Silence stretches for an eternity, weighing down on his shoulders, but he has to, doesn’t he? It’s either this, or he dies. He looks up and nods.

“What do you need me to do?”

Victory feels kind of hollow when you don’t get everything you were hoping for.

I never even wanted to be a hero. I stumble into things with the grace of a bull half the time, bludgeoning things until it gets to be the way I want them to be. I do what I think is right, knowing that there will be a cost one day, but not ready to pay for it when the time comes. I think there’s a part of me that’s always known that there will come a point where the price will be too high to bear, but I didn’t think the time would be now.

I solve the case, but there’s a battle I can’t control happening on the floors below. The conclave stretches out for days, weeks on end, and I ignore all of it. I sit in the silence of the sleeper’s tower, resting my head against Tybalt’s chest so I can feel it rise and fall and remind myself that he’s not dead. I watch Quentin and Walther from the same perch, watch all of them as they miss entire gaps of their life. Sometimes I sleep and sometimes I don’t, but no one tries to force me to leave, probably because if they do, they know they’ll regret it.

Eventually the door creaks open, and Aethlin comes in, looking far more tired than he has any right to. It makes him seem older than he is, and he dismisses whatever staff is present with a wave of his hand. They don’t question it – a well trained staff never does – and he doesn’t move from the doorway until every last one of them is gone, and we’re alone.

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that I’m still there, but then again, I already knew the secret he’s going to give away. He doesn’t say anything to me, just moves towards the brier that holds his son and crashes down into the seat next to it as though his legs have lost the ability to hold him up, and that’s when I knew it was over.

“The conclave has elected to place the matter on hold.” On hold, in it’s own way, almost seems worse than denying it at all, and although I’m hearing the words, I’m having a hard time taking in the gravity of them, just because it’s the one option I never considered at all. “They feel like the atmosphere of the conclave now, what with the murders and the lack of representation from Highgarden, despite the tampering of the monarchy with the proceedings.”

So basically, a great big pile of pureblood bullshit.

In a lot of ways, it feels as though the world is dropping out from under me, and I cling to the nearest surface to try and hold myself together. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough, but I manage to force out two words that needed to be said:

“But Quentin …”

He reaches forward, placing a hand atop his son’s head, brushing his fingers through the teenager’s hair for a moment, and it’s then that the trappings that they’d put themselves in with this blind fosterage became all too clear. True, Quentin was able to try and have something of a normal existence while learning the rules of the realm, and had none of the pressures of being crown prince in the process, but it also meant that when things like this happened, Aethlin couldn’t allow his power as his father to come through and protect his son.

Or even if everyone did know who Quentin was, would that matter? Aethlin’s duty was to the Westlands first, then his family.

“It will only be a few years.” A few years is nothing to a pureblood, but it seems like an eternity from where I’m sitting, a changeling with only so many years to give. “I’m sure we can make them see reason by then.”

“Is that what you told Maida?”

There’s a stern, cold look at that question, and I swallow whatever retort I would have that would follow. It’s easy to blame Aethlin when he’s the one giving me the bad news, but the boy lying on that brier is still his son, and I know it pains him to see Quentin like this, just as much as it pains me.

“Oak and ash, October,” he says softly. “What do we do now?”

I never thought that I would have to be the one to provide solace and reassurance to the High King of the Westlands, but here we are. My life is full of things that I never thought I would have to do.

“We wait.” My voice is soft, but given that there are only two of us in the room, it’s hard to miss. “We wait, and we keep pushing until we win.”

He watches me, weighing the possibilities in that statement, knowing the speech I’d made earlier about the value of time. “No matter what it costs you?”

“They’re worth fighting for.” I made Tybalt a promise, after all. I would be there when he woke up, no matter how long it took. Faerie may be fair, but that doesn’t mean it’ll be kind, so while I may have to do things I regret, give up the parts of me that are still me in order to keep that promise, I’ll keep it all the same.

Aethlin nods, before getting to his feet. “The conclave is closed, Sir Daye. I believe you have some promises to keep.” Promises not made to the men in front of her. Promises made to the dead, and those are the worst kind to break.

I turn and brush a hand over Tybalt’s temple, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to sleeping lips. “I’ll be back,” I say softly, even though I don’t know if he can hear me. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hopefully, it will be much sooner than I think.

“I should have told you sooner.”

Rachel crumples into the chair behind her, but her silence speaks more volumes than her words ever could. It isn’t as though Matt hadn’t spent every waking moment of the past three years studying every inch of her face, every quirk in her body language, every single essential movement that made Rachel Rachel, and he could tell that her heart was breaking without her ever needing to say a word. After all, why wouldn’t her heart be breaking?

The love of her life just told her that unless they’re very lucky, they wouldn’t make it to their first anniversary.

“How long have you known?”

The white gown shifts around her as he moves to sit across from her, loosening the tie around his neck so he can breathe a little more. There’s a weight in his chest that is both related and not to his diagnosis and he tries to find the words to explain.

“A couple days. I thought about waiting until after the wedding, when it’s just the two of us, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t let you marry me without giving you all the information.”

“So you wait until an hour before the ceremony, Matt?” Her voice goes up towards the end, a little shrill, and he winces, but takes it all the same. Then he shrugs.

“Better late than never?”

A bitter laugh flies past her lips, and she shakes her head. “You dick.”

“I know.”

“How bad is it?”

“Right now the rough estimate with no treatment is six months.”

“Are you going to get it treated?”

He blinks at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rachel gives a helpless shrug for a moment, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know! You kept this from me for a few days, Matt, what the hell am I supposed to think.”

“That’s fair.” She does have a point there. “But, to make it perfectly clear, I intend to punch it in the face. I intend to punch it in the face so hard it just hits the ground and then punch it a few more times for good measure, and then maybe kick it in the ribs a few times, just so that it doesn’t think to get back up again –”

She’s laughing. He’ll take that as a win. She swats one hand out and smacks his shoulder, though not very hard. “Stop making me laugh, you asshole. I’m mad at you. And we’re supposed to be getting married.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But if you don’t want to now, because it’s even more of a long shot than it was before, I’d totally understand.”

He’d hate every second of it. He knows better than anyone that it’ll feel like there’s something being ripped out of him, and he doesn’t want to feel that pain, but he also doesn’t want to force her to have to bury him one day. It’s a weird set of feelings, and he’d rather do without all of them, but this is the situation he’s in.

She stares at him for a moment, before leaning in to kiss him softly, hands resting on his shoulders to keep him close. “You’re still a dick. And I’m still mad at you. But I also want to punch this thing in the face, and how can I do that if we don’t get married?”

Matt looks up at her for a moment, and is just swept away by the fact that he’s probably marrying the most perfect woman on the planet. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, he just hopes against hope that he won’t let her down.

“I love you. So, so much.”

“I love you too.” She brushes her thumb against his cheekbone gently, before leaning in to kiss him again. “Wanna go get married?”

He grins at her before nodding. “Lead the way. I’m right behind you.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

She looks up at the woman in the suit in front of her, undeniably some kind of federal agent, just based on the suit. Rebecca placed a hand to her head for a moment as she tried to focus on what she remembered from the incident. To be honest, there’s a lot of it made her feel like she was hallucinating, so she just takes a breath.

“Sorry, who are you again?”

“Agent Ava Sharpe with the Bureau.”

Right. Federal agent. Just like she thought. She tightens the blanket around her shoulders and straightens. “Okay. So. We were having a gala at the museum…”

- - - - - -

Three hours earlier …

A table nearby her explodes as she runs from the center of the room, trying to get out of the range of the incident that seems to have exploded on the dance floor. A large, gorilla had exploded into the middle of the gala on a few moments earlier, throwing tables and seemingly gunning for their guest speaker, and her dance partner, a very nice historian named Nate Heywood, actively encouraged her under the table, while his security has pulled out a very elaborate gun and is actively setting things on fire.

“Just stay here, okay? You’ll be safe.”

“I’ll be safe?” she asks, her eyebrows going up because going from contemplating flirting with him to fighting for her life is a bit of whiplash she wasn’t entirely expecting. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

As he finishes the sentence, a chair is hurled through the air, heading right towards his head and she shrieks, but just as it’s about to collide, Nate’s skin turns to steel. The chair splatters against his back, splinters of wood flying everywhere and her jaw drops in response.

Nate grins. “As I said. I’ll be fine. Just stay here.”

The next few moments are a blur like something out of an action film, with various guests at the party leaping into action to fight this gorilla. One of the “journalists” is throwing around wind like she’s some kind of anime character, another pulls batons out of nowhere from her delicate designer dress and launching into battle. A scientist that she remembers Nate talking too earlier fires some kind of white-blue beam out of some kind of intense tech glove on his hand which collides with the gorilla.

The animal lets loose an angry roar as it stumbles to the side, glaring back at the fighters surrounding him, before running plowing to the side, through the far wall of the museum and disappearing into the night. The fighters all follow, chasing the gorilla out into the streets and disappearing from view.

Rebecca waits for a moment, hands shaking as she tries to process all of what’s happened. After things seem to settle and the crashing and screaming seems to have faded from view, she slowly begins to make her way out, scrambling into a standing position and surveying the destruction of weeks of hard work and, placing a hand on top of her head with a bit of a sob.

“What the hell …”

- - - - - -

As she finishes the story, the no-nonsense agent in front of her sighs heavily, reaching her hand into her pockets as she muttered. “Go figure the Legends would show up and make a mess of everything.”

Rebecca blinks at first, confused. “Wait, sorry – did you say ‘Legends’?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Rebecca straightens in the face of being dismissed like that, but Agent Sharpe pulls a long black device out of her pocket and holds it up in front of her. “We’d like to make a health assessment please, to make sure there are no lingering injuries. If you could look right here please?”

Agent Sharpe taps the top of her device and Rebecca begins to protest, but before she can get a word out a bright light flashes in her face and …

… Rebecca comes to with a bit of a groan. “Sorry, who are you again?”

“Special Agent Ava Sharpe. It seems you’ve been in an accident.”

Rebecca’s eyes wandered from the woman in front of her to looking around at the damage surrounding her. Her eyes wander over to the hole in the middle of the museum wall and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, what happened?”

“There was an unexpected gas mane explosion. Thankfully no one was killed, but you may have some memory loss.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rebecca reaches up to rub her forehead. “I do have a bit of a headache.”

“Then let’s get you to a hospital and have you checked out.”

Agent Sharpe gestures for the paramedics to take over again, tucking a strange device back into her pocket and pulling out her phone. As Rebecca is loaded into the back of the ambulance, she could almost swear that she hears the other woman say:

“This is Ava. Please tell me you have that gorilla contained …”

But then again, that’s probably the gas talking.

“Okay. So we have seventy two hours before we have to be back on a plane again and heading back home.”

Seventy two hours to see everything they want to see in Los Angeles? It doesn’t seem like it can be done. Especially since each of the five person group has their own list of must see locations and who knows if any of them match.

But then again, that’s why Justine, queen of micromanaging, is in charge of doing the actual planning. If anyone was going to figure this out, it is going to be here. Brushing her hair up into a ponytail, she places her hands on her hips as she studies the three day chart in front of her.

“This time table accounts for sleeping between the hours of midnight and eight AM, two hours for daily routine and continental breakfast at the hotel, and an hour for each meal thereafter – unless of course, the meal is part of the attraction. We’re going to start to my right, and you’re going to start reading off the items on your list, starting with the idea of greatest importance to you and working your way down. If someone else says your item before you, cross it off and read the next one. Hopefully there is some overlap and we can come up with a list that everyone can agree on.”

She glances over at Monica, who is looking honestly baffled by the level of intensity that is going into this, but she does have a list in front of her, indicating that she’s prepared to play along.

“Ready?” Justine asks, and Monica bobs her head in agreement. Justine smiles, before uncapping her dry erase marker and letting the stench fill the air. “Good. Let’s do this.”

- - - - - - -

Three hours later …

“It will take us at least two hours to get all the way across LA at that time of day – it’ll be a waste of time. We need to group things by location, not just priority.”

Jeffrey feels his wife, Angela, inch closer as the two of them watch Justine and Arthur debate the merits of the schedule that’s been laid out for them. Jeffery lifts one arm to let Angela tuck under it, and she curls into his chest as they watch the scene unfold. They’re the only two of the six person group that remained – Monica and Alan had to go home to their kids about an hour earlier – and Arthur and Justine had stopped taking their opinions at least an hour before that, preferring to play tetris with the already agreed upon events. While Justine was an expert in breaking down the time needed for certain things, Arthur did logistics for a living, and they had managed to work themselves into quite the passionate debate.

“Arthur is your friend, isn’t he?” Angela asks, a curiosity in her tone that Jeffrey knows all too well could lead to dangerous, dangerous ideas. “From back in college?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You know this.”

“Is he single?” Jeffrey’s eyebrows raise into his hair, and Angela gives him a look in return. “Oh don’t give me that look. Justine’s been on her own for a while, and Arthur seems like a nice man. And they both share … similar interests.”

“But similar interests you mean micromanaging the fun out of everything?”

Angela laughs. “Well someone has to do it.”

“They do seem to work rather well together.” Angela’s face lights up, and he holds up a finger. “This does not mean I’m condoning it. You remember what happened the last time you tried to set Justine up with someone.”

“Yes, you had to find a new golfing buddy, I know. But I think you’ll also agree that the group is better off without him.”

Jeffrey whimpers slightly. “I like Arthur.”

“And you don’t like Justine?”

“I adore Justine, you know that. But the more you try and set her up with my friends, the more of my friends that disappear.”

“I have a wager for you. We’ll leave the two of them here with a bottle of wine and the plans for the trip, and we’ll see what happens when they’re left to their own devices. If it’s all business, I will back off and I will never set up any of your friends with her again.”

“And what if you win?”

“Well, I have been wanting that new water feature for the backyard.” Jeffrey groans, and she grins. “Do we have a bet or not?”

Jeffrey sighs as he leans in to kiss her. “Deal.” He then gets to his feet before turning to address the other two, who seemed to be lost in their own world. “I think the two of you have this pretty well in hand – Angela and I are going to head home for the evening.”

“Oh, it is getting late isn’t it?” Justine sighs, glancing down at her watch. “Do you want to head out as well?”

The question is directed towards Arthur and he blinks, before giving a small shrug. “No, I can stay, if it’s not an imposition. Better we get it done, right?” Justine smiles, and there’s a bit of a softness to it that makes Jeffrey feel like he already should be allocating some money aside for his wife’s plans for their landscaping.

- - - - - - - -

Six months later …

“I gotta say, Jeffrey, that’s a really lovely water feature.” Alan takes another sip of his beer as the three couples settle on the back patio. “Probably hell on the water bill though, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling me.”

“How’d you let Angela talk you into that one?”

Jeffrey glances over at his wife who is cooing over Justine’s shiny new engagement ring with Monica. “Trust me, Alan. Never make a bet with your wife that she already knows she’s going to win.”

Nine times out of ten, Allison Argent likes to pride herself on her maturity.

She needs it, if she wants to put herself at the head of the Argent family when she’s just barely old enough to drink. It had taken time to earn the trust of the other hunters, the ones who had been loyal to her grandfather and her aunt, and convince them that her way was the better way for everyone – to protect people, rather than humans – but there are still a lot of them who still live for the power that Gerard gave them, and the certainty that they were on the side of the right, while Allison needs them to live more in the shades of gray.

They lose too many people to Monroe, but that’s not the point. The point is that Gerard and Kate are dead, for good this time, and she had to start from scratch. This doesn’t mean, however, that sometimes she doesn’t desperately wish that she can act her age.

She and Isaac are invited to a meeting just outside of Philadelphia, standing on the edges of a small Amish settlement that had been home to a small pack of werewolves. They hadn’t done anything wrong – had isolated themselves from the world to avoid the chance that they would hurt anyone, and there is tension and anger in everything she and Isaac do. They’re telegraphing it from a mile away, but the group of hunters that are there don’t seem to be impressed.

“Why do you keep bringing your pet dog, again?” The hunter that speaks is a cocky one from the back, someone who’s teetering just on the edge of the precipice between Allison and Monroe, and Allison doesn’t want to hear any of it. Isaac is sitting on a hair trigger as it is, standing in a place where so many wolves have died and he wants to tear into anything that will make itself an available target. He starts to surge forward, and she raises a hand to stop him, knowing that he won’t push past it.

“Isaac is my partner. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yeah. I have a problem with some little princess coming in and thinking she can just change the rules.” He’s on his feet at this point, making his way closer and she can feel Isaac tense but he doesn’t move past her hand. “Especially when it clearly seems like she might as well be one of them.”

Allison keeps her face schooled and calm, not letting him see her riled or upset. She has to, especially when Isaac isn’t as good at keeping his feelings to himself. “If you don’t like the way I do things, Bobby, you can leave. I’m not going to stop you.”

“I can leave?” He’s in her face now, and she can’t help the way she straightens in response. “You’re the one who doesn’t seem to want to be here, Princess. In fact, why don’t we take you out instead?”

“Allison …” Isaac’s voice is somewhere in her ear, but she doesn’t have time to react to him. Instead she’s dodging out of the way as Bobby swings at her, and reaching for the other arm to twist it away from her. He cries out in pain and she catches her foot in the joint of his knee, forcing him down to the ground. She got lucky, she knows she did, but she can’t deny the fact that it feels good to have let out some of her aggression.

People say werewolves have dominance issues, but they have nothing on hunters.

There’s a deep breath as she looks up at the rest of the group. “Look, I know that this isn’t how you’re used to doing things, but this is how it’s going to be. If you want to stand up for innocent people, that means all innocent people, not just the human ones. If you think that humans are all that matters than you can go team up with Monroe, but know that if you do? If she keeps doing things like this?” She points back to the ruins of the farm in question. “Then it’s not just going to be me you have to worry about. If you really want to pick a fight with the McCall Pack and the Hales, then go right ahead. But if you would rather work with them than against them, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

She releases Bobby, shoving him forward into the dirt, and there’s a grumble of assent from the rest of the group. He looks livid as he gets to his feet, and shakes his head. “I don’t need this.” And with that he’s gone, heading on his way to his car. A few people straggle off with him, but a majority of them stay, watching her expectantly and waiting for their cue. Allison issues her orders and wraps up the meeting, and tries to ignore the shit-eating grin Isaac gives her as they make their way back to the car.

“What?”

“You had that all along, didn’t you?”

She laughs as they go to slide into the car. “You enjoyed it.”

“Of course I enjoyed it. You are very, very attractive when you’re putting someone in their place.” He slides into the passenger seat of the SUV, and leans in to kiss her once the door closes behind her. “And watching it happen to that guy in particular doesn’t hurt either.”

Her smile fades, and she nods. “We still lost some, though.”

“And a lot stayed too.” Isaac leans in closer, taking her hand in his. “Don’t focus on them. Focus on the people who are willing to help. They matter more.”

Allison nods with a small smile. “I’ll do my best.” And she will. She just hopes he’ll keep being there to remind her.

Walter is supposed to be on a date right now.

He knew that there were risks, when your boyfriend happens to be one of magic’s guardians, destined to fight monsters when they appeared, but he had hoped that Aaron could take a break. Still, his boyfriend is a paladin and a cop. It’s a twofer of sexy protective energy and Walter was doomed from the start.

“When was the last time you hunted an arachne?” he asks as they weave their way back into the parking lot, and Aaron looks up like he’s a little embarrassed.

“Uh … never.”

“Never?” Walter blinks in response. “You said you’ve been monster hunting since you were old enough to hold a rifle.”

“Not wrong,” Aaron sighs. “But I was a monster hunter in Miami. We mostly wound up with manticores and minatours, maybe the occasional kelpie. Arachne didn’t really get a lot of play.”

Monsters aren’t born monsters – they’re more the complicated combinations of people with really strong personal failings or unfortunate histories and powerful magical ley lines. Unfortunately, there’s no way to turn them back – or maybe that is fortunate. Once the monster takes over and they start to succumb to the nature of the creature itself, it’s hard to wrestle with the consequences. Sometimes it’s better not living with that kind of guilt.

Or at least that’s easier to consider in the case of creatures like arachne. They feed their pride to the point of hubris, making choices that better their own self-worth at the expense of everyone else. Sometimes there’s a fashion component involved, in line with the traditional myth, but in most instances it’s a karmic retribution that turns them into killing machines.

Walter points towards the machete stashed in Aaron’s trunk. “Give me that.” Aaron had been about to hand over a glock and squints at him in confusion. “I’m a Pendragon. They expect me to wield Excalibur, remember? And it’s better if you go for the legs first.” Aaron shrugs, before dropping the gun back in and reaching for the machete instead.

“Then knock yourself out.”

Walter takes the leather clad scabbard from him. “I think I saw it heading towards the fun house.”

Aaron nods, and turns to head back into the park, a few steps ahead of Walter. Each step is made with purpose, as though this is an arena he’s comfortable in, despite the fact that he’s never fought this kind of monster before. Walter’s never spent much time around paladins, and in a lot of ways it’s like being on the back corner of the superhero slow-mo walk. And in others, it’s a lot of being terrified because this monster could kill them. It’s the part of the superhero movie that they don’t really show and he doesn’t like it.

At all.

Aaron flashes his badge at the guy running the ride. Walter, on the other hand, takes a step back and looks up – spiders like to climb, so there’s no reason it couldn’t have gone up as well as through. He doesn’t see the black bodied beast at first against the night sky, but he does pick up on the dark blue magical aura that covered most creatures as its large, bulbous body crawls over the top and disappears between the metal structures of the house and into the dark cavern within.

“Aaron,” is all he says as he makes his way past, and Aaron glances over and up, before nodding and following. When he places a hand on Walter’s shoulder and opens his mouth to speak, Walter brings a finger to his lips.

“Web,” he whispers, pointing to the spindly bits of silk above them. “Transmits vibration.”

Aaron nods again, before raising his gun as he takes the lead. At first there’s nothing, just long dark tunnels. Then the room opens up into the bright, fractured light of the hall of mirrors. Minutes pass and it’s just them staring at their reflections, but when they round a corner, the eight eyed gaze of the arachne appears. Aaron immediately brings up his gun to shoot, but it’s all wrong.

“No wait, that’s a –”

The mirror shatters with the bullets and the spider disappears as pieces of polished metal fall to the floor. Without even thinking, his hand lands on Aaron’s shoulder, pushing him out of the way as he’s also forced to the side dropping him to the ground as the spider came to bear on top of him. He hears the clatter of Aaron’s gun skittering away from him. One hand shoots up to push the spider upward, keeping those fangs away from his face while the other tries to flip the leather strap on the machete in his opposite hand.

“Walter!” Aaron’s voice seems far away and he’s losing ground with the spider, but he manages to get enough leverage to give it a hard shove up into the ceiling, followed by the thunk! of pieces of shattered mirror getting lodged in it’s thorax like ninja stars. He finally unsheathes the machete, drawing the blade up and stabbing through the abdomen and dragging towards the head. Thick, gooey spider bits rain down on him, and before the corpse can collapse down on top of him, Aaron’s hands are under his arms, yanking him backwards and out of harm’s way. Walter collapses back against his boyfriend’s chest and glances up at him with a small smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Isn’t it supposed to be me shoving you out of the way, Mr. Badass?”

Walter smirks. “Can’t have you showing off all the time.” His boyfriend laughs and he continues. “I would kiss you for pulling me out from under there, but I’m pretty gross right now.”

Aaron nods. “I know it’s not the ideal romantic evening, but I could still take you home and clean you up. See what happens from there.

Walter considers, before smirking. “Well, when you put it like that, who am I to say no?”

Edited 2019-03-09 23:45 (UTC)

Juliet walks into the Psych offices and stares at the mess that surrounds her. Numerous cardboard boxes that she can tell just from the smell alone contained various iterations of nachos, tacos and, of course, the forever coveted Quatro Queso Dos Fritos. Sprawled not too far from the door, behind each of their respective desks, are Shawn and Gus, hands resting on their stomachs tenderly almost as though they might explode.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demands, hands on her hips as she glances between the two of them.

Shawn’s head picks up to see where the voice is coming from and he offers her a half-hearted smile. “Oh. Hey Jules.”

“Don’t ‘Hey Jules’ me. This place looked like a hurricane came through.”

Gus groans as he starts to roll towards one side, struggling to try and get to his feet. “What time is it?” he asks. “I think I’m supposed to be at work.”

“Gus, do you honestly think you can make it to work in your current state?”

“Unlike you, Shawn, my job is non-negotiable. They earned my time by giving me a pay check. Something you currently do not.”

There’s a soft psh from Shawn, which is only leading to Juliet getting more and more frustrated that she’s being ignored. At least until Gus makes it past her to the couches in the waiting room and collapses down again.

“I think I’m going to get in late today.”

“Are either of you going to tell me what happened?”

“What happened is that the Holy Trinity of Nachos, Tacos and Quatro Queso Dos Fritos visited us and brought us many, many heavenly gifts.” Shawn groans as he shifts to face her more, but doesn’t bother to leave his seat. “And we may have overdone it a little bit.”

“We? Speak for yourself, Shawn. I’m fairly certain that there were two orders of Quatro Queso Dos Fritos when I went to the bathroom somewhere after ten, and when I came back there was only half.”

Juliet’s brow furrows. “Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it? One order for you and one order for Shawn?”

“No, not half of the orders. I mean half of an order.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Gus. The God of Nachos giveth and the God of Nachos taketh away.”

Gus huffs and Juliet is starting to get a headache. She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, before taking a deep breath and trying to get the moment back on track. “Both of you need to get this place cleaned up. Chief Vick is on her way here.”

That mention has both of them sitting up, then simultaneously groaning at the movement. “What do you mean Chief Vick is coming here?”

“A new missing persons case came up that she wants to farm out to you guys, and she’s bringing the victim’s husband here to fill you in on the case. She gave me a heads up because she wanted to make sure you would make a good impression and for fairly obvious reasons, she was right.”

Shawn and Gus look at each other, before very slowly starting to push to their feet. “Don’t worry Jules. We’ve got this.”

Gus nods as he comes up behind her, waddling almost like he has a bowling ball for a stomach. “Right. We’ll have this place ship shape in no time.”

Juliet watches them as they struggle just bending over to pick up the boxes, before she huffs again and starts shuffling up the garbage so that she can throw it away. “Maybe next time the ‘God of Nachos’ decides to pay you a visit, you can do it in your own apartments?”

“Nonsense, Jules. This was a team building exercise, totally appropriate for working hours.”

“I don’t think that was her point, Shawn. I think that she was trying to say that we shouldn’t make messes we can’t clean up.”

“Thank you, Gus.”

“Also, it’s not much of a team building exercise if you’re stealing your partner’s Quatro Queso Dos Fritos.”

“Oh, God.” One finger points out towards the door. “Out. Both of you. Come back when you both can have an actual professional conversation.”

“But the mess …”

“I will take care of it! Go!”

The two men look at each other again, before turning and heading towards the door. “You know,” Shawn begins, “she could use some Quatro Queso Dos Fritos.”

“You know that’s right.”

Walking in to a situation like this is often balancing on the razor’s edge of a very, very thin razor.

This isn’t Gale’s first rodeo, and it hopefully won’t be his last, but he knows he needs to play these things so carefully, almost as though he’s not trying to do it at all. He knows he has the credentials, that his backstory is bulletproof as far as anything this group may have access to, and that he likely won’t be called out for being a cop on his first approach. At the same time, “not being a cop” isn’t exactly the only qualification they’re looking for.

If they don’t like him, they won’t take him. He has to be charming, he has to be capable, and he has to not give them any reason to want to shoot him. Those are three very separate things, and a failure at any one of them is enough to tip them over the edge and him out of this operation. That is the last thing his career needs.

He makes his way into the bar, eyeing the patrons around them with a brief, curious eye, before turning and heading towards the bar where his contact was sitting. He moves to sit on the stool next to him and orders a beer. The room is full of big, burly bikers, some of them armed, some not, and he makes a mental note of it, before nudging Harley’s shoulder with on hand.

“He here yet?”

“Shit,” Harley swears as he looks over at him. “You actually showed?”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?” Gale’s eyebrows raise out of curiosity as he takes a pull on his beer. “Or did you forget the circumstances under which we met?”

Harley exhales slowly, pulling back just enough to get a better look at what he’s working with. “Well at least you don’t look completely useless.”

“Thank you?”

Harley sighs, before pushing off the stool and making his way towards the back room. “Alright. Let’s get this bullshit over with.”

Gale smirks as he picks up his beer, before moving to follow wherever Harley’s leading. Here goes nothing.

- - - - - -

The back room of the bar is actually nicer than he expected it to be. It’s almost as though they invited their boys to tear into whatever furniture was outside in order to keep this room pristine. He lets his eyes wander, evaluating both what he’d have available to him should this go bad and where would be a good place to put a bug in the future.

“Antonio,” Harley says as the door closes behind him. “This is the guy I was telling you about, Gale.”

“Gale.” The leader’s voice is almost honeyed in the way he says his name, appraising him as though he’s a piece of meat. He shifts to lean forward, gesturing for the two men to have a seat. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for here.”

“Just a little work,” he says with a small shrug. “Things have been kinda slow on my end, I could use the cash flow.”

Antonio nods, his finger running over the rim of his glass of bourbon. “The plight of most, I suppose. I have to ask, you seemed a little surprised to see me.”

“Not you, given the ‘we’ve never met’ of it all,” Gale shrug. “But more … this is nice. Most gangs I work with, they don’t keep things this nice.”

“Yes, well, I believe in taking pride in what I own,” he holds up a glass. “Would you like some bourbon? I have a lovely ’72 floating around here somewhere?”

“Oh, I’m good with the beer, but thank you. I think that sounds a little too fancy for an asshole like me.”

“Gale, worth is all in the mind of the beholder.” The phone rings on the far corner of the room, and he gestures to the half-drunk bottle of bourbon that’s sitting on the bar nearby. “Pour him a glass while I take this.”

Harley nods, getting up to pour them both a glass, and places one in front of Gale. Gale doesn’t take a sip right away, trying to keep an ear on the conversation on the phone as best he can. Most of the words are muffled, unfortunately, and he’s forced to wait until Antonio turns around again, and raises an eyebrow.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Oh. I haven’t had a chance to …”

“You should,” Antonio cuts him off before reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a heavy looking glock, aiming it right at his new guest. “Then you have some explaining to do, Officer Mortimer.”

Gale doesn’t hesitate. He knocks back the glass of bourbon with one slow swallow, before getting to his feet and doing another sweep of the room.

“Okay. This is about to get interesting.”

Eliot is having a day.

Normally, he knows he has a pretty strong handle on his anger, making sure that it’s all released in the proper place, at the proper time, and on people who deserve it, not the members of his team. But this particular job has gone so far off the rails that it’s all he can do to keep everything tied together.

It isn’t necessarily dangerous things that have gone wrong either, like a member of the team getting hurt on the job, or their cover getting blown. It’s little things – little things that seem to be doing their best to rub Eliot the wrong way personally. Little things that tend to only trigger that caged in anger, like a bad itch that desperately needs to be scratched, and he has no opportunity to do so.

He hasn’t even gotten to punch anyone thus far.

It’s for that reason that Hardison happens to be giving him a wide berth and he knows it. The two of them are stuck in the van together and the other man has been unusually quiet, only really speaking when he needs Eliot to do something like hit a button or bring up a video or open a bottle of orange soda while he hacks through this latest firewall, and Eliot is happy to do it until he doesn’t realize that the bottle just have been shaken a little, somewhere along the way, and a torrent of orange soda sprays up into his face and all over his clothes.

“Damnit, Hardison!”

It’s hard to really make out what it is that he’s ranting about as he just goes to town on whatever happens to be nearby, but it’s enough that it makes Hardison push himself to the far end of the van and not interfere, eyes wide and worried. He doesn’t even mind that the now half empty bottle of soda gets tossed behind his head, spilling it across the back door and leaving a sticky residue that he’s going to have to clean later behind.

“Eliot? You okay, man?”

Eliot turns on him with a glare, fingers closing around the component that took hours for Hardison to put together. “Do I look okay to you? Do I look like someone who’s just fine?” His hand rises even higher and Hardison’s eyes turn to the size of saucers.

“No, dude, wait, don’t –”

Before he could finish the sentence, Eliot’s hand comes down hard, slamming the component to the counter top. Hardison’s face falls as he watches it shatter under the force of it, before burying his face in his hands with a groan.

“What?” Eliot growls, and Hardison looks up, resting his chin in his hand.

“I needed that.” He waves a hand dryly. “But it’s only going to take me hours to replicate, no big deal.” Hardison seems like he’s slightly proud of himself for only making that a little sarcastic, but Eliot deflates all the same.

Eliot glances down at the damage done, before huffing and moving towards the side door of the van. “I’m talking a walk.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

When he’s done, he will likely be cooled down enough for an apology, but in the end, it’s probably for the best if he takes his anger elsewhere, at least for a little while.

The job is finished, the work done, and the Guardians of the Galaxy are preparing for take off and heading off to their next job. Things had gone fairly smoothly (for once) and Peter was in his quarters, getting ready for what was looking to be a clean escape from the planet in question. Before he had dropped inside, the skies and been nothing but clouds and stars. He feels the ship start to lift off from his place in the quarters, and a small smile crosses his face as they head up into the freedom of space.

At least, until things predictably go wrong, as per usual.

“I thought you said we had clear skies!”

Rocket’s voice explodes through the comms, sounding far more irritated than usual. While Rocket is one to imply that Quill isn’t capable of doing his job quite often, in this particular instance Peter knows what he saw. He knows that they had a clean route of escape.

“What the hell do you –”

His protest is cut short by the Milano suddenly rocking to the side, slamming Peter into the wall of the ship. He scrambles to try and find his way to his feet again, before the ship suddenly barrel rolls and he finds himself scrambling again as he’s thrown through his quarters.

“Rocket, what the hell are you doing?” Gamora’s voice is the response this time, as Peter scrambles to his door to find his way to the cockpit.

“I’m trying to save our asses, thank you for asking.”

“I am Groot.”

“Ignore him, I’m doing a fantastic job, thank you very much.”

The ship rocks again, and Peter finds himself stumbling straight into Drax, colliding with the hard mountain of a man and trying to suppress the groan of pain that comes with it. “Drax, what are you doing here?”

“The ship is under attack. I must go launch myself into the abyss in order to battle for our honor.”

“No, no, you’re not.”

Peter manages to get enough leverage to turn Drax around and shove him towards the safely strapped in seats in the cockpit. As they emerge onto the bridge and the open windows of space sit above them, they can easily see the explosions happening around them, managing to slide into their seats and strap in before Rocket throws them into another breakneck barrel roll.

“Will you stop that?” Peter sighs as they’re righted back into position again. “You can avoid our deaths while also flying in a straight line.”

“Shut it, Quill, I’m trying to save our lives here.”

He grumbles as he grips tightly on the arms of the seat, watching as they continue to dart through the ships as they head faster and faster towards the jump point. The unseen hexagons in the sky open up and soon they’re shooting through the doorway, watching space flash by them in bright neon colors. Soon, they drop out at their arrival jump point, and they find themselves basking in the stars and calmness of space.

There’s a moment of silence as they all catch their breath, taking the time to release their fingers from the arms of the seat and allow the adrenaline to settle out of their system. For a moment, they very briefly seem like things are going to be fine. And then Rocket turns around in his seat and opens his mouth.

“That, Quill,” Rocket points out. “That is clear skies.”

Edited 2019-10-06 18:57 (UTC)

Neal came and went, and Sara expects to never see him again.

Part of the complications that come with being legally dead – you can’t really keep yourself in the same circles, as much as you may want to. Sara may live in Europe now, which is a much different place than New York, but some connections are internationally renowned. Some connections can’t be undone, especially when there’s a chance you may find a picture of yourself somewhere where you can’t take it back.

Neal’s never been the kind of person to expect those he cares about to give up their lives and wants just for him. Not unless wanting him is more than the sum of everything else. Whirlwind romance may be one of his hallmarks, may have been his story with Kate, but he always knew that Sara was her own woman, and always would be.

Doesn’t mean she didn’t miss him. Doesn’t mean she didn’t wish things could be different. But they both knew that the life they dreamed of, the one he drew up so eloquently in a proposal that wasn’t a proposal, isn’t one that they could have. Not with the choices they’d already made for themselves.

As she settles in her seat on the train back to London from Paris, the reclaimed artwork tucked neatly into a tube beside her, she finds herself thinking of him again as the scenery drifts past her, Neal had always loved Paris, and she lets herself get absorbed into the countryside long enough for someone to make their way into the aisle and she holds out a hand to stop them.

“I’m sorry, this seat’s taken.”

She looks up into the eyes of a face she’s seen before, even if she can’t place it well. The high cheekbones and sharp eyes are definitely not the face of someone she could misconstrue for someone else. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly at her response, before amusement tips his features all the same.

“My apologies,” he says, the French accent tinging his words. “I’ll be sure to find another seat, then.”

In that very moment, as he turns and walks away to find the other seat, where she recognizes him from suddenly clicks into place. Not because she had direct contact with him by any means, but because he’s been constantly lingering around the building the painting was stolen from – possibly because he worked there.

Sara had suspected there was an inside man involved, but she didn’t know how to prove it. Now, she was trapped on a train with him for three hours. If he was a thief worth his salt, he would have all of her information. All he had to do was buy his time, and he could easily get rid of her, and the painting would be his again. She waits just as long as her nerves would allow. Just long enough for him to seem settled, open a newspaper, and hopefully give her the room to move past him towards the sleeping cars and find someplace to lay low.

About halfway through the trip, she rises to her feet, gathering her things and making her way to the back of the train. She can hear chairs squeaking behind her, and the sound of footsteps following her as she goes. Picking up her feet, she tries to move faster down the narrow hallways of the train, keeping the distance between herself and then men pursuing her, but that only seems to encourage them to move faster.

Just as she rounds the corner, she feels a pair of hands grab her from the right, yanking her into one of the sleep cabins on the train and slamming the door behind her. Her hand comes up on instinct, yanking the baton she had been clutching out of her purse, and slamming it down against her attacker’s back, which he takes with a muffled groan. She’s about to bring her hand down again, but the man is prepared this time, taking advantage of the sudden rock of the train and his larger size to push her back against the far wall, one hand covering her mouth to stop her from making noise, and the other catching her wrist to keep her from attacking him again. It’s then that she has a moment to take in his face, realize that she recognizes it, and relax, ever so slightly.

Neal Caffrey. Swooping in to come to her rescue.

The softness hits her eyes first, as she isn’t free to talk, but when he feels her relax, he releases her, holding his finger to his lips as they wait. She can hear the rustle of footsteps outside the cabin, followed by instructions in French to find her, not allow her to get off the train with the painting. A rattle hits the air, indicating that they’re trying the door to their cabin, and when they find it locked they knock.

“Yes?” Neal responds, in flawless French. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, monsieur. Apologies.”

With that, they seem to move on, and he finally relaxes completely, flashing Sara that smile that always manages to make her melt. “Sorry about surprising you like that. It just looked like you could use a hand.”

Sara’s mostly just stunned that another coincidence has come to pass. Another time Neal manages to show up magically to save her. There are so many questions she wants to ask but for the moment, she’s simply grateful that he’s here. Letting her bags drop to the floor, she takes a step forward and wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her back tightly, one hand coming up to soothe against her back.

“You really gotta stop showing up like this for me, Caffrey,” she sighs, before looking at him fully. “Someone might think you’re stalking me.”

“You do have a strange way of saying thank you.”

She laughs before leaning in to kiss him, just the once. “Thank you.”

Dean Winchester currently regrets everything he’s chosen to be.

Normally he wouldn’t consider his arrogance a detriment to his life as a whole, but given that his arrogance is what currently made him the target of this particular ghost, he’s beginning to give it second thoughts. He feels overheated and raw, everything is making him jump out of his skin, and he doesn’t even think he has the means to get done what he needs to get done.

Friggin’ ghost sickness.

The air around him is getting hazy as he tries to control is breathing. The enclosed space of the motel room he’s sharing with Sam isn’t really helping, but at least its keeping him contained, away from the dangers of the outside world and hopefully the ghost that inflicted this on him in the first place. Sam is supposed to be taking care of it. Dean just needs to sit still, and breathe, and ignore the hallucinations surrounding him until Sam takes care of the ghost, just like they always do.

So far, things don’t seem to be too bad. Sure, his arm itches. Sure, his brain feels like it’s going a million miles a minute, but he’s not dying. He just needs to focus on that. Not dying. Not going back to Hell. Not going back to face each and every single one of the people he tortured in the time he spent there. Four months was forty years, and each body that landed on his rack had been more meat for him to slip away. He never wanted to believe he was the kind of person who was capable of hurting people for the sake of it, for the power and control of it, but Dean Winchester has always been an exceptional liar.

Especially to himself.

He reflects back on every time he raised a machete to strike down a monster. Every time he hunted down the latest target and relished in the kill. All the anger, bottled up in relation to all the things he couldn’t have because of the life he lead, and releasing it on those he thought deserved it for the things they had taken from them.

Of course, he broke in Hell. Of course he took the opportunity to give back just as good as he got. He didn’t deserve to be in Hell. He wasn’t a bad person. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and his is inlaid with the gold of his brother’s life. He walked willingly into the gates to save the life of the person he loves most, and he doesn’t regret that. But that didn’t mean he had the right to take it out on other people, whether they deserved to be there or not.

He could very nearly be going back there very soon. It was the last thing he wanted, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t get off the rack quite so easily this time. As his heartbeat thunders in his ears, he hears the small child’s voice that he never wanted to hear again, for as long as he lived.

“Hello, Dean.”

She’s dressed up, pretty as a princess. Her blond hair is pulled back in a half ponytail, held in place by a ribbon, and her purple dress hangs neatly at her knees. Lilith’s smile stays perfectly sweet and innocent, almost as though the body in front of him wasn’t holding the spirit of a millennia old demon.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Haven’t you missed me?”

Just like that, his heartbeat starts pounding louder, sealing his fate.

Baboom baboom.

And here we are, once again.

The heroes, in their desperate ineptitude, have come up against their arch nemesis, Mr. Nobody. Despite their inevitably lucky escape from his wrath at their last meeting –

“Escape?” Rita looks offended by the proposition as she stands in the middle of the construction zone. “We worked together, you unbelievable prick.”

– No interruptions from the peanut gallery, please. Now, as I was previously narrating, the Doom Patrol has finally met their match, bringing themselves together in the penultimate showdown between Good and Evil, Right and Wrong, Hero and Villain, but they weren’t prepared for what Mr. Nobody had in store for them, what dastardly plan is lurking just around the corner for their inevitable defeat.

And this pretentious prick didn’t know that the Doom Patrol also came with a secret weapon of their own – me! Cue that Miley Cyrus, or acceptable knock off cover that is much more within the writer’s budget.

Just like that a man in a red and black suit comes swinging into view, riding a literal wrecking ball as he sings the song by the same name at the top of his lungs. Everyone looks stunned for a long moment, almost as though they don’t know what to do with this, because honestly who would, when confronted with the prospect, and for a long moment there’s nothing but Deadpool’s slightly off tune singing to break the likely uncomfortable silence.

“C’mon, Negative Man, I know you got some pipes in there. Or at least the guy voicing you does.” He caps his hand to one side. “Apparently they couldn’t pay Matt Bomer enough to hang out in bandages all day. Who knew?”

“Sorry,” Larry frowns from his position on the ground, still not really believing what is happening. “What?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Jane shouts from the ground, deciding to just cut right to the point already.

“Right! We haven’t officially met.” Wade hops down gracelessly from the wrecking ball, probably breaking something, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Instead, he simply dusts off his hands and keeps going. “Hi, I’m Deadpool. You don’t know me because I don’t normally exist in this universe, but this is fanfiction. Therefore, anything is possible.”

The Doom Patrol stares. Eventually, Cliff, in his endearing Cliff way goes: “What the fuck?”

“Oh, I was also recently bought back by Disney, so this may be my last chance to swear for a very long time. All caught up now? Because I’m about ready to punch this cocksucker in a place where it really hurts.”

Everyone still looks stunned with this new information. Jane’s appearance flickers several times, almost as though she isn’t sure which personality is the best option to approach this new foe – or is it friend? The situation isn’t clear and she eventually resettles on Jane again.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“You’re one to talk. I only have one me, while you’re there hanging out with sixty four of your best friends. I’m actually kind of jealous.”

Jane looks like she’s about to strangle him, which let’s be honest is standard operating procedure for Jane.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait one goddamn minute. You think you can just … universe hop in here and save the day? You’re meat shield in godddamn Lycra! Your general modus operandi is to beat it until it stops moving. I’m practically a god! What makes you think you even stand a chance?

“Because, asshole, I happen to be the best of all you fuckers.” He points indelicately to each person he’s talking to, starting with Larry. “Adaptational attractiveness.” He switches to Jane. “With great power comes great insanity.” Vic. “Hand cannon. Though his is a little more literal.” Cliff. “Feel no pain.” Then he turns to Rita and pauses, uncertain. “Facial horror?”

“How dare you.” Rita frowns, even though she doesn’t know what that means, she can probably guess.

“Sorry, but it’s true. Anyway – I’m the entire team, all rolled in to one.”

And given that this collection of assclowns couldn’t even stop me, what makes you think you can? I’m not something you can shoot And I’m the one telling this story!

That’s what you think, fuck face. Oh yeah, that’s right. I can out meta you. Did you think you were the only one who can smash the fourth wall wide open? I don’t even have a fourth wall. Sing it with me now: I came in like a wreeeeeeeeeecking ball …

Alright, alright I get it already! What do you want?

Want? Honestly, I’m a simple guy with simple needs. I want to kill the bad guys, eat some chimichangas, and maybe convince Matt Bomer over there to help me break everyone’s brains by having the hottest sex scene of two-actual-hot-guys-in-terrible-disfiguring-makeup. I mean I think he deserves breaking that sixty year dry spell, don’t you?

There’s a long period of silence as everyone contemplated what they’ve done, including the writer. She has so, so many regrets and yet this is still happening and it’s still going to be submitted.

… This was so not what I had in mind.

Can’t always get what we want, bucko. Time to make the chimichangas.

Bess and Aaron … are very, very drunk.

It is their own fault. They made themselves this way. They will both regret it very much in the morning, but for now they are running through the streets of Brooklyn, full of adrenaline and alcohol, playing a game that neither of them fully understood the rules to – possibly because Bess is one hundred percent making it up as she goes along and Aaron isn’t sober enough to realize it. In fact, Aaron is mostly just following along at this point, trying not to stumble into anything or give the impression that he is anything but one hundred percent sober.

He’s not.

“You are going to get me arrested,” he hisses as he tries to keep up with her, pausing only as she stops halfway through a side walk drawing of a hopscotch court to go back and hop through the hopscotch.

“You’re not playing the game right.” Her red curly hair bounces around her ears as she finally lands on the other side. “Now you have to play hopscotch.”

He squints at her as he stops his run. “That was not in the rules before.”

“Totes was,” Bess nods, fully convinced. “I put it there myself. You must hopscotch at all hopscotches.”

“I don’t think hopscotches is the plural of hopscotch.”

“Now is not the time for a grammar lesson. Are you going to play or not?”

He huffs, before doing as he’s told, arms swinging wildly as he does his best to maintain his balance. It’s not an easy prospect, given that he’s both drunk and it’s been a literal decade since he’s even tried, but eventually he makes it to the other side and lands with a soft sound of triumph.

“Ha! What now?” He begins to circle her, waving his hands in front of her and mimicking the sound of the crowd going wild. Bess rolls her eyes, before grabbing his hand and tugging him back into a run again. He huffs again. “Oh, come on. Can’t a man celebrate his victories?”

“Not when the game’s not over yet!”

“The game’s never over,” he grumbles but he follows her, still, always, and trusts that where she’s leading him is never dangerous. The thing about Bess being an Oracle is that she always seems to know where you need to go, even when you aren’t actively looking for it. He followed her from Florida to New York, and he continues to follow her through New York, accepting hints, but never asking too explicitly, still wanting his life to play out with as many surprises as it can.

Bess will tell him if it’s something he truly needs to know. Until then, he’d rather just follow her wherever she led him.

They eventually reach an older building and he watches as she jumps up a few times, until her hands finally catch the bottom of the fire escape and she’s able to drag it down so they can easily climb it. Aaron looks incredibly apprehensive at the idea of climbing it, but Bess is already scrambling up as quickly as she can.

“This looks dangerous!”

“Says the loo-ser,” she singsongs back at him, and he grumbles before pulling up to follow her. The fire escape is incredibly rickety, and there are definitely a few moments where he feels like he’s going to drop down to the ground below, but eventually they manage to fight their way to the top and Bess finally stops moving, sitting down on a bench in the middle of the roof garden and shifting so that they can both look at the slowly rising sun over the tomato plants.

“This is my favorite place,” she smiles as he sits. “The garden is owned by one of Apollo’s chosen, so she doesn’t mind if I come and sit up here sometimes.”

“I can see why,” he says with a smile as he plops down next to her, exhausted. She shifts to rest her head on his shoulder, tired, before sighing.

“Do you regret following me up here?”

“No,” he replies easily, because he doesn’t. “You were offering me an adventure. It would have been dumb of me to say no.”

“Some people would think it would be dumb of you to say yes.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, shifting to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “But personally, I don’t give a shit about those people, so they can suck it.”

She laughs, before nodding. “I will take it.”

“Good.” He’s quiet, letting the sun rise and soaking in the moment with her, before swallowing hard as he glances back down. “I do have one question though.”

“What’s that?”

“How the hell are we getting down from here?”

She laughs, before looking up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Aaron does. He’s just not sure if that statement makes the prospect more or less terrifying.

Tony keeps watching the launch pad, waiting for her to come back.

Part of him knows it isn’t possible. Part of him knows that what Clint says is true. It was a soul for a soul. Even though he’s not sure he believes in the power or weight of a soul, he knows that energy needs to be spent in order for other energy to be created. Every rule of physics that he knows indicates as much.

You can’t get something from nothing. Something had to be spent so that something could be gained. He knows that.

He just disagrees with the fact that it had to be her. He keeps waiting for her to come back, sport some kind of charming quip or off-color joke, and then things would be back to normal again, but it never happens.

So he turns and buries himself in his work instead, still hoping, still waiting, and wanting to make sure that her sacrifice, impermanent as it is, doesn’t go to waste.

- - - - -

A punching bag flies off the chain in the middle of the gym, and onto the ground, sand spilling everywhere. On the opposite end of the room, Steve is standing, fist raised almost as though he though pushing the grief into something he could hit harder might combat the pit of despair he can already feel himself threatening to tumble into, and he knows that he can’t do that.

The job isn’t done yet. Thanos isn’t done yet. Thanos has taken everything from him, all of his friends, all of his confidantes. He’s left him with no moor to anchor himself on, and he can’t let that break him even more than he already has.

No matter what happens, he knows he needs to finish the job. Natasha would want him to finish the job. So no matter what, he needs to stay angry.

It wasn’t going to be easy to do, so until then he’s going to need more sand bags to hit.

- - - - - -

Bruce watches as Tony delicately maneuvers each piece of the glove into place, each Infinity Stone onto each finger, doing his best to design something that mimics the infinity gauntlet that Thanos wore. Bruce knows that he’s the only one with the potential durability to wield something that powerful. He remembers the way it debilitated Thanos all those years ago, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take if it means saving their friends.

He also knows how much power will be there, resting in the palm of his hands.

He knows that Barton said it was a sacrifice, that it was a necessary payment for the weapon that they needed, but Bruce is a scientist. He doesn’t need mystical reasoning. He knows that with the snap of his fingers, any wish is his command. He could remake the world in his image in a snap, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t. But he could.

As Tony makes the finishing touches, Bruce prepares to craft the wager in his mind, building the pieces of exactly how he’ll need to phrase the thought of what he wants, no matter how much pain he’s in, no matter how much the stones try and pull his focus.

I’m gonna bring you back, Nat. It’s the determination that’s all he needs, and he’s going to follow through. I’m gonna make this right.

- - - - - -

“Do you know if she believed in anything?”

Scott’s voice is merely an echo as he meanders around where Thor is sitting in the lounge, Rocket across from him, his small furry shoulders collapsed under the weight of it all. The raccoon perks up, curious at the question. “Whadaya mean?”

“Was she Christian? Jewish? I don’t know. I mean, I know there’s no body, but maybe we should give her some kind of ceremony.”

The conversation seems unimportant from where Thor’s standing, though part of him knows it is the most important. Unfortunately, in his haze of grief, it’s just one more loss in an ever growing strand of losses, and he doesn’t know how to draw up the distinct emotion that each one deserves.

“I don’t know, man,” Rocket replies, scrubbing his face with one hand. “She didn’t really talk about that shit, at least not to me.”

The two of them glance to Thor, and it takes him a moment realize that they are looking to him for an answer, for a choice to be made. As though he knew Natasha the best, when he knows that this isn’t a question for him.

Still, he does his best to answer it.

“My people always believed that those who died a warrior’s death would find their rest in the halls of Valhalla.” Usually his response to this would be more boisterous, more proud. Now, it just feels like another person taken too soon. “Natasha may not have died on Asgard, but she was a warrior through in through. She feasts tonight with those celebrated by the bravery of their death.”

The expression of faith still feels hollow, but at least it’s something. Perhaps, by the end of the battle, he’ll actually believe it.

- - - - - -

Clint knows that the right choice wasn’t made on that rock. He also knows that he should have known that no other choice would be made.

He settles back into his life in a post-Thanos world. The Bartons have always been isolated from the rest of the world, so they slip back into their roles almost seamlessly, holding together their life as they knew it, and Clint basks in it, because he knows Nat would accept nothing else.

He listens to his kids laugh, and his wife sing softly under her breath in the kitchen, and he knows that he’s been given an unjust reward against the crimes he’s committed. He’ll never not be grateful for this second chance, the second chance that he gave Natasha all those years ago, being paid back in full.

One day, he’ll get the chance to thank her for that.

Barry Allen wastes a lot of time disliking Eddie Thawne.

He knows it’s unfair – it’s not Eddie’s fault Barry blew his moment by winding up in a coma for nine months, and it’s not Eddie’s fault that Iris fell in love with him. He actually likes seeing Iris happy, and Eddie certainly makes her happy. But Eddie also happens to be the worst possible person that Iris could have fallen in love with because he’s so perfect.

He’s charming. He’s handsome. He’s funny. He’s in great shape. He’s confident. He’s everything that Barry’s always wanted to be, and he’s ripe to develop stereotypical douchebag behavior, but at the same time he’s not. He’s kind to everyone, even Barry, despite everything that Barry has ever said to him, and it really has a way of making Barry feel crappy. Though Eddie isn’t really doing that on purpose either.

Eddie Thawne is just a nice guy. A guy who could certainly be cruel if he wanted to be, but he doesn’t. Barry wishes half the time that he could just live up to his stereotype just so he could be justified by the weight of jealousy in his gut every time he sees him or sees him and Iris together, but he doesn’t.

At the same time, Eddie is also everything that Barry is not. He’s not a person that lets his past weigh him down like an anchor. He’s not a hero, he simply wants to be a man who does good – who serves justice, one way or another. He doesn’t have to hide who he is from Iris in order to be with her, he just has to be, and that might be the thing that Barry is jealous of most. To be known and loved that wholly and completely.

He knows he’s never going to have it – for their safety and his. But sometimes, it’s all he could ever dream of wanting.

- - - - - -

The shot rings out through the particle accelerator, and for the first time in so long, everything slows down.

Barry half expects to see the whole forming in Eobard’s chest, the blood to blossom and bloom the way it did when Eobard stabbed his mother, but one second drags after another and while something is happening to Eobard – something’s changed - he also knows that that’s not where the gunshot is. He doesn’t want to turn around at first – he doesn’t want to see what his mind already knows is the truth.

Eddie. Gun in his hand. Hole in his chest. It isn’t how the story was supposed to play out, but somehow it is, all at the same time.

“What’s happening?” he manages to sputter out, glancing between Thawne and Eddie’s body as he collapses into Joe’s arms. Barry’s brain listens as Cisco explains the paradox, explains how he’s being erased from existence, but all Barry can see is the man lying limp on the ground. The man resting in Iris’s arms telling her that all he’s ever wanted to do was be her hero.

This doesn’t seem fair, somehow. This doesn’t seem like the sacrifice that should be made, as the clock runs down. It shouldn’t be Eddie dying for a cause that wasn’t his, that he should have never been dragged into in the first place, but he was somehow always a part of.

Barry stays where he is, collapsed against the wall of the particle accelerator, watching as the man he wanted so much to destroy fades to dust, and he can’t even enjoy it.

“Barry?” Cisco asks, and he knows that despite the lack of words involved, he’s asking Barry what they should do. He’s asking Barry to be the leader he’s supposed to be, and right now, Barry doesn’t have any answers. All he can do is watch Iris mourn, watch everyone mourn a man who deserved far better than what he got.

He deserved to be normal, be ordinary, be happy. Instead, he’s lying on the floor of the pipeline, surrounded by broken glass and people who love him, and his entire life, his entire potential, was snuffed out in one fell swoop.

If Eddie Thawne, the perfect man, couldn’t manage to live a perfect life, what chance did the rest of them stand?

Edited 2019-10-10 22:41 (UTC)

The house is so quiet now.

It seems like something she should have considered, when she agreed to take on her sisters kids while she was out doing God knows what. She should have known, in the beginning, that it was always going to break her heart, but even with each tear that slides down her cheeks, she knows that she would make the same decision again.

Still, the house is quiet, the kids are gone, back with their mother where they theoretically belong. Her home is her own again, her life is her own again. No more play dates or school teams. No more helping with homework or making dinners with enough food for everyone. In the end, it’s just her. She can theoretically do whatever she wants.

All she’s going to do is worry, she knows this. All she’s going to do is wait for the day that her sister turns around, decides she “needs a break” from her responsibilities and brings them back for another six months. And worry about the day when it’s going to break her heart all over again. So until then, Veronica basks in the silence, soaks in the stillness, and tries not to consider how wrong it all feels.

That is, up until there’s a knock on her door and she finds herself jumping ten feet into the air.

She’s just barely composed herself, before the door swings open, and a rough looking, soaking wet man pokes his head around the door.

“Justin?”

“Hey, Ronnie. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to just invite myself over but I heard about the kids and I wanted to check in on you.”

“You … what?”

“And I know, I probably shouldn’t just come barging in but I still had my key, and it’s really raining cats and dogs out there, and while hanging out on the porch probably is what I deserve, I swear I come in peace.”

Veronica stares. She blinks. And then, almost as though on autopilot: “Would you like me to take your coat?”

Surprise colors his features, before he shrugs out of the coat. “Yeah. That would be great.”

She takes the coat from him, hangs it up in the bathroom where it won’t get water all over her hardwood floors, and then comes back to him with a smile. “Cup of coffee?”

“Love one.” A beat. “Ronnie, you alright?”

It’s a valid question for him to ask. Ever since they had separated over a year ago, Veronica had clearly defined her boundaries in terms of the house. He was to stay out of it. But for some reason, right now she doesn’t really feel like enforcing it. She’s simply glad not to be alone, even if it is her almost-ex-husband. The smile that crosses her face is a fragile one, not entirely matching the sadness in her eyes, but she nods all the same.

“I’m fine.” And with that she fixes the coffee.

As she does, there’s silence again. Justin hangs back across the counter from her, watching each measured and precise movement. Once the coffee is made, and a cup passes to him, the silence continues to stretch out, more and more, until she’s had enough and asks.

“Why are you really here, Justin?”

“I told you. I heard about the kids.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all.” He slowly makes his way around the counter, before shifting so that he’s leaning with his back pressed against it. “I know you didn’t always consider yourself the most maternal.”

“I think cold, repressed bitch were the words you used last time.”

“Those words were in the heat of the moment and not true,” he points out, before continuing. “But when I saw you guys, I saw how much you loved them. Losing them out of the blue like this has to be hard.”

“I’m just worried,” she admits softly. “Julia can’t just keep yo-yoing around with their lives like this, it’s not healthy.”

“I know. I agree.”

“I don’t know how to get them back.”

“I don’t know if you can.”

“But maybe I can get that feeling back?” She turns to look at him, almost as though she’s appraising him, and something in that makes him panic just a little.

“ … Can you?”

She looks back at him firmly. “Do you still want to have a family with me?”

“ … Ronnie, we separated for good reasons.”

“We did, but when it comes to adoption, we’ll look better if we’re still married versus me doing this all on my own.”

“Yes, but …”

“I’m not saying we have to stay married forever. But … I think as coparents, we might do pretty well?”

Justin takes a deep breath, before turning her to face him more. “You are upset. You are grieving. And right now, it doesn’t feel like you’re wanting this for the right reasons – it feels like you’re wanting this to be less sad.” She looks like she’s about to protest and he holds up a hand to let him finish. “But if you still feel this way … two months from now? If it’s not just something you’re trying to lean on to help you do this? I’ll fill out the paperwork with you myself.”

Veronica smiles, before nodding. “I think I can make that work.”

“Good.”

She gives his arm a squeeze. “You’re the best almost-ex-husband a girl could ask for, you know that?”

He grins back at her, before draping an arm around her shoulders in return. “I do try.”

This is the first time in a long time she’s been sober.

She doesn’t have a choice – being dead has a way of forcing you onto the teetotaler side of the scale whether you want to be or not. Being dead also draws a lot of things into a very sharp relief, a kind of sharpness she thinks would be present whether or not she had spent the last few years of her life in an alcoholic haze. Either way, the InBetween has her now, once and for all, just like it claims everything else, and all those ghosts that she’s been trying to drown out for years are going to be beating down her daughter’s door now.

It’s not fair, that her daughter is forced to bear this curse. It’s not fair that Cassie can’t just have a normal life, be a normal kid, and never have to deal with the dead again.

Blessing in disguise, her mother used to say. As her eyes roam around the bare walls of Tom and Brian’s apartment, she doesn’t understand it. The two men, her two best friends, sit there contemplating what they’re going to do with Cassie, if they can take her in, knowing all that they know, if they’re really the best home for her – all decisions that she, Cassie’s mother, should be making, she can’t help but scoff.

“Blessing in disguise, my ass.” The two men don’t acknowledge her presence. Being dead has it’s downsides that way. She strides closer before slamming her hands down on the table next to them. “You two better take damn good care of Cassie, or I will come back and haunt your asses myself.”

And they know she will. They don’t have to hear it to acknowledge it.

She leaves and drifts up to the room where her daughter sleeps, wrapped tight in Tom’s leather jacket. She shifts, letting herself lean against a doorway that she knows isn’t supporting her, and just watches Cassie sleep through clear eyes for the first time in a long time. Her daughter is beautiful, the best thing she ever did, and if anything is a blessing in disguise, it’s her. She just hopes that Cassie learns to handle the weight of their powers better than she did.

“You’re in for a world of pain, baby girl. And you’re not going to have me to help you.”

Mediums don’t get to linger, as much as they may like to. They know the damage all too well of having lingering with unfinished business, and she’s not going to do that do her daughter, as much as it may hurt Cassie in the long run. She makes her way closer, crouching down next to the side of the bed as she watches her face sleep, completely unaware that she’s there – at least for now.

“Remember that you’re stronger than they are. You can push them out if they get too rough. And don’t forget me.” She swallows hard. “Don’t forget that I’m what you don’t want to be.”

She gets to her feet, a warm light resting on the other side of the doorway that once led back to Tom and Brian’s living room, and smiles as she turns to go step through it.

“I love you, Cassie. We’ll see each other soon.”

Just hopefully not too soon.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

Caroline may be a little older than she was in high school, but the withering stare she bolsters has never changed. Alaric’s been on the receiving end of it more than once in their quarter century of co-parenting experience together, and he doubts the one in this moment is the last one he will ever receive, but it is one that makes him laugh in her over defensiveness of the situation.

The two of them were basking in the calm following the storm after Josie’s celebratory graduation lunch after receiving her master’s degree. The twins had just breezed out, off to celebrate with their friends in a party that was certainly no parents allowed, leaving Alaric and Caroline alone at their outdoor table, splitting a bottle of scotch – Caroline looking every bit as youthful as their children, while Alaric looks a bit grayer around the edges.

“I think I’ll take that as a yes.”

He passes a glass across the way to her and she takes it with a scowl, before leaning back in her seat with a huff. “I can’t believe our babies are old enough that they’re starting careers of their own and going off into the world and … don’t need me anymore.” She takes a healthy sip of her scotch before she continues. “You know, these parenting blues were supposed to skip me because of the whole vampire thing, and now I’m the one going through them first? How the hell is that fair?”

“Because the world is a funny, funny place.”

Caroline doesn’t heed his comment, instead she finishes the rest of her drink. “It’s not that funny.”

“I do think it’s a little funny that you’re complaining to me, of all people, about how all your romantic interests are dead.”

That comment seems to mellow her theatrics a little, and the look she offers him next is more apologetic. “I’m sorry. You’re right, that was unfair.”

“What are you so worried about, Caroline? It’s not like you’re actually getting any older.”

“But I am.” There’s a pause as she tries to figure out how to articulate the discomfort with all of this. “When I was seventeen the idea of living forever didn’t feel as … endless, you know? It was an adventure, and for a while Tyler and I were going to do it together. And then we weren’t anymore, and Klaus happened, and he promised me forever all over again, and that didn’t happen either –”

“Which was for good reasons.”

“It was. I don’t want to take that away from him either. And then I married Stefan for whatever our human ever after was going to be and that turned out to be all of a day.” Will Caroline ever be over that? Absolutely not. “I just … I had the girls to keep me going for a while, and finding a solution for the merger, but that was solved and they don’t need me anymore.”

“They’ll always need their mother, Caroline.”

“And eventually they’ll be gone too.” Which hurts to say, but it’s true. “The weight of forever is starting to feel a lot heavier these days. It didn’t used to.”

“Then it sounds like you just have to start your next chapter.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out. You’re not my student anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.”

Caroline looks over at him with a small smile, trying not to see the wrinkles around his eyes and focus on the young history teacher he used to be, and nods. “Guess I have to start turning my own pages, rather than waiting for them to be turned for me.”

“I have confidence that you will figure it out.” He finishes off his glass, before reaching for the bottle again. “And until then, you can just sit with me and feel old that we have two grown children with a lot of student debt and full lives ahead of them.”

She laughs, and at first she considers declining, but just as she’s about to get up and make her way onto the street, thunder cracks overhead and a sudden summer downpour fills the streets, the first of the season. There’s a small shriek as she feels herself starting to get wet, that turns into a laugh when she realizes there’s no stopping it.

“Maybe we should take this inside?”

Alaric laughs as well, before grabbing the bottle and climbing to his feet. “I couldn’t agree more.”

It’s safe to say that all of the Hargreeves children have a little arrested development in them.

It’s not their fault. They were forced to group up far too quickly, and therefore never really had the chance to be children the way they should have. They all can be a little childish, a little petty, and a little emotional for Reginald’s taste, and Five feels, for once in his life, that he doesn’t disagree with his father in that respect.

Then again, there’s arrested development, and then there’s Five’s situation, which is … something else entirely.

Being a grown man stuck in a twelve year-old’s body is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, his back feels better than it has in years, his body feels like it’s brand new again, with all the flexibility and regeneration that had always been a young man’s game. But he also lacks the muscle, the height and the goddamn common sense that he’s come to know in his older years.

Well, he has it. But it’s immediately overruled by a pile of teenage hormones that just won’t quit.

“I’m going to murder whoever invented puberty,” he mutters to himself, hunkering down with a cup of coffee to try and save off the hangover that just wouldn’t go away. He knows he shouldn’t be drinking, it makes his body chemistry even more unpredictable, but he’s been having a shitty few days, and he felt the need to indulge.

“I don’t think you can murder the concept of evolution,” Klaus sighs as he goes to sit at the counter across from him, opening up a box of cereal and digging out a handful without the common courtesy of using a bowl. “Not even with your fancy old man sniper skills.”

“I think if I thought about it long enough, I could figure it out.” He bitterly reaches for what’s left of the bottle of whiskey, intending to use a little hair of the dog to help balance himself out, but unfortunately for him, Klaus has longer arms and is faster, clucking his tongue lightly as he snatches it away from him.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking at this age. Will mess up all that crucial brain development going on in there. Trust me. I know.” Klaus then proceeds to unscrew the top and take a big swig, straight out of the bottle, which killed any further interest Five had in trying to lay claim to it. “You don’t want to turn out like me, do you?”

“I think I’d have to add a few other controlled substances to my regimen to turn out like you.” There’s another long sip of his coffee, sighing in contentment as the hot liquid rolls down his throat. This sensation is immediately contrasted by the feeling of a wet nose brushing against the back of his leg.

Five is suddenly ramrod straight, not wanting to look down, but at the same time wanting to confirm it is what he thinks it is. There’s a deep breath, before he looks down.

The dog is a mutt from what Five can tell, and when the canine creature meets his eyes his mouth lolls open in a giant doggy smile and Five doesn’t know whether he should be endeared or annoyed. “What is that?”

“That’s Diego.”

There’s a long silence as Five tries to parse his words carefully. “Not literally …”

“No, it’s not literally Diego. He hasn’t discovered a new ability to turn himself into a dog. And honestly, if you did, do you think he would be that happy as a canine?”

“Point.”

“Plus he would probably be more likely to turn into a fish. Kraken and all.”

“Klaus. Where did you get this dog?”

“I found him. I looked into his eyes and I knew we were soulmates.”

Five, still being new to the Klaus of it all, doesn’t know if he should take that seriously or not. For all he knows, his brother can talk to dogs now along with ghosts. “You didn’t steal him from someone, though?”

“Nope. Found him at the pound. I figured since old Reggie is dead now, he can’t enforce any more lame no pets rules.”

“And the shelter just … gave him to you.”

“Well, technically they think I’m Luther.”

“Of course they do. I’m going to the library.”

After a few hours of digging through his father’s old texts and still coming up with nothing, all while running out of coffee, he looks over to find Dog Diego standing at the foot of the coffee table in front of him. He’s just sitting there, waiting for attention, and Five doesn’t really want to give it to him. But there’s still a part of him, a really quiet part of him, that just wants to pet a good dog. After a few more moments of silence, he glances over to the dog with a scowl.

“If I let you sit next to me, will you promise not to drool on the books?”

Diego gives a small yip of agreement, and Five shifts over, letting him settle into the crook of the couch next to him. If he happens to give Diego some good scritches under the chin in the meantime, then that’s just bonus for the dog.

And if he happens to fall asleep on the couch with him later? He is immediately denying everything.

Edited 2019-09-21 00:12 (UTC)

The TARDIS is uncharacteristically silent as they fly away from the museum.

Usually Amy prefers to fill the lapse in time as they travel with endless chatter, almost as though she needs to fill the space, otherwise she might dwell too long on a nagging feeling of “missing” that’s been resting in the back of her mind since they left the not too distant future and that incident with the Silurians. Talking fills the void, fills the emptiness that she feels in those moments when she looks around the TARDIS, and for some reason is surprised to only find the Doctor there.

(The Doctor seems to Know, in these moments, to look at her as though he’s carrying some weighty secret from her and talking also fills the void, to prevent her from threatening to smack it out of him. She both Knows and she doesn’t, she Feels and she doesn’t, and whatever it is that’s been lost, she can’t help but trust if the Doctor could return it to her, he would.)

This time, idle chatter doesn’t seem appropriate. This time she wants to sit in the silence of what she’s lost. Never mind what she’s lost is something that was always lost, that it was never hers in the first place to lose. Vincent may have never been hers to save, but she’s trying to convince herself that the Doctor was right. That she managed to save him in small ways, added to that pile of good things, even if they couldn’t outweigh the bad.

She’s not sure why she felt that Vincent was hers to save in the first place. The flow of time would still march on, one way or another. He wouldn’t have lived to meet her, at any point in time. Yet she was so desperate for him to live, if for no other reason than to know that his end was a happier one than the one he was given. That by saving him, maybe in a way she was saving herself from her own sadness.

The Doctor is tinkering with something in the console room, and Amy wanders her way to the TARDIS door, taking a deep breath, before pushing it open to look on the swirling cosmos that waited behind it. She’s stood outside these doors before, but that moment was wrapped in the novelty of just floating in space. This time, she really wants to look.

The stars blink back at her, distant planets just waiting to be explored. She sees the swirls of space dust, twisting through the expanse creating beautiful bursts of color around the sparkle of the stars. She takes it all in, watching it fade from reality to impression in her mind, from stretches of nothing to delicate brush strokes and vibrant colors and a smile crosses her face.

“Thinking of something in particular?”

She glances back at the Doctor over her shoulder, before shrugging. “He really did see more of everything, didn’t he?”

The Doctor smiles as he leans against the opposite side of the door frame, and just taking in the stars as he so rarely gets to do, looking at them, rather than beyond them to their next destination. “Yes. Yes, he did.”

Brooklyn doesn’t feel like Brooklyn anymore.

He walks down the streets he used to know, some of which still have the same names, and he finds himself with nothing he recognizes, no landmarks to orient him, no buildings and fire escapes to tell him that he’s somewhere close to home. He stands at the heads of streets he used to know, picks out stores that seventy years ago were something else entirely. As his eyes roam over the faces as they pass him by, he tries to see if there’s something left here for him in all this unfamiliarity. In the end, he just finds himself in a bar that looks closest to what he would expect a bar to be and stumbles his way through ordering his first beer in 2012.

“New in town, huh?” the bartender teases as she pops the top off the bottle.

He laughs, before shrugging. “More like newly returned. I’ve been … out of town for a while.”

“Well, welcome back to Brooklyn.” Her smile is warm and friendly enough, but it still doesn’t feel like home. “And let me know if you need anything else, okay?” He gives her a nod, and she disappears down to the other end of the bar. Silence wraps over him again, and he wonders, briefly, if this is what it was like for everyone else after the war. After all, they had been serving longer than he had, and the war changed all of them in ways they’d never be able to escape. Those things linger for Steve too. Steve didn’t come out of the war completely unscarred either. It just took him a lot longer to find his way back.

Captain America was the driving force of the war. Captain America was an unstoppable force that had yet to meet an immovable object. Captain America, however, was eventually supposed to run out of road – when the war was over, and the day was saved, Steve Rogers was going to be allowed to step to the forefront again, put aside the war and battles and plotting that had consumed his life for the last three years.

Steve Rogers was going to go to the Stork Club, dance with his best girl, and take advantage of the values he fought so hard to protect – life, liberty, and the pursuit of some kind of happiness. After all, hadn’t he earned it? Hadn’t he paid enough of a price?

(There are still nights when he sees Bucky falling off that train, slipping through his fingers, there one moment, gone the next, and it’s the one thing he will never forgive Captain America for. For being too focused on the mission that it cost him his best friend.)

In the end, Steve Rogers never got to come home. Captain America met that immovable object, crashed into the Arctic, slept for so long, that when he finally finds himself back in Brooklyn, he doesn’t know whether or not it’s really his anymore. This bar was never his to begin with.

He barely touches the beer before he leaves but leaves a big tip as he sets off to wander again. He follows the street names to avoid getting lost, eventually winding up in front of the apartment building that he grew up in, refurbished and rejuvenated into something he wouldn’t recognize were it not for the fact that it’s sitting right on a view he saw every day of his life. He ambles forward, letting his elbows rest on the railing as he stares out towards the Brooklyn Bridge.

The world is a different place without a war to fight. At least, not an obvious one. He’s starting to be convinced that Fury is always fighting a war and will use whatever weapons at his disposal to keep fighting it, but Steve isn’t his weapon. Not yet. Captain America went into the ice seventy years ago and as far as everyone else is concerned, he never came back. Fury had extended an offer, something to keep him doing the thing he knows best, but right now, he isn’t sure if he should take it.

Steve knows what he’s really being offered is a chance to come home from the war. He’s being offered a second chance at Steve Rogers, a man without a war to fight, to never have to pick up that one-track focus of a mission again and have the life he was always supposed to have.

(A life he never would have, because he knows that peace wasn’t an option. Korea. Vietnam. Afghanistan, twice. The government would find a way to bring Captain America back again, and there would always be another mission to fight.)

He doesn’t have to be Fury’s weapon again. At the same time, if he doesn’t have Captain America, what does he have?

The next morning, he walks up to Fury’s office and stops just before he reaches the door. It’s his last chance, his last ditch effort to say goodbye for good, but instead he raises his hand, taking a deep breath and exhaling as he knocks:

“Here we go again.”

Edited 2020-09-12 19:40 (UTC)

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Page 1 of 4

fandom weekly { 2019 } entry tracking part 2

Part 1 | Part 3
Running Word Count: 74,544 words

#001 ~ strength means blessed with an enemy ~ the magicians (tv) ~ 826

#002 ~ and you, my love, are gone ~ the magicians (tv) ~ 175

#003 ~ i'm a man of wealth and taste ~ original ~ 1,000

#004 ~ i'm livin' for a day of reck'nin' ~ october day series ~ 999

#005 ~ just to beat the odds ~ original ~ 658

#006 ~ you're looking for a hero ~ dctv ~ 850

#007 ~ making time for love ~ original ~ 994

#008 ~ second chance you'll never get ~ teen wolf ~ 984

#009 ~ you'll always be the one that got away ~ paladinverse ~ 998

#010 ~ you're the one it's gotta be ~ psych ~ 747

#011 ~ i feel a change on the rise ~ original ~ 817

#012 ~ you're faking a smile with the coffee to go ~ leverage ~ 553

#013 ~ nothing but blue skies ~ marvel cinematic universe ~ 577

#014 ~ i should have been away ~ white collar ~ 999

#015 ~ i was left to my own devices ~ supernatural ~ 600

#016 ~ all i wanted was to break your walls ~ xmcu/doom patrol ~ 914

#017 ~ you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known ~ paladinverse ~ 826

#018 ~ oh, do they think they could bury you? ~ marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,000

#019 ~ they're only flying too close to the sun ~ dctv ~ 720

#020 ~ here's where i end and begin ~ original ~ 927

#021 ~ my silence is my self-defense ~ the inbetween ~ 558

#022 ~ i'm getting older too ~ tvdverse ~ 762

#023 ~ no time to think of consequences ~ the umbrella academy ~ 903

#024 ~ paint your palette blue and gray ~ whoniverse ~ 539

#025 ~ waking up from a dream ~ mcu ~ 857

fandom weekly { 2019 } entry tracking part 2

Part 1 | Part 3Running Word Count: 74,544 words

#001 ~ strength means blessed with an enemy ~ the magicians (tv) ~ 826

#002 ~ and you, my love, are gone ~ the magicians (tv) ~ 175

#003 ~ i'm a man of wealth and taste ~ original ~ 1,000

#004 ~ i'm livin' for a day of reck'nin' ~ october day series ~ 999

#005 ~ just to beat the odds ~ original ~ 658

#006 ~ you're looking for a hero ~ dctv ~ 850

#007 ~ making time for love ~ original ~ 994

#008 ~ second chance you'll never get ~ teen wolf ~ 984

#009 ~ you'll always be the one that got away ~ paladinverse ~ 998

#010 ~ you're the one it's gotta be ~ psych ~ 747

#011 ~ i feel a change on the rise ~ original ~ 817

#012 ~ you're faking a smile with the coffee to go ~ leverage ~ 553

#013 ~ nothing but blue skies ~ marvel cinematic universe ~ 577

#014 ~ i should have been away ~ white collar ~ 999

#015 ~ i was left to my own devices ~ supernatural ~ 600

#016 ~ all i wanted was to break your walls ~ xmcu/doom patrol ~ 914

#017 ~ you were the most exciting thing i'd ever known ~ paladinverse ~ 826

#018 ~ oh, do they think they could bury you? ~ marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,000

#019 ~ they're only flying too close to the sun ~ dctv ~ 720

#020 ~ here's where i end and begin ~ original ~ 927

#021 ~ my silence is my self-defense ~ the inbetween ~ 558

#022 ~ i'm getting older too ~ tvdverse ~ 762

#023 ~ no time to think of consequences ~ the umbrella academy ~ 903

#024 ~ paint your palette blue and gray ~ whoniverse ~ 539

#025 ~ waking up from a dream ~ mcu ~ 857

Part 1 | Part 3
Running Word Count: 74,544 words