He's big and tall and a great player and has an answer for every question and lights up a room and he's so patient with Mike and takes care of him. If Sam reciprocated he probably would've said something when he bit him. So Misa is feeling a little alone. Newly presented as an omega, trying to nest and settle in his room with the void of an alpha's scent. Cat gives him pack scented things but that's different, doesn't scratch the itch or quiet his brain
Sam is having a nervous breakdown like he did a heart transplant. There's no way he should be able to bitch someone when he didn't even really know that was actually physically possible. In theory he did. But it's like, a medical thing. Hormones and shots and supervision and professionals. People shouldn't just decide to completely fuck up their friend's lives and bitch them on a whim but that's basically literally what he did. Mike probably hates him and is pretending to be okay with the whole thing because he's a good guy. He asked or whatever but that's that's barely consent. There's no excuse to do what Sam did he didn't even like, double check or whatever. Misa's in his head about stuff all the time that's no reason to make such a huge decision for him.
His spiraling plan to get himself trapped in the elevator and whither away is interrupted by Mike calling and inviting him over. Probably to kill him and eat him, because that's what he deserves right now, so Sam goes. Toff will make it quick and painless. Or, actually hopefully he won't. Maybe if Sam goes and curls in on himself hard enough with enough remorse and shame it'll fix whatever part of Mike thought he was a good alpha and reset him back.
Cat looks happy to see him at the door, probably finally come around to Toff's long-standing plan to deal with him. Then she says something ridiculous and horrifying and perfect that kinda sounds like "your omega wants to see you" as Sam's stomach does about 20 flips and he has to steady himself on the kitchen island. He's gone all weightless. Might float away or fall through the floor if he's not careful
Mike's scent is different again upstairs, still settling into itself like it was the night before. Fuzzy around the edges with what might be distress, which is fair. He'll grovel at Misa's feet and apologize until they're okay. Then they can meet up with the med staff to make sure his omega is actually physically okay. He looks okay, half tucked into bed with his head in the hood of a sharks jacket. Then he's looking up with those big begging eyes again and pulling Sam into his nest like he belongs there
You run a little magic shop in a busy part of town, you read tarot, make potions, offer simple spiritual services. Like any other human magic shop owner. You're definitely, probably, nothing more than that.
Tags: Polyfic, Red String of fate, Supernatural, Mythology, Magic, Theology, Ghosts, Vampire, Modern Fantasy, Divination, Angst Adjacent, Soulmates, Smut, Oral Sex, Threesomes, Biting, DS dynamics
Note: There have been minor edits for continuity and typos. I started this fic very shortly after Sylus was released. I know it can lean a little towards crack as I was still newish and learning the boys personalities.
[Chapter One] [AO3] [>>]
Chapter One: Every Parting is Like Death
The door chimes.
“Excuse me?”
You know someone has entered but still you startle when he speaks. A little jump a little squeak, a little bit embarrassing. You mark your page and close your book, smiling when you answer.
“Can I help you?” You don’t look up as you tuck the book under the counter then you straighten up making sure nothing else is out of place on your counter as you wait for a response.
When you glance towards him, wondering what’s taking him so long, you notice he’s tall and dressed well enough to be the kind of client who expects you to be looking him the eye to hear him properly. He’s smiling when you nod at him and you hope he’ll speak soon.
His shoulders drop and he crosses his arms. You can feel the smile on your face becoming forced. You wonder if this is a test, if he knows. If someone has figured it out.
Ratted you out.
He looks like a wounded animal standing at your counter and you can feel your pulse start to quicken. Nothing you’re doing is illegal, and if it was no one can prove it.
And if they could, there was always the Twins.
Your mouth twitches as you hold your forced smile, “Did you need something?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says. “You look busy, I’m not in a hurry.”
You glance around the quiet shop and try to relax. “We're dead," you point out. "I was reading, what do you need?”
He huffs out a breath that sounds relieved and says, “I think I’m being haunted.”
“You think,” you echo. “But you don’t know?”
He looks a little stricken at that, a little smaller like he hadn’t considered that. It strikes you as odd that it seems like his first line of action was to seek an exorcism, but he doesn’t argue with you.
You walk around the counter and he shuffles cautiously to face you, his eyes dart around like he’s having a silent argument with himself but you certainly don’t feel anything attached to him.
There was always the chance that your own wards would keep something small and weak outside the threshold of the shop but there’s something about this man in front of you that makes you curious where you would normally be cautious.
“You might feel a little bit of something,” you say. “Like the room is being pressurized, there’s candies on the counter if you’re sensitive to that sort of thing.”
He nods, eyes firmly on you, his shoulders relax.
“It'll be fast,” you add, “sometimes it makes people dizzy, please tell me if you see whatever you think is haunting you.”
He nods again, short and sharp. He’s paying attention. You like that. You’re used to skeptics who come to you as a last resort.
You inhale deep into your belly and press your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you picture a veil lifting, a door opening. Your eyes flick back and forth between your lids. You feel the lost spirits that wander your little nook, you feel the regulars your wards are meant to keep out.
That one poltergeist that likes to knock things off your shelves like a particularly irritating cat, still looking for the previous owner, moves through the stacks. You don’t feel anything new.
Not at first.
As you exhale and bring your wards back up you feel cold. A sucking cold directly in front of you. Your eyes open quickly and he glances away.
“I see why you think you’re haunted,” you comment delicately.
His eyes flick back to you quickly. “You saw it?”
“No,” you snort.
His posture changes, he’s defensive now, and you watch him carefully. You know you’re not in danger because he needs something from you. You keep your shoulders relaxed, your feet rooted to the spot.
“But I imagine it’s not uncommon,” you trail off. You want to say for people like you, but that seems insenstive.
“Are you going to put on a silver collar now?” He asks quietly but you can hear a simmering anger there.
“No.”
“Make me wear a muzzle?” He asks, a little louder, a little more force.
You scoff at the absurdity of it and realize too late the way it comes off as he continues.
“I’ve been to three other witches, and every single one of you has humiliated me and then refused me help just because I’m a vampire. You have no idea how much money I had to pay just to get your name, do you think a fox would beg a hen for help while hungry?”
You do laugh then. You don’t mean for it to sound demeaning, it’s just the words he used. There's an interesting admission hidden inside his rant. He has no idea what you really are, and whoever he paid didn't either.
“Are you going to send me away?” The anger is gone now, replaced with defeat.
With the wind out of his sails he’s just a boy looking for help.
“I need you to answer a question for me,” you say gently. You already know you’ll help but you need to make sure you're right. “In this metaphor with the Fox and the Hen, which of us is the Fox?”
He frowns at you, cocks his head like a puppy and you wonder who he saw that thought they could muzzle him. You wonder if you should tell him they turned him away because they realized they couldn’t.
“Only one of us is a predator,” he says, looking away from you before he finishes.
You smile at him, and walk back behind your counter. “It will take an hour to close the shop,” you tell him, filling out an appointment card. “I’d love to lock the door right now and find out exactly why you think you’re haunted but I have a delivery to make in fifteen minutes.”
He takes the card from you, “You’ll help?”
“You’re wrong that I don’t know how much you paid for my name, I have a pretty good idea what that information is worth, and I also know most everyone who is selling that information. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how dangerous some people’s natural born gifts can be in this city.”
“Not yours though,” he says nodding, a little smirk on his lips.
You like that he’s smart enough to figure it out, “Of course not, I’m all learned skills, exorcisms and potions. You know like normal human people.
He laughs a little.
“When you come back the door will be locked, slip your appointment card in the mailbox and knock twice. The glass in the door window will change, make sure it’s changed and then come in.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What if the window doesn’t change?”
“If the window doesn’t change you won’t be able to enter,” you look him in the eyes, “ever.”
“Ever,” he echos.
“If the window doesn’t change it means that you' are a danger to me 're dangerous to me, or I' have've discovered something about your or your case that could put my place here at risk.”
He stares at you for a moment, his eyes unfocused, his brow crinkles. “You’re more than a witch.”
He says it like a question and you like that about him too. You hope the door lets him back in later just to see his face when he finds out what you are.
“According to my civil registration,” you smile, “I’m a magic user of minimum natural talent. I never miss an evaluation.”
He shakes his head like maybe that will rattle the missing piece of this interaction into place.
“It’s not time sensitive I won’t mind if you’re late.” You add.
“What about if I’m early?”
“It’ll be inconvenient,” you shrug, “for me, the person you’re asking to help you.”
He nods, “And if I don’t come alone?”
“As long as no one intending to enter with you means me or my space harm then it’s not an issue, but my number is on the card and I would appreciate a heads up.” You’re so sick of your customer service voice, a little impatient to find out if he can come in. To find out the details. To be a little more yourself when you’re outside the city and you know you can trust him.
He nods again, “And when I can enter, then you’ll help me.”
“If I can, if there is something I can help with.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“If it isn’t, you either need a therapist, or I can speak with some friends, see who might be willing to meet with you.”
“You’re saying you’re not my best chance?”
“I’m not entirely sure you even need me,” you admit, “but you have my attention.”
He nods one more time, “That’s more than anyone else has offered me, thank you.”
You shrug. You don’t want to admit that you’re bored. You’re sick of being human, and a little excited to meet a new non-human person.
The door chimes when he opens it to leave, “See you in an hour,” he says.
“I hope so,” you wave.
The chime plays again as the door swings shut and you run your hand across the wards on your counter, the door to the city locks. There wasn’t really a delivery but you are curious who sold him your name without giving you a heads up.
If it were Xavier he’d have told you, if it were Rafayel he’d have told Xavier, and Xavier would have told you.
Kieran would have split the pot with you.
There are only two people that you know of who wouldn’t tell you.
“Luke,” you say as soon as he answers. “Did you sell my name to a Vampire who thinks he’s haunted?”
“I might have,” he says in a tone that you know means he absolutely did not. You figured as much but you never know with Luke.
“Have you left yet?” You ask, even though you can hear water running and you know he hasn’t.
“Of course, why would I be late for tea with you and Keiran,” he’s never late, travelling poses Luke no risk.
“That sucks, I was hoping you could bring my bead with you.”
“Bead?” He says, intrigued.
You turn to the door at the back of your shop, wiggle the doorknob up then down, turn it left then right then left again, hold it for a moment and tap it twice, “Yeah, I need it.” You tap the door knob once more and then hold it for a moment before turning it all the way and opening it to your home.
“You need it or you’re bored?” Luke asks.
“Does it matter?”
“No but I’m curious,” he laughs.
“It’s both, I had an interesting customer today, and I think I’ll need it to help him, but I’m also a little sick of being a mostly normal human.”
“You’re only supposed to tell me the first part,” he laughs.
“You said you only made this deal with me because you liked my honesty,” you point out, grabbing a couple books off your shelf.
You can already hear Kieran somewhere in your home.
“Are you talking to Luke, is he running late?” Kieran calls out.
“He says he isn’t,” you call back, “but I think he’s lying.”
Luke snorts into the phone and then you feel static all over your body, there’s a crackle and a metallic taste at the back of your throat.
“I would have been here sooner,” Luke calls from the kitchen, “but someone asked for their bead.”
“Couldn’t be me,” you shrug when Kieran pops his head around the corner.
“Are you still working when I’ve brought you tea and pastries from that place you like downtown?” Kieran frowns.
“Might be,” you shrug surveying a pile of books on a table and adding one to the pile in your arms.
“Do you need your bead for work?” He asks frown deepening.
“I think so,” you smile, walking past him into the parlor.
You know exactly which cup is yours and plop yourself on the floor beside it. “You guys ever meet a vampire?”
Luke claps his hands and Kieran sighs.
“He bought my name from someone,” you say.
“Not me,” Kieran says turning to Luke.
“Me neither,” Luke adds.
“Ok, I know that, and I can only think of one person who might sell a vampire my name and not tell me.”
“When did you last hear from him?” Kieran asks softly.
You flip through the first of your books as the boys each grab one from your pile and start flipping through them even though you haven’t told them what you’re looking for. You shrug in response, time is weird at your age you think it might be a year but years seem so much shorter than the word sounds to your ears. “So this vampire thinks he’s haunted,” you say instead.
Your phone vibrates a few times in quick succession.
“Three different human witches tried to muzzle him and then turned him away. There was nothing with him in the shop, I even lifted the wards just to be sure.”
“Then it’s probably nothing,” Luke shrugs.
“Guilty conscience,” Kieran adds.
“You’re probably right,” you admit.
You phone vibrates a few more times. You concentrate on skimming your books.
“You need the bead because?” Kieran asks.
“It might be something else,” you says leaning back, sticking a few post-it notes in your books to mark interesting pages.
“Explain,” Luke says.
“What else?” Kieran says at the same time.
You shrug again. “I don’t know that’s why we’re doing research while we drink our tea.”
Luke rolls his eyes.
“Listen, someone sold him my name, and it sounds like whoever did knew the value of that.” They nod. “They only gave him my name so they know my reputation.”
“You’re welcome,” Luke offers a little salute.
You snort. “No one selling my name is going to risk wasting my time-“
“They might want to hurt you though,” Kieran says.
“You know I have that covered,” it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I figure there’s something interesting here, and I’m so bored with tarot, and truth potions, and luck charms and sending off ghost grannies.
“Luke gives me my bead and if he can’t enter I’ll figure out where he got my name and we deal with it. If he can enter, worst case he just needs a therapist and I give the bead back tomorrow.”
You check your phone while Kieran processes your logic.
“What’s this vampire’s name,” Luke asks.
Messages are from unknown numbers, the most recent one just says see you soon, the rest seem to be from the vampire, “Sylus,” you say reading the first message.
It’s me, Sylus. The vampire who definitely left your shop without giving you a name.
The rest of the messages make you freeze, you switch back to the most recent message from the other number.
“Kieran,” you hiss. “Do you have his number?”
Kieran looks at you for a minute and opens his phone, you pull it out of his hand and Luke snorts out a laugh.
You smirk a little to yourself. “Today.” You say.
They both look at you brows furrowed as they try to parse what that means.
My friend wants to come with me. A text from the vampire reads. He’s the one who found the guy who sold me your name. He’s kind of insisting .
“You asked me the last time I heard from him ,” you explain.
His name is Zayne .
“The last time I heard from Zayne is today,” You say, you can’t help the smile on your face as you save the contact in your phone.
“I guess you’ll be needing this.” Luke says leaning forward to offer you your bead.
*
“Did you figure out why she’s so special?” Zayne asks, leg bouncing as they stand outside the door to your shop.
Sylus laughs. “She smelled perfectly human, she had that amber smell of magic on her and she definitely tries to hide how strong it is. She was funny-“
“Was she pretty?” Zayne asks.
“I guess,” Sylus says.
“Can we go in yet?”
“Why did you make me leave so early,” Sylus complains frowning at the door. “She said it would inconvenience her if I was early, I don’t really want to make her mad.”
*cracks knuckles* what if Bobutter happened back in the 90s
I have been thinking about this for a very long time. Too long, even. And I have come to but one singular conclusion.
It would be fucked.
The right relationship can NOT fix Bojack. The show made this abundantly clear and I refuse to throw that to the wind for the sake of a hypothetical.
All the support in the world and Bojack would have still had his decline. Hell, Bojack had his decline while Herb was still in his life. Whether they were friends or dating would not have changed Bojack’s transition into an intolerable abrasive asshole. Same with PC. She loved Bojack so much and showered him with all the love and support he could possibly ask for. All of these are simple observations of Bojack’s character in the main series, but they set a precedent for the hypothetical that simply can’t be ignored.
Part 1: How the heck would this happen
So, Imagine this. It’s the 90s. You’re Bojack Horseman, Bojack is age 27, we’ll say. (This dates us around 1991-ish. Timelines are hard, the details don’t matter a ton that’s just roughly his age). Life is good, your show’s on the up, nothing can stop you. You sleep around, you party, and you drink a ton. It’s ok, you’re a celebrity, you can do whatever the hell you want and no one holds you accountable.
You’re at some Christmas party. Tons of celebrities, tons of big names, you’ve been to a million of these. You hover by the bar, eyes on the crowd, and wait for something to pique your interest.
You’re approached by some young lab, vaguely familiar face. He says he’s a huge fan of your work, that you were an inspiration to him, yadda yadda yadda. He says he, himself just got cast in a sitcom, and he’s the star! THATS where you recognize him from. Some nothingburger ripoff of Horsin’ Around. Doomed to flop, since nothing could POSSIBLY compare to the original.
You indulge this kid and his delusions of grandeur. He’s pretty charming, actually, not even you’re immune to it. He buys you a drink, so you keep talking to him, since at least you’re actually getting something out of this arrangement. You drink and talk and laugh, you don’t mind it one bit, actually.
As the alcohol flows Bojack begins to lose a touch of his self control. A drunk mouth speaks sober thoughts, and Bojack’s thoughts are telling him a TON. How cute this guy is, how he’s funny, and charming, and pretty tiny compared to you. He looks young too, but you don’t exactly burden yourself with asking.
With Bojack’s judgement dulled like hell he doesn’t focus on the fact that he’s letting his very ill-repressed queerness slip, only on how positively this kid’s reacting to his lingering touches, the one arm around his shoulder, the other hand on his knee…
In what seemed like a blink of an eye the two were waking up hungover and sore, wrapped up in the sheets of your bed. You’re immediately filled with regret, disgust, and self loathing. Yeah, that ill-repressed queerness I mentioned earlier? Every time that bubbles up Bojack spirals to shit.
He wouldn’t be nice to Peanutbutter the morning after. He might vent, he might shout, he definitely throws Peanutbutter out asap. He’s let shit slip before, but actually sleeping with a guy? He’s never done anything so severe. He really doesn’t know how to respond… But he also can’t get Peanutbutter out of his head.
Bojack was… a bit erratic. He tended to flip-flop on his own feelings on the matter. His sober mind couldn’t stand the idea, and his drunken self couldn’t help but call him…
Bojack couldn’t let the idea rest, he was stressing himself the hell out, and the only thing he could think to do was embrace it. He’d call frequently, they’d spend time together more regularly, sometimes even in sober hours. Before long the question came up… “what are we”
Bojack was… happy. He was comfortable, and that feeling wasn’t always the most common for him to experience. So… he clung. He sank his nails into Peanutbutter, taking the plunge. This made him happy. He’d met a funny and sweet guy and he took what he could get out of the arrangement, even if the payment was needing to commit.
Part 2: The decline
A few years later, 1994, age 30. Horsin’ Around. Herb is gone, there’s a new writer, a young Sarah Lynn was just involved in a scandal where she got into the vodka, and you had to chuck one of your only friends under the bus to save the show.
FURTHERMORE your boyfriends new show is absolutely booming, far more then yours has at any point, with the slowly declining writing. All this promises to slowly scoop up your fanbase, little by little, as people begin to fall out of love with your show. Out of love with you. Some self important nobody thinks he can come in and scoop up your fame… But that’s supposed to be your boyfriend, you’re supposed to be happy for him, and always in his corner.
The resentment builds, but you bite your tongue. Even you realize this isn’t the time to be selfish. You hold it in and let it fester. The only saving grace is that you guys aren’t public. You can’t go public. Herb was a cautionary tale, and there was no way you were gonna let this relationship get between you and your true potential as an actor.
The only saving grace is that Peanutbutter agrees with you. He’s not exactly scrambling to go public either, not when his show’s popularity is beginning to skyrocket. That’s all it is and all it had to be, just two closeted actors who only have any sort of relationship behind closed doors.
Your show ends… and you’re broken and lost, Peanutbutter’s loving support being the only thing to get you through it. A few years later his show ends… and you’re silently celebrating that. You really are a piece of shit, huh.
You don’t break up, though, this is kind of a shock. Peanutbutter is sweet, and loyal, and is always in tune with your rough moments. He knows you’re messy, and a bit complicated, and he loves you the way you are. That’s a nice feeling, so you keep him around. You’re happy to accept his love and support.
And he doesn’t even ask for a thing in return.
THIS IS PART 1. PART 2 IS NOT DONE YET AND IDK HOW MANY PARTS THERE WILL BE JUST YET
Hewwo! I saw prompts and went 👀 (but if you’re not doing prompts anymore, feel free to disregard!) but ye! Prompt: yo Danny Fenton he was just four
(I am always taking prompts yes thank you 💜)
Yo Danny Fenton was just four
When his parents had a plan to explore
Through a dimension never heard before
But when they couldn't stay on track, they got lost before the Zone
Danny found himself alone
There was a great big roar, and everything shifted
He had dimension drifted
When he first woke up, he realized,
He was among purple clouds and glowing green skies
He was floating and taken by surprise
He couldn't survive without making some allies
It was then that he knew what he had to do
He had to get back to the place that he knew
He's here to fly back home to you
[Actual fic under the cut]
Danny blinks. He rubs his eyes and blinks again.
The sky was green.
With soft fluffy purple clouds drifting along.
"Mommy?" He calls, voice wobbling and echoing around him.
He tries to turn and finds himself floating.
He giggles, because floating is weird.
But he's also lost and alone.
"Daddy?" He calls out, hearing his voice echo back to him.
"Jazz?"
The green everything around him wiggles.
Shifting and swirling with the purple.
"Hello?"
The sky blinks at him.
He blinks back.
Something whispers behind his ear, hissing and whistling as it goes.
"I'm looking for my family. Do you know where they are?"
The eyes close, the sky rolling and churning.
Drawing closer.
The eyes blink open, closer and smaller. The whispering louder, light chimes ringing in his ears.
Danny giggles, rubbing his ears. "That tickles!"
The eyes crinkle, something that reminds him of Jazz.
Bells and chimes jingle on his ears.
He giggles louder, covering his ears.
The eyes pull away before blowing over him. Purple clouds billowing into and around him.
Swirling into mists and leaving pretty shapes in their wake.
Danny reaches for them, flipping himself in the process.
The sky rumbles under his back rolling him around.
Drifting back to stillness.
"Wait, Mister Sky, I wanna go home."
The sky does not answer.
"Please, I wanna go home!"
The mist swirls and drifts.
Danny cries, drifting aimlessly through the green on gentle currents.
He cries and cries until he has no tears left.
Sniffling and miserable.
Until he floats into the back of a cloak.
He looks up.
A giant eyeball looks down.
Danny screams.
The eyeball screams.
Danny flails as wrinkly, gnarled hands grab him.
"Enough screaming, both of you!" A squeaky voice says from behind Danny.
Danny twists to see who's holding him.
Another eyeball, one that somehow exudes disappointment at him.
Danny screams louder, slipping through their hands.
The second Observant claps their hands over where their ears would be, eye squeezed shut.
"Someone silence that thing!" They order.
"But it's a child!"
"Is not a-"
An argument breaks out amongst the five gathered Observants.
Danny, in his frantic haste to get away, kicks one Observant in the eyeball, passes through a second, elbowing the third in the stomach, and ends up free floating away.
Purple mists coming between them.
He tries to turn, too get further away, but ends up spinning wildly in the green and purple.
Frustrated, scared, and exhausted, he stops fighting it and let's himself spin along the purple clouds.
Only to be caught by someone blue.
"Easy there baby rock, don't burst my eardrums," a young feminine voice says.
Danny rubs the tears away to look up at the girl with blue hair.
I love thinking of billy being scared of the dark because sometimes he'd wake up and Neil would be there trying to hurt him or something and he obviously never tells anyone cause it's embarrassing he just sleeps with a lamp on but he doesn't realize that max knows and max told Steve (and sworn him to secrecy, it was just in case something happened and Steve needed to help him out) so when there's a power outage Steve has to help billy who's freaking out
Oooooh yisssssss!! I’m ALL here for Billy being scared of the dark (and tbh Steve too), because they don’t like not knowing what’s out there, waiting for them.
I imagine this taking place after the tunnels, and Billy and Max started having a better relationship after the whole bat thing, but before they admit to liking each other. And the really angsty lil part of me also thinks this is before the mind flayer, so Billy will have all the more reason to be scared of the dark later.
Or we can imagine the flayer is a punk bitch who got stopped after the tunnels.
Hope you like it, anon!
--
It wasn’t like he was a pussy or anything. He just liked knowing what was around him at all times. Didn’t like waking up to something dark hovering above him. Something dangerous. Didn’t like the feeling of something clenching so tight in his chest it hurt. Feeling himself cower as it loomed, hand around his throat, eyes unfeeling and cold. As he knew that in that moment, it could kill him without a care. Without a second thought.
That was all.
So he had a small lamp he kept on, kept hidden. Just enough light to always see. To always clearly see what was around him, good or bad. It was an easy to miss lamp, a small ceramic surfboard, hidden by the side of his bed between it and the wall.
The thing was, Max noticed it. She found it while looking for quarters to pilfer, wondered what it meant, and then found out in the worst way.
Neil found the lamp, asked why Billy thought he had the right to run up the electricity bill like that. Didn’t allow Billy to answer before smashing the lamp on the floor, right by where Billy’s feet touched the hardwood. Made Billy pick up the pieces.
Billy always kept his curtains open after that. Max noticed that too. Noticed that he stayed up as late as he could. That he barely slept on cloudy nights. She noticed it all.
“I just haven’t been getting a lot of sleep,” Steve said, shrugging off Max’s question as he drove her home for once. She tilted her head.
“Are you scared of the dark too?” She asked. Steve scrunched his nose but was gentle and kind when he asked,
“Are you scared of the dark?”
“No,” Max scoffed, too offended to think about what she was saying, “Billy is.” She noticed her mistake immediately and noticed the way Steve turned to look at her, mouth agape, before quickly looking back to the road. His mouth snapped shut, but his eyes stayed wide. Neither one of them said anything for a while.
“How do you know--”
“I just do,” she said, gripping her backpack tightly. “And you can’t tell anyone, okay? I shouldn’t have even told you.” Steve just nodded and mimed zipping his mouth shut. Max rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her relief.
And then spring brought storms. Bad ones. Really bad ones.
Steve and Billy were in the locker room, the last ones left after practice. Steve hadn’t wanted to leave, not jumping to go to an empty house, and Billy had waited to shower alone, too many bruises on his ribs. As Steve was tying his shoes and Billy was buttoning his pants, there was a crack that made them both jump. The lights began to flicker and Steve had only a moment before they shut off, but it was long enough to catch the terror on Billy’s face.
For a few moments, the only sound in the dark room was Billy’s ragged breathing.
“Hey, uh,” Steve began, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, “Are you okay?”
“Peachy keen, King,” Billy said, voice tight and raspy. Steve bit his lip before standing. The sounds made Billy’s breathing speed up.
“You don’t sound fine, dude.” Steve blinked, trying to see if his eyes could adjust at all. He knew this locker room, had a good idea of where Billy was, but also didn’t want to be wrong. He waited for a snappy answer, but there was none. Billy was breathing faster and faster, his breath starting to sound almost squeaky. “Billy?” Steve took a few steps and jumped when there was a bang as Billy threw himself into the lockers behind him, whimpering. Steve stumbled and banged his knee on a bench on the way over, feeling around for Billy.
“Please…” Billy wheezed. Steve froze.
“Billy? It’s me, okay? It’s Steve. I’m right over here.” He wasn’t sure what to do. This seemed like much more than just being scared of the dark. So he figured Billy would appreciate knowing where he was, what he was doing. “Are you okay? I won’t come any closer if you don’t want me to.” Billy didn’t respond, but his breathing slowed ever so slightly. So Steve kept talking. “I hate these storms. I hate the dark.” Billy’s breath hitched but didn’t speed up. “I, uh, I got lost in these underground tunnels once, yeah? And it was dark as shit, dark as-- dark as hell,” he whispered. “Whenever I try to sleep, whenever it’s too dark, it’s like I’m back there sometimes.” Billy’s breathing was slowing and Steve shifted, leaning back against the lockers. “So like, if you just so happened to be scared of the dark, I wouldn’t like, judge you or anything.”
“I’m not a fucking wimp like you, Harrington,” Billy said, voice quiet and lacking heat. Steve grinned.
“Yeah, I know.” Steve felt a body along his side and turned his head. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could just make out the outline of Billy’s face. Of his wet hair and sharp jaw. He swallowed thickly. Billy was silent for a moment before clearing his throat.
“Thanks.” It was quiet, but firm, and Steve nudged his shoulder with his.
“Can I ask why? ‘Cause like, you really didn’t seem okay.” Billy tensed and sucked on his teeth. Steve just waited, ever patient.
“I just,” Billy began before pausing. He took a shaky breath and exhaled sharply. “I just freak out a little when I can’t see what’s around me. What’s waiting there.”
“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “I know exactly what you mean.” He didn’t press, even though he wanted to, because that wasn’t a little freak out, just pressed his shoulder to Billy’s until the lights came back on. They both stood, stretching and not making eye contact. As Steve moved to leave, Billy cleared his throat again. Steve turned and Billy’s back was to him, tense.
“Don’t--”
“I won’t,” Steve said. Billy’s shoulders relaxed and Steve let his eyes wander, let them trail where they shouldn’t, before looking away with a blush. He left the locker room and missed the way Billy watched him go, eyes soft and longing.
@beauty-grace-outer-space I believe you made an angst request? I have zero context and it probably needs polishing up, but I've hit that point of stressed tired where it's sort of just "what the heck why not."
"Relax," Jim laughed a little and pushed down on Len's shoulders. "Believe it or not you're not actually supposed to touch your ears with your shoulders."
Len huffed out a sigh and tried to as he was told while Jim set to work kneading his too tense shoulders. He closed his eyes and focused on Jim's hands. They were stronger than Jocelyn's, the ends of his fingers pushed into his skin without scratching or poking the way her nails always did. There was deeper pressure the way Jim's hands moved, even as they found their way into his hair and massaged his scalp. It was grounding. Meant only as a way to encourage him to let go of the tension in his shoulders, even when Jim leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Len's shoulders in a hug, there was no further intent behind it. Just a hug. He gripped the arms wrapped around his shoulders and breathed deeply, trying to enjoy the touch while realizing how long it had been since he had been allowed to enjoy another's touch without expectation of reciprocation being placed on him.
How wrong that was.
"Bones, you ok?" Jim asked.
Len nodded and took another breath. A knot in his throat made the next breath catch.
"Whoa, hey." Jim let him go and moved to sit in front of him. He rested a hand against Len's jaw. "You alright? Did I do something wrong?"
Leonard shook his head and leaned forward.
Jim hugged him uncertainly. "Alright... Hold on a sec." He pulled away and held Len's arms. "What is goin' on?"
"Sorry," Len scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't realize- it's been a long time since I got that without it turning into something else."
Jim sighed and shook his head, an ache seemed to blossom under his ribs and he pulled Leonard into a tight hug. "Is this what it feels like whenever I tell you about something growing up? No wonder you're so protective," he muttered.
Len chuckled a little and let himself melt into the embrace.
After a long moment Jim spoke again. "You know you can tell me when something's a trigger, right?"
"I know," Len's voice was muffled in his shoulder. "But I knew you'd stop. You've never tried to touch me like that before. I know you're safe."
The heavy ache in Jim's chest seemed to harden at those words. On the one hand he was touched by Len's trust in him, but on the other...suddenly his bar on human decency didn't seem so low. It had taken him almost no time at all to figure out Bones wouldn't raise a hand to him. He wondered how long it had taken him to figure out Jim would keep his hands to himself.
"Thank you for trusting me," Jim said quietly and squeezed Len tightly, before sitting back. "But, honestly, you gotta tell me if something is a thing for you, alright? The last thing I wanna do is set you off."
Bones smiled and his whole face seemed to soften. "I will," he promised.
"Thank you," Jim scoffed.
Len giggled at Jim's annoyed tone. "Is that how I sound when you tell me stuff?"
"Probably," Jim grumbled. "Not even a full year in and I'm turning into you..." he shook his head and Len laughed again, dropping his head onto Jim's shoulder. Jim smiled in fond exasperation and rubbed the back of his head. "How ya feelin', Bones?"
"I'm good," he answered with an easy smile.
"Good." Jim lightly kissed his forehead. He chuckled when Len hummed happily at the touch. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"
"I knew, in the back of my head I knew you were safe, but it didn't really click till just now. Y'know?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah, I get it. It's kinda heady, isn't it?"
"Mhm," Len nodded. "Can't remember the last time I got to do this. I know trauma can screw with memory, so I know there must have been times like this, but I can't think of them right now."
There was that ache again. "Yeah, it can screw with your memory," Jim agreed. "That doesn't invalidate how you're feeling right now. You should be able to enjoy this. So don't worry about anything else. Just relax, Bones."
"I relax anymore and I might fall asleep on ya."
"That wouldn't be a bad thing, y'know. You've been pretty stressed out lately."
Len snorted. "Like you haven't been?"
"Yeah, but I do this crazy thing called 'boxing' and other 'physical activities' to release that stress."
"I'm studying surgery, Jim. I can't afford a boxer break."
"You could go running," Jim suggested.
"Maybe tomorrow."
"Don't you have a flight sim tomorrow?"
"Not if I go running."
Jim laughed and shook his head. "You know I'll be there if you want, right?"
"You got other stuff you need to do. Don't need to waste your time frettin' about me."
"You're never a waste of time, Bones," Jim answered softly. "I'll be there if you want me to be."
