The Uruk Hai had captured the young hobbits, and they had been carried for days now. Eventually they stopped near the edge of an ancient forest, tossing Dahlia to the ground along with Merry and Pippin.
The orcs loom over them, curious and rough. One of them grabs Dahlia by the arm, tangling their gross fingers in her strawberry blonde curls. She cries out, struggling against them as much as she can while bound. They draw close to her face, and smell her hair deeply.
"Look at this, lads! This small one has gold for hair!! Smells nice too!"
"Let go of me!! You disgusting brute!!!"
She tries to kick at the one holding her, but it doesn't bother them. They just laugh. Merry and Pippin are yelling at them from where they are held, but they can't do anything.
One of the other creatures holds up locks of her hair, which pulls painfully causing her to yelp.
"Awww!! Look how the halfling shrieks!! Such shiny strands, how about I take some!?"
That orc takes a jagged blade and cuts off a chunk of her hair, waving it around gleefully. This causes a frenzy among the Uruks, and they descend upon Dahlia hacking away her long beautiful hair. The only mercy is that the leader of the Uruk Hai steps in, and scares them off saying that "the halflings must be alive and unspoilt for Saruman". He drags her over to where Pippin and Merry have been fighting to try and get to her, tossing her at their feet.
She curls into herself on the ground, shielding her face and head with her arms. Sobbing as her friends crawl over to her, gently trying to comfort her and make sure she's not hurt.
She flinches away at first, before they reassure her.
"Hey...hey, its just us, Dolly. Oh stars, are you alright...? Its me, your Pip, and Merry is here too."
Still shaking, she lowers her arms and looks up at them with tears filled eyes. Her hair is nearly gone, so short, shorn almost to her scalp in places. Her voice warbles, before she moves into their embrace and buries her face in Pippin's chest.
"Pip...? I...it was horrible...it hurt...do I even have any hair left?! I was so scared...they were like ravenous beasts...monsters..."
They just hold her as she sobs, trembling like a leaf as they lay there. The three just hold each other, taking comfort in the fact that they're still together.
Eventually, she calms down a bit, she pulls back and looks up at them both. She reaches up to touch her hair, feeling how short it is she blinks back more tears.
Clearing her throat she glances at them expectantly, insecurity clear on her face despite the smile plastered on.
"So...? How bad is it? It feels like there's nothing left...I must look so ugly."
They both shake their heads vehemently, and stumble over each other to argue even the idea of her being ugly. After they quiet down, Pippin reaches up to cup her face in his hands. His words sincere and careful as he speaks.
"Doll...you are not ugly, I promise. Its...shorter than you'd like, but it's not bad. Also, it'll grow back, even prettier than before, okay?
He brushes a rogue uneven lock of hair out of her face, and his eyes widen as he sees blood on his thumb. Looks like those bastards cut her cheek in their brutal chopping.
He dabs at the cut with part of his sleeve, and tries to think of some way to cheer her up even in this horrific situation.
"Looks like they nicked you a little, but you're still the same Dolly even with your hair like this. It'll come back, and hey, remember that time when we were kids that I accidentally got taffy in your hair? And Sam ended up having to cut your hair short...think of it like that..."
~~~~~🍬~~~~~
Chapter 2 ~ A Sticky Situation
It was the day after Samhain many years ago, and the three young hobbits were eating the last of their treats.
At some point while playing around, Pippin was trying to see if his taffy would stick to Dahlia if he threw it.
Unfortunately, she had turned, and now had the gooey taffy stuck in her hair.
"Uh oh...um, Dolly? You...um...I accidentally...you have taffy in your hair..."
She had tried to get it out of her hair, but it got tangled in her fair curls. After panicking and trying to wash it out with Pippin and Merry's help, it was all to no avail.
Eventually, they had to walk over to Bag End and tell Sam about the situation. He tries all sorts of things to try and get it out, but by the end little Dahlia is already crying. So, he breaks the news that he'll have to cut it, which sends her into a fit again.
But he gently cuts her long, soft curls, keeping as much length as he can. She pouts when she sees it, until Sam puts it in two little pigtails with bows. Somehow that was enough to console her, and it did eventually grow back.
And so now, sitting in the dirt in the dark surrounded by evil monsters...she knows it'll all be okay. Even if her hair is gone, so long as she has her friends beside her they can face anything.
~~~~~🌟~~~~~
Chapter 3 ~ My Only Hope
As they are allowed rest for a short while before the Uruks continue the journey to Isengard, the three curl up next to each other.
She can hear Merry snoring, but she whispers to Pippin hoping he's still awake.
"...Pippin? Hey, Pip...? Are you asleep yet...?"
Its silent for a moment, so she figures he must have passed out already. She curls up a little closer to him, trying to unsuccessfully fall asleep too. But then she hears a groggy mumble, and he rolls over to face her.
"I'm awake, Doll. What's wrong...?"
"I...I can't sleep, I keep thinking they'll eat us while we rest. I just...I know we came to help Frodo on this quest. But...now the rest of us are who knows where, and Gandalf is dead, and Boromir is dead because of us-!"
She trails off, wiping away tears that have shown up yet again. It all feels so hopeless, and she doesn't even know if her brother is alive. Let alone where he is...and she's scared like the both of them are.
"I wanna go home, Pip...and I want Sam back...but...do you think we'll ever see the Shire again?"
Her voice breaks, and she hides her face in the crook of his neck. Its something thats been on all of their minds, things are growing more deadly...and the chances of going home seem slimmer by the day.
He sighs softly, hugging her as best he can with his hands bound. He doesn't want to lie to her, so he says what he can.
"I...I don't know...but I hope so. I think that's all we can do for now, keep hoping, keep living, keep each other safe as we can. I mean, since these orcs think we have the Ring, they won't kill us. So...that's a good thing, right? It tricks the enemy into putting its focus on Frodo, so...um...maybe we are helping him in our little ways."
"Yeah...like Bilbo used to say, 'Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you see it, you'll never make it through the night.' We just gotta keep hoping beyond hope..."
She nods quoting the older hobbit, sniffling a little, but she relaxes in his arms. Its not much, but its all the reassurance they have. That and bleak hope, hope that the others will find them or that some other miracle will appear on the dark horizon. And with that small peace, they both drift off for a few hours.
Maybe, just maybe, they'll be alright. Perhaps they'll even see the ones they love again, but for now, they have each other. And that's enough...
Author's Note: Another little story with my OC Dahlia Gamgee, I'm no writer I just like coming up with scenarios for my little blorbos.
~~~~~🌸~~~~🌿~~~~🏵~~~~~
~~A Night at the Green Dragon~~
Chapter 1 ~ Take A Break
Sitting with her knees in the dirt, Dahlia Gamgee is planting daffodil bulbs in the flower bed in front of Bag End. She's been at it for a while, with her brother Samwise working further along the fence planting tulips.
She covers the last bulb with soil and stands up finally, she twists her torso around to stretch. Gardening is hard work, but the results are worth it. You either get beautiful flowers, or delicious fruits and vegetables.
She pulls off her gloves, tucking them into her belt. Then she wipes the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand, squinting a little as her straw hat slips off her head and the sun glares down at her.
She reaches down to pick up her hat, which Sam had insisted she wear since the sun was hot for a spring day. Her freckled cheeks already bore traces of being sunburnt from going swimming in the brook with Merry and Pippin the day before.
Hearing a distant commotion down Bagshot Row, she glances up only for her eyes to behold none other than Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck. They walk up the path to Bag End, stopping short when they see her. Twin mischievous grins appear on their faces, as they come to stand before her.
Merry speaks up first, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
"Well well, what is this? Another flower in Bilbo's garden? Oh wait, it's just our Dolly, almost didn't realize with the dirt all over you."
"That's right, Merry, she fits right in among the flora. Though she is a bit wilted, seems like she could use a break..." Dahlia scoffs at them, as Pippin feeds into Merry's goading.
"If you two don't mind, I'm trying to finish my work. As much as I'm happy to see you, I still have things to get done. Are you here to see Frodo? I think he's in the back garden with Sam, if you need to speak with him."
She takes her watering can to the well, and fills it up. She then begins watering the freshly planted daffodils, speaking to them over her shoulder.
In truth, she is exhausted and has been working out here with Sam since dawn. It seems that Pippin and Merry can tell, so they hatch a plan.
Pippin does a cartwheel in front of her as a distraction, while Merry grabs the watering can from her grasp. Merry laughs, and holds it high above her head so she can't get it back.
"Aha! We were here to invite Frodo to come to the Green Dragon with us, but it seems as if you are in need of our assistance first!"
"Hey! Give that back! I still need to water the Daffodils so they can take root!! Merry-" She protests as she stands on her tiptoes, jumping to try and reach the can to no avail. Merry just holds it higher, and shakes his head.
"Oh no, not happening! You are going inside to sit down and get some water, while I finish watering them for you. How does that sound?"
Dahlia crosses her arms, glaring up at Merry with a slight pout. Then letting out a defeated sigh, she relents, turning on her heel to storm into Bag End. She knows she isn't winning this argument, Merry is just as stubborn as she is. Pippin scrambles to follow and open the door for her, a triumphant grin on his face.
"After you, Dolly! I'm sure you won't feel like such a grump after you've had some sustenance and rest."
She rolls her eyes, resisting the urge to smile at her friends' persistent efforts to take care of her.
She does have a tendency to overdo things, and neglect her own needs at times.
They head from the foyer towards the kitchen, where pleasant conversation echoes down the hall as they approach.
Entering the kitchen they see Frodo and Samwise chatting over some lemonade and shortbread cookies.
Pippin practically pushes Dahlia into a chair, and pours a glass of lemonade for her. Sam and Frodo glance over at them with amusement, meanwhile Dahlia feels a mix of embarrassment and appreciation.
"Well, hello to you too...nice of you to show up unannounced, Pippin. I see you've dragged Dahlia out of the garden kicking and screaming. To what do I owe the visit?"
Frodo chuckles as he addresses his younger cousin (once removed), and he slides over the tray of cookies.
Pippin eagerly grabs a couple, while Dahlia takes a bite of one begrudgingly.
"Somebody took my watering can, and then this bumbling buffoon insisted that we get a snack."
She grumbles around the bite of cookie, side eyeing Pippin with withering stare.
"Excuse me?? Bumbling buffoon?! I was helping you take a break for once, you're always working too hard!" Pippin protests with his mouth full, pointing his finger at her accusingly. Both Frodo and Sam try not to laugh at their bickering, exchanging a knowing look.
After some back and forth, the two younger Hobbits begin to get along again. Dahlia can't stay mad at Pippin for long, and pretty soon they are laughing at some stupid tale that he tells her.
"And then, Fatty Bolger went to flirt with Penelope Bracegirdle, but he fell on his arse from the spilled ale all over the floor! I'm telling you, his face went redder than Farmer Maggot's prized apples!!"
However, Sam has heard this story many times, and is getting tired of Pippin going on about it.
"Alright, alright! Enough about that. Did you have a purpose for visiting, or were you galavanting about like usual?"
At that moment, Merry enters the kitchen setting the watering can on the tablecloth (much to Frodo's dismay). He looks at Pippin incredulously, and smacks his forehead.
"You didn't deliver the message of actually inviting them all to the Green Dragon tonight, Pip? I really do carry all the brains of this operation...
Anyhow, me and Pippin were gonna head to Bywater for a night of fun at the tavern. Did you folks want to join us?"
"No, I think we'll head home soon enou--"
"Yes!! We would love to go! It sounds like a grand old time!!"
Dahlia interrupts Samwise, and they turn to each other in a contest of wills. Sam tries to hold a firm line about going home, but Dahlia knows how to break him. After giving her most pitiful sad puppy eyes, Sam throws up his hands in surrender.
"Fine, we would love to come along..."
Dahlia whoops for joy, and jumps up from the table to go freshen up in the washroom. Frodo pats Sam's shoulder in consolation, while Merry and Pippin dance around the kitchen in the background singing an obnoxious drinking song.
~~~~~🍻~~~~~
Chapter 2 ~ Drink 'Em By The Flagon
Its a busy night when the group arrives at the Green Dragon Inn, many Hobbits bustling around drinking and eating their fill.
Merry and Pippin immediately head to the bar, Dahlia goes to follow them but abruptly stops as Sam grabs her shoulder.
"Easy now, Dahlia. Just take it slow, you know you can't outdrink those two. I don't wanna have you stumbling around, and me having to end up carrying you home because you're a lightweight."
She sighs dramatically, and nods along to his warning. Before taking off after her friends, and the older two find a table somewhere quieter.
"I'll take three mugs of ale, please! Whatever kind they're having!"
She orders, stepping up to the bar with Merry and Pippin who already have their first drinks of the night.
She also gets a tray of bread, cheese, and fried potatoes, just in case they need a snack.
They all head over to a table that Frodo and Sam have settled at to avoid the chaos.
They sit down and have a lovely time laughing, talking, and drinking together. After a while, Dahlia had finished one and a half ales, and she jumps up when the music starts playing.
"Oh! Pippin, Merry! We should go dance!! Come on!!"
She grabs them both by the arms, and drags them away from the table towards where others are dancing.
The three of them weave through the crowd, dancing along to the lively band playing. Normally Dahlia wouldn't go for this sort of thing, but after a few drinks she has the confidence to let loose.
They dance until they get tired enough to need another drink, so Dahlia offers to go get another round for the table.
However, when she approaches the bar, a Hobbit lad a bit older than her walks up.
She tries to get the bartender's attention, but the Green Dragon is a busy spot tonight.
So she doesn't notice the guy until he is right next to her, she jumps when he places a hand on her waist.
She looks up at him confused and uncomfortable, and tries to move away. He just tightens his grip, smirking with an unpleasant gleam in his eyes.
"What's a sweet little thing like yourself doing here all by your lonesome?" His breath reeks of pipeweed and spirits, and he looms a bit too close. "I saw you dancing earlier, and I just wondered if you moved so vigorously in more...intimate settings..."
She is beyond disgusted, and tries to shove him away. But his hands only slip further around her, and she glances around for help. He tilts her chin up, and she yanks her head back.
"Don't touch me!! Let go you sleazy wanker!"
She kicks him hard in the shin, and then bites the hand near her face.
"Ow!!! Bloody hell!! You little bitch, you feckin' bit me!!"
But Dahlia doesn't stick around to hear anymore, she bolts away as soon as he lets go.
She weaves frantically through the crowd, trying to get back to the table where the others are at.
When she reaches the table the others were mid conversation, but their expressions become concerned when they see her.
"Dolly, what took you so long...oh hell, are you alri-" Pippin begins to say, but she just rushes over to sit on the seat next to her brother.
She's trembling faintly, stammering through her words.
"Sam! Help!! I was getting our d-drinks, but there...there was a man. He g-grabbed me, and he w-wouldn't let go..."
She shrinks into her brother's side, as he wraps his arms around her and fusses over her.
"A man?! Who was he?? Are you okay?! I swear if he touched you I'll..."
Unfortunately, as they all try to console her, the intoxicated creep comes storming over. He's limping a little, and his hand is bleeding. He looks furious, and starts yelling in a belligerent manner.
"There you are!! You rotten wench, you're gonna pay for that!"
Merry and Pippin immediately stand up and get between him and where Sam is holding Dahlia.
Frodo sits on her other side, to make sure she's doubly safe.
All four fellows are incredibly protective of Dahlia, especially since this blithering bastard upset her.
Merry speaks up, his arms crossed and a deathly glare aimed at the inebriated twat.
"Stay back!! Or we'll knock you flat on your arse, you sniveling weasel!
You dared to harass our dear friend, you'll be the one paying tonight."
"Oi! Sod off!! This is between me and her! She bit me!! That mewling cu-"
"Don't feckin' call her that!! Bastard!!"
He gets cut off when Pippin punches him in the face, knocking him back into another table. When he rights himself, his nose and mouth are dripping blood.
He looks even angrier, but now its directed at the two lads standing in his way.
But before he can do anything else, Merry grabs his collar and shoves him back.
"Don't move if you know what's good for you...wait, I know who you are...
You're Ted Sandyman, the miller's disgrace of a son.
You had better shut your gob for good, and if you ever bother this lass or any for that matter...
You'll get a lot worse than a bloody nose and wounded pride..."
Merry and Pippin kindly show Ted the door, throwing him out ass over tea kettle. Then they return to the table to check on Dahlia, she's still curled up in Sam's arms but she seems less distressed.
"Hey...he's gone now, you don't need to worry about him anymore, alright? Are you okay? Because if you're not we'll go find him and give him even worse than he got."
"I'm alright...he just scared me...
Thank you for standing up to him, he was the worst..."
Her voice is quiet, still a little shaky after everything. They sit down across from her, still looking at her worriedly.
Frodo stands up, a grave look on his face. For such a kind and reserved man, he can be fierce when needed.
"I'm going to inform the barkeep of what happened, and tell them to watch out for that Ted Sandyman.
Also, I'll fetch you a drink, Dahlia. You probably need it after all that..."
~~~~~🌟~~~~~
Chapter 3 ~
After a few more drinks, the group heads home.
Samwise stays close still, keeping an eye both on his little sister and their surroundings. He's worried, they all are, tonight shook her real bad. She trudges along the path alongside them, but her gaze is fixed forward, her expression blank.
So, Pippin sidles over to her, gently bumping his shoulder against hers. This causes her to stiffen for a moment as she glances over at him, but then she relaxes seeing its him.
He begins rather awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands.
"Hey...so...? How are you doing...? I'm sure I would have been scared out my mind in your place, so you aren't weak or something dumb like that for being upset." He turns towards her a little, his tone uncharacteristically sincere and serious for once in his life.
"I don't know...just...you can talk about it if you want? Or if you want me to blabber on about nothing I can do that too! Whatever helps..."
She is silent for a moment, barely seeming to take in his words.
But then she reaches out to grab his arm, linking her own in the crook of his. She leans into his side, her words barely more than a whisper.
"...Could you...could you sing something for me, Pip? I don't care what...just...some melody to fill the silence."
His eyes widen at the request, but he nods and ponders what song to sing. Why not one of Bilbo's old songs, a walking song to pass the time? He starts softly,
"Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed..."
The others join in casually, also quite familiar with the song. Until even Dahlia mumbles the words with them, such a subdued sound from usual. But its good to hear her voice again, not sounding afraid or frantic. Eventually, they end up at Bag End to drop off Frodo. Then as they reach Number 3 Bagshot Row, Merry and Pippin take their leave.
"Goodnight, Dolly. Take care of yourself, or we'll have to barge in again and make you."
Dahlia hugs them both, but lingers when hugging Pippin. She whispers in his ear, so softly that he nearly misses it.
"Goodnight, Pip. Thank you for punching that arsehole for me...and thank you for the song...it means everything."
She squeezes him tight, and then steps inside with a wave. Sam wishes them farewell, but Pippin stands there a moment even once the door is closed. Merry waves a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.
"Oi! Earth to Pippin? You alright mate?"
Pippin snaps to the present, and shakes his head a little. His heart is pounding even now, his head rushing with affection and protectiveness over Dahlia.
"Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, I'm good.
I just...I didn't realize just how much I...anyway, we should probably get home."
Merry raises a brow, but follows after him down the road. He has an inkling of whats going on, but he'll save the teasing of his friend for another day.
Author's Note: This is my first real fanfic, and I haven't written anything in years. Shameless OC fanfic, just wanted to post it for me.
~~~~~💐Dahlia Gamgee🌾~~~~~
Chapter 1 ~ Not So Early Bird
Dahlia awakened to the bright rays of the sun on her freckled face, which felt pleasantly unfamiliar.
Squinting as she sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes, she brushes strawberry blonde curls out of her face. She stretches her arms above her head, yawning in contentment.
But she pauses mid action, glancing out the window to the garden.
Its...light out. In fact it appears to be... nearly 9 in the morning.
Bollocks! She was supposed to wake up early and help Sam tend to the Tookborough garden.
Dahlia leaps out of her bed, and starts pulling on her work clothes. A simple light green blouse is tugged over her head, and she steps into her patched brown skirt.
She grabs her gloves, shoving her gardening tools into her apron. Tying the unruly curls out of the way with a handkerchief, she bolts out the round front door.
By the time she arrives at Tuckborough, she is out of breath and sweating as she skids to a stop in front of her brother.
Samwise glances up at her with a faintly amused (and slightly annoyed) look, from where he is currently kneeling in the neat flowerbed. He stopped in the middle of pulling a weed, and brushed the dirt from his hands.
It seems he has already made a lot of progress in the hours she slept in, and she feels guilt burning in her chest.
"Look who finally decided to show," Sam wipes sweat from his brow, and stands up. "I think you can take over for a bit, and let the early bird cool off indoors."
He walks past her, but playfully nudges her towards the flower bed.
"Have fun with the rest of the weeds, but don't worry, I won't tell Gaffer you snuck in last night."
She just stands there watching over her shoulder as he walks into the hobbit hole. So Sam knew that she had stayed out way too late with Merry and Pippin last night...great.
That must be why he didn't drag her out of bed at dawn, even though they both were supposed to work on the Took's garden.
Dahlia gets to work, weeding the flower bed with careful hands. By the time she finishes the last flower bed, the noon sun is high in the sky.
She stands to look over the freshly watered soil, tired but proud of a job well done.
Until...
"Dolly!! There's my favorite little gardener-" Dahlia yelps as she is tackled by one Peregrin Took, and they both tumble to the ground.
They wrestle a little, until she pins him down as they both laugh heartily.
He always does that, and now they are both covered in dirt and grass stains. They both breathe heavily, as the laughing fades away. As she looks down at him with a grin, her strawberry blonde curls hang over her shoulders.
"Oh...you've got a little-" He reaches up, and brushes away a smudge of dirt on her cheek with his thumb.
Her eyes widen and her breath catches, a rush of warmth floods her face as she scrambles off of him. She laughs awkwardly, and reaches out her hand to help him up.
They dust themselves off a little, and she hopes he assumes her red face is from the warm afternoon sun. She doesn't want to think about why such a simple touch made her heart leap, its just Pippin.
They are just friends. The best of friends, her, Pippin, and Merry. So what is this feeling she has for Pippin, so sudden and new. She has been pushing it down for a while now, not wanting to ruin things as they are.
She forces a laugh, and elbows his side with a wry smirk. Keep things normal, forget the awkward moment. Jest and tease, just two pals like usual.
Any tension eases, as he clutches his ribs with a dramatic gasp. Classic Pippin.
"Ow!! You wound me!! I'll never recover...tell Merry he can have the last of my pipeweed. Tell my mother that i-" He begins to rattle off a will as if he's on his last breath, until Dahlia throws a clod of dirt at him.
Which stops him, as he clutches his chest in offense, before breaking character and they both bust out laughing.
Then his mother shouts out of the parlor window, her shrill voice carrying to the garden.
"Peregrin Took!! Don't forget to give out your invitations for the Thain's Annual Garden Party!!" Pippin winces at her words, scratching the back of his neck as he steps from one foot to the other. "Also you'll need to bring a plus one this year, since you are almost of age!! And young Master Meriadoc doesn't count, it needs to be a nice lass from a respectable family!!"
Then the window closes, and the two are left in silence. Pippin sighs, and kicks a pebble across the garden path.
Dahlia cuts the tension, trying to cheer him up.
"So...I guess the garden party is coming up...Its the envy of all the Shire, and I'm sure this year will be as grand as the last." She smiles brightly, placing her hand on his shoulder lightly. The idea excites her almost as much as it bores him, he shrugs in disinterest.
"So what? Its just another stuffy party with fancy, pompous people who gossip about the silliest things. And now I have to pick a prissy girl to take to a garden party and pretend I care about my reputation and grandstanding."
Her faces falls a little, and she nods at his response. She knows he's right, but her humble Gamgee heart would love to even be invited to such an event.
Even if it is just silly rich people chatting and drinking in the immaculate garden her and her brother grew for them.
"Ah, I see. I suppose it will be rather drab, I guess it all just seems so lovely when you haven't been to such an event," Dahlia nods, looking down at her feet and smoothing her apron. "Sorry, I know you hate the company of the Shire's social elite....all those rules."
"Don't be sorry, its just part of being the Thain's son. I'm sure I'll find some mischief to get up to, even without Merry."
Pippin waves off her concern, a sly smile working back onto his face.
But noticing her expression, he raises a brow.
"What's got you all dreary, Dolly? I don't understand why you get excited about these parties...you don't even like small talk. So...why the long face...?"
She looks away sheepishly, twirling her hair around her finger. A hint of embarrassment crosses her face, as her voice grows quiet. Yet her warm brown eyes still glow with excitement as she describes it.
"I just...they always seem so...fancy and beautiful. And the garden always looks so lovely, with all those little lanterns and decorations. Not to mention how everyone gets to dress up, and the ladies always look so pretty..."
Her voice grows wistful, as if the thing he is dreading is something she's always wished for.
It shows things in a new light, and he gets an idea.
"...what? You've got that look on your face, you aren't planning another prank to ruin your mother's garden party, right?" Dahlia's brows furrow seeing his contemplative expression, she knows that scheming look...it means trouble.
"I don't know what you could possibly be implying, I was simply wondering what pretentious hobbit lass I'll have to invite.
But...maybe I don't have to..."
Pippin idles closer to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She narrows her eyes, but she is intrigued.
"And how is that? Your mother seemed pretty clear that it had to be a girl from a well-to-do family..."
But Pippin waggles his finger, as if to say she's wrong. "Ah, but that, my dear Dolly, is where you're wrong...
And where this might be the best garden party my family has thrown...
My mother said to bring a 'nice lass from a respectable family'. And...I happen to have one such lass right here."
Dahlia looks at him incredulously, slightly confused about what he's implying. "What lass do you have that I'm not aware of...? You've never courted anyone seriously before...you just flirt with tavern maids from the Green Dragon."
"Oh please...you're exaggerating...
But the lass I'm referring to is you, silly! If I invited you it would solve both of our problems! I wouldn't be bored with some girl I don't know, and you would finally get to attend a garden party! Its foolproof!"
She stands there for a minute processing his plan, uncertainty and disbelief clear on her face.
"You...you would want to invite me to one of your parent's fancy parties? But I'm just...me. The Gamgees are hardly of proper stock compared to the Tooks, Brandybucks, and Bagginses..."
"Just you?? You say that like it makes you unworthy to go with me, which is total bullshite. Please say you'll comes with me, Dolly, be my plus one? It'll be a grand old time..."
Pippin trails off, pulling out the big guns by using his sad puppy eyes routine.
It doesn't take long for her to cave, even as she seems unsure of if she belongs at such an event.
She ponders the idea, it would be a great opportunity...and she's always wanted to go to the Thain's Annual Garden Party...ever since she was a wee lass. With a relenting sigh, she nods and smiles softly at him.
"Alright, I'll go with you to the party! But...there's one tiny problem...
Aside from me not being aristocracy."
Pippin immediately grins and takes her hands in his to spin them both around. But then he pauses at her quiet addition, unsure of what the problem could be.
"Problem? What problem? And you're as fine a lass as any I've met, not to mention one of my dearest friends. You'll fit right in."
"Well...i..." She looks down at her dirty feet, wringing her skirt in her hands once their hands slipped apart.
She seems...almost ashamed, worrying her lip between her teeth. So he reaches out, and tilts her chin up so he can see her face.
She continues, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't think I have fancy enough clothes for a party like that, Pip."
Pippin's eyes widen, and then he lets out a laugh. She was so worried about a little thing like a dress...
"Don't worry about that, Dolly, I'm sure we can find you something to wear so you'll fit in with all the snobby folks there!"
~~~~~🌷~~~~~
Chapter 2 ~ It's My Party
Its a week later, and after spending much time helping Sam make the Tuckborough garden look perfect, now she can focus on getting ready herself.
She rifles through her closet, standing in her bloomers and the only corset she has.
None of her dresses feel pretty enough for such an event, but she eventually settles on one of her mother's old dresses. She was given them when her and Sam's mother passed.
Its a lovely coral red color, with some delicate lace around the neckline and sleeves. She tries it on, and while its a little bit snug on her it actually looks beautiful. She does a little twirl in front of the mirror, the skirt flaring out with flourish. Yes, this is the one.
She styles her hair into a half up look, and adds a bit of rouge to her lips and cheeks. That looks good enough for her, and she hopes its good enough for Shire high society...
She steps into the foyer, where Sam is waiting to send her off. When he notices her, his expression softens and he almost gets a little choked up.
He hugs her, and stands back with pride in his eyes. "Well, look at that...
My wee baby sister looks all grown up, and you've become just as beautiful as mother was. My heart can't take it!" He smiles fondly at her, seeing the one who used to climb trees and play in muddy creeks all dressed up like this... "But have fun, and don't let Pippin convince you to drink too much again...I don't wanna have to carry you home like last time."
There's a knock at the door, and Sam clears his throat before answering it.
He opens the door to reveal a surprisingly put together Pippin, who he fixes with a stern look.
"Seems like your escort has arrived...but listen here, Took, you better look after Dahlia at this fancy party of yours. Got it? Or I'll shove my trowel so far up your-"
Dahlia laughs and steps outside to take Pippin's arm and link it with hers. While Pippin is nodding sincerely, and taking the threat of her older brother's wrath seriously.
But once the door has closed and they begin the trek to Tuckborough, Pippin finally looks at her.
He sheepishly tries to compliment her, this dynamic one that both of them are unused to.
"Wow...you look lovely, Dolly...
No, quite beautiful. Um...you know what I mean, you look great, and you'll knock the socks off the other hobbit folks there."
She laughs nervously, smoothing out the dress once more and checking her hair. Her face feels warm, but she hopes it doesn't show.
She looks over at his fancier than usual clothing, and brushes aside a stray curl from his face.
"Thanks, Pip. I know what you meant. You look dashing as well, like a proper gentleman.
I can't wait! But I'm also super nervous, I've never dressed up like this before!"
"Thats sweet of you, Dolly. You've got nothing to worry about, you'll be the prettiest lass of them all.
Now come on, we don't wanna be late!"
They arrive at Tuckborough just as the rest of the guests do, filing through the garden gate arm in arm.
There are a lot of people, all chatting away indulging in the food and drink.
There are tables set up with lots of food, from biscuits to finger sandwiches to meats and cheese boards. In hobbit tradition, there is always plenty of food, drink, and merriment.
Dahlia looks around in awe, pulling Pippin along as they wade through the many guests. The flowers are decorations of their own, the garden dressed up with streamers, ribbon, and twinkling lanterns.
She sees all the exquisite gowns and hats worn by the ladies, but finds her own dress to be lacking in puffed sleeves and ruffles. But she pushes aside her doubts, just enjoying being able to attend such a joyous celebration of spring.
Eventually, Pippin's mother makes her way over to greet her guests.
She's wearing a gorgeous emerald dress with intricate embroidery along the hemlines. She smiles as she walks up to them, a surprised expression crossing her face seeing Dahlia. She fixes Pippin's shirt collar, fussing a little as usual before greeting Dahlia.
"Peregrin! I see you brought your plus one, and do my eyes deceive me?! Its little Dahlia Gamgee, goodness, you've became a lovely young lady. We're happy to have you here, please enjoy the festivities!"
Both of the young Hobbits breathe a sigh of relief, as Mrs. Took continues to chat with everyone.
The young pair go around the garden paths, making conversation while enjoying the food and music.
And though Pippin doesn't notice, Dahlia can feel the occasional gazes of disapproval from some of the more snobbish Hobbits attending.
Nonetheless they dance and make merry, and after a particularly strenuous romp Pippin steps away to fetch them both something to drink.
Thats when one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins lays her sights on Dahlia, a sneer fixed on her face as she looks the girl over.
"I can't believe the Tooks are allowing a guttersnipe in old rags to attend such a prestigious event...
A gardener of all things, as a guest."
"...excuse me? I...I was invit-" Dahlia protests, but is immediately cut off by the older woman.
"To think that Master Peregrin would even acknowledge a waif like yourself who spends her time in the dirt. Truly, you can't think he would actually view you as someone worth courting? Its laughable, he's just using you as cheap entertainment...then he'll toss you to the wayside once he's had his fun..."
Dahlia is too hurt and taken aback to respond at first, embarrassment makes her face and ears burn. Everyone in the Shire knows that Lobelia is a rude and pompous woman not to be taken seriously, but her words still cut deep. So she excuses herself just as Pippin has returned with two ales for them both.
He didn't hear what was said, but he could see how upset whatever Lobelia had said made her.
He tries to follow her, as she weaves through the crowd of partying hobbit lads and ladies.
He eventually finds her sitting on a stone bench near the pond, in the shade of a willow tree. The same willow tree they had climbed together when they were but fauntlings.
She wipes at her face before looking up at his approach, plastering a shaky smile on her face. But while he has been called a fool many times, her false happiness doesn't assuage his concern.
"Oh, hey Pip, I just needed a moment to breathe. There were a lot of people...and I got overwhelmed that's all..." She quickly tries to explain away her abrupt exit, but its hardly convincing when her eyes are misty and her hands shake. He sets the drinks down on a rock, and takes her hands in his own.
"Come on, Dolly, you don't need to pretend you're alright. Not when I can clearly see that old bag said something absolutely repulsive and hurtful." His voice is quieter than usual, the raucous chaos toned down for her in this somber moment. He offers her a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepts.
"It was nothing...she was just going on about how I shouldn't be here...and maybe she's right." Dahlia pauses to blow her nose, drying a stray tear as she murmurs the rest. "She...she also said some uncouth things about why you would invite someone of my standing...I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream at her or punch her. So I ran away instead..."
Pippin squeezes her hand, and his face goes through a number of emotions before settling on anger.
He begins to stand, as if he's about to march over and give Lobelia a piece of his mind.
"That foul snake of a woman!! How dare she speak to you that way! Whilst you are my guest, not to mention one of my dearest friends!! I ought to go tell my mother what she said about you...maybe she'll be thrown out on the lawn..."
But Dahlia reaches out to grap his sleeve, shaking her head fervently.
"No, Pippin! Please don't make a big deal about it!! I shouldn't have let that hag get to me, I know her opinion means nothing...not to you or anyone that matters." She implores him to calm down, the last thing she wants is to cause a scandal the whole Shire will hear about. "I'll be alright, I don't want to ruin the party...please, Pip."
He looks at her for a long moment, before he relents with a sigh. He hates seeing her upset, but he knows if he makes a scene it'll be worse for her.
So instead he smiles fondly at her, and links their arms. He hands her the drink that he had fetched earlier, and they head back to the party.
"Alright, Dolly, if you insist. We'll just have the grandest time and ignore anything that snobbish Sackville-Baggins has to say."
~~~~~🌟~~~~~
Chapter 3 ~ A Night to Remember
The two of them join back with the other guests, as the party lasts for many hours.
For Hobbits never like to end a good time, and a number of them have drank their fill of ale.
The dances become more rowdy, as the evening goes on past sunset. Some of the elder Hobbits have left for home or retired to quieter conversation inside.
Currently, Dahlia and Pippin sit in an alcove further into the garden, just looking up at the stars illuminating the night sky.
They're both pleasantly buzzed, warmed by both the ale and from how close they sit. Her head rests against his shoulder, their hands clasped gently as they laugh seeing an old man stumble along drunkenly out the gate. They fall into companionable silence for a while, only disturbed by a stray giggle or hiccup.
Eventually, Pippin breaks the quiet moment, still gazing up at the dazzling view.
"This is nice, you know? I thought it would be as boring as any of the other parties my parents host.
But with you here, I can see it in a new light. Thanks for coming with me, Dolly. This has been the most fun I've ever had..."
She turns her head to look at him, her eyes wide but a soft smile on her face. "I know what you mean, this has been incredible. I never thought I'd get to come to one of these, thank you for inviting me, Pip.
Even if I am...just me."
Pippin's expression falls, hearing her speak so lowly of herself. He wraps his arms around her, running his fingers through her curls.
"Dolly, don't say that...
As if you aren't worthy of being here, just because you are a Gamgee. Your family are the most respected gardeners in the Shire, and you're my best friend.
You mean everything to me, never forget that."
Dahlia blinks back tears, and sinks into the hug. Her doubts linger, but his words push them to the back of her mind.
"Thanks, Pip. I won't forget. We'll always be friends, right?"
She pulls back slightly to look up at him, searching his face for any hint of uncertainty. But all she finds is a fond smile, Pippin often jokes around but this isn't one of those times.
"Dahlia, we'll always be friends, I promise. No matter what happens, we'll always be together."
She finally returns his smile, and hugs him tight.
When they both finally pull away, Pippin takes her hand and stands up from the seat. He helps her up, and steadies her as she's a little wobbly on her feet. She always was a bit of a lightweight, and they both laugh as she stumbles into his chest.
"Sorry! I must 'ave had too much ale, Pip." Her face flushes both from the alcohol and the proximity, her words a little sluggish. But he just chuckles, and throws an arm around her waist to keep her upright.
"No worries, Dolly, let's just get you home before Sam comes looking with a shovel in hand."
They start the peaceful walk back to Number 3 Bagshot Row, where Sam answers the door with a disappointed yet amused look on his face.
"Well look what the cat dragged in, good on you for walking her home, Took."
"Yeah! Thanks for bringing me home, Pip! I had so much fun at the party!!" She hugs Pippin tightly, and he goes to respond.
"Oh, it was no trouble. I just wanted to make sure you got home saf-"
But as he speaks, she stands up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. He just stands there frozen, stunned by the display of affection.
Sam brings her inside and she waves goodbye, but he barely registers it. He mumbles a farewell, a little late as the door closes.
"I...um...goodnight to you too,mDolly."
He sits there for a moment, still processing what happened.
He subconsciously reaches to touch his cheek where she kissed him, his face is warm and if not for the dark he would look very red.
He slowly walks down the paths to get back to Tuckborough, muttering to himself and feeling butterflies in his belly.
"She...she kissed me? Surely it's just Dolly being sweet...right? Not to mention she was a bit out of sorts from the ale, it probably didn't mean anything...probably."
Yet he can't shake the feeling building in his chest, a buzz far stronger any drink he's had. Is there something there that wasn't there before...?
Something beyond the childhood friendship they share, something different.
Perhaps she is feeling this shift too, things growing into more than platonic affection.
Who's to say, they'll have to wait and see if it leads anywhere.
Summary: As Chief Botanist on the USS Enterprise, new data brings you to the verge of a fascinating scientific discovery. But when a mission to investigate goes disastrously wrong, it’s Bones McCoy who has to pick up the pieces, and hiding his feelings was never going to work out well for him.
Pairing: Bones McCoy x Female!Botanist!Reader
Word count: 2.8k
AO3 link: The Mission That Started It All
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of a medical emergency including symptoms similar to anaphylaxis, pain, confusion and loss of consciousness. Some references to real science (I looked at stuff on Wikipedia). Not Beta'd.
Author's note: Okay I've been updating this on Fridays for the past 4 weeks, but now I've run out of prewritten chapters. I have 2, possibly 3, more chapters planned out with some scenes written, but my updates will be a bit slower than before. I'm still excited and motivated to work on this fic though. Bring on more Bones McCoy goodness 😍
Navigation: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Masterlist
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The new, unexplored world steadily came into view as you materialised on the planet's surface, the glow of the transporter quickly fading away. You blinked against the unfamiliar light and strange colours that met your eyes. The sky above was a golden amber, with twin suns sinking towards a far-off horizon. To your right lay a mountain range, the rock a dark obsidian and the peaks disappearing into wisps of lavender clouds. But to your left, a forest sprawled as far as your eyes could see, the almost-familiar hues of greens and browns in the trees and undergrowth calling out to you.
You didn't need to take out your scanner to figure out where your mysterious, possibly life-driven heat signatures were coming from.
“This way.” You darted off towards the trees without waiting for Spock or Sulu to object or suggest an alternative course of action. All you wanted to do was get straight into the field work and start analysing the environment. That’s was what you were here for.
The terrain beneath your pounding feet soon changed from dry dirt to soft moss, the forest ferns springing up around your boots as you sprinted through the undergrowth. You slowed your pace as you began to notice unique qualities about the forest that had not been obvious from a distance; traces of silver sparkled between cracks in the tree bark, catching the dying light of day. A breeze swept through the trees and looking up, you noticed the leaves also had a silver sheen to them.
You reached up to the lowest branch of the nearest tree, gently bending the newer shoot so you could get a closer look.
Sulu halted beside you, the hand that had been hovering near his phaser slowly lowering. “What is that silver stuff?”
“I'm not sure…” you said quietly, turning one leaf over in your hand and running your gloved thumb from stem to tip. “See these lines? They're called netted venation.” You pointed to the back of the leaf. “They normally transport nutrients, just like our own veins. It's part of their vascular system. But I've never seen any lined with silver like these…” Your train of thought ended there.
Spock pulled out his tricorder and held it against the branch. “The source of the colour in the flora here appears to be a mineral with a unique composition,” he said, frowning at the device. “I am unable to match it to any record in the Federation Database.” He glanced at you knowingly.
Your heart raced. A new mineral. Something that had never been seen before in any corner of the universe. Your hands were already moving, pulling specimen vials from your belt, your mind three steps ahead and working out how many samples to collect; the leaves, the bark, the soil, the root, a small piece of everything this mineral was ingrained in should be catalogued and curated and brought back to the lab for further analysis--
The scanner, which you had dropped at your feet whilst examining the tree branch, let out a loud and insistent beep.
Your eyes dropped. An amber glow radiated against your boot that had nothing to do with the far-off sunset. Even without seeing the screen or reading the data, you knew exactly what the scanner was alerting you to.
The source of the heat signatures was close.
Bounding through the undergrowth of the alien forest as fast as your legs could carry you, scanner in hand, you thought about nothing else other than the possibility of what else you could discover on this planet. Your breath fogged inside the helmet and your suit tugged on branches, but you barely noticed. The only things you were paying attention to were the amber flashes on the screen in your hand and finding the most direct path through the trees to locate them.
Somewhere behind you, crashing through the forest in hot pursuit of your trail, were Spock and Sulu. Distantly, you heard your name being called, but you didn't turn, placing all your focus on the scanner's position tracker, which was steadily counting down the remaining distance.
Finally, you slowed your pace to a walk. Chest rising and falling rapidly, you looked left and right for something, anything, that resembled an intelligent life form.
Spock appeared at your right shoulder, the Vulcan also breathless from running. “Lieutenant! We should remain together as a unit at all times,” he scolded. “This planet is under-analysed, and the foliage is dense; these factors alone raise the level of risk by three hundred and fifty percent. Separation from the team is highly inadvisable, as it--”
“Chill, Spock.” You turned the dials of your scanner without looking at him.
Spock, unfortunately for you, did not chill. “Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that Captain Kirk dedicated overall tactical and scientific command of this mission to me, therefore--”
“Yeah, but it's my data.” You were not in the mood for a lecture from him; after all, Spock was the reason you had been grounded by Captain Kirk. His words in the observation lounge about your exhausted appearance and the questioning of your capability still stung.
The scanner beeped sharply again. You froze. “They're here.” You listened hard to every sound coming through your helmet. “They're close.”
Behind Spock, you saw Sulu unclip his phaser, prepared and ready to strike first if needed.
Your eyes rapidly scanned your surroundings, focusing, looking for anything out of place.
Then you saw it.
A large protrusion situated low on one of the tree trunks, bulging close to the roots. Its surface was nearly identical to the bark, which made it so well-camouflaged that you almost overlooked it entirely. The same silver mineral traced intricate lines all over the structure. And in the vicinity, a low humming sound could be heard, though it was slightly obscured by your helmet.
You glanced up. An array of shimmering insects buzzed overhead, hundreds and hundreds filling the air, right up to the top of the forest canopy. Easily comparable to bees on planet Earth, but different. Much more alien. Each one about the size of your fist, with a set of wings moving so rapidly they blurred before your eyes. Most striking of all was their colour; the silver of the unidentified mineral was even more pronounced in the creatures, as though they were emitting light themselves.
“It’s… a hive,” you breathed.
The bee-like insects weaved in and out of tree branches like water running over rock, the movements as synchronised here as they had been on the scanners. You stood, mesmerised, watching and tracking the patterns they made.
It was unlike anything you had ever seen before.
“Fascinating…” Spock whispered behind you. You heard his tricorder complete another scan. “The concentration of the unknown mineral within these creatures is almost fifteen times higher than in the environment around us.”
“Could they be the source?” Sulu wondered aloud.
“It’s highly plausible,” Spock agreed.
“Or,” you spoke slowly, “the mineral is the foundation of the entire ecosystem. It could be a type of symbiosis.” Catching Sulu’s confused look, you added, “a biological relationship. One doesn’t exist without the other.”
“Also highly plausible,” Spock said. “Further analysis would be required to determine the mineral’s true purpose.”
You carefully approached the hive structure, bending to get a better look inside, but this was incredibly difficult as the opening was small and dark. Several of the insects began flying around your helmet as you approached.
“Careful, Lieutenant.” Spock’s warning came low and harsh.
You were already reaching for your utility belt. "I need a sample. Just a small cross-section." You pulled out a coring tool and dropped to one knee, then glanced at Spock, feeling his eyes in your back. "You know the significance of a discovery like this. I'm not walking away without proof.”
"I would still advise caution," Spock said, backing away behind you, which told you everything you needed to know about his level of confidence in this plan.
You pressed the coring tool carefully against the hive wall, twisted it in your hand, then extracted the sample. The cross-section slid cleanly into an empty vial. You stoppered it and held it up to the light, turning it slowly. There were at least five distinct layers, each a slightly different density, but all containing clear traces of the silver mineral. Disappointingly, however, where the tip of the coring tool had been, the final layer was fragmented.
“Damn,” you cursed aloud. “Didn't get deep enough.”
You pocketed the vial anyway. Not wanting to waste time, you pressed the coring tool into the hive again, applying more pressure this time around. Through the handle, you could almost feel the density change as it passed through each layer with different levels of resistance. As the tool sunk deeper into the hive structure, you began to feel the final layer; it felt grainy, like scooping through wet sand.
Somewhere near your forehead, a sudden, distinctive noise ripped through the air.
Crack.
“Lieutenant--”
You threw up a hand to silence the Vulcan. This was not the moment for him to be wittering about risk levels and foliage density.
Crack.
Sulu's voice came next. “Uh, oh..”
You looked up. Horror flooded through you as you saw several deep, dark fissures in the hive wall. The structure was buckling in places, so much so that handfuls of the silver insects were flying out of the newly-made gaps, buzzing angrily and beginning to swarm.
Panic peaking in your chest, you tore the coring tool out of the hive.
CRACK.
The entire front section collapsed, pieces of delicate lattice crumbling at your feet. A high-pitched screech seemed to erupt from the swarm.
You took several paces back, startled, but the damage was done.
The behaviour of insects immediately turned frantic and aggressive. In moments, they surged toward your team, the hum of their wings growing louder by the minute.
“RUN!” Sulu shouted, drawing his phaser but hesitating to fire.
You didn't need telling twice. The three of you took off, sprinting through the alien forest. The trees blurred past in silver and green as you ran, equipment bouncing against your back, feet leaping over rocks and tree roots. Your heart was in your mouth, chest tight. All you could think about was getting away from the angry alien bees, to anywhere that wasn't here.
Spock led the way, barking orders over his shoulder. “Move! Quickly! The swarm’s behaviour suggests they are territorial, distance may dissuade their pursuit!"
Sulu ran just ahead of you. "Come on!" he yelled.
You pushed yourself harder, breath coming in short gasps. The insects were relentless in their chase, buzzing nearer and nearer, closing the distance. If you didn't lose them, if you didn't find shelter soon--
A lightbulb went off in your head.
“Sulu, the shield!”
He skidded to a halt, not ten paces ahead of you, and unhooked Scotty’s latest prototype from his belt. There was no time to consider the shield’s effectiveness against the insects; here, in this panic-induced shitstorm of a situation, it was the best you had.
You watched, almost in slow-motion, as Sulu drew the device in front of him, finger hovering over the deploy button, waiting for you and Spock to be a pace or two closer before activating the shield, diligently ensuring his team would be covered by the energy field's reach--
Something small and sharp pierced the back of your calf.
You stumbled, mid-pace. With about as much grace as a sack of potatoes, you crashed to the ground, uncontrolled and undignified and completely unaware of what had just happened.
Then the pain arrived.
A raw, primitive scream tore through your throat. Your fingers dug into the soil as every muscle in your body contracted, recoiling against the foreign object now buried in the back of your leg. It was agony, a white-hot wave that started in your calf and traveled through you with terrifying speed, up your thigh, your hip, your lower back. You reached out and gripped your limb, your fingers brushing against the thing now buried in your flesh; a barbed, silver stinger, still partially attached to its host which fluttered pathetically against the suit that should have protected you.
Guess Starfleet engineering hadn't accounted for alien bee stings laced with unidentified minerals.
Somewhere above your head, you heard Sulu shout. “Spock! She’s hit!”
Spock was at your side in moments, his concern evident. “Lieutenant, can you walk?”
“I-- I don't know,” you said through gritted teeth. You shifted, trying to get your feet beneath you in an attempt to stand, but there was a numbness creeping up your leg, radiating outward from the stinger. The attempt to move only aggravated your pain levels. “Fuck!”
Spock turned to Sulu. “Deploy the shield! Now!”
Spock's order snapped Sulu out of his wide-eyed stare. Just as the swarm were inches away, the blue-green shield curved around the three of you, forming a protective dome against the territorial insects.
Your leg throbbed angrily, forcing another strangled cry of pain out of you. Spock moved closer, raising his tricorder. “The insect sting appears to be venomous. We need to get back to the Enterprise before it gets worse.”
“Fucking-- incredible deduction there, Commander,” you spat, rank be damned.
Sulu grabbed his communicator, voice tight and panicked. “Enterprise, this is Sulu. Emergency beam-out requested! One of our team is critically injured - repeat, critically injured!”
“Stand by,” came the reply.
You clutched a hand to your chest, trying to slow your breathing and regain some sense of control over the pain, the thumping of your heart propelling the venomous contents of the silver bee sting around your system. Already your vision was starting to blur around the edges, the forest around you beginning to swim. The numbness was also spreading, all sensation in your leg now lost. Your throat felt tight, the air in your helmet too thin.
For a fleeting moment, the sound of McCoy’s voice floated through your mind.
Don't do anything stupid.
He was going to kill you, if this stinger didn't get there first.
With a shaking hand, and much more effort than it should have needed, you reached to your belt for a specimen container. Flicked the lid open. Pinched your thumb and forefinger around the protruding insect, and pulled.
You let out a sharp cry as the barbs tore through your skin on their way out. Hand still shaking, you dropped the lifeless insect into the container, secured the lid, and swayed where you sat.
Hands, soft and strong, settled on your shoulders. Spock's. Guiding you down, until soft moss met your back and the world spun slightly less.
Sulu’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration. “Enterprise, we need that beam-out now!”
Another voice crackled through the communicator. “Lieutenant Sulu, the shield device is interfering with the transporter's ability to lock on to your position. We’re working on increasing the signal, but it’s going to take time.”
You saw Sulu’s gaze drop to where you were lying, specimen container still in hand. “We don’t have time!” he snapped.
You blinked slowly. Unsurprisingly, it did nothing to steady your vision, and your eyes found Spock. Your grip tightened on the container as you pushed it weakly toward him.
“Lieutenant, conserve your energy,” he said lowly, still kneeling beside you.
“No,” you said in a thin, unsteady tone. “This.. n-needs to get to… McCoy. Take it. Take it," you insisted, seeing Spock's expression move from concern to hesitation. With the last of your strength, you forced it into his hand. "He'll... k-know what, to do.”
He’ll know what to do, you told yourself again. He always knew. He would probably hate the fact that he would have to fix it; he would probably complain about it until the next shore leave, and hold you in low regard until then. But he would know, and he would do whatever it took. He was smart, and loyal to the core. Perhaps the kind of man you would have wanted to grow old with given the choice. It was almost funny really, to think about the Enterprise hovering high above the planet, beyond the atmosphere, with Leonard McCoy on board, going about his shift with absolutely no idea what was coming his way.
You didn't recall the moment your eyes closed.
The world around you began to dissolve into fractured sounds. Sulu yelling through his communicator to the transporter team, his shouts sharp and erratic. The shield humming somewhere above you, tinges of blue and green filtering through your closed eyelids. And beyond it, the hostile buzzing of the insects as they continued to swarm.
The pain was still there, but quieter now, which you knew was probably worse but didn’t have the energy to care. The specimen container was no longer in your hand. Good. Someone saying your name - Spock? Sulu? - probably both.
Your eyes remained closed.
Hold on, you told yourself. Or perhaps someone else told you. Impossible to tell.
He knows. He knows what to do.
You tried to say his name.
The light behind your eyelids dulled, dimmed, and went out.
Hiya babes! Hope you’re doing well! Just outta say I absolutely adore your writing and always brings a smile to my face when you post!!
I was hoping you could do an angst fic where it’s the boys reactions to you jumping in front of them taking a hit/bolt. You can choose the clone group! Xxx
Thank you so much — seriously, your kind words mean the world to me!! I’m so glad my writing can bring a little light to your day 💛
I hope you don’t mind that I decided to go with the Wolf pack for this one. I hope you enjoy 🫶
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“For the Pack”
Reader x 104th Battalion (Wolffe, Sinker, Boost)
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You don’t think. You just move. That’s what instinct does when family is in danger.
The air was thick with heat and cordite, the jungle humid enough to choke on. Blasterfire lit the treeline in wild flashes—red bolts cutting through the green like angry stars. You pressed forward with your saber raised, breath tight in your chest, the Force buzzing like a live wire beneath your skin.
This wasn’t supposed to be a heavy engagement. Just a scouting mission. Routine.
But nothing about war ever stays routine for long.
“Wolffe, move it! You’re exposed!” you shouted, watching him duck behind cover just as two more shots chewed bark over his head.
“Copy that,” Wolffe growled, popping off a few retaliatory blasts. “Boost! Sinker! Sweep the right flank and flush that nest!”
“Already on it!” Boost called from somewhere in the brush.
“We’re getting pinned down out here!” Sinker added, tone sharp but controlled.
You moved closer to Wolffe, saber up, covering his retreat as he repositioned behind the half-blown trunk of a felled tree. The rest of the battalion had spread out, covering the ridgeline, trying to locate the sniper.
That’s when it hit you—the feeling.
The Force spiked.
Time slowed.
A heartbeat ahead of the moment, you felt it: danger, aimed at someone you couldn’t let go.
Wolffe was turning. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
You didn’t think. You just moved.
A leap. A cry. A single instant of instinct and fear and absolute certainty.
And then the bolt hit you square in the back.
Wolffe didn’t register what happened right away. One moment he was turning to call out an order, the next there was a flash of blue, the hum of a saber, and a sickening crack of a body hitting the dirt.
“—[Y/N]?!”
You were lying on your side, smoke rising from your robes, your saber a few meters away, deactivated.
You weren’t moving.
Sinker screamed something wordless over comms. Boost shouted your name.
“MEDIC!” Wolffe was already moving. “Get me a medic now!”
He slid to his knees beside you, hands already tearing open the fabric around the wound, even though he didn’t know what the hell he was doing—just doing. There was too much blood. Too much heat coming off your skin. You were smaller than him, younger, not armored like they were. You were a Jedi, yeah, but also just a kid compared to the rest of them.
His kid. Their kid.
And you’d taken a shot meant for him.
⸻
Hours Later you were in bacta now. Still alive. Barely.
The medics said it was touch and go. The bolt had burned through muscle and clipped something vital. You’d coded once during evac, but they brought you back. Your saber had been returned to Plo Koon, its emitter dented from where it had slammed into the ground.
Wolffe sat in the corner of the medbay, helmet off, armor streaked with dried blood—your blood. He hadn’t moved in two hours.
“Why the hell would she do that?” Sinker muttered, pacing with his helmet tucked under one arm. He was flushed, angry. “We wear armor for a reason. We train for this. She’s a Jedi, not a clone. She’s not supposed to—”
“Be willing to die for us?” Boost cut in, voice tired. “Guess she missed that memo.”
Sinker let out a long, low sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’re the ones who throw ourselves in front of people. That’s the job. That’s our job.”
Plo Koon stood at your bedside, one hand lightly resting on the glass of the tank. He’d been silent for most of it, his calm presence a strange contrast to the chaos.
“She has always seen you as more than soldiers,” he said gently. “You are her brothers. Her family.”
Wolffe finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “She’s part of the pack. And the pack protects its own.”
“But she nearly died protecting you, Commander,” Boost said. “What does that make us?”
“Alive,” Wolffe answered. “That’s what it makes us. And when she wakes up, she’s going to be reminded that we never leave one of our own behind.”
Sinker stopped pacing, jaw clenched.
“She’s not gonna get off easy for this.”
“Oh, hell no,” Boost muttered. “Soon as she’s conscious, I’m yelling at her.”
“Not before me,” Wolffe said, standing finally. “I’ve got seniority.”
They tried to joke—tried to banter—but it didn’t land. Not yet.
⸻
Your vision was blurry. Everything felt heavy. And sore. So sore.
“Hey—hey! She’s waking up!”
Voices. Familiar. Warm.
You blinked hard. One blurry helmet. Then two. Then a third face appeared—scarred, grim, but so full of relief it almost didn’t look like Wolffe.
“About damn time,” he muttered. “Thought we were gonna have to start arguing over who got to carry your sorry ass out of here.”
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a croaky whisper: “Pack…”
Boost leaned in closer. “Yeah. We’re here.”
Sinker had a hand pressed to your arm, trying not to squeeze too hard. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
You smiled weakly. “Didn’t think about it.”
“No kidding,” Wolffe said, arms crossed now. “You jump in front of another bolt like that and we’re stapling your robes to the floor.”
Plo Koon stepped forward, voice kind and firm. “Rest now, little one. You have done more than enough. The pack is safe. Because of you.”
You let your eyes fall shut again, not from pain this time—but because you knew they were watching over you.
summary — castiel desperately wants to heal you after a hunt & you won't let him.
pairing — castiel x hunter!reader (not yet established but should be LOL) genre — general/fluff/a wee bit of angst word count — one thousand, three hundred & thirty-seven
warnings — reader being stubborn but having their reasons. castiel in distress over reader's injuries/pain. momentary back and forth over difference of opinions. lowkey a very wholesome ending.
notes — what can i say, i like arguing with the angel & i like it when he's moody lmao the castiel fics were looking a little skimp on my masterlist so i was like let me finish up this little idea i had! glad i did, it turned out to be really cuteee. hope u enjoy xx
one thing about going on solo hunting trips is that once all was said and done, it was easy for silence to fill the spaces around you. silence that you welcomed with open arms. silence that allowed you to focus on patching yourself up without being fussed over. silence that allowed you to calm your nerves after a particularly stressful fight. silence that allowed you to mourn after a casualty count that wasn’t zero, silence that allowed you to recover.
you took your alone time seriously, but knew how important it was to check in after hunting alone. castiel was usually the first to receive a status update. you’d send up a prayer, giving him a quick rundown, and he’d known you long enough to know that you wouldn’t want him popping in until you’d had enough time to yourself. it’d taken him a while to get used to that particular boundary.
you had always been self-sufficient in a way that often made cas’ care and concern a bit of an inconvenience. you appreciated the fact that he cared, but you had never quite gotten used to being doted on. you could handle it—you were used to handling things on your own, and never asked for help unless you felt that you needed it. castiel struggled so much with that fact, because he quickly found himself wanting to make life easier for you in every way possible. if he could take care of it, why should you have to worry?
you’d tried to get him to understand that you weren’t just being stubborn—although stubbornness was a trait you’d been born with—you just liked knowing that you still knew how to take care of yourself, that you still could take care of yourself when it came down to it. you’d grown up learning how to do just that, and although you appreciated the warm intentions behind castiel’s insistent actions, you promised that you would come to him if and when you needed him, but until then, you had it handled.
you were going through your things, focused on packing your duffel bag in preparation for your drive home in the morning, when castiel appeared in the middle of your motel room. your eyes softened as you shifted your attention to him, and you had done your best to hide the smirk that was threatening to take over your features as he gave you a quick once over. he was trying to be discreet in his observations, even going as far as to tell you that he’d only come to fill you in on new information he’d acquired when it came to the hunt sam and dean had been working on before you left. you listened to him talk as you fiddled with your belongings, nodding and humming in response when warranted, but you knew the actual reason why he’d shown up. he was there to make sure that you were okay. to see it with his own eyes even after you’d assured him that all was well.
you were accustomed to the serious, almost somber expression that castiel usually wore, that familiar dip in his brow was never anything out of the ordinary, but the deep lines that were etched onto his handsome features seemed to be heightened by the fact that he’d caught sight of the scrapes and scratches on your face. the small cut on your temple, although small in comparison to some of the other injuries you’d dealt with since castiel had known you, still seemed to cause the angel’s chest to ache. he struggled to keep the conversation light, doing his best to focus on bringing you up to speed on relevant lore and important details of the hunt—things that could have definitely waited until you met up with the winchesters again. something you’d be doing within the next 24 hours. castiel couldn’t wait that long.
he couldn’t wait that long to see you, let alone to make sure that you were truly okay, and the cuts and scrapes on your face did nothing to ease his worry. he lost the battle between brazenness and self-restraight mid-sentence, striding over to you in a hurry, gently grabbing a hold of your face as he observed your injuries up close.
the shirt you’d been folding fell from your hands, and a small groan escaped you in response to castiel’s distressed advances, but still you allowed him to slowly turn your head side to side as he took in the damage. you ignored the pained look in his eyes, and let out a soft sigh, choosing patience as you spoke,
“castiel..do you remember when we talked about boundaries?”
“yes.”
“okay. well, you’re breaching one of mine right now.”
castiel had let go of you in an instant, and you smiled, grateful and somewhat amused, despite his clear frustration. he widened the distance between the two of you, hands on his hips as he began to pace back and forth. your smile grew a little wider and you shook your head at the idea of him being upset about the fact that you wouldn’t let him heal you, something that would take all of two seconds. it drove the angel crazy.
you winced ever so slightly as you leaned down to pick up the shirt that had fallen from your hands, a sharp pain coursing through your side where you’d stitched yourself up a few hours before. castiel paused immediately, eyes glued to your every move.
“you’re hurting.” he stated seriously, his jaw locked tight, brow creased in intense worry.
“yeah, which is a very normal part of healing, cas. get over it.” you told him as you straightened, a small grimace on your face. you took in a steadying yet shaky breath as the pain began to settle, and the sound drew castiel near you again.
“show me.” he demanded. his words weren’t harsh, just insistent.
“no!” you shot back, as an astonished laugh that was mixed with your own frustration left your lips. “you don’t get to boss me around just because you’re concerned.” you added, “it’s called bodily autonomy. look it up.”
“i know what that mea—” castiel cut his argument short once he understood that you were being sarcastic, a realization that made you snicker in delight.
he watched you without a trace of amusement, letting you get your laughter out. he didn’t miss the way your fingers grazed your side as you recovered, and he logged the fact that you were most likely still in pain even as you basked in your own amusement.
“are you sure you don’t need my—”
“yes, i’m sure. the pain is only temporary. i’ll be fine.” you pressed, shooting him a look of warning. “focus, angel.”
you went back to packing your duffel, hoping that castiel would drop the subject and talk about the hunt you would soon be helping with again. you were met with silence instead.
when your eyes fell onto castiel’s still form, you could tell that he had retreated deep into his thoughts, still upset and definitely still worrying too much.
you set your things down, and made your way over to him, ducking slightly to catch his eye.
“hey.” you offered softly, but castiel was already too far gone, descending further into his thoughts by the second.
he didn’t seem to notice that you had approached him until you reached for his hand, lifting it as you guided it to your chest, resting it against the space over your heart. the steady heartbeat under his hand seemed to bring him back, and he met your gaze as the rhythm continued to ground him further.
“i’m still here.” you reassured him with a soft, understanding smile.
castiel focused on your heartbeat for a moment longer, and gave you a small nod in confirmation, letting you know that he’d understood. you were still here, chest rising and falling under his hand, heartbeat steady and sure.
you were still here, and that was more than enough.
p.s — it's the way that reader calls castiel 'angel' not as a pet name but just in reference to what he is but it's still so intimate and meant just for him that i wanna punch something.
sappy male reader... kising flambaes missing fingers... please and thank you <33
love your fics btw!!
The Important Hand
🖇️: Flambae x masc!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: SFW/SAPPY/FLUFFY/CUTESY/AWWW/established relationship/you comfort your fiery boyfriend about his little nubs. LOL.
★ The TV’s murmuring something about a cooking competition—knives flashing, someone dicing onions with theatrical precision—and you feel Flambae’s hand twitch where it rests against your chest.
★ “Show off,” he mutters at the screen, but there’s something else in his voice. Something quieter.
★ You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s focused on the TV, but not really. His right hand has curled slightly, tucked between your bodies like it’s trying to hide.
★ “Babe?”
★ “It’s stupid.” He huffs a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Just—watching that guy. Makes me think about… you know.”
★ You do know.
★ You’ve heard the story. Robert. The fight. The way everything went wrong in the space between one heartbeat and the next. How anger cost him two fingers and nearly cost him more.
★ “Hey.” You shift, turning in his arms until you’re facing him properly. “Look at me.”
★ He does, but his jaw’s tight. Self conscious in that way he gets sometimes, when the missing pieces feel louder than the ones that remain.
★ So you lean in and kiss him. Soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that says I’m here and you’re here and that’s enough.
★ When you pull back, you catch his right hand before he can tuck it away again. You bring it to your lips—press a kiss to his palm first, then his thumb, then each finger that’s still there. Taking your time. Making it deliberate.
★ Then you kiss the space where the others used to be. The pinky. The ring finger. Just the tender nubs remaining, the ghosts of what was two little fingies. Flambae makes a sound—somewhere between a laugh and something shakier.
★ “What are you—”
★ “Shh.” You kiss them again. “These too. All of you.”
★ His breath catches.
★ You guide his hand up, settling it against your cheek, and he cups your face like you’re something precious. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and his eyes are doing that thing where they’re too bright, too soft, too much.
★ “You’re ridiculous,” he whispers.
★ “Yeah, but you love me.”
★ “I really do.”
★ You turn your head just enough to kiss his palm again. “Besides,” you murmur against his skin, “you’ve still got your ring finger on the left hand.”
★ He blinks. Then he gets it.
★ His laugh this time is real—surprised and warm and a little watery. “You are such a sap.”
★ “That’s what really counts, right?” You grin. “The one that matters.”
★ Flambae pulls you back against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His right hand stays cradled between you both, but it’s not hiding anymore. It’s just there. Part of him. Part of this. On the TV, someone’s plating a dessert with gold leaf and unnecessary flourishes. Neither of you are watching.
Hello, I read your Still stuck with you (Flambae x male reader) and I absolutely love it and I can't wait to see part 2! I mean, the potential in the fluff department! Can you imagine after he tells the reader then he needed to rest while the stitches heal and the reader is just anxious to get back into the hero field
Still Stuck With You: Part 2 (Flambae x Male!Reader)
Warnings: Injury/Violence mentions, cursing, reader cannot be trusted with a life-threatening injury, painkillers, hurt/comfort and fluff!! (Words: 1.1k)
(Author’s note: I’ve been sitting on this one for a while, and I feel like I got it this time!! That was probably one of my favourite angst fics, so I’m happy that people want more of it, especially with a happier ending :3 As always, please do not repurpose, steal, or otherwise misuse my work in any way, including anything involving Al.)
MY MASTERLIST | Part 1
“Get back in bed.”
You paused at the voice behind you, halfway through the doorway with most of your weight against it.
“I don’t know what you mean.” You tried playing it cool, but as Chad circled around to face you, the pained expression painted across your face gave everything away.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes, leaning against the nearby wall. You felt his eyes burning into your skin, and you knew you’d been caught.
“Explain.” He nodded, and you found yourself floundering for words in an instant, looking for some excuse that made it seem like getting up and trying to leave the house with a recently stitched wound was a good idea.
“I had to piss.”
Brilliant excuse.
“Fucking rest.” He argued, “You’ve got, like, a shit ton of paid time off, you’re good to sleep it off or whatever.”
“I don’t wanna wait that long.” You begged, “Can you just let me go for a walk, or something?”
His gaze bore into you, and you returned his look with a big-eyed pleading one of your own. It was a low blow, but a necessary one.
“Take five steps.” He instructed, pushing off from the wall and stepping back so you had to come to him, “Five steps, without making any bitchy pain noises, and you can leave the apartment.”
Five steps. You could do that! Hell, you’d already taken that many to leave the bedroom! You just had to suck it up, and take it one at a time.
You gave him a lazy thumbs-up, before drawing in a deep breath, and willing your body to let go of the wall and put one foot in front of the other.
As your torso shifted, however, you tried to stifle a grunt at the jolt of pain from where you were bandaged the most heavily.
Chad’s brows quirked in amusement, tilting his head slightly as he watched.
Fuck that. Fuck him. You were perfectly fine, you could do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Before you knew it, you were headed towards the floor faster than you could say anything, and a pair of hands, burning warmer than usual due to what you assumed was stress, secured themselves around your chest before you could make contact with the hardwood.
“Fucking idiot— resting won’t kill you, but this will.” He grumbled, as he pulled your arm around his shoulders. As he helped you back to bed, however, you tuned out his angry ranting and simply smiled at his face.
“You’re so worried about me…” You teased, brain feeling a bit like soup thanks to the steady stream of pain plus the day’s painkillers you’d taken before your little escape attempt.
He huffed, hip-checking the bedroom door wide open to lay you in bed, as gently as he could on top of the covers.
“Blankets?”
“Mhm.” You mumbled, sinking into the warmth of the bed, “Yes, please.”
He pursed his lips, grabbing a knit blanket you’d been particularly attached to after being discharged from the hospital and throwing it over your body.
He pointed towards the lamp beside you, and you shook your head, prompting him to turn it off as well.
“I’m fucking pissed.” He stated, as if pointing out something as mundane as a bird in the sky (although he was perpetually pissed), “Don’t pull this shit.”
“I don’t wanna stay here in bed all day.” You retorted, finding a bit of lucidity in your frusturation, “I gotta get back on the job.”
“No, you don’t.” He scowled, “You need to heal. If you pop your stitches, I don’t wanna deal with that.”
“In sickness and in health.” You quoted, which only made him more flustered, bringing a grin to your lips.
“I— you— fucking stop that.” He stammered, putting a hand over your face, “I’m still mad.”
“You looooove me.” You chuckled, to which he promptly stood up, aggressively gave you another blanket and an angry kiss on the forehead, which you didn’t know was possible.
He pulled his hair out of his face, turning towards the window to tie it up, and you found yourself entranced by the sight.
Shit, those painkillers worked WELL.
“I know you’re… anxious to do work, or whatever.” He said quietly, “But you don’t know how fucked up it was, what you did last time.”
“What did I do?”
“You got hurt. Like… you’re gonna fucking die, kind of hurt. You lost more blood than I thought you had in your stupid body.”
You blinked, thinning your lips at the mention of why you were stuck at home.
“And I know you’re missing it, but I’d rather you be all shitty and bitchy than gone.” He snapped, “I don’t want a dead boyfriend, even if it means you’re miserable.”
You paused, taking a breath and sitting in the silence that he left after the words.
Chad turned back towards you again, and you saw his lip trembling slightly, paired with reddened eyes.
In one jerky motion, he viciously attacked the tears gathering at his bottom lashes, wiping them away before they could fall, determined to not show any more of this than he had to.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, and he seemed to visibly soften.
“Just… don’t pull that again, okay?” He met your gaze, and you nodded.
“Yes, sir.” You whispered, and you swore you saw a crack of a smile on his lips.
But before he showed his enjoyment too much, he rolled is eyes once more, walking over again to ruffle your hair, and kiss along your brows.
“I’m gonna get something to eat.” He stood back up, fingertips moving to your shoulder, “Are you hungry for anything?”
You thought for a second, fighting through the drowsy haze of the painkillers to blurt out one single request.
“Fries?” You asked, and to that he nodded once more.
“I want a burger anyway.” He moved to hop onto the edge of the bed, pulling out his phone and opening a food delivery app, “Movies and fast food, then?”
“Mm, hell yeah.” You snuggled further into the sheets, “Can you text Prism?”
“Seriously?” He deadpanned, to which you took your turn to scoff.
“C’mon! She has better taste in movies!”
“No, fuck this. Get your own fries.” He shot to his feet in jokey anger, “See ya.”
“Aw, babe!” You called out as he stalked over to the door, “Noooo, I’m sorry!”
“Skill issue!” He called back, as he moved into the hall, “I’m gonna go buy the burger anyway! Shit gets soggy when the delivery drivers do it.”
You bit back a laugh, waving him goodbye from where you stayed horizontal in bed.
“Good riddance!” You shouted.
And you grinned even harder as he ran back over, sliding into bed with you and whipping out the delivery app on his phone.
Can you do a flambae x male reader where the reader was seriously hurt due to let's say some random person from the readers villain past came back and gave them a fatal blow whether it be stabbing or whatever after a mission. The guy could be this random citizen whose family member got hurt because of the reader or someone who believes villains don't deserve redemption or second chances. I honestly want to see Flambae reaction to the whole scene from the fatal day and all throughout the recovery
Still Stuck With You (Flambae x male!reader)
Warnings: cursing, violence, angst, grave injury and blood, mentions of minor and major character death, all-around bad times (Words: 1.9k)
(Author’s note: Hi, tysm for requesting!!! This is totally my jam, I love writing angstier stuff!! I definitely focused more on the injury part, I could maybe do a part two of some kind of continuation for the recovery bit if desired. as always, please do not repurpose, steal, or otherwise misuse my work in any way, including anything involving Al.)
MY MASTERLIST | Part 2
You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something would go wrong on this mission.
Something about it, maybe the way it was worded, or the timing, felt a little too convenient— hell, even the rest of the team seemed surprised. A mission that perfectly fit someone’s powers and abilities was rarer than you’d think, especially with a group like the Z-team, where everyone’s skills varied so wildly.
You didn’t know why you felt so antsy, opting to brush it off as a fluke. But your heart still raced in your chest, and to attempt to quell that anxious energy, you exhaled through your teeth, watching Chad as he flicked his fingers together in a motion similar to a lighter, as a small flame lit and vanished with the movement.
Walking along beside him, you raised an eyebrow, letting out a quiet chuckle.
“Planning on smoking?”
“Only if you brought anything.” He smirked.
“Not my fault you don’t have pockets in that suit.” You put your hands up, turning to face him, “Fashion statements aren’t always practical.”
“You fucking take that back.” He snapped, and you only laughed harder at that.
Over the comms, you heard Robert give out orders to your other teammates, and you moved to mute yourself for a moment.
“This feels weird.”
“What, the earpiece?” Flambae blinked, “They’re better than the last ones.”
“No, the job he gave us.” You replied, fidgeting with your costume, “Doesn’t it feel a little oddly specific?”
“Eh. These things happen.” He shrugged, brushing his ponytail back over his shoulder as he continued to walk, “It’ll be easy, in and out.”
“I guess.” You muttered in response, peering around the alleyway as you stopped on the sidewalk, turning your mic back on before asking Robert, “This is the place, yeah?”
“Yeah. Through there and to the left, the place is underground.”
“Weird.” You chewed on your bottom lip as you continued on, Flambae not close behind.
The two of you, cast into darkness as you passed between buildings, finally came across the door you’d been searching before, and your stomach twisted as you reached for the knob.
Flambae’s hand reached it before you did, however, as if sensing your nerves, and turned it with ease before pushing it open.
“After you.” He gestured towards the beckoning darkness, and you nodded in thanks, your jaw still set.
You took it step by step, trying to even out your breath as the sound of it echoed through the upcoming staircase.
Squinting, you grabbed the wall beside you, careful not to trip in the shadows, when the sight of a hand opening up in the corner of your eye made you jump.
“It’s just me, idiot.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, the other illuminating a small radius around you as a small fire bloomed from his palm.
The warmth of the digits on your shoulder seemed to ground you, and you nodded again, taking the last few steps before stopping.
“SDN!” You shouted, his voice amplified by the acoustics down there, “We’re here because of a call!”
“Fuckin’ creepy-ass basement.” He grumbled, swivelling to move his flame around as a torch, “Sounds cool, though.”
“Maybe we should’ve done karaoke here.” You joked, before stiffening at the sight of a silhouette in the near distance.
Flambae leaned over your shoulder, furrowing his eyebrows and squinting at them.
You swallowed, moving away from him to approach the figure.
“Are you the caller?”
They stepped into the light, only barely, their features lit at the very edges while casting the rest of their face into darkness.
They stared at you for a minute, before tilting their head.
“I am, yes.” They spoke slowly and clearly, “You must be one of the famed reformed villains I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“I— I am.” You confirmed, “Do I know you?”
“No. You don’t. But I know all about you.”
Your heart lurched in your chest, and you tried to take a step back, but you seemed to hit a wall. When had you been so close to a wall?
“Don’t try running.” They stepped closer, and you saw the flame beside you brighten.
Flambae, to your right, was already struggling, tugging at the bindings to no avail.
“You let him go.” You snapped, “Whatever creepy vendetta you have against us, you take it out on me.”
“Your friend here is safe.” They let out a breathy huff, “You’re the one I’m looking for.”
You felt ropes snaking their way up your legs, slithering further up your calves and circling around your knees and wrists to hold you in place.
They spoke your name— the real one, not the superhero persona you kept up like the rest of your team, and their hand moved to grip your chin, tilting your head in time with theirs.
“You parade yourself around like you’re some miracle. Like you are the proof that human beings are inherently good. Like some saviour.” They whispered, their breath fanning out from your ear, letting goosebumps rise on the back of your neck, “But I know who you truly are.”
With a flick of their wrist, the cables rose to slide across your throat, before tightening around your neck entirely.
You jolted, your lungs aching for air as you spasmed against the restraints.
“You are a murderer. A criminal and an unredeemable evil. You’re a plague on this world.” They hissed into your face, “You took the wrong life— my brother’s life. Three years ago. And now I want an exchange.”
The serpentine cord crushing your windpipe tightened further, and you felt the room spin as they continued to speak, like it mattered more than anything else in the world.
“A life for a life. And then we’re even.” They held up their palms, before their hands moved to grab a broken piece of metal from beside them.
It was tinged orange with rust, the edges razor-sharp, like it had been ripped from a structure and perfected.
“Fucker! Let me out! Don’t you fucking—“ Flambae growled, and you could faintly hear the struggle as the rope around your neck loosened only slightly.
Your eyes, dazed and slow with your fading consciousness, watched as they gripped the makeshift weapon almost lovingly.
You hung there as they stepped closer, face inches from your own, as they whispered something you couldn’t quite make out, before white-hot pain seemed to rip through your insides, as the sound of tearing flesh filled your ears, followed by the man beside you screaming and cursing.
The neck restraints let up, and you felt yourself crumple to the floor, feeling the metal be yanked out of your body with a sickening squelch. You lay there gasping, overwhelming waves of agony surging through you with every heartbeat.
You couldn’t move, and your lips couldn’t find the shapes of the words on the tip of your tongue, as your head lolled to the side, seeing Flambae fall to his knees when untied.
He scrambled towards you, and you swore you saw panic in his ever-so-cocky eyes.
“Fuck— you—“ His voice sounded like you were underwater, hearing him from below the surface, as the searing torment overwhelmed your senses.
You saw, out of a blurry, throbbing haze, his hands moving shakily and frantically against your wound as your body slowly stained with the colour of your own life force.
“Stay awake, eyes open—“ He insisted, seeing your eyelids start to flicker shut, “Damn it—“
One of his hands pressed into the entry wound, ripping a suffocated gasp out from your lungs, which made him seem like he was about to break down, himself.
His eyes watered and his chest rose and fell quicker than you’d ever seen it before, and you swore you saw his shoulders shaking with what seemed like hidden sobs as he kept muttering to you, another hand moving to press against the hole in your abdomen as he screamed at your dispatcher through his earpiece.
“SEND SOMEONE!” He shouted, “You— you can’t just— fucking— call medical!”
You felt your lashes grow heavy again, and a strange buzzing sensation overcame the pain. It almost felt like you felt like you were floating, in a strange way.
His eyes changed when he saw you slowly starting to lose consciousness, and you watched as he quickly maneuvered himself closer to your face, yelling and shaking you to try and keep your eyes open.
The last thing you saw before your vision went dark was his forehead pressed against yours.
A faint, steady beep was the first thing that you heard.
That, followed by snoring.
Your whole body felt limp, like you’d been boiled, and a faint ache quickly set in, as you tried to pry your eyes open.
The lights above were dimmed, but still too bright, and you let out a croaky wince as the fluorescent white bar above you flooded your exhausted vision.
It took a fair amount of effort to turn your head, but the sight of a certain someone had you letting out a soft hum. Although, whether it was of affection or not, you weren’t quite sure.
This wasn’t Flambae. Not the Flambae the public got. This was Chad, the one that you knew was yours, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt with his suit still under it, hair down and messy around his shoulders.
Chad, who, at the sound of your hum, shot upwards, eyes wide.
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before he buried his face in his hands.
“Fuck.” He whispered.
“Do I look that bad?” You rasped, with a grin.
“No, idiot, you look fucking hot.” He snapped, “But you fucking died.”
“I’m alive.”
“Barely!” He scoffed, “You had, like— three broken ribs. And lost so much goddamn blood. I can’t get the stains out.”
“Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight.” You grimaced, shifting to sit up, but he quickly rushed to hold you back down by the shoulders.
“You’re not going any-fucking-where. Asshole.” He seemed to deflate a little, “You scared me.”
“…yeah.” You exhaled, “Wait, what happened to the—“
“The others tracked them down.”
“Jesus, how long was I out?” You blinked, and furrowed your brow when you saw him look away.
You were tempted to try and sit up again, but you knew hospital painkillers would only take you so far.
“Chad.” You spoke sternly, “How long was I out?”
“Three days, give or take.” He admitted, “You were in and out a lot, I doubt you remember.”
“And you’ve been… here?” Your voice felt quieter than before, like the very notion that he’d stayed that long had stunned you into near silence, “For three days?”
“Yeah.” He snorted, “Are you kidding me? I was there the whole time. Looked at your stitches and everything.”
You watched him for a moment, seeing the exhaustion peek through that cocky exterior. You saw the man you loved, but something about it felt flat. Like he was trying and failing to be himself.
“You… you really did scare me.” He admitted, softer than before, leaning forward as his hair fell off of his shoulders, “I thought you died. You pretty much did, actually, and…”
Chad trailed off, and he instead slipped one of his hands into yours. You noted that it was the one missing fingers, although it could have just been how tired the both of you were.
“I’m not dead.” You mumbled, and you saw a smile try and work its way onto his lips.
“Still stuck with you.” He replied, lifting your knuckles to press the lightest kiss he could against them.
▹— summary: you don’t like the blood in your reflection, joel wipes it away.
▹— a/n: this is like 1.4k words and it’s shit, sorry!!! barely any joel interaction but it’s the thought that counts? (from feb’23, posted june’25 so go easy lmao) this was supposed to be a lot longer i think
▹— warnings: extremely unfinished, creeps from silver lake, reader murders folk (off page), trauma, dissociation, BLOOD, canon typical violence
MASTERLIST
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Life in Jackson had been something of a miracle. A working, living society that fought back against the Infection that threatened to poison the whole world, and the humans who had taken advantage of it in the worst kind of way. It was a safe haven, a little pocket of life that you had never known before arriving alongside Ellie and Joel, close to a year ago.
But it didn’t change you.
It didn’t change anything about the world outside of the walls, either. The world was still infested with fungus, and full to the brim of immoral assholes who would love nothing more than to tear Jackson apart.
You couldn’t help but remain on edge, even as Ellie and Joel slowly began to relax into the life of somewhat normalcy. Every time you tried to just calm down and enjoy life, you felt overwhelmed with images of people destroying this place. You were sure it wouldn’t be able to last, nothing ever did.
It was the reason you were so eager to go on patrols, to be allowed the gun in your hands as your horse trotted along the routes that members of Jackson frequented.
So it was no surprise to you when you saw the smoke in the distance, coming from a supposedly abandoned cabin. You weren’t sure who would be in there, whether it’d be Jackson patrollers taking a pit stop, or someone more malicious.
You had been grateful, then, that being in Jackson hadn't made you soft. Your guard was still present, still strong, and you were thankful, especially as you got closer to the cabin. It had become increasingly clear that whoever these people were, they didn’t come from Jackson. The windows were unblocked, and you could see at least three men inside, their faces angled away from where you were staring in.
Nobody in Jackson would be that foolish, you were certain. It was standard procedure to block entrances to wherever you may be laying low, not wanting to risk Infected or hunters sneaking up on you. That open window would have anybody sneaking in with ease, which was why you knew you’d be getting answers.
You had tied up your horse, then, to a tree just out of reach, giving her a comforting pat against the side of her neck.
The next moments had been a blur, crawling through snow and bushes to keep out of sight, all the way until you had reached the open window, finally able to hear their voices carrying through the air. Your gun was gripped tightly in your hand, safety off, and you were ready to shoot first, answer later, before you caught wind of their words.
It had you freezing, eyebrows furrowed, and you recall the way misted breath had left you.
“They’ll all pay, Sid. That’s what we’re here for, ain’t it?” One of them had laughed, and you had heard the pat of him hitting presumably Sid on the shoulder.
“What? You think those assholes are gonna let us kill three of their own?”
“Hey, that stupid girl killed one of ours first. An eye for an eye.” The first voice responded, much angrier than his first comment had been, and you had realised then that this seemed… personal.
“They killed David, Sid. We ain’t about to let that slide!” A third voice spoke up, lower and much more vengeful when he uttered the name. Your mind had been racing, going through the likelihood that this was all a coincidence, and that they weren’t here for Ellie. For you. For Joel.
You were climbing through the window before you could think better of it, boots thumping harshly against the wooden floor and drawing all of their attention. You had grabbed the nearest guy before they could even make a move, your gun pressed to his head.
“Weapons on the floor.” You had hissed, pushing the metal harder against the man you held as they hesitated. “Now.”
“Alright, girl, jus’ calm down now!” One of the men, Sid, you figured, said, nodding towards his companion and dropping his pistol and rifle to the ground. You had jerked your chin, and kept your eyes sharp as they begrudgingly kicked away the weapons, out of reach.
Your hand had gripped the arm of the man in front of you as he held a knife, poised to strike you with it. “I wouldn’t.” The knife slipped to the floor as you twisted his wrist, and he cursed as you kicked it away, towards the window you had entered through. “What the fuck do you want? Why are you here?” Your voice had been dark, full of anger and a not so subtle threat.
“We just want the girl, okay? She killed one of ours.” Sid told you, his brows furrowed as he clearly tried to repress the anger in his expression.
“Where are you from?” You asked then, awaiting confirmation of your worst fears. You had repeated your question when they hesitated, pressing the gun harder against the head of the man below you, ignoring his wince.
“Silver Lake! It’s—it’s in Colorado!”
Your blood had felt like it was frozen, dragging through your veins at a speed so slow it physically hurt. You had swallowed, something in your eyes setting as you nodded, jaw clenched.
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The wind had numbed your limbs as soon as you stepped foot back outside, blood drying against your skin in the harsh weather.
Your horse was exactly where you’d left her, and she stayed quiet as you claimed back on the saddle, making your way back in the direction of Jackson with more supplies than you’d left with. The ride there was a complete blur, something inside of you just as numb, though not from the wind.
Concerned voices reached your ears when the gates opened, people reaching for you as you slipped off of the horse, patting her neck before someone took her back to the stables. “‘M fine.” You grumbled, stepping away from somebody as they reached hands towards you.
“Are you hurt?” They asked, hands stilled in the air, prepared to reach towards you again.
You shook your head, something fumbling from your lips about going home, and you set off before they could question you further. The journey blurred together, just the sound of your footsteps as you looked for the familiar road that was Rancher Street. You hadn’t fully registered the stares on you as you trekked through the heart of Jackson, finally reaching the house you were meant to call home.
“Joel?” You called, stepping into the house, the backpack and gear on your back being set down beside the door. When he didn’t answer, you frowned, knowing he wasn’t on any jobs this evening.
You made your way up the stairs, avoiding the fourth step that creaked when you step foot on it, and looked through the rooms, one by one. When you finally found the man, he was hunched over his woodwork desk, his mostly-deaf ear facing toward the doorway in which you stood.
“Joel,” You breathed, something of relief finding you as you saw he was fine, just working away in his own world. You were going to say something else, but were stopped by the way he looked over at you.
“Shit,” He said, standing immediately and making his way to you with quick steps. “Are you okay? What happened?” Joel asked, furrowing his brows when you didn’t answer him, rather stepping into his arms and gripping onto him like your life depended on it. He held on to the back of your head, holding you close, and couldn’t help but frown as you sagged in his arms.
He called your name, unable to do anything but be more confused and concerned by the second when you could only shake your head.
It takes him more than a few moments to realise that the blood staining you isn’t your own, and that brings along another realisation. Your despondency translates what happened for you, so you have no need to fill him in with words.
This is something Joel Miller knows all too well.
The disassociation afterwards is a powerful thing, but what comes after that stage isn’t any better. There are struggles ahead of you, he knows, and he knows those struggles well.
He holds you tighter, arms firm around you, and waits.
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▹—taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @fariylixie0915 @faceache111 @randomhoex @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @soobsdior @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro) please let me know if you want removing or adding!
summary you're Dustin's older sister, your friends decide to have a Christmas dinner which lead you to invate Steve to your family Christmas lunch, and eventually confront your feelings
word count: 5.5k
warnings fem!reader, , fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn bestfriends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, pretty tipical Chsristmas stuff, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!!
-
Every time the air got a bit too cold, and the tip of your nose turned red as soon as you stepped out on the street you had the same thought, nothing changes.
You were still in that same town that had seen you grow up. You were still living with your mom and your brother. You still took care of them, and still, nobody took care of you.
But in these little moments, you had a sense of calm, where your brain got quiet. Sharing a room with the people that you care the most, and that -as far as you were aware- cared about you, that was as close to happiness as you thought you might get. Robin was frantically moving form the kitchen to the living room, decorating a small table, set for six.
It started as a joke. “What if we celebrate Christmas a week early? And we get absolutely trashed?” Eddie huffed after work late one day. While you were busy cleaning the floors of the Hideout and he was avoiding cleaning the overused coffee machine. A call later and a promise that you’d get the alcohol from that provider that always tries to make you laugh at his sexist jokes you ended up here.
A week before Christmas, with your friends dressed up and playing the grown up game.
Your hair was out of your face with a high ponytail, which you couldn’t stop messing up every five seconds. Your tongue was constantly going over your teeth, in case some of the red lipstick Nancy begged for you to apply found its way there. You felt a bit ridiculous, especially since Steve couldn’t take his eyes off you, and every time you caught him he’d shake his head with that short laugh that was characteristic of him. You hate to admit it, but he looked good. Intentionally good. His hair was always well kept, so seeing it fall a bit in the center caught your attention as soon as he opened the door to his house. The blue button-up shirt made him look like a real grown-up, he didn’t seem like he was wearing a costume, it really looked like he dressed up. You didn’t have the same sensation when you looked in the mirror, black was always your comfort colour, but that skin thigh dress was a bit too there for you. “You look hot.” Was the first thing that escaped Eddie’s lips as soon as he saw you coming through the door, handing you his half smoked cigarette which you accepted with a nod. “You don’t look too bad” You answered quickly. He laughed as he shook his head. It was his usual, black jeans with some washed-up shirt. Only this time he had a wool jumper that he was holding with his arm as soon as he saw you looking with your eyebrows furrowed he added “Nancy wants me to dress up nice” You chuckled as you passed by. Steve’s eyes looking in your figure.
But that was before.
You were all sat on the table now, and the food was coming out slowly. Jonathan had a big pan on his hands which he proudly announced was his roasted chicken, with some potatoes that smelled of rosemary and heaven. Nancy followed in closely with the gravy and a tray of spotted mac and cheese that made you smile. The sight of them made you remember how close they were to being actual hosts in their recently bought house. They were about to move, closer to the city, closer where Nancy would have real opportunities as a journalist, and closer to where Jonathan could feel the pressure disappear and enjoy his life taking pictures, and finally attend culinary classes, which he found out recently he enjoyed, and now you were tasting the benefits.
“I’m so glad you’re into cooking” Robin expressed the thought everybody had at the same time. A river of soft yeses followed.
Eddie started to serve everybody wine before he served some for himself. You sat between him and Steve, whose eyes would more often than not land on you, even if you weren’t aware of it.
Time passed by quickly. The conversation was flowing without interruptions, little sidesteps occurred between them and you gleaned happily at the sight of your friends enjoying each other's company. Your right hand rested on your cheek, while your left found the half empty glass, bringing it to your lips. You could help but smile earnestly. These times are the ones you enjoy the most. Nancy and Jonathan having a strong argument about some nonsense with Robin and Eddie while you all laughed. It was always about the latest movie, or book, or record that came out and their opposing views on it. It was chaotic. It was heaven on earth.
“What are you smiling about?” Steve whispered closely to your ear, leaning a bit closer. Your arms were touching now, you noticed.
Your eyes quickly looked at him up and down, stopping where they usually stop, his pinkish lips, his beauty mark on his neck, his two day stubble and that wild hair. You fought a chuckle from escaping when you saw a glow invade his cheeks.
“This.” You gestured with your head to your friends quickly, before returning to his eyes. “I wish this was how my Christmas looked” You whisper more to yourself than to him, but given the closeness of his body, he hears you.
He also notices the note of melancholy in your tone.
“Believe me, I get it.” Steve looks back at Robin, and the way she is laughing, loudly and without a concern. “I don’t feel alone with you guys.”
“You feel alone?” You’re caught off guard by that comment. There’s concern in your voice and in the way you form a crinkle in between your brows that makes Steve smile softly. That type of smile where only one of the corners of his mouth curves upwards.
“You know… Big house, and they always go away for Christmas.” He admits through gritted teeth, avoiding your big compassionate eyes for the first time this evening. “Not that I look up to having a painfully long quiet meal with them but… I’d be nice for a change.”
“What are you doing for Christmas, then?” You can’t help yourself, every time Steve has a problem or seems down your first instinct is always the same what can I do.
Eddie quietly noticed that look you had in your face. It was one of true devotion. He knew for a while, that you were developing feelings for your friend, he knew you better than anyone, and in this particular case, he knew you better than yourself. You don’t quite realise that your compassion and your feeling of melancholy is accompanied by true admiration and even a soft warm growing love. He smiled quietly to himself, his finger tapping Robin’s arm, nodding to your general direction. Robin smiled back at Eddie. They both knew at that moment, it was just a matter of time.
Steve had his soft eyes fixated on the point of the table where your arm met his, and he was aware of the reaction it was having in his skin, the warmth it left. But neither he or you were conscious of the way your bodies faced each other, about the magnetic field you could create around the both of you. Robin couldn’t wait to nag Steve about it later.
“I’m uh… I’ll stay here, probably watch Labyrinth or something and have some of these leftovers and go to bed.” He admitted, his soft voice interrupted by the wine falling down on his throat.
“Well, I’d advise you to clean that shirt.” You had already made a decision. You smirked at his confused stare.
“What's wrong with this shirt?”
“Nothing, it’s a great shirt.”
“Then why do I have to wash it?”
“Because you’ll have to wear it for Christmas.”
“I’m wearing pajamas." He was confused and decided at the same time.
“No, you’re not.” You finally let your laugh escape from your lips, which in turn made Steve’s lips curve even more. “You’re coming home, and you’ll have stuffing, and danish potatoes and pork and everything you want. You’re not staying here.”
“I couldn’t” He was adamant to accept your offer, even if his smile was brighter than you had ever seen. “It’s your family.” He tried to argue as if it made a difference.
“And my brother loves you more than he loves me” You added in return. “Besides, if you come my aunt Kathy won’t ask why I’m not bringing anyone.”
“What, like a date?” He was flustered. And so were you at the idea of it.
“She’s always asking about my love life, and I can’t really tell her that its a fucking disaster because she’ll say that’s because she swept my feet when I was little.” Steve furrowed his brown trying to hide an amazed chuckle. “Don’t ask.”
“What, so I’m your…?” that tinge of hope filled the silence. It grew as you thought about the possible ends that sentence could have
“You’re my friend. Let her focus on your love life for a while.” You shut your moth as you drank, feeling that coldness of the wine in the back of your throat, not wanting to think of that image that came to your mind for a millisecond.
An image of you walking holding his arm, entering your house with all the lights on, while you looked like the happiest pair, all sealed with a quick kiss that felt familiar.
not real. You had to remind yourself as you swallowed another quick sip.
“Are you sure?” Steve asked for confirmation, a single ounce of doubt in your tone or a flinch in your eyes and he’d know if he should leave his house.
“Please.” You whisper back as your fingers play with the rim of your glass. A soft playful roll of your eyes makes him grin. “Anything for you, Harrington.”
-
“Did she really say that?” Robin inquired as she whipped the leftovers of the plates on the bin. Slowly and focused on the wrong thing.
“The eyes were the worst thing.” Eddie continued, splashing them with water before starting to clean them by hand. “You know those soft puppy eyes?”
“The glassy kind?” Robin added before looking back at him and stiffing a laugh. “Dude, Steve’s parents are rich, use the dishwasher.”
“Yeah– what dishwasher?” He lost his trail of thought for a moment. Robin turned around, quickly pointing to the hidden machine, reclining her body against the counter so she could continue theorizing about her friends, one of her favourite hobbies. “Fucking Harrington.”
“Yeah.” Robin waited for a beat before trying to get back on track. “So, Steve’s spending Christmas with the Hendersons?”
“By personal invitation of our drunken friend” He added as he looked back at you for a second, you were sneakily going through Eddie’s jacket. “Dude!” He yelled as soon as he realised what you were doing.
“Duuude” You mocked him, holding the palms of your hands up.
“The fuck are you looking for?”
“I just wanted to smoke and I can’t find mine.” You tried to justify yourself.
“That’s because you gave them to me, they're in my pack pocket.” He said as he dried his hands on a rag he found hanging from a wall. He shook his head with a side smile before looking at Robin. It was a quick glance, but enough was said. Get information, regroup. “I’ll come” He finally added while he walked to you, patting his back pocket and handing you your blue camel pack. “You’ve got a light?”
“Yeah.” You lead the way out of Steve’s house, letting the cold hit you right on your chest, enjoying the sharpness that invades your lungs as you breathe in.
It takes a while for Eddie to say anything. You enjoy the warmth that the flame of the lighter leaves on your fingers, and the comfortable silence that was about to be broken, listening carefully to Eddie sighting before lighting his own cigarette.
“So…” He analyzes how to start the conversation, stepping from behind you. He can see that you’ve had a little bit more to drink than usual, your cheeks are red, so is the tip of your nose. Your eyes are heavy and half closed, he can’t help but grin as he tries to find the right words. “Harrington..?” He looks at the ground, not really sure why he’s not capable of saying anything else.
“What about him?” You almost sound defensive. You turn around slowly to face him, enjoying the way the smoke comes out of your lungs, not really sure when it stops and becomes your breath. It all looks the same in the cold, you briefly think.
“You invited him to your family’s Christmas?” He inquires, his eyebrow raised as he inhales again.
“Yeah”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Dude.” Eddie was amazed by how much you tried not to show your feelings in this second, it was only made worse by your nervous swinging, your left hand playing with the fabric on your waist, as your right fiddles with the end of the cigarette. It was endearing. “When have you ever brought anybody to your Christmas family bullshit?” He sounded cynical, yet he had those sincere kind eyes that let you know he was being legitimately sincere.
“I haven’t really, but c’mon, it’s Steve.” You tried to argue, not really listening to yourself. Taking a small breath in before continuing. “And who cares? He’s by himself on Christmas, nobody should.”
“Except, it is a big deal, and a lot of people are going to care.” He counters, taking a step into your direction, with a serious expression. “If you look at me, deeaad in the eyes and tell me you feel absolutely nothing for dear old Harrington, I’ll drop it.” Eddie used that over the top voice he usually used when he knew the narrative was on his side, accompanied by the usual head tilt that shook his entire hair.
You felt the strings being pulled.
The single heartbeat that you skipped.
The cold getting to your skin.
The small realization that he might be right.
That you might have a second intention that you weren't aware of it yet. Was it possible? Did you actually have some deeper more difficult and complicated feeling for Steve than you thought?
It wasn’t an insane thought. Not really.
It was actually a very real possibility.
Especially when you thought of him, and you paid attention to the way your body reacted. You think back to the dinner, and how your skin felt hot and tingled every time your arm made contact with his, or his knee bumped into your leg.
Your eyes darting between his and his lips.
The urge you had to run your fingers through his hair.
You ended up saying the only thing you thought of.
“I can’t. I might.”
-
Back in the living room, a very similar conversation was happening between Robin and Steve. Nancy had hushed Robin out of the kitchen once she realised she was cleaning the greasy plates with cold water.
A very bored Steve was sitting on the couch looking out the window, more specifically at you.
Steve turned his head around as soon as he heard that familiar chuckle.
“Hey loverboy.” She teased as she let her body fall into the couch, all of a sudden, bumping his body a little bit.
“Fuck off.” He scoffed in an attempt at self defense, a last plea for his dignity. He knew deep down, he was about to crumble.
“How deep are you in?” Robin didn’t give in, she continued pushing. She recognised that look in his eyes, that gleam of hope you only get when you’re deeply falling for someone.
“Pretty fucking in.” Steve knew it was no use. If he tried to lie Robin would know. If he tried to hide his feelings, he might burst right here and there.
“When?” She demanded, a look of compassion now that she saw the way his eyes dimmed when they were not looking at your back.
“About an hour ago. When she invaded me and she had that look that she gets. You know the one. That melting into her hand thing. I dunno, I’ve liked her for a while but that… fuck, Robin. I dunno.” He whispered to her, afraid that anyone would hear. He was being incredibly sincere, he wasn’t fidgeting, there wasn’t a trace of nervousness on his voice. Robin had never seen such calmness and decisiveness in his friend.
“How can you know in an hour?” It was the only thing Robin was sure she could ask, or the only reassuring thought she could offer in a time like this.
“I’m not. I just know I wanna see her smile like that again.”
With that they both knew something was blooming there. Robin didn’t say anything else, she just laid her head on his shoulder and muttered softly. i get it, which in Steve’s opinion, was the best thing that could happen.
-
“Dear, can you come help me?” You looked straight into Dustin’s eyes, begging for him to answer.
“I’ve been in the kitchen for four hours, please?” You tried to beg, holding your hair with both of your hands, trying to pin it up and away from your face in a way that looked good.
“Five bucks.” He answered without hesitation.
“Two and I don’t tell aunt Shelly about camp.” You bargained, just as fast as he answered.
“What about camp? She knows I went to camp, she let me sleep in her house the night before.”
“Yeah, but I bet she doesn’t know the bedrooms were mixed, and that you were in the same cabin as your dear Suzie Poo.” He cut you off before you could continue, you left a chuckle a soon as you saw him shake his head through the mirror.
“Okey, jeez.” He added before quickly glazing at you for a second. “You’ve got lipstick on your teeth.”
You frantically inspected, finding not a single red stain on them.
“Fuck off.”
“Why are you getting so dressed up anyway?”
“Dunno, felt like it.” You tried to push him away, not wanting to answer more questions about your behaviour today. He caught the shift in your demeanor and quietly left the room you were in, raising his hand apologetically.
You were far from feeling like it, you were usually nauseous before family gatherings, so that wasn’t necessarily anything new, but knowing that Steve was about to come in, knowing that you hadn’t actually figured anything out, knowing that you were unsure of every ounce of feeling you felt, made your head spin. So you obsessed over every single detail you could control.
You had helped with the preparation of half of the menu, in anticipation for the various comments, that way you could divert them into the food, and deflect by giving compliments to the organization of your mom and her sisters.
You locked yourself away in your room laying different options on top of your bed, painstakingly trying them on again and again, looking at every angle on the mirror. You wanted to look nice, but were terrified of the comments your family could make about your body. You were always too skinny for someone, too full for someone else, ate too much or too little. In the past, you’d wear an oversized shirt and call it a day. But that same black dress hung in your view.
You took it, with a little red jumper over it. Just in case.
Nancy had gifted you the lipstick. So you went to the bathroom, where Dustin was fixing his hair.
And that’s where you were left, obsessing over how your hair fell on your back, and how much of it you could pin up, keeping it out and away from your face.
As fate would have it, as soon as you stepped out, a soft nervous knock could be heard on the door.
You slowly walked up to it, even if you already knew he was on the other side, you couldn’t quiet your heart, it beat loud and fast. It slowed once your eyes met his. He had a red flower plant on his right arm, and a couple of small boxes on his left.
“Hey”
“Hi” You answered before stepping out of the threshold. You glanced at the flowers quickly before returning to his eyes. He had that usual grin, though his cheeks were more flushed than usual.
“These are for your mom.” He admitted shyly, hiding his face behind them for a second, so he could compose himself. He chose the shirt you liked, and panicked with his hair for five minutes before getting out of the car.
“They’re lovely.” Steve flushes at the way your eyes are shining, and how sincere your voice is. You on the other hand are touched he even had the thought to buy something for your mom.
You both walk quietly to the kitchen, where your mom is frantically going over all the preparations with her older sister. It wasn’t a big fuss, he politely gives her the flowers, thanks her for letting him be in her house on Christmas and she reacts the same way you did, reassuring him that nobody should be alone on these days.
He still thanked her profusely and introduced himself to your aunt Kathy, you were busy looking at him with a wide smile to notice that she smiled once she saw you next to him.
You quietly walked to the living room, the fireplace was cracking softly as you both sat down on the couch.
“What’s that?” You point out, your hand gracing the back of his, you flinch it back quickly once you feel that electric feeling growing right on the spot you touched.
“Oh. Uh, this is for Dustin, this one’s for you.” Steve tries to not have a modulation on his voice, as if giving it to you didn’t make him feel like a little kid.
“I didn’t get you anything…” You blurted out feeling ashamed you hadn’t thought of it, your cheeks were getting warmer by the second, it didn’t help feeling him that close, the cushions underneath you giving to both of your weight, making your hips touch.
“You already did. I’m happy I’m not eating badly reheated turkey” He scoffs, cracking a joke that makes both of your lips curl upwards. He hands you the small box, allowing his fingers to rest on your palm for a second longer than they should.
You didn’t say anything, you just looked at him. You lids half closed as you could help but let your cheeks rise up, a thruthfull smile that made Steve chuckle, it was a weird feeling. He was enjoying being the reason you smiled so sincerely, and it was a high he was determined to chase for the rest of his days.
He just realised. If this is what it feels like, I don’t want to feel it for anyone else.
He just stayed there, careful not to move too much while he watched you carefully inspect the wrapped box, as you tilted and moved it, trying to guess what it was.
Before you were able to open it, you were called to the table. You left it behind the tree where nobody could see, a quick glance to Steve, whose crinkled eyes gave you a feeling of calmness that you had been chasing for a while. careful. Something deep within you begged. don’t give in yet.
-
It was smooth sailing.
Nobody really questioned anything, seeing how familiar Steve was with Dustin, watching how he was treated as one more of the family, it put you at ease. Aunt KAthy pushed to see if he had someone, which he adamantly admitted he did not. Not without looking at you first, which echoed a cackle between your extended family that you just blew off. Even if your cheeks matched the colour of your lips by now.
It was all going well. The conversation flew, the food was good, you dodged some questions you didn’t feel like answering and the wine was poured. Steve had closed the distance between your ear and his lips in that moment. The warm breath that his words left on your skin made you try even harder not to appear nervous, squeezed your thighs harder for just a moment, until his cologne wasn’t as present, once you stopped feeling as if you could swim in it you could breath again. All of it just to say that he was happy you invated him, and that he could see the wine getting into your eyes. Which in return made you turn around quickly, your eyes still fixed onto his, he smiled shyly, softly and carefully biting his lip as he listen to you closely. As if the world didn’t exist. “What do you mean, the wine is in my eyes?” You hushedly asked, your chin resting on your hand. “You have the same look you did on our dinner. You just look more beautiful today if that’s even possible.” He tried his luck.
It worked quickly. His grin grew bigger when he realised that you averted his eyes quickly. Flustered. Enjoying the way you took another sip. Memorising every single movement you made. “Fuck off” Is the only thing you managed to say.
You left your hand hanging between the both of you, enjoying the feeling of it hanging in the air for a second. Steve noticed. And with a clear decision of making you realise his feelings for you this evening, he decided his hand should hang in that exact manner.
Only his was bigger, and his little finger caressed yours. He quickly gleaned at the interaction, and the way you stretched your hand, so your fingers could be interlinked. It was quick, it was secret. what now? You screamed to yourself as you enjoyed the way his skin felt against yours, trying not to get caught by your mom, or even worse, Dustin.
One thing was evident.
You were in deep shit.
Your heart had made a decision without asking permission.
-
Everyone had opened their presents, everyone was distracted, showing each other their new things, playing and being amazed. Yet that little box sat anxiously in your palms.
Somehow, it felt intimate.
Somehow, it felt private.
Steve -who hadn’t stopped looking at you, not even for a second- noticed the way in which your fingers played with the folded paper while your eyes and mind seemed elsewhere.
“I won’t be mad if you don’t like it.” He whispered into your ear once again, leaving that effect on you once again. Your skin was now covered in visible goosebumps, and you felt as if your heart would beat out of your chest. You yelled to yourself get yourself together.
“I thought you’d kill me.” You decide to play into it, in an effort to deflect the effect he was having on you, or the way your pupils invaded your iris. It was no use.
“No.” Steve sounded convinced and sure of himself. A confidence in him that pulled you in even harder. “I’d miss you too much.”
You can’t help but scoff a chuckle, yet a grin appears on your face. Steve’s satisfied with himself as soon as he catches you brushing your nose with a nervous movement. You quickly scan the room and notice no one is looking, so you decide to lay your hand on his forearm, softly caressing it. You smirk once you realise you have the same effect over him as he does on you. After a minute, you decide to slowly get up. Knowing his eyes won’t leave you or your figure, you started walking upstairs, the box still in your hands.
You feel like you can breathe again once you hear his footsteps following you.
You decide to stay at the top of the staircase, not wanting to lock yourself away in your bedroom with him. Not yet. Not now.
There weren't any words spoken. Just glances between the both of you. You were having a whole conversation without even opening your mouth. It was a new feeling, a reassuring one. As if that had always been the way. You relished for a few seconds longer. Not making a sound. Just his eyes on yours, softness clear in them. The smell of his cologne mixed with his aftershave, which only made you feel warmer.
It all looked like a picture, like a scene out of a movie, like a lyric of a love song that would eventually destroy you. but why shouldn’t I enjoy it? You caught yourself thinking. For once, you let your heart guide you.
Your fingers broke the paper, Steve was gleaming with excitement.
You found a little cassette tape, with a polaroid badly cut to fit the cover of the both of you, taken on that dinner you had a few weeks ago. His hand rested on your shoulder and you looked up at him as if time had stopped. You felt the way you were squinting your eyes, the back of it was handwritten. Your songs. And he listed every single one that made him think of you.
“Open it” He whispered, closing the distance between your bodies, the tip of his finger bumping into yours. If you swang, your hip would immediately crash into his. It created an electricity that was inviting and comfortable.
Inside you found a little necklace. It wasn’t anything too fancy, or decorative. It’s simple nature made you smile. You had one just like this one, but the chain broke two years ago. You felt seen.
You felt known.
You felt loved.
You whipped a little tear away, quickly holding the tape in an embrace.
“Thank you.” You managed to whisper before burying your face in his chest, your hand still holding thigh to the cassette tape.
His hands quickly wrapped around your waist, pressing you in tightly. He felt lucky he got to hold you like that. You quickly held onto him too. It was intoxicating. After a few seconds Steve rested his head on top of yours. You felt his chest move as you heard him chuckle.
“Is that…?” He asked breaking the embrace to point at a pointy green leaf that was glued to the ceiling.
“Yup.” You answered quickly, flustered and embarrassed your house has that much of a chiché-
“Should we?” He asked. Though Steve’s voice was more close to a plea, or a beg. You shook your head quickly, which made his eyebrows furrow. He was getting lost in your mixed signals.
“I don’t want you to kiss me because of some plant…” You start saying before gathering the courage to finish the sentence looking him deep into his eyes. “ I want you to kiss me because you actually want to.” You explained as best as you could, as best as your nervousness and uncharacteristic shy demeanor allowed you to.
You saw the way Steve left his head hang to the right as he evaluated his options, his eyes couldn’t stop looking at your lips. He didn’t have another choice.
“In that case” He whispered in a hush voice, with an urgency in his tone. His arms held you tightly as he stepped out under the mistletoe, your back almost bumping into the wall, your arms travelled all the way to the back of his neck, your thumbs grabbing his jaw softly.
Those seconds before he closed the distance where the closest you thought you could get to heaven without being dead. The way his eyes looked at you, the hunger, the neediness in them made your head spin.
As soon as his lips were on top of yours you felt like you just found what you had missed with every other kiss you had ever had.
Sparks.
Warmth.
Respect.
Need.
You begged it wouldn’t end. His hands buried in your body as much as he could, holding you tightly, even more than you thought possible. Your hands got lost in his hair, enjoying how soft and the tangles you created and separated at the same time.
What was better, you could feel each other smiling, deciding to continue kissing despite of it.
Even once it finished, it didn’t. Steve kissed the tip of your nose before his forehead rested on yours, and you kissed his chest before holding him again.
“You have to be fucking jokeing” Dustin’s voice appeared out of thin air, with the sound of the flushed toilet and the opening door than banged a little too hard.
You couldn’t help but laugh as hard as you could, burring your head in Steve’s Chest while he hid his face on your hair, both of you way too happy to be faced by that type of energy right now.
You decided to enjoy each other’s company for a second longer before going back to reality.
You had time.
You had made a decision of trying, of giving in.
And so did him.
-
if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference
Summary: The whole thing was stupid. Trying to keep your relationship a secret was dumb. And telling Gareth to light off those fireworks in his backyard was monumentally idiotic.
But if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been accompanying Gareth in the hospital.
Set immediately after The Battle of Starcourt. Eddie happens upon you, in rough shape, in the hospital. He tries to figure out what the hell is going on.
Word count: 8k
The whole thing was stupid. Trying to keep your relationship a secret was dumb. And telling Gareth to light off those fireworks in his backyard was monumentally idiotic.
But if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been accompanying Gareth in the hospital.
On a quest to find Gareth something to eat in this godforsaken place, while the doctors work out if they’d be able to save Gareth’s thumb (he’s joking, mostly), Eddie passes dozens of other rooms. He’s moving so quickly down the hallway, he convinces himself he’s imagining it. A flash of yellow in the doorway, just before the nurse closes the door on her way in. The sharp squeak of his sneakers catching on the linoleum rings out as he stops short. He’s frozen; glued to the floor. Surely, he saw it wrong. Surely it’s a coincidentally similar sweatshirt. Surely… It’s not you.
But then he hears it. He hears an unmistakable sound that, luckily, he’s only heard a handful of times. He heard it when you got distracted in the kitchen and sliced your hand with a knife, when you took a concussion-level softball to the skull in gym class, and when you scraped your knee on the curb when you fell off your bike. He hears you cry out in pain.
He tears through the room immediately, bursting through the door. He’s met with his worst fear: your tear-stricken, fear-filled face, as a nurse dabs antiseptic on your split-open cheek and another hooks a large bag of liquid up to your IV. A doctor in a white coat looks over a clipboard at the foot of your bed. Eddie calls your name, alerting the team of medical professionals, as well as you, to his presence.
“Excuse me, sir, you need to leave,” one of the nurses says.
“Please, sir, step outside.”
“Eddie!” you cry, reaching your pitiful, trembling hands out.
He tries again to rush to your side, but he’s outnumbered by the staff. The two nurses form a wall; he’s unable to get any further.
“Young man, I’m not going to ask you again. If you don’t leave this room right now, you will be removed by security.”
“That’s my girlfriend,” he argues, “I need to see her. What the hell happened to her?”
“I understand,” the nurse says decisively, “But we need space to work. You can wait in the waiting room and we will call you in when she’s ready for visitors.”
"Debbie, she needs the sedative," the doctor orders one of the nurses. She nods and finishes hooking up your IV, starting a steady drip.
“Please just tell me what happened to her,” he begs.
The other nurse sighs, and you groan in pain again behind her. Eddie flinches, once again making a move to rush to your side, but she catches his shoulder. “I’m not at liberty to divulge any of the details of a patient’s accident unless you’re family. And if you don’t leave this room right now, you’re going to cause a lot of problems for yourself, and for her.”
His wild eyes dart up to you one last time, as you seem to be miraculously calming down, your eyes fluttering shut. Eddie stands there, heart pounding in his chest, feeling utterly helpless. He knows the nurses are just doing their job, but it feels like a personal slight against him.
“Okay,” he says finally, stumbling backward, nearly colliding with the doorframe as he backs out of the room. The hallway feels like it’s closing in on him, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. Every step he takes away from you feels like a betrayal, but he has no choice. People rush past him, clipping his jacket and nearly knocking him off-balance, and he makes his way down the hall to the waiting room. He sinks into a chair in the corner, mind racing as he tries to piece together what could have possibly happened to you.
You’d been distant lately, that’s for sure. Your parents were on a week-long trip to visit your extended family on the east coast, and you had managed to convince them to let you stay behind. Set to leave for college across the country in September, you’d been picking up extra babysitting jobs around the neighborhood to save up for your textbooks. He attributed both his dwindling time with you as well as your frazzled state of mind the past few days to the stress of the new chapter of your life beginning. But, Jesus, was there something else going on? Something he missed?
He had told you to join him and the boys tonight to celebrate the Fourth of July. Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were among the very few people who knew about your relationship. And sure, they teased you, but it was all in good fun. You felt at ease with them, willing to let your guard down. And while Eddie had never considered himself a patriotic person (that much he made abundantly clear), he made promises of cold beer, stupid movies, free weed, and maybe even some fireworks Jeff had scored across state lines. You had already canceled on him the night before, and he knew his time with you was running out before the end of summer. You had called him and said the family you babysit for— the Hendersons, he thinks?— needed you to watch their kid that had just gotten back from summer camp. You apologized profusely— of course you did— and he did his best not to sound disappointed. He understood, or at least he wanted to.
He did a worse job of cloaking his disappointment when you turned him down for the festivities tonight too.
“Are you sure? You can’t get away for even an hour?”
“I’m sorry, Eds. I’m really sorry. I would if I could. I just— This kid needs my help. He’s…” you sigh. He hears a guy’s voice on your end, in the distance. And not the Henderson kid; he hears some dude that seems to be your age. And he tries to fight that ugly jealousy boiling up in him, but it’s hard. “I’ll explain it all later, okay?”
“Did I—” he starts, taking a moment to decide if he really wants to open this can of worms over the phone, “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”
“No!” you urge, immediately, “No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I’m sorry,” you repeat for the ninetieth time, in such a genuine tone that it makes his stomach hurt, “There’s just a lot going on right now. And I promise, I swear on my life, I will take you up on all of that tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he agrees, “Okay. Don’t let that kid drive you too crazy. I love you.”
“I love you too,” you say softly.
And in the moment, Eddie convinced himself he was hearing things, but now it seems more likely that he did in fact hear the Henderson kid say “You’re not going to see anyone tomorrow, we’re—”
Before you hang up the phone.
What weren’t you telling him? He tries to steady his breathing, gripping the armrests of the wooden chair so hard his knuckles turn white. A thousand scenarios play out in his head, each one more terrifying than the last. The thought makes his stomach churn. He hates the idea that you might have been dealing with something alone, without him there to help you. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be your rock, the one you can lean on when things get tough. But now, sitting here in this damn waiting room, he feels more like a failure than anything else.
He nearly jumps out of his seat when a doctor in a lab coat stands right in front of him, the same doctor that had been looking at your vitals. “You’re here for—”
“Yes, yeah. I’m here for my girlfriend. She’s in room 14.”
“She’s stable,” the doctor tells him, holding up his hand like a man who is much too important to be dealing with all of this hand-holding, and Eddie feels a slight release of the tension coiled tightly in his chest. But the look on the doctor’s face tells him that there’s more. “But she’s been through quite an ordeal. She’s still unconscious, but she’s breathing on her own.”
Eddie swallows hard, “What happened to her? Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to her?”
“Listen, kid. She’s in a lot of pain right now, so we’ve given her a strong dose of a sedative and we’re cycling pain medication as well. No major operations necessary; we’ve just applied a few minor stitches to close up the larger wounds and treated some burns that we don’t want getting infected. She’s going to be okay, as long as she doesn’t have any unnecessary panic and stress.” He emphasizes the last words, clearly doctor-talk for “We can’t have boyfriends storming into sterile hospital rooms and making things worse” .
Eddie nods, trying to process the doctor’s words, but it feels like they’re coming from a million miles away. The relief of hearing that you’re stable is quickly overshadowed by the weight of everything else— the burns, the wounds, the stitches. He tries to picture what could have happened, but the rational side of his mind keeps coming up blank, cycling through the same unsettling images.
“Okay,” he says finally, his voice shaky. “Okay, I get it. But… Come on, man,” he says, doing his best to level with the professional in front of him, “Can I see her? Please, just for a minute?”
The doctor sighs, sympathy in his eyes, but a weariness that lets Eddie know that people try this all the time. “I understand you’re worried, but right now, she needs to rest. The best thing you can do for her is to wait until she’s fully awake and able to have visitors. We need to monitor her closely for the next few hours. You should go home and get some rest. You can leave your phone number with the nurses and I promise, as soon as she’s ready, we’ll let you know.”
Fat chance of that , Eddie thinks. But he thanks the doctor for his time anyway, and agrees to not storm into your room.
Slumping back into the chair, he watches the minutes tick by, and picks at his shoelaces, trying to keep his mind idle. About another half-hour passes before he hears a semi-familiar voice.
“Munson? What the hell are you doing here?” He looks up and finds Robin Buckley, someone his brain has no idea how to react to in this moment. He flaps his mouth open several times, not able to respond. “Are you okay?” she asks, plopping down in the seat next to him.
And if she would’ve caught him thirty minutes ago, hell, he might’ve broke down crying in front of her. But after his heart-to-heart with your doctor, he’s marginally more sane. Enough to not become a blubbering mess in front of a girl he hardly knows. “Yeah,” he says finally, “I’m fine.”
“Why are you here?” she asks, brows scrunched.
He scrambles to think of a lie that will keep your relationship under wraps the way you both wanted, when he realizes he doesn’t need to. “Gareth,” he says. Fuck. Gareth sent him out to find food ages ago. He curses under his breath, before elaborating “Gareth, the fuckin’ idiot, lit a firework and forgot to let it go. Asshole nearly blew his thumb off.”
“Shit,” she says, but her eyes are strangely empty, like her mind is somewhere else entirely.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“Oh…” she says, biting at the dry skin around her lips, “Um… There was an accident at the mall. I work there— or I used to work there I guess,” she explains, though the explanation seems to be getting more confusing for the both of them as she continues, clearly exhausted. Eddie notes how utterly dog-tired she looks, dark bags under her eyes, matted hair, and in the poorly-lit room, he thinks she might even have specks of blood on her neck. “There was a…” she pauses, almost as though she’s trying to remember, “There was an animal attack… Or a fire.” She snaps her eyes back to his, anxious. “There was an animal attack. And a fire.” If Eddie’s mind wasn’t solely focused on you (and sure, a little bit still on Gareth), he would’ve not only reacted appropriately to a classmate telling him they were in a serious accident, but he also would’ve clocked the obvious cover-up story clear as day. But he can’t stop the panic-prone part of his brain from spiraling still. “ I’m fine, but my friends are getting treated for bites… And burns,” she finishes unceremoniously.
“Right…” he says, staring at her, trying to make sense of what she just said, but it’s like his brain can’t process anything beyond the basics. Her words swirl around in his mind— mall, attack, fire, bites, burns— but none of it really sticks. He’s too wrapped up in his own world of worry, too focused on you lying in that hospital bed, to give her story the attention it probably deserves. “Right,” he echoes, his voice flat, distracted. His eyes drift back to the hallway that leads to your room, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor.
Robin watches him, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she leans forward in the chair. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He glances at her, trying to figure out how much to say. Part of him wants to unload everything, to tell her about the panic that ripped through him when he saw you in that room, the helplessness that still gnaws at his insides. But he’s not close with Robin like that, and she clearly has enough going on right now.
“It’s… Nah, I’m good” he lies, forcing a small, strained smile. “Just a rough night. Gareth’s an idiot. You know how it is.”
She nods, but it’s clear she doesn’t buy it. “Yeah,” she says, but there’s a heaviness in her voice that wasn’t there before. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but then she stops, shaking her head as if deciding against it. Instead, she stands up and glances toward the hallway. “Look, I should probably go check on my friend,” she says, sounding almost apologetic. “But I hope Gareth recovers quick. Battle of the Bands is in a month, right?” Eddie nods, though the band is the last thing on his mind right now. “Well if you think a trumpet could sub in for drums, you know where to find me.”
Eddie smiles, grateful for the offer but knowing he won’t take her up on it— not tonight, at least. “Thanks, Buckley,” he says, his voice a bit more genuine this time. “I’m gonna go check on Gareth. You take care, alright?”
She gives him a small, tired smile. “You too, Munson,” she salutes him casually and walks back down the hallway.
Eddie takes a deep breath and walks back down the direction he originally came from when they first checked in in a panic, Gareth’s hand wrapped haphazardly in a rag. In this wing, the staff aren’t as concerned with visitors coming and going, the rooms reserved for less traumatic injuries than what had happened to you. He follows the winding hallways until he finds Gareth’s room again. He walks in without knocking, finding Gareth, still in the temporary surgical wrapping, watching the news on the tiny TV mounted in the corner of the room.
“Man, where the hell have you been? I’m starving!” Eddie, wordlessly, exits the room, and only makes it two steps back in the direction of your room, and where he thought the cafeteria was, before Gareth shouts, “Cafeteria’s the other way, dumbass!” Eddie pivots and finally accomplishes his friend’s one request.
After piling whatever remotely edible slop he could find in the cafeteria onto a tray and bringing it back to Gareth, he sits with him in the chair by his bed, as they watch the late night news. Sure enough, the details of the fire at Starcourt Mall flash across the screen. The anchor reports on the chaos, mentioning something about a reported explosion and possible casualties. It’s surreal, like something out of a nightmare. He stares at the images of the mall in flames, the plumes of smoke rising into the night sky.
Gareth munches on the cafeteria food and moans about how terrible it is, oblivious to Eddie’s distress. He gestures toward the television, “Man, can you believe this? Starcourt’s toast. I heard they’re gonna shut it down for good. And it just fuckin’ opened. That’s crazy.”
Eddie nods absently, his mind miles away. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story than what’s being reported, something darker and more dangerous. Robin’s cryptic explanation comes back to him, causing him to wonder if you were somehow involved. It doesn’t make sense, but he can’t dismiss it either. Not when you’re lying in a hospital bed, bruised and battered, after what was supposed to be just another babysitting job.
It can’t be. Were you in the fucking mall fire?
“Listen, Gare,” Eddie starts, his voice tight, “I need to check on something.”
“Oh this is total bullshit, man. It was your idea to light off those stupid fireworks, and now I’m the one stuck in this hospital with a missing finger. They’re supposed to tell me the results of the x-ray soon!”
Eddie rolls his eyes at his friend’s theatrics, “You’re not missing a finger. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
“Can you at least bring me back a Snickers?”
Eddie agrees noncommittally, his knees cracking as he gets up. He doesn’t really have a plan, but he knows he can’t stay here.
He walks down the dimly lit hospital corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the sterile walls. The farther he gets from Gareth's room, the more the weight of everything presses down on him. The fire, the strange things Robin said, and most of all, the image of you lying in that hospital bed. His mind races, piecing together bits of information that don’t quite fit, but the picture they paint is terrifying.
He rounds the corner to your room, pausing when he sees the door still closed. He huffs out a sigh, leaning against the wall. He slides down to sit on the floor, his back pressed against the cold, hard surface. His head drops into his hands. The minutes tick by, but Eddie doesn’t move. He doesn’t even notice the passing nurses or the distant sounds of the hospital running at night.
Eventually, he hears footsteps approaching again, and this time he looks up. It’s a different nurse, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes. She glances down at him, her expression softening when she sees the exhaustion and worry ingrained into his face.
“Are you here for the girl in room 14?” she asks gently, nodding her head in the direction of you. Eddie nods. The nurse kneels down beside him, her tone sympathetic. “She’s stable. We’re keeping a close eye on her, but she’s doing okay for now. I know it’s hard to understand, but she’s in good hands.”
“Can I—” Eddie starts, his voice cracking slightly, betraying his carefully crafted exterior. He clears his throat and tries again, “Can I see her? Please?”
She hesitates for a moment, sizing him up, then gives him a small, understanding smile. “Just for a minute, okay? She’s still out cold, and she needs her rest. But I think being with her might do you both some good.”
Eddie nods feverishly, feeling an intense rush of gratitude. He gets to his feet, his heart pounding as the nurse quietly opens the door for him. He steps inside, the soft beeping of the monitors the only sound in the room.
And there you are, in your favorite yellow sweatshirt. The gashes on your arms, the bandages covering the worst of the damage, and the stitches that stand out starkly against your bruised skin. It’s worse than he imagined, and for a moment, he feels like he might collapse under the weight of it all.
But he can’t. Not now. He takes a shaky breath and walks over to your bedside, careful not to disturb any of the wires and dressings. He reaches out, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he finally takes it in his own. Your hand is cool and clammy, and he squeezes it gently.
“Hey,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “It’s me. I’m here.” There’s no response, obviously, but he keeps talking anyway, the words tumbling out in a quiet, desperate rush. “What the fuck happened to you, baby? I don’t— I don’t even… ”
He notices your backpack on the floor— nearly torn to bits. He sits down into the chair by your side and holds tight to your hand, whispering loving nonsense to you.
The nurse re-enters the room and he starts to stand, knowing he’s going to be asked to leave for now. But she simply holds up her hand, silently brings her finger up to her lips, and whispers, “Just don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to.”
Eddie gives the nurse a grateful nod, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. He refuses to cry. Not right now. He slumps back into the chair, his hand never leaving yours. The nurse quietly checks your vitals, her movements gentle and efficient, then slips back out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.
The sterile scent of the hospital hangs in the air, and the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition float through the room. Eddie focuses on the rhythm of your breathing, each rise and fall of your chest a small reassurance that you’re still here.
He swallows hard, trying to steady his voice. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “I don’t know what’s been going on with you. I should’ve been there. I should’ve… I don’t know… done something,” his voice cracks, “Shit. Get a grip, Munson,” he mutters to himself before talking to you again, “But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. Not until you wake up and tell me to get lost.”
Eddie leans forward, resting his forehead against your hand, his eyes closing as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. He feels so stupid for being upset that you had canceled your plans with him, and on a larger scale, that he had ever worried about people knowing about your relationship. It was all to protect you, but look at what happened. If you hadn’t been sneaking around, he could’ve actually protected you when it mattered.
Time seems to blur as he sits there, lost in his thoughts, his heart aching with every passing second. He barely notices when the night outside the hospital window gives way to the soft light of dawn, the first rays of sunlight filtering into the room.
Gareth’s gonna kill him.
Eddie’s breathing evens out as he slips into an uneasy sleep, his grip on your hand never loosening. Hours pass, the hospital slowly coming to life around you. Nurses make their rounds, doctors confer in hushed tones, and the day continues as it always does, indifferent to the small, silent vigil Eddie keeps at your bedside.
He groans and opens his eyes some time around 8 in the morning, as visiting hours start. Glancing at you, his heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of your face in the soft morning light. You still look fragile, but there’s a peacefulness in your expression that wasn’t there before. The steady rhythm of your breathing is a small comfort, a sign that you’re still with him.
As he watches you, Eddie’s thoughts drift back to Gareth, still stuck in his hospital bed with only the terrible cafeteria food and morning cartoons for company. He knows he should probably go check on him, make sure his friend hasn’t completely lost his mind overnight, but the thought of leaving you, even for a moment, fills him with a deep, gnawing anxiety. Whatever. Gareth loves the morning cartoons.
Eventually, a gentle knock on the door pulls Eddie from his restless sleep. He stirs, blinking groggily as he lifts his head. The nurse from earlier peeks in, her expression softening when she sees him still there, still holding your hand.
“Good morning,” she says, “I hope you were able to get some rest.” She approaches the bed, her movements careful and precise as she checks your vitals. She doesn’t say much, just offers Eddie a reassuring smile before making a few notes on your chart. “She’s stable,” she says softly. “You must not have heard us changing her bandages. No regressions or major events overnight, which is good.”
Eddie nods, though the reassurance doesn’t do much to ease the tight knot of worry in his chest. “Thanks,” he mutters.
The nurse gives him a sympathetic look. “You should take a break,” she suggests gently, “Get some coffee, stretch your legs. I promise I’ll come find you if there’s any change.”
But Eddie just shakes his head. “I’m not leaving her,” he says firmly, “I can’t.”
The nurse hesitates, then nods, understanding. “Alright,” she says, not pushing him any further, “Just… take care of yourself too, okay? She’s going to need you when she wakes up.”
Eddie knows she’s right, but doesn’t respond, his focus already back on you. The nurse leaves quietly, closing the door behind her, and once again, it’s just the two of you in the room.
The minutes tick by, and Eddie sits in silence, his mind a whirl of thoughts he can’t seem to organize. He thinks about the fire, the chaos, the terrifying possibility that he could have lost you forever. He thinks about the strange things Robin said, the inexplicable, nightmarish fragments that don’t make sense no matter how hard he tries to piece them together.
But mostly, he thinks about you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you always know how to make him feel like he’s worth something. And now, seeing you like this, so vulnerable, so hurt… it tears him apart.
He thinks about all the times you’ve been there for him— the times you’ve listened to his rants about every stupid thing, comforted him when things got too heavy, and somehow made him believe that he wasn’t as worthless as this town made him feel. He remembers the way you’d look at him, with those eyes that seemed to see right through his bullshit bravado and practiced tough facade, straight into the heart of who he was. It’s terrifying to think that he might never see that look again, that you might never wake up and give him that smile that made everything feel like it was going to be okay.
A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away angrily, frustrated with himself for being so weak. He’s supposed to be strong, for you, for both of you. But all he can do is sit here and wait, praying that you’ll come back to him.
Then, in the stillness of the room, something shifts. It’s so subtle that at first, he thinks he’s imagining it. But when he looks down at your hand, he sees it: a faint twitch, so small that he almost misses it. His heart leaps in his chest, and he sits up straighter, his eyes fixed on your face.
“Babe?” he whispers, his voice trembling with hope. “Can you hear me?”
There’s a long pause, and for a moment, he thinks it was just a fluke, a trick of his exhausted mind. But then, your fingers move again, curling slightly around his.
“Oh my god,” he says, a bit louder, “Holy shit. Holy shit, you’re awake! Baby I’m right here.”
Your eyes start to open with what is clearly an enormous amount of effort. Your eyelids flutter, struggling against the weight of your sedatives, and Eddie leans in closer, his breath catching in his throat.
When your eyes finally crack open, even just a sliver, it feels like the sun parting the clouds. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest. He wants to shout, to laugh, to cry all at once, but he keeps it together for your sake.
“Hey,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Hey, pretty lady. There you are.”
Your gaze is unfocused at first, your eyes drifting over the room like you’re trying to piece together where you are and what happened. The confusion in your eyes tugs at Eddie’s heart, but he forces himself to smile, to project calm even though he feels anything but.
“Eddie…?” Your voice is barely more than a rasp, weak and scratchy, but hearing it feels like a miracle to him.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I’m here, baby. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital, but you’re gonna be okay.”
“Oh my god…” you croak, “Where’s Dustin? Is Dustin okay?” As your eyes begin to focus, panic fills your face.
“What? Who’s Dustin?”
“The kid, Eddie, Dustin Henderson. Is he okay?”
“I don’t— I don’t know,” he says, head shaking, trying to wrap his head around your urgency and trying not to panic along with you, “I don’t know where—”
“Eddie,” you whine, as tears begin to well up in your eyes, “You need to— Where’s my bag?” you ask, frantically turning your head to look around the room, pulling at your stitches and wincing.
“Hey!” he cries, “Hey, take it easy, baby. I’ll get your bag. It’s right here.” He leans down next to his chair and picks your backpack off the floor. “What do you need?” he asks, unzipping it.
“Is my walkie in there?”
“Your—” he digs through the contents, finding your walkie-talkie. “Yeah, it’s right here.” You move your arm quickly to grab it from him, but you pull on your IV and recoil at the pain. “Baby! Stop! Hey!” He holds your arm, demanding your attention. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”
“Please just try calling Dustin or Steve or Robin.”
“Steve?” he asks. “Steve who?”
“It should still be set to the right channel. Just hold down the button and let me talk.”
He takes a deep breath, then presses down the button on the side of the walkie-talkie and holds it up to your face. “Okay, okay. Here, it’s all yours.”
You take a shaky breath. “Dustin? Steve?” Your voice is weak, but there’s a raw edge to it, a frantic need for answers. “Do you read me? Are you okay?”
There’s a crackle of static, and for a moment, nothing happens. Eddie’s heart is in his throat. But then, a voice comes through, distorted but unmistakably young and urgent.
“Holy shit, you’re awake!” Dustin says, a freakily similar mirror of what Eddie said just a few moments ago. “Are you still at the hospital? Over.”
Eddie's grip tightens around the walkie-talkie as Dustin's voice crackles through. The sense of urgency in the kid’s tone only adds to the growing anxiety gnawing at him. What the hell has been going on? He watches you closely, your face swirling with relief and lingering fear.
“Yeah,” you rasp, your voice barely holding steady. “I’m still here. What’s happening, Dustin? Are you safe?”
“Yeah I’m fine. And Erica’s safe. We’re good.” Dustin replies quickly, his voice edged with tension. “But there’s a lot we need to talk about. Just stay put, okay? We’ll figure it out. Over.”
You nod, a gesture meant more for your own reassurance than anything else. “Okay, just… just be careful. I’ll come see you when I can.”
“Don’t worry about us. I’m home safe, and my mom’s totally clueless. Over.” Dustin says, and Eddie’s brow quirks.
“Okay,” you say.
“Just hang in there,” Dustin orders. “Over and out.”
The walkie goes silent, and Eddie lowers it, setting it on the bed beside you. The room is quiet again, the weight of unspoken questions pressing down on him. He looks at you, his eyes searching your face for answers.
“Babe,” he says softly, “What the hell is going on? Who are these people? Why do you sound like you’re in some kind of… I don’t even know, like a war zone or something?”
You meet his gaze, your eyes filled with exhaustion and something else; something guarded. “Eddie, it’s… It’s complicated. I don’t know how to explain it right now.” You pause, wincing as you shift slightly in the bed. “It’s just… It’s dangerous, okay? And I need you to trust me.”
“Trust you?” he echoes, frustration lacing his voice. “Jesus. Of course trust you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me, and I have no idea what’s going on. You mentioned Robin, right? Robin Buckley? She said… I don’t… You were in that mall fire, weren’t you? I mean… You’ve gotta give me something, babe. Anything.”
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as if gathering the strength to speak. “There’s… stuff happening in this town. Weird stuff. Stuff that doesn’t make sense. And these people, Dustin and Steve and Robin… they’re involved. And we’re just trying to keep everyone safe.”
“Weird stuff?” Eddie repeats, his confusion deepening. “Like what? Weird how?”
“Please, Eddie,” you plead, your voice cracking, “I can’t explain it all right now. I’m too tired, and it’s just… it’s too much. I promise I’ll tell you more when I can, but right now, I just need you to be here with me. Can you just be here with me, please?”
Eddie watches you for a moment, his heart torn between wanting to push for answers and the overwhelming need to protect you. Finally, he lets out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah,” he breathes out, “Yeah, I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”
“How did you even know to come here?”
Fuck, he thinks again, Gareth. “Don’t worry about it.” Your eyes start to turn glassy again, as the adrenaline seems to start wearing off, and the IV drip of strong painkillers and long-lasting sedative kicking back in, so you don’t question him at all.
“Can you… can you stay with me? Here, in the bed? I don’t want to be alone."
The request catches him off guard, but the vulnerability in your voice melts away any hesitation. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his heart aching for you. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”
Carefully, Eddie moves around to the other side of the bed, mindful of the wires and tubes connected to you. He climbs in beside you, the bed’s narrow space forcing him to hold you close, your front pressed to his. He wraps his arms around you, his body curling protectively around yours.
You settle against him, the tension in your body easing as you melt into his embrace. Your breathing slows, your head resting on his chest as exhaustion finally takes over. Eddie presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand gently stroking your back.
“Just sleep, okay?” he whispers into your hair, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Eddie feels you relax completely against him, your breathing deepening as you drift into a much-needed rest. The room is dim and quiet, the hum of the hospital machinery the only background noise. Eddie stays awake, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling as he holds you close, and softly hums your favorite song— one that he’d never admit he actually likes, some bubblegum pop track that plays incessantly on the radio. But he’d sing the whole thing beginning to end at the top of his lungs if it meant you’d stay right there with him out of harm’s way.
He can’t stop thinking about what you said— about the strange and dangerous things happening in this town. And you mentioned Robin, who couldn’t seem to keep her story straight earlier. He didn’t press her then, mostly because he was too focused on getting to you. But now, with you asleep in his arms, the unanswered questions are louder than ever. Who are these people really, and what have you all gotten yourselves into? He tightens his grip on you, pulling you closer as if that could keep the outside world at bay.
His eyes grow heavy, and he finds himself drifting off, the comfort of your presence lulling him into a light, restless sleep.
It’s not until a few hours later that there’s any commotion worth you or Eddie rousing from sleep about. The door to your room swings open, revealing three teenage figures, stays open for approximately five seconds, then swings back closed, before you hear a symphony of hushed voices seep through the door as you slowly come back to life.
“Who the hell is that?” Steve’s voice filters in.
“That’s Eddie,” Robin informs him.
“Munson?” Steve asks incredulously.
“Who’s Eddie Munson?” Dustin questions.
“Is she dating Eddie Munson? What the hell?”
“Will someone tell me who the hell Eddie Munson is?”
“Would you two dinguses pipe down?” Robin chastises, and there’s a soft slapping sound.
“Ow, Robin my arm is still sore,” Steve says.
“Sorry.”
Steve’s disbelief is evident as he whispers, “She’s dating Eddie Munson? Since when? That’s insane.”
Robin sighs. “Steve, not everyone’s romantic life revolves around you.”
Dustin, still out of the loop, pipes up again, “Can someone please explain who Eddie Munson is?”
Steve sighs, rubbing his temples. “Eddie Munson, Dustin. He’s the guy who runs that stupid club at the high school. They play that game you nerds play in Mike’s basement.
“D&D?” Dustin supplies.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. He’s a total metalhead, total stoner, but… Apparently, he’s also her boyfriend. Who knew?”
Dustin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mind only on one piece of information that was just conveyed, “Wait, she’s dating a guy who plays D&D? Why didn’t I know about this?”
Robin interrupts the chaos, “Enough with the twenty questions, okay? They’re asleep. We'll come back later.”
“We’re not asleep anymore,” you announce, loudly enough for them to hear you through the door.
Slowly, the door opens again, and you’re met with two grimacing faces, and a still shocked Dustin. Eddie still lays in the tiny bed with you, arm wrapped around your waist.
“S… Sorry about that,” Steve offers, scratching behind his head. Eddie makes note of the bulging bruise surrounding Steve’s eye, and the other scattered cuts and scrapes all over him. He’s in rough shape, but you clearly got the worst end of whatever this was.
Dustin, on the other hand, looks completely unharmed, and you’re intensely relieved. You call his name, and he runs over to your side, as you wrap him in as protective of a hug as you’re able to, with all your wires and injuries. The kid practically melts into the hug, his own relief palpable. Eddie’s eyes flicker between the two of you, trying to piece together the puzzle that is your relationship with these people. You had never mentioned being friends with Robin, and what the hell was Golden Boy Steve Harrington doing here?
Dustin pulls back slightly, still holding onto your hand as he takes in the sight of you, his eyes filled with concern. “You scared the hell out of us,” he says quietly. “We thought we lost you.”
“Sorry,” you murmur, squeezing his hand, “But I’m okay now,” you tell him, before looking at Steve. “Oh man, I was really hoping you’d still be in the sailor uniform.”
He levels you with a glare and Robin giggles beside him. “I’m burning that monstrosity. Did the suits come shake you down yet?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, unsure of what exactly has transpired in the last few hours, “Hoping for some good hush money this time.”
Eddie shifts beside you, his presence grounding you as he finally speaks up. “So is anyone gonna tell me what the hell is going on? Are you guys fighting monsters or something?”
Steve and Robin exchange a glance, and Robin steps forward, taking on the role of the spokesperson. “It’s… complicated,” she starts, echoing your earlier words.
“Complicated,” Eddie repeats, his tone dry. “Yeah, I’m getting that a lot today. And thanks a lot, Buckley, for not telling me anything earlier. You didn’t wanna inform me that my girlfriend was the friend you were visiting?”
“I didn’t know you were together!”
“Well we are! And how did you even get in here? They said they would only let family in!”
“And you decided then would be the first time you wouldn’t lie to someone in a position of power? I said I was her sister, you idiot. Work smarter, not harder, Munson.”
“Please! No more yelling,” you whine, a headache slowly being added to your list of maladies.
“Sorry, baby,” Eddie says softly, earning a giggle from Dustin.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boooooooyyyyyyyfriend,” he teases.
“Dustin, I swear to god I will tell your mother everything you’ve been up to in the past week if you don’t drop it.”
“What have you been up to in the past week?” Eddie begs for any crumb of information one more time.
Steve jumps in, “There’s some weird shit going on, but don’t worry, we had a plan, and—”
“A plan,” Eddie echoes, his skepticism and contempt seeping through, “You had a plan. And that plan somehow involved my girl ending up in the hospital.”
“Eddie,” you say softly, squeezing his hand to get his attention. “Stop. It’s okay. It’s not their fault. I chose to get involved.”
“I’ll tell you everything if you give me any embarrassing stories about her,” Dustin offers, grinning wide, and damned if Eddie doesn’t think about taking him up on it.
“Alright, Henderson, enough with the interrogation,” Robin orders, steering Dustin and Steve toward the door, “We've had enough of that for one night. Let's let them rest.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Dustin says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He darts back to give you one last squeeze before heading out.
“We’re gonna go get Dingus’ ribs checked, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’re bruised,” Robin says.
“I’m fine,” Steve assures you.
“We’ll check in later,” Robin promises, giving you a reassuring nod. Steve gives Eddie one last appraising look, as if trying to figure him out, before he turns and follows the others out of the room.
The door closes softly behind them, leaving you and Eddie alone once more. The room feels quieter now, the tension that had been hanging in the air dissipating. You lean back against the pillows, letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“You’re friends with Steve Harrington?”
“Oh my god,” you groan, “Is that seriously what you’re hung up on?”
“No, it’s just interesting,” he says, elated that you’re feeling well enough to entertain his theatrics, “I had no idea you two were besties.”
“I don’t even know if I’d call him a friend ,” you explain, “We just got thrown into this whole mess together, me, him, and Robin. It’s all Dustin’s fault, really.”
“Right, mm-hm,” he says sarcastically, looking off into the distance and pretending to be oh-so-hurt by this epic betrayal.
“Hey," you say, snapping his attention back to you, “I’m really glad you’re here. It was sweet of you to stay overnight.”
“Of course I’m here, baby. Can you please, please never scare me like that again? Seriously, I was, like, inches away from a heart attack, and Wayne would just lose it if that happened. And I know you don’t want to upset Wayne.”
You gasp. “Oh my god, you can’t threaten me with Wayne! That’s so unfair!” you say, giggling.
Eddie grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You think I won’t? I’ll have him come in here and give you the whole guilt trip speech. You know the one; he gave it to you when you were trying to do that stupid trick on your bike and scraped up your knee.”
“The trick that you did right before me!”
“And if I jumped off a bridge, would you do that too?”
“Yeah I would,” you say, sincerely.
He sizes you up, before holding your jaw and bringing you in for a tender kiss, avoiding the still angry cut on your cheek. “Well then you gotta let me jump off this bridge with you. Please don’t make me ask again,” he begs, “I hate that I couldn’t protect you. I wish I could’ve been there.”
"I know," you say, feeling ashamed of a hundred different things. "I'm sorry."
He watches you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just takes in the sight of you with a soft, almost reverent smile. "You're beautiful," he tells you.
"No I'm not," you disagree immediately, "Not like this."
"You are," he says, ignoring your protests. "You're so beautiful."
You shake your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Eddie, I’m a disaster. I’ve got cuts and bruises all over. I’m hardly anything presentable right now.”
He frowns slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, his tone both tender and deadly serious, “It doesn't matter. You're always beautiful. Not just when you’re dressed up or when everything’s perfect. You’re beautiful when you’re tired, when you’re mad at me for doing something stupid, when you’re hurt. You’re beautiful every single moment, even now, especially now," he stresses.
His words take your breath away, and you find yourself blinking back tears. You take a deep breath, and study his gaze for a minute, before telling him “I don’t wanna hide us anymore. And I don’t care if you think people are gonna come after me because of you. I don’t care,” you continue, your voice still scratchy, “I’m tired of pretending, of keeping us a secret like we’re something to be ashamed of. I’m not ashamed of you; you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t wanna waste any more time not being with you.”
For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions— relief, love, a trace of fear, and most of all, gratitude. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face, one so genuine and full of joy that it makes your heart swell. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t wanna hide either. I love you.”
“I love you so much,” you tell him, pulling him in for another kiss, and sighing into it. He holds you as tight as he can without hurting you.
You finally pull away, before launching into the entire story, from the beginning. How you were roped into a battle with monsters from another dimension last fall, and how this week you helped crack a secret Russian code, got bitten and scraped up by a fleshy horrifying being, and lobbed fireworks at it in order to save the world. All because that little twerp Dustin needed a babysitter. And the best part is that you know Eddie believes every single word of it. He believes you.
Your mention of fireworks kickstarts the memory of why he came to the hospital in the first place. And in the back of his mind, he promises to take Gareth out for the nicest apology dinner in town. Just as soon as he can detach himself from you. And who knows when that will be.
Author's note: a reminder that you can find this and all of my other works (including a lot of multi-chaptered ones that I'm still trying to figure out the best way to post here) over on ao3!
That geeky weirdo @madds-the-weirdo - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
