apricity

I have a LONG list of fics to write and I'm so excited about it! Tucker and Garrett are on that list if you were wondering

Summary: You and Dean broke up. You get in another relationship in the hope of getting over him, but when The Fifth Line announce that Dean gets injured at a game, you run to him

Warnings: mention of naked men, implied cheating

You thought you were doing the right thing. You thought seeing other guys would help you get over him. But as you sat at a fancy restaurant with one of Briar’s most promising football athletes, you had never been as uninterested as you were right now. He was good looking, sweet and attentive, but he didn’t make you want to stop time. 

You actually wanted the night to end. 

The waiter set down your plates, wishing you a nice evening before leaving. 

‘’Are you coming to the game on Friday? My dad is gonna be here, so I was thinking we could go eat somewhere after. You, me…and him.’’ 

Your fork stopped halfway to your plate. ‘’You want me to meet your dad?!’’ 

in which, robby figures things out too late - you are gone, or are you?

CW: angst, unrequited love, mentions of death, terminal illnesses, reader is nicknamed sunshine. reader is lowk a bitch, mentions of suicide, robby does kind of love you back, no comfort guys im sorry, i could write a part two maybe!

making my debut in the pitt fandom with a 10k word fanfic. love u all. requests are open! (ignore spelling mishaps its 3:44am... yawn) heavily implied u served with jack

It was obvious to anyone – to everyone, perhaps, that you had some sort of weird crush on Michael Robinavitch.

It was almost annoying how unaware he stayed of it. It seemed you and everyone else could see it; but he just never turned his head far enough to notice. You would stand there sometimes, just watching him across the ED, hand on your cheek as you watched him, perched against the nurses desk; thinking there was no way he could be that intelligent and that blind at the same time. It felt like a lengthy chain and heavy ball were stuck to you.

It hurt your soul - a wretched burning feeling that sat under everything else, even under the noise of monitors and calls and footsteps that never stopped in this place. You watched him move through it all like he belonged to it more than he belonged to anything else, because it was true. Confident in the way he spoke, sharp when he needed to be, dismissive when things were wasting his time. And you, somehow, always just outside of whatever space he occupied in his head. His best friend. His best friend.

That word never stopped feeling strange.

You watched him now as he crossed the nurses hub with Noelle, already mid-conversation, both of them moving like they had somewhere important to be, which they probably did. He was leaning slightly forward as he spoke, and then he pulled her into a hug.

You looked away before it could sit in your head properly.

Dana’s hand landed on your wrist before you could drift too far again. “Sunshine,” she said, steady.

You blinked, dragged back into it, shoulders pulling back a fraction too quickly like you had been caught doing something worse than you were actually doing.

“How about you take your break, love?” Dana said, softer now. She gave your hand a light pat, motherly.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, shuffling the notes and charts.

Dana gave you a look that said she was not going to argue with you, but also that she did not believe a single word of it. You opened your mouth again, probably to say something worse, then closed it. There was nothing clean that came out of this anyway - nothing that sounded normal when you tried to explain it out loud. So you did not.

Dana just watched you for a second longer, then nudged her head slightly toward the corridor.

“Go take five,” she said. “Before I decide you’re useless and assign you paperwork instead.”

A small, weak laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Cruel,” you muttered. She chuckled, shaking her head. You left your charts in a pile; noting to come back and finish them before complete hand-off; You leaned against the desk for a moment longer, letting your eyes drop closed for just a second too long.

That was when your phone buzzed. You frowned before even looking at it, already expecting something work-related. Something trivial, something that would pull you right back in without giving you a chance to actually step out of it.

The message was from an unknown number, you stared at it, then opened it.

You re-read it twice to make sure you knew what you were looking at.

And something in you went very still; It was just the kind of moment where your brain stopped arguing with itself for a second and accepted what it was looking at before your emotions had time to catch up.

Your grip on the phone tightened slightly, but your hands were steady. That part surprised you more than anything else. You stood there for a moment longer than you probably should have, phone still in your hand.

Then you breathed out once, slow, and pushed yourself off the wall. “Yeah.. might take that break now..” You stuttered as you looked at the clock, words catching in a way that made your jaw tighten the second they left your mouth. At your grown age, stuttering. Fuck. You dragged your gaze away from the time, swallowing it down like it hadn’t just happened, like it didn’t mean anything. You hoped you weren’t late for your appointment.

You adjusted your grip on your phone, thumb hovering over the screen like you were going to check it again, like that would somehow change the time already staring back at you. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

“Go,” Dana said without looking up, already shuffling through a stack of papers like she had ten other things occupying her brain at once. “Before I make it a command.”

You huffed out something that might have been a laugh, but it didn’t land properly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t start,” she muttered. You turned before you could hesitate. That was the only way to do it. If you paused, if you gave yourself a second to think, you’d stay, you always stayed.

You hurried into the elevator; doors shutting as you pressed for the sixth floor.

Jack evil-eyed Michael when he let go of Noelle - the woman smiled before heading to the already ascending elevator; Robby held up the middle-finger, as Jack scowled playfully; clearly he had been spotted.

“Unbelievable,” Jack muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite to it, just habit. He shifted his weight slightly, adjusting without thinking, eyes flicking after Noelle for a second before landing back on Michael.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Michael shot back, not missing a beat. “Yeah, yeah,” Jack waved him off, but the corner of his mouth twitched anyway. Michael turned slightly, scanning the department without making it obvious he was doing it, it was second nature, he tracked movement, positions, who was where, who wasn’t.

And then he paused. “Where’s Sunshine gone?” He leaned over the nurses desk, looking at Dana.

Dana didn’t look up immediately, continuing to sort through her stack like the question hadn’t reached her yet. “She’s on her break,” Dana shuffled a stack of papers, before looking up at him. “You are as blind as a damn bat, Robby.” She tuts, turning sharply and leaving. Emma following behind.

Michael blinked once, thrown just enough for it to show.

“What?”

But Dana was already walking away, Emma trailing behind her, both of them disappearing into the movement of the department like it swallowed people whole if they stood still too long.

Jack watched as you were swallowed by the closing doors of the elevator; curious.

Michael knits his eyebrows, “Hey! What does that mean?” He calls after her, yet all he can see in the flurry of residents, interns and nurses is Dana’s raised arm with her middle finger up.

That earned a quiet snort from Jack. “Means you’re an idiot,” he said, not even bothering to soften it. Michael shot him a look. “Careful.”

“Or what?” Jack raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’ll glare at me some more?”

Michael exhaled through his nose, not rising to it, but not denying it either. His attention drifted back toward where you had been, like he was trying to piece together something he hadn’t been paying attention to in the first place. “You see her leave?” Michael asked, tone more neutral now.

Jack shrugged slightly. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

Jack gave him a look then, something pointed, something that sat just under the surface. “Was I supposed to?”

Michael didn’t answer immediately. His jaw shifted slightly, like he was working through the question and not liking where it landed.

“She didn’t say anything,” he muttered.

Jack huffed out a breath. “She said she was taking a break, not fucking moving to France..”

“That’s not–” Michael stopped himself, shaking his head once. “Whatever.”

Jack watched him for a second longer, then let it go. There were only so many ways to point something out before it became pointless. “Are you excited for the three-month respite?” He asks, glancing towards the chart hes holding.

Michael dragged his attention back to the present, to the paper in Jack’s hand, to something concrete he could actually engage with.

“Boy, am I ever…” He didn’t sound particularly excited, just tired. He scrubbed a hand down his face briefly, then straightened, like he could shake it off if he tried hard enough.

Jack gave a quiet hum, not entirely convinced but not pushing it either. “You’ve been talking about it long enough.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, flat. Jack flicked through the chart, scanning it quickly. “You’re actually going to take it, right? Not bail halfway through because you get bored.”

Michael shot him a look. “I don’t get bored.” Jack let out a short laugh. “Right.” Michael opened his mouth to respond, but a med student called his name from across the department before he could.

“Dr. Robby!” He turned immediately, attention snapping into place like it always did when work called for it. “Yeah?” he called back, the intern waved him over, urgency clear even from a distance.

Michael didn’t hesitate. He stepped away from the desk, already moving, already shifting back into it like the conversation hadn’t happened at all. As he passed Jack, he reached out, slapping him once on the back.

“Later, brother,” he said.

Jack watched him go, eyes narrowing slightly.

You, however, were entirely anxious. The elevator pinged as it reached Radiology. You sighed, trying to calm your shaking hands as you entered the floor. Your fingers didn’t listen properly at first, a slight stiffness as you reached for your badge, unclipping it from the front of your scrubs and shoving it into your pocket like it didn’t belong on you right now. You walked faster than you meant to, then forced yourself to slow before you looked like you were rushing. You reached Dr. Voss’ office, knocking.

“Come in,” A voice echoed, and you inhaled sharply before entering the room. Dr. Voss was an impeccably sharp woman usually, controlled and precise. What shocked you was the look on her face.

You have been in this side of work for far too long, you knew that look and what it meant. “Hey, Doc.” She smiled as she spoke - but it didnt reach her eyes.

“Hey, Sara..” Theres a slight pause, before you speak again; “It isn't good.. Is it?” Your voice came out trembling.

The signs had started not too long ago; “What do we got?” You asked, slapping on the gloves as you entered the emergency room; Whitaker glanced from you to the patient, “Mid-30s male, MVC, significant facial trauma, sats dropping despite oxygen, airway compromised.” You huff, “Alright, prepare for an intubation, Whitaker.” You dart towards the unconscious male, and grimace as the tightening headache gets worse as you focus.

“BP’s unstable, eighty over fifty, pulse one-twenty and climbing,” a nurse called from the head of the bed, voice clipped and practiced, already hanging fluids as the monitor screamed its steady warning rhythm. The smell of blood and antiseptic hung heavy in the air, sharp enough to sit behind your eyes. “Suction ready,” you said automatically, extending a hand without looking away from the patient. The laryngoscope tray was opened beside you, metal glinting under the overhead lights – someone placed the bougie within reach, standard setup and familiar rhythm. Your body should have settled into it; it did not.

The headache tightened again, a hard band behind your eyes, and for half a second the room felt slightly out of sync, like the sounds were arriving a fraction late. You blinked once, slow, forcing focus back down into the airway. Blood pooled at the patient’s lips as the nurse tilted the head back, positioning for exposure.

“Okay,” you said, quieter now, more controlled than you felt. “Pre-oxygenate again. I want a clean window.”

Whitaker was already at your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the shift in his presence rather than see it, he did not speak yet, just watched your hands as you reached for the laryngoscope.

The first movement was wrong.

A fraction too rigid at the wrist, like the joint was resisting the angle you knew it should take. The blade tapped against the teeth slightly harder than intended.

“Sorry,” you muttered immediately, adjusting, forcing precision into it.

The monitor beeped louder. 

You tried again, slower. Deliberate. Tongue displaced, blade advancing. Blood obscured the view and suction moved in, but the angle still would not settle cleanly in your hands the way it always had. It was as if your depth perception had narrowed, like your brain was insisting on a slightly incorrect map of the space.

“Bougie,” you said, sharper now.

It was already there, handed in without hesitation.

You went to pass it in, and that was when it happened again - a brief stiffness, not tremor, just resistance in the fingers, like they did not want to separate cleanly from the instrument. The bougie hesitated at the threshold.

Whitaker moved – just his hand sliding in under yours, steady and unassuming, taking the angle. He adjusted the laryngoscope position by a few degrees, almost invisible to anyone not watching closely.

“I’ve got the view,” he said simply.

The shift was immediate. Your hands dropped half an inch, hovering now instead of leading. The relief was subtle but undeniable, like a pressure point you had not realized you were fighting against finally releasing.

You exhaled once through your nose, controlled. “Tube’s yours,” you said, voice even, already stepping back into the role of observer without making it a surrender.

Whitaker did not look at you, thankfully. Behind your eyes, the headache pulsed again, deeper this time, less like pressure and more like something slithering and pulsing.

You blinked hard, it hurt, but you needed to refocus on the monitor instead of your hands.

“How about we talk, before we go over this morning's scans..” She sent you a tight-lipped smile. You sighed, feeling the tension in your head pull at the movement of your eyebrows meeting, like even that small shift took more effort than it should have. You didn’t like the way your head felt lately; wrong in a way you couldn’t quite name.

You didn’t answer straight away. Just nodded once, because speaking felt like it might make something in your chest tighten further around your heart.

Begrudgingly, you sat down opposite her; the chair felt too firm, too real. Your hands came together in your lap, fingers lacing without thinking, gripping tighter than you meant them to. They trembled — enough that it irritated you.

You focused - really, really hard.

And they stilled; it took effort, more than it should have.

“Now, I want you to know before we start off; whatever is said in this room is between us and only us.” She sighed, reaching for your scans – passing them to you over the desk.

That alone told you enough.

You reached, and took them. Your fingers brushed the edge of the folder, and for a second you almost missed it, that slight delay. That fraction of hesitation before you gripped properly - you ignored it.

A slight dredge of panic seeped into your skin as you opened the folder. The images were familiar, far too familiar. You had seen them a hundred times before, just never with your name attached.

Your eyes tracked over it once; then again.

“Fuck.” A shaking hand came up to your mouth, fingers pressing hard enough against your lips to keep anything else from coming out. “That's… bad..” You could feel the bile in your throat, sharp and immediate, rising faster than you could control.

She didn’t interrupt you.

“It is also.. Very rare. You are very young for this type of cancer.” She looked down at her nails, before back at you.

You let out a breath that didn’t steady anything.

Your eyes stayed on the scan.

You knew what you were looking at.

Of course you did.

“It is… fast-growing, highly infiltrative, and in some cases not fully resectable in the way most tumors are. Even when a surgeon removes the visible mass, microscopic tumor cells could have spread through the surrounding brain tissue, we will only know more with extra tests.”

Fuck. Fuck.

Your grip tightened slightly on the folder, the edge digging into your palm. You didn’t feel it properly.

“Listen, grade 3 astrocytoma is treatable. It depends purely on whether you choose further treatment.” She sighs.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to say something, anything, just to prove you were still part of the conversation. That you hadn’t just… checked out.

Nothing came. Your throat felt too tight. Your tongue too heavy. Words sat there and refused to move.

“Do you have someone you want to call, to tell?” She asks, standing up from her desk and taking the seat beside you. The chair shifted slightly under her weight. You stared at the scans, you had no one to call. Parents that felt like they were across the world, even when they weren’t. Conversations that had turned into occasional messages, then into nothing. Siblings gone quiet, lives moving on in directions you hadn’t followed.

You only had Dana, Jack and Robby. But even then; they weren’t family. Not in the way that counted for something like this – you refused to be a burden.

“No..” Your voice comes out shaky. You swallowed, forcing it down, but it didn’t steady. “No, there is no one..” Your eyes scan over the papers again, like you’re checking for a mistake you already know isn’t there. It is a sizable tumor - roughly the size of golfball, maybe even an extra half of one. You stared at it longer than you should have, in any other case perhaps you would have admired it. “Your symptoms will only get worse without treatment, so… I thoroughly recommend taking time off as soon as possible, even take the rest of this shift off. Its remarkable you're still standing - the slightest moments of stress or sudden action and that could trigger seizures, intense lack of speech, strokes, lack of memory…” She takes your hand in hers.

You almost pulled back, not because of her, just because you didn’t like being held in that moment. It made it real in a way the scans hadn’t yet. “If you need anyone to speak to, just someone to have coffee with – I'm only a call away.. Okay?” She pat your hand, before rubbing your shoulder.

You nodded automatically.

You had known Sarah for over a decade, almost two - stupidly you made sure to befriend as many people as possible, you used to be a lovely person. That's why they called you Sunshine.

A name you rebuked; It felt almost mocking now; more people to miss you when you go.

“We should go through treatment plans on Monday,” You nod as she speaks. The words blurred slightly at the edges, not unreadable, just harder to hold onto.

“Is eight okay?” She walks back to her desk, scheduling it into her calendar.

“Yes, um.. Yeah..” You stand as you speak, the movement a little too quick, like sitting there any longer would’ve pinned you in place.

Your break is most definitely over and it would only be a matter of time before either Jack or Robby attempt to scare you into coming back down.

“Okay, remember I'm only a call away. You aren’t alone.” She gives you a watery smile, that you cannot replicate.

It is as if the world has swallowed you whole. Your mind was a swirl of pain, flashbacks and lingering thoughts of doom as you slowly took in everything. The folder of scans in your hands felt heavy, heavier than it should have been, as if the weight had nothing to do with paper and everything to do with what it meant. It dragged at your arms like you were carrying men back to the pitched tents in Iraq again, boots digging into sand, shoulders screaming, lungs burning while you told yourself to keep moving.

You shook your head, sharper this time, trying to rid yourself of the thoughts of going back there. You weren’t there. You were here. Fluorescent lights, polished floors, the faint smell of antiseptic instead of sand, gunpowder and blood.

It didn’t feel any better.

The elevator dinged closed as you entered, the doors sliding shut with a soft finality that made your chest tighten. You were alone.

And the second you were alone, you broke.

Fuck.

A sob crawled out of your throat before you could stop it, raw and ugly, like it had been sitting there waiting for the moment the door closed. Your hand came up to your mouth, pressing hard against it as if that would quiet it, as if that would stop the sound from existing at all.

Cancer? The word didn’t sit right in your head. It didn’t belong there. It felt misplaced, like someone had written it into the wrong chart.

A month ago you thought it was burn out. A week ago perhaps stress. Too many shifts, not enough sleep, you had told yourself that with full confidence, like you always did. Like you always fixed things by naming them something manageable.

You heard the elevator ding once, then again. The sound snapped something back into place, just enough for you to move.

You hurriedly wiped your eyes with the heel of your hand, pressing harder than necessary like you could erase the redness, like you could wipe away the evidence. You dug into your pockets for your ID, fingers fumbling slightly before finding it. You clasped it back onto your scrubs, the clip catching on the fabric before settling properly.

You straightened your back, cxollected your shattered self and prepared to go back to work as the doors opened.

Jack Abbot knew something was wrong when you didn’t take your lunch to the roof, in fact he knew there was something wrong when you did not take your lunch at all.

He noticed things like that - always had.

Jack, a man you would call your brother, your confidant, your best-fucking-friend in the whole world stood outside the elevator; a flurry of emotions on his face as he looked to you. It shifted quickly, too quickly for anyone else to catch, but you saw it. Confusion first. Then concern. Then realization.

A woman he would call his sister, a warrior and a damn good doctor.

And right now, you couldn’t meet that version of yourself.

You stepped out, hiding the folder behind you, pressing it flat against your lower back like that would somehow make it invisible. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Your voice comes out raspy, the strain obvious the second it leaves your mouth, and Jack's face shifts to a look of pain.

“Looking for you, sweetheart.” He gives you something like a grimace mixed with a short smile, like he’s trying to keep it light and failing. “What took you so long, hm?”

You know he doesn’t want to be invasive. You know that. He never forced things out of you. Not unless it mattered.

“Erm.. nothing. Just talking to a doctor about something– seems to be all that I do now.” You chuckle, though it feels wrong– it sounds wrong, it sits wrong in your chest. And your heart burns as you lie. Fuck.

You don’t wait for him to respond.

You walk ahead of him, keeping a tight grip on the folder behind you, eager to keep it from him, like distance might buy you time you don’t actually have. Your steps are a fraction too fast.

He notices.

Of course he does.

He huffs, lurching forward to keep up with you, his stride uneven but practiced, closing the gap like he always does. “You wouldn’t lie to me, yeah?” He asks, hand coming to your shoulder, firm enough to stop you from returning to your job.

You stop.

You contemplate telling him, but all it would lead to is either an argument or tears and grieving. You don’t have the energy for either. Not right now. Not when the word is still sitting fresh in your head, especially when it hasn’t even set in for you fully yet.

You shake your head. “No, of course not.” You don’t look directly at him. “Thats a lie..” He whispers, your jaw tightens.

“Tell me what's up..”Jack grabs each side of your head, getting him to look at you. His hands are warm. Familiar. Grounding in a way you don’t want right now.

You try to memorize his face. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The way his expression is already shifting toward something protective, something ready to fight something he doesn’t even know yet.

“I..” You whimper, a feeling of dread tightening into your stomach. “I…”

You huff, getting annoyed, frustration flaring sharp and quick. This wasn’t you struggling to speak due to the want to cry, this was something else. This was the stress of telling him, yes, but also something else, the stress induced lack of speech that Dr. Voss spoke about.

That thought hits harder than anything else so far.

“Tell me, sunshine..” He cups your head, affectionately; trying to calm you down, voice softer now, careful. You stare at him for a second longer. Then you sigh.

Your hands drop from behind your back, and you pass him the folder. Just like that, like it doesn’t matter, like it’s just paper.

Jack looks at it with a look of momentary shock, as though he can't quite believe the thought of a damn folder. His brows pull together, confusion flickering before something more serious replaces it.

Then he opens it; you watch as his face shifts as he reads further, horror on his face as he examines the scans, a hand goes to his mouth. “Fuck..” He muttered.

You don’t look away, you watch him read it.

“This..” He clears his throat, voice catching slightly before he forces it steady, “–is yours..?” He asks, flipping through the symptoms that are highlighted, the side effects – the treatment pamphlets.

You nod once; it feels like more effort than it should.

“How long have you known?” He asks, closing it as he looks around, like he expects someone to overhear, like this is something that needs to be contained immediately. It is just you two in this hallway and the lingering sounds of shouts of orders, faint machine noises and the sound of chatter bleeding through the walls. “I.. I just found out.. Like, twenty minutes ago.” You sighed, the headache pounding with each syllable, each word pressing against something already sore.

“I have to take time off after this shift; hell I was told I shouldn’t even be here now.” You busy your hands as you shuffle your feet, not looking at him, not wanting to see what is on his face now.

“Makes sense, I could call someone to cover for you for the rest of today...” He says it automatically, like he’s filling space, like he’s trying to keep things normal for just a second longer. Then he reaches out, grabbing your shoulder. “Don’t stress alright?” He pulls you into a hug.

Your head meets his shoulder and you shake with a small cry, your hands come up, gripping the back of his shirt without thinking. “I-It is just going to get worse, seizures, memory loss, lack of speech, motor troubles.” You huff, pulling back slightly, taking your arm back from being looped around his waist and wiping at your cheek with the back of your hand.

You hate how steady your voice sounds saying it.

You hate that you understand it.

“But you're gonna get treatment, right? You're gonna fight..” He pulls back fully now, hands on your shoulder as he studies your face. Did you have it in you? The tumor would only get worse if you refused treatment – recurring seizures, memory loss, vision loss, scrambled speech, focal nervous system could be fully compromised. Death. But even if you fought what was there waiting for you? Certainly not a husband nor children – yeah, you had waited too long for those opportunities.

No, you hadn’t thought of fighting.

Or maybe you had, somewhere in the back of your mind, buried under everything else. You knew how these things went. You had seen it before, stood at bedsides, read charts, explained outcomes to people who looked at you the same way Jack was looking at you now. You knew the words, you knew the progression, you knew exactly what it would do.

You just hadn’t put yourself in it.

Survival felt.. weird. It sat in your chest wrong, like something you were supposed to want without question, but didn’t, not fully; It wasn't a relief, it wasn’t hope. It was a decision, along one and a painful one. It could promise years, yes, but would it be worth it? Radiation would surely tear you apart. You would not be able to have children; though you really hadn’t thought that far ahead. A family felt so far away, especially with this life-altering road block. It all felt… strange. Off putting.

Like dragging something behind you that didn’t want to move.

You knew that with cancer like this, at the size like this; there would be a lack of you - the real you. Even if you did everything right. Even if you fought it the way Jack was already expecting you to. Surgery, chemo, radiation, time carved into appointments and side effects and slow changes that no one would say out loud.

There would be pieces missing. Pity at every corner, whispers of how strong you are, how this couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. You could already hear it, you had said it yourself to other patients, softer, but the same words all the same. You knew how it sounded. You knew how it felt on the other side.

You didn’t want that; You didn’t want people looking at you like you were something fragile. Something already gone.

You most definitely did not want to tell your friends; Dana, Samira, Robby… Robby.. You could picture it too easily. The way he would react, or rather, the way he wouldn’t at first. That slight pause. The narrowing of his eyes as he processed it. The questions that would come, quick and precise. Clinical, because that’s how he handled things; then the shift, the kind  that meant he had taken it on whether you wanted him to or not.

You didn’t want that either. 

“I’ll need to think about it more, I have an.. appointment to discuss it further with Dr. Voss in Radiology..” You sigh, patting him affectionately as you pull your folder from his grasp. “I don't want to.. tell anyone.. Samira, Dana, Michael, especially Michael.. when he's.. about to be free of this place.” You wave off the idea, and Jack fixes his position, leaning on his good foot. “You don't want him here for your treatment? The treatment that you are most definitely going to do, whether I have to tie you to the chair or not?” He huffs a dry laugh. “Fine, but you will have to tell him eventually. He's your friend.” He sighs.

There's a temporary silence. Jack knew about your little crush on his friend from med-school; however he had been sworn to utter secrecy. Something that felt so small now. 

A man so detached from the world, so sad and so miserable. You, a woman so entirely enraptured in saving him from himself, wanting to be there for him emotionally – wanting him to want you as much as he wanted his own self-assured destruction. It felt foolish, to want someone so much at your grown age; especially after all you had done.

You sigh, shoulders deflating as the world around you reconnects, like a plug being pushed into a socket. The noise returns and you are out of your own head and instead surrounded by medicine.

“I just want to go home.” You try to control your voice, holding it steady for as long as you can. It falters anyway. Your lip wavers, slight but noticeable, and Jack catches it without trying. It feels like something in you has been pulled back without warning, like peeling away decorative wallpaper only to expose the rot beneath – clean on the surface, held together just enough to pass, but never meant to last; It was never meant to be seen this closely.

You hate that he’s seeing it now, you’ve always been good at keeping it in place, keeping yourself in place. But it slips, just for a second, and that’s all it takes.

It feels like standing in front of something you wanted once, something you could have held onto, and choosing to walk away from it anyway. Not because you didn’t care, but because you knew you couldn’t keep it. “Go get your things, sweetheart. But you will have to tell Dana.” He murmurs, voice low. He isn’t usually the type to hug, especially not in the middle of a shift, but he seems to be giving them out freely today; He pulls you in as he sways slightly, just enough for you to notice, grounding more than anything else. “Do you want me to tell her?” He whispers into your hair, before pulling back to look at you properly as you wipe at your cheeks.

Jack had always been like that for you, steady, there without needing to be asked. Your head pounded as you shook your head, the movement sharper than intended. “Im a big girl, i’ll go tell her after grabbing my things.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t land right. The meek smirk pulls wrong across your face, more like a grimace than anything else, and the tightening at your scalp only makes it worse.

Jack rubs your arm, slow, absent, like he’s thinking about something he doesn’t want to say. He bites the inside of his cheek, jaw working slightly, and for a second it looks like he might argue. His pager goes off just as he opens his mouth; cutting through it.

“Okay… call me when you get home, please?” He asks instead, softer now, his eyes fixed on you in a way that makes it clear he isn’t asking. There’s something in it, something that knows you well enough to expect resistance. He knows that if you don’t let him in, he’ll find a way to be there anyway; he would force you into recovery.

One you did not know if you wanted. If you deserved.

“Yeah, okay.. Get going!” You usher him with a pat on his arm and a light shove, forcing a small smile that feels easier than anything else you’ve tried yet. He hesitates, just for a second longer than necessary, before turning and running off toward an incoming trauma.

As you trudge through to your locker, you think about ways you could summarise it to Robby. There would be no easy way, that’s for sure. There isn’t a version of it that sounds better out loud. Face to face would be too hard, being forced into telling Dana was almost too much as it is. The idea of someone looking at you and knowing, really knowing, about the fat tumor resting in your head, growing, sits wrong in your chest, not concern, not care. You don’t want that, you don’t want to be reduced to pity and people grieving you before you are truly gone.

You could write a letter, and give it to Dana; to give to him? You could summarise everything in an email?

Fuck, you might as well have plastered the folder’s scans around the hospital at this point.

Why were you so terrified about telling Robby? What, like the brain cancer is going to make him look at you in a different light? He was one loss away from hopping from the roof; it’s not like he could try and force you into recovery when he had spent all this time running from his. Especially with this reckless, half-thought-out bike ride he was leaving for.

Fuck this. Fuck this brain cancer. Fuck him.

You did not deserve to be pitied. You were not going to spend the rest of your short life being picked at by vultures, or pumped full of drugs that where only going to weaken you. You were going to go to Greece, or Italy or the Bahamas. You were going to enjoy life on a beach, or admiring art in the Lourve, or fucking a random Greek man from a bar during the sunset.

Maybe it was time for you to go on a spiritual ride of your own.

You pulled your bag out of the locker, clutching it as you held the folder. You felt sick just looking at it. You stepped out, braving the beeping, the yelling, the constant churn of chatter that never stopped.

Frank looked at you oddly, his gaze catching on the fact that you were only a couple hours into your shift and already had your bag slung over your shoulder. He narrowed his eyes slightly as you walked past, something about it not sitting right with him. He leaned on the nurses desk, chart in hand 

You probably looked as bad as you felt. Fuck, you hoped you didn’t over do it.

The lights felt wrong, they seemed to pulse with each step you took, with each breath you dragged in, uneven and a little too fast. Your fingers twitched at your side, restless, and your eyes kept darting without meaning to, scanning the room for something familiar.

For your favorite charge nurse. Your vision blurred at the edges as you searched for that head of blonde hair. Finally, you found her, half-turned away, talking on the phone about an incoming emergency.

You blinked, forcing yourself back into focus, pulling yourself out of whatever daze you’d slipped into. Unbeknownst to you, Langdon was still watching, expression tight with curiosity.

Like he was trying to figure something out, something slightly off that he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah, there you are! What are you doing with your bag, Its not home time..” Dana smirked as she saw you, one hand resting on her hip, her eyes carrying that usual edge of mocking she usually held.

You tried to mirror it, but your smile came out weak, thinner than you meant it to be. The lights pulsed again, and you could feel your arm tremble slightly just at the thought of doing this here, in the open, where anyone could look a second too long. “I.. I have to go home, Jack told me that you could help me find someone to fill in for me?” You spoke quietly, just enough for her to hear, the words catching at the edges.

The smile slipped the second you looked back up at her.

“Whats up, doll?” She stepped closer, lowering her voice, not soft, but contained, like she already knew something wasn’t right.

The fucking lights. Why were they so bright.

“I can’t really say, but I can show you..?” You murmured, trying to keep it casual, like it wasn’t what it was, like your hand wasn’t giving you away as you passed her the folder. Princess and Perlah lingered nearby, but they knew better. They always did. Confidentiality wasn’t something you had to worry about with them.

Robby must be in on a trauma. And Abbot… Well, he was somewhere. Dana’s hand dropped from her waist as she took the folder from you, sharper than usual, opening it without another word. Her fingers stilled almost immediately, just for a second, before continuing.

You watched her face as her eyes moved across the pages. “What the fuck..” She tried to keep it down, but it came out wrong, the panic sitting underneath it pushing the volume up just enough. Your eyes darted around in quiet panic, scanning the floor, the halls, anywhere but her face for a second, praying she didn’t accidentally summon Robby from wherever he was. The last thing you needed was him preaching about vitality and the importance of health and to fight.

Dana didn’t give you the chance to think much further. She grabbed you by the arm, firm, and pulled you with her. You followed, begrudgingly, letting yourself be guided into a supply closet. The door shut behind you with a dull click, and she pressed her back against it like she needed the barrier.

“Have you told anyone?” She asked, arms folding tight across her chest.

You had never really been able to get a proper read on Dana. Her Pittsburgh accent was thick enough to blur the edges of whatever she felt, something she leaned into, something she was good at, it kept things contained and rather controlled. Right now, it didn’t, it hurt.

This was exactly what you didn’t want. Not this part, the part where it stopped being just yours and started affecting everyone else.

“Jack found out. I was coming back from the appointment and he found me.. Crying in the damn elevator...” You whispered the last part, quieter than the rest, shifting your weight slightly like you could move away from it just by not standing still.

The supply closet was dim, thankfully. The lack of harsh light gave your eyes a break, took some of the pressure off the constant ache that had been building since you stepped back onto the floor. Dana stared at you for a second, then back down at the folder, like she needed to check it again. Like it might say something different the second time; She flipped through it, slower now.

“You.. You’re going to do chemo, yeah?” She nods as she says it, like she’s already decided, like that’s the only answer that makes sense.

You let out a breath, heavy enough that your shoulders shift with it.

“As I told Jack, recovery is not definite. Dr. Voss and I will talk about it in my next appointment. Chemotherapy would only give me a couple of weak years left, personally I would rather be tanning on a beach in Australia, or attempt to master a sport or instrument, or spend my money on a yacht, wasting away at sea and then leave it to Jack.. or you in my will.” You explain it as evenly as you can, like you’ve already thought it through, like you are no longer before her breathing.

“But.. but you are so young. There’s so much more to life. I.. We cannot lose you, sweetheart.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and you see it then; She’s crying – You don’t think about it. You just step forward and pull her into a tight hug.

“I do not have the fight in me,” You whisper, and she tightens her grip around your waist, holding on harder than you expected.

“I have no family, no husband nor any children– Chemotherapy would fuck up any chance of having them, and I’m not getting any younger so it’s not like they could just freeze a few eggs and call it a day.” You huff out the last part, a dry edge to it that doesn’t quite land as humour but sits close enough.

You both let out a small, uneven chuckle as you pull apart. “You, Jack, Robby, everyone at the Pitt have been… amazing for the past some-odd years. But if I keep working here, I will die here. The stress could make me stroke, seize; I’m already losing some speech, fuck, even seeing is hard. I have a headache all the fucking time these days, I’ve had to give most of my cases to Whitaker recently because my hands are no longer steady.” You sniff, getting it out as evenly as you can, even as it burns in your throat.

Dana brushes your hair back from your face, careful, wiping at your tears with her thumb before she swipes at her own like it’s nothing. “I dont want to tell Robby.” You say it plainly, like it’s already decided.

She steps back slightly at that. “Why not?” She asks, eyebrows pulling together as she exhales.

“I do not want to ruin his sabbatical, and frankly, I dont want to waste my months left with Robby inserting himself into my final moments. Much love to him, but I cant focus on saving him from himself whilst fading into the abyss.”You huff out something like a chuckle and a scoff; hoping the gallows humour softens the look Dana is giving you.

She sniffs, a slight, disbelieving smile pulling at her mouth. “Thats funny, because hes the chief attending in the emergency department. He has to sign off on you leaving, not only today but until You. Pick. Chemotherapy. Because you will. Me and Abbot will force ourselves into your apartment to make sure you go.” She points a finger into your chest, firm, not backing down.

Your heart stills for a second, you had forgotten that. Somewhere between everything else, you had let yourself forget that in all of this, he was still your higher up.

Fuck.

Dana’s pager goes off, sharp in the small space. Her grip tightens slightly on your folder as she pulls it from her waist. “Its Robby, hey..” She says, cutting straight through your spiralling thoughts.

“He has to know, doll, its policy. You head off, I will deal with all the paperwork, okay? And Robby. Get some rest, and think about everything.” She pulls you into one last hug, holding you there just a second longer than usual. “I love you, kid, please… pick the fight.”She opens the door, leaving it open behind her as she steps out, the folder still in her hand, well, you guess that means you’ll have to come back another day for that.

You stand there for a second longer than you should before you force yourself to move. You fix what you can out of habit, smoothing down your scrubs, wiping under your eyes with the heel of your hand, dragging in a breath that doesn’t quite fill your lungs the way it should. Your phone feels heavier than usual when you pull it out, fingers fumbling slightly as you push back into the blinding lights of the department.

It hits you all at once again, the noise, the movement, the constant, never-ending rhythm of it. For a second, it feels too loud, too sharp, like everything has been turned up just a fraction too high. You would miss it. Langdon has moved from where he was studying you from earlier, you don’t see him now. Instead, Santos and Whitaker have taken over the space near the nurses desk, both of them mid-conversation, heads bent slightly toward each other.

You tap at your phone as you make your way toward them, pulling up the Uber app, your fingers not quite doing what you want them to as you type in your address. You have to correct it twice.

“Dont you have like another six hours of your shift left?” Santos asks, leaning onto the palm of her hand as she watches you, eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the bag, your posture, all of it.

You raise an eyebrow at her, finally glancing up. “Look at me, do I genuinely look fit to work.”

It comes out flatter than you expect.

You haven’t seen yourself, not properly, but you don’t need to. You can feel it. The heaviness under your eyes, the thin layer of sweat that won’t settle, the faint pull of dried tears on your skin. If you had any mascara on, it’s long gone, smudged somewhere it shouldn’t be. Your lips are raw from worrying at them, and there’s a slight tremor in your hands that you can’t fully control. Could be anything, low blood sugar, the cold, or the evil meteor in your fucking head.

“Yeah, im not gonna answer that.” Trinity smiles, small, knowing, dropping her gaze back to the chart in her hands like she’s giving you an out.

“Whitaker, I apologise but im gonna have to leave you to do the charts for our cases. Doctors orders for me to go home.” You keep your tone light enough, something close to normal, offering them a small smile that doesn’t quite reach where it should.

You linger there for a second, longer than necessary, committing them to memory without meaning to. They weren’t just residents. Not really.

“Don’t be surprised if you never see me again, Robby might kill me.” You let out a quiet huff of a chuckle; Both of them look at you, concerned. You ignore it, “Okay, have to go, bye guys!” You step forward, pulling them both into quick hugs. There’s something in the way you hold on for half a second too long before letting go.

You don’t think about that, you pull away, turning before either of them can say anything else. You move toward the ambulance entrance, pace just a fraction quicker than usual, wanting to get out before Dana finishes whatever conversation she’s having with Robby.

You glance over without meaning to.

They’re in the soundproofed psych room. Jack is there too, standing slightly off to the side. He catches your eye through the glass, and there’s a look there before he gives a small shake of his head. Dana and Robby seem to be arguing, and Jack joins in shortly.

You sigh, looking away immediately. But Robby had already seen you in the corner of his eye, your eyes squeezing shut for a second as your head pounds, steady and insistent, pressing behind your temples.

You just want out.

The doors slide open; cold air hits you straight away, brushing your hair back from your face, cutting through the heat and the noise and everything else for just a moment. The wind moves across your skin, and for a second, it feels like something close to relief. You pace a hole into the concrete outside the ambulance bay, your steps uneven but constant, like if you stop moving for even a second everything will catch up to you. Pittsburgh traffic was no joke, so you weren’t worried about the late arrival of your Uber driver. It gave you something to focus on, something simple; In, out, wait, leave.

But the footsteps behind you cut through that almost immediately, recognisable, too familiar. It felt like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have; that instinctive tightening in your chest, the brief pause before you turn, you freeze for half a second, then shift slightly, already knowing what you’re going to see before you do.

Michael Robinavitch – his eyes land on you, sharp, disapproving, something heavier sitting underneath it. “So you were going to leave without saying goodbye?” He shrugs, like he’s trying to play it off, but his hand drags over his face, slower than usual, tension sitting in the movement.

“Well, yes..” You admit, because there’s no point pretending otherwise. That really is what you were going to do.

“Wow,” he exhales, looking away for a second before glancing back at you, “so the past 15 years of friendship mean that you dont…” He gestures vaguely, frustrated, searching for something that fits, before stepping closer, hands coming up as he finishes it. “You have fucking brain cancer and you didn’t want to tell me… why?”

You step back instinctively, more from the pressure of it than anything else, your head pounding in time with the shift. “I literally only found out an hour or so ago, Robby. It’s not some personal attack, it’s moreso preference. Because I did not want to ruin your sabbatical.” You huff, folding your arms across your chest, more to hide the tremor in your hands than anything else. Your fingers twitch against your sleeves, subtle but there.

“You have to be fucking joking me,” he snaps, shaking his head, disbelief clear across his face. “My sabbatical means nothing – if Dana hadn’t have told me I would have come back to attend a fucking funeral.”

That makes you look at him, really look; his eyes are glassy, not quite gone, but close enough that you can see it. “I would rather spend the next three months chained to your damn hip making sure you go to every appointment and chemotherapy session.” He steps closer again, voice lower now but no less firm, like he’s trying to push it into something solid.

It doesn’t move you, not the way he thinks it should. “I dont want treatment,” you say, steady enough, even if your head is screaming at you for it. “I have told Jack, I have told Dana. And now, I am telling you.” You hold his gaze, forcing yourself not to look away. “I would rather have four to six freeing months than seven painful, weak, draining years.”

Your voice lifts slightly without you meaning it to, the volumeof it carrying further than you intended. You catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Ahmad, not even pretending not to listen anymore; eyeing you two warily. A couple of others lingering just a second too long. Inside, Dana’s probably already snapping at people to get back to work.

“You might as well announce to our entire workplace that I’m fucking dying, Robby. Congratulations. Whatever dignity I had left is now gone. Thank you.” You let out a sharp exhale, but it doesn’t really settle anything in your chest. It just sits there, building. “You cannot look me in the eye and preach about life, and recovery when everyone knows what you were going to do on that fucking trip, Michael. No helmet, a spiritual retreat done by the most depressed person I know? Yeah… sure..”

Your voice cracks just slightly at the end, but you don’t stop, you can’t. It all spills out before you can think better of it, there’s a shift in him immediately. You see it land. Not just the words, but the intention behind them. And you know it cuts deeper than you meant it to.

“I have nothing keeping me here, no family, not even a fucking pet. I have dedicated my life to this hospital, to this country. All it gave me was a brain tumor and PTSD.” Your voice goes quieter at the end, but the weight of it doesn’t lessen..

“What about us, me, Dana, Jack.” His voice is lower now, almost careful. He steps closer like distance will fix something. You shake your head before he finishes properly, tears slipping anyway, uninvited and steady.

If you turn all of them away, they’ll leave you alone.

Fuck.

Your head throbs again, sharper this time, and your heartbeat feels wrong in your ears, too loud, too close. You can feel it in your vision, the edges of things tightening slightly as you force yourself to keep looking at him.

“There will be a time, where I will be just a mere back thought. Where you might see something and think of me briefly, but walk past and continuing on with another thought. And that is all I wish for you, especially Jack. To forget me is to honor me.” You push it out steadily, even as your throat tightens around the words.

It sounds final, thankfully– you intend it to. Push them all away, surely it will be for the better. No one to mourn you, no one to carry it further than it needs to go.

Your chest aches at the thought, but you don’t let it show, especially not now; not when you look back up and see him properly. Michael is looking at you like something in him has been pulled wrong; hurt, in a way he doesn’t try to hide fast enough.

“Don’t push me away, please, sweetheart. Not when you need support, not during this… not ever…” You turn at that, but not fully. Your shoulders move first, like your body is negotiating with your mind before you’ve even decided anything. Your eyes squeeze shut as another tear slips out anyway, you don’t wipe it straight away. You don’t trust your hands to be steady enough to pretend it didn’t happen.

Your chest feels tight in a way that has nothing to do with lungs and everything to do with  this sudden overbearing pressure. Your heart is still going too fast, uneven, like it’s trying to outrun something it already knows it can’t.

You are afraid to look at him, not because you don’t want to, but because you do.

“Michael, please.. You have to accept this.” Your voice comes out rough, dragged low, like it’s being pulled through something heavy before it reaches him.

He shakes his head immediately, “You aren’t even looking at me. I can’t accept anything when you’re not looking at me.” His voice softens at the end, that makes you turn properly.

It takes effort, more than it should – its scary how much you decline the more tired you get.

When you face him, everything feels worse and better at the same time, which is its own kind of cruelty. Because now he’s there, fully, and there is no version of this where you don’t see him clearly. “If I do treatment, I will be signing myself up for seven– fuck even more than seven– years of loneliness, of peering into others lives and regretting a lack of my own. I thought I would be married by now, atleast three children.” You say it like you’ve rehearsed it, but the cracks show anyway. Mid-sentence, your voice falters, like it’s not convinced you should be saying it out loud.

You shrink after it leaves your mouth. Not on purpose. Just instinct. Like your body is trying to make you smaller so none of it has to stick. Robby watches you change in real time. You can see it on his face; the shift from argument to something lesser; like he wants to step forward but knows he shouldn’t, like that would break something you’re still holding together by force.

“I can’t take another seven years of this, Michael. Of loving but not being loved.” Your throat tightens on the last word. You swallow and it barely helps.

The air feels wrong, too still, too aware; Your vision blurs at the edges again, not fully gone, instead its llike your body can’t decide how much of the world it wants you to keep.

“I’ll love you..” he says, quieter now, and his hand finds your wrist, his touch is gentle, caring; that alone nearly breaks something open in you. You hate how quickly your body reacts to it – The immediate tightening in your chest, the way your breath stutters like it’s forgotten how to keep up with this moment. “You can’t do that, Michael. That would be a wretched thing– for me to allow you to do that.” Your voice shakes slightly, and you feel it immediately, like a flaw exposed too late to fix.

“I love you..” He steps closer again, this time you don’t move away, you look at him properly – really properly.

Your hand lifts before you decide to stop it, and it lands against his cheek, warm, gentle, real. The shape of him is suddenly too clear, too specific, like your mind is forcing you to store details you didn’t ask for; the grey in his beard, the way his lashes sit uneven with tears, the faint tension in his jaw like he’s holding back everything he shouldn’t say.

Your uber pulls up somewhere behind you, shocking you out of your haze – reminding you that life is continuing on around you. “Its too late for that, Mikey..” you whisper, and your smile barely holds its shape. It trembles at the edges, slipping in and out of place. Your thumb moves once under his eye without thought, catching what falls before it can fully leave him.

He goes still under your hand.

You see it then, the way he notices. The way he starts to track you differently, like he’s realizing time is doing something irreversible in front of him. You’re looking at him like you’re memorizing him; and then he’s realizing you already have. He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue – but you’re already stepping back, and you’re gone. Like you were never there to begin with.

requests are open!

Eddie Munson x GN!reader

Summary: You work in the mall’s music store. Eddie is a regular. You are too unbothered. Eddie is too electrified.

Word count: 1.6k

Warning: Some cursing. One (1) mention of weed.

A/N: Short and sweet. I've had this story in my mind for so long, it was time to get it out. Please, let me know if there are any spelling errors, English is not my first language.

Steve was not a hero, but you were and why did the hero always have to die alone?

This is pure angst. Language, character death(s), sacralises, tissues? Gif credits: go to @levanterhaze

Steve Harrington was never meant to be the hero, but he did fall in love with one.

"what would you do without me?" "perish." | s. reid

summary: your boyfriend is more than happy to take care of you while you recover from a hip injury. 

relationship: spencer reid x chronically ill fem!reader 

genre: fluff

word count: 2.9k

tags: established relationship, reader is implied to have hEDS because i am nothing if not a self-indulgent writer, totally not inspired by my recent bedridden & injured state of being, are tags really necessary when this is 100% fluffy?, i think that is all

You’re sprawled on your sofa, looking a bit like a pretzel as you attempt to keep weight off your right hip. A few days ago, you partially dislocated it. What were you doing? Walking. Literally just walking. Leave it to your shitty connective tissue disorder to make even the simplest tasks a waking nightmare. 

It’s early Wednesday morning, and you’ve had to call out of work while you rest. Doctor’s orders and all. You’re usually not up this early unless you’re getting ready for your commute, but you haven’t been getting much rest, what with the killer pain in your leg. So, you’ve resigned yourself to tapping away on your Kindle, indulging in some smutty romance to entertain yourself. 

There’s a knock at your door, and your head whips in the direction of the sound. You aren’t expecting anyone; if you were anyone else, you might be embarrassed to have your reading interrupted mid-sex scene, but you’re as shameless as they come. You keep scanning the screen as you call out. There’s very few people on this earth that could drag you away from this book.

Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

In which : Your parents are out of town and you go to babysit the kids, but they find out that your heater is broken, so they call Steve to help you.

Warnings: no use of y/n, "enemies" (not really) to lovers, comfort, fluff, sweet steve, reader is a bit unkind to steve, dustin being a helpfull kid, kissing

an: this is my first post on tumblr, english is not my first language so if you find any mistake please be kind <3 also, i'm open for requests if anybody would like to write one. Enjoy! :) <3

Words: 4,2K

James Potter x Reader

Summary: You’re on a secret library mission to make up your grades. James Potter is in a shelf.

It was no secret that you and Lily Evans had been locked in a bitter rivalry to be top in just about every class since your first year.  There had actually been tally chart of your marks at one point in the Gryffindor common room. 

But this term, something terrible had happened.

You were failing divination.

It was a stupid subject. It wasn’t even real.

You knew for a fact that Evans thought the same, but she was friends with Sybil Trelawney, who was apparently gifted with the sight, and who you were 99% sure was also ‘gifting’ Evans with prophecies and predictions galore for her essays. You had no such luxury. 

Instead you were here: in the middle of the library at midnight, acquiring extra study materials in secret to try and make up your grade before anyone found out you’d fallen behind.

The entire layout of the library was welded into your memory down to the step, so you had been able to make the entire trip in the pitch black without any chance of someone seeing you; all that was left for you to do was climb a ladder to the tenth shelf of the divination section, and you could hurry back to your room and hide it there.

You grabbed the ladder, moving it a few inches to the left, and—

“MERLIN CHRIST!”

You could have jumped straight out of your skin in terror at James Potter’s voice as he came tumbling down from above your head. He landed on his back, letting out as humph as he winded himself on the floor, the top three rungs of the ladder clattering on top of him in succession.

For several moments he laid there like a statue, and you thought you might have actually killed him. 

You didn’t know him very well. His reputation preceded him, though, and you couldn’t imagine he was doing anything particularly academic in the library at this time of night.

You were also pretty sure he was dating Lily Evans. The one person who you did not want to find out you were here.

For this reason, you briefly considered leaving him for dead. 

“James?” you whispered.

No response. 

You sighed and stuck your wand in front of his face. “Lumos Maxima”

James suddenly came to life, hands shielding his face from the extremely bright light coming out of your wand. “Alright, alright,” he shouted, “You already broke my legs, no need to blind me as well!”

“Shh!” you whispered. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Cleaning.” said James, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“At midnight?”

James shrugged. “It’s a very dusty library.”

“On a ladder?”

“I like to be thorough-”

“Oh my god, is that a firework?” you whisper-shouted.

James threw whatever he was holding about ten feet behind him.  “No.” 

“Don’t throw it!”

James smiled knowingly. “Throw what?”

You gave him an unimpressed look, but he only stared back at you innocently from his position on the ground. He continued to hold your gaze as he stood up to his full height, leaning his arm above your head on the bookshelf. 

“What are you doing here?” he said. “Bit past your bedtime, innit?”

“I’m on prefect patrol.” you said, far too quickly.

James laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“What?”

“Prefect patrol ends at eight o’ clock, and you just said it’s midnight.”

Shit. 

“Well,” you said “if you must know, I was looking for a book, but it looks like I won’t be reaching the shelf any time soon.”

You gestured to the splintered rungs of ladder around James’ feet.

“Which shelf is it on?” asked James.

“Er, the tenth.”

“Alright, give me a sec.” 

James tilted his head up, craning his head to get a better view of the higher shelves.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting your book.”

“What— Merlin, James get down!”

To your bewilderment, James Potter, apparently devoid of any common sense whatsoever, had begun to literally scale the shelves of the bookcase in the dark. His feet were at the level of your head, but the book you needed was at least another five feet off the ground.

“What’s the number reference?” he asked.

“One five four— it’s way too high to climb, you idiot!”

“Can’t be higher than a quidditch hoop.”

He was at least ten feet off the ground now.

“I’m going to be so angry if you die.” you said.

“Well,” he let go of the shelf with one hand and turned to look at you, “You better catch me if I fall.”

Your stomach flipped upside down as he hung off the shelf with one hand like a monkey.  “I’m not catching you!”

“You aren’t very heroic, are you, Y/N?” He grinned, before attaching all of his limbs back onto the shelf.

You weren’t sure how walking like a humanoid crab across a shelf of books could be considered heroic, but you watched in amazement as James picked out your book, grabbing it between his teeth and sliding down two beams of the shelf like a ladder before gracefully landing on the floor.

“There!” He was beaming from ear to ear as he presented the book like a trophy. 

You tried to snatch it out of his hands before he realised what it was, but you were too late.

As he read the title of the book, he frowned.

“Hang on,” he said,  “Why do you need this? Isn’t it from last years’ syllabus?”

You sighed defeatedly, too tired to lie. 

“I’m failing Divination.” you said.

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one talking like I’m twenty feet away!”

“No,” he laughed, “It’s just, I dunno, I thought you knew everything already.”

“What?”

“You and Lily are like, the biggest know-it-alls in the school.”

“I’m not a know-it-all!”

James laughed. “Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“What year did the Goblin Rebellion end?” 

“1891.” you said without hesitation.

“See!” he pointed at you with the book, “You literally know everything!”

You rolled your eyes. “I could have made that up and you wouldn’t know.”

“Nah, no lies get past these baby blues.”

“Your eyes are brown, James.”

James made a face of pretend shock. “Your wisdom knows no bounds.”

“Shut up and give me my book.”

“Alright!” he laughed. “Merlin, you are bossy.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I like it.”

There was still a light coming from your wand, and you hoped that he couldn’t see the blush you felt creeping up onto your cheeks. 

“Um, look,” you said, “Can you not tell your girlfriend about this?”

James frowned, “Huh?”

“Evans… I don’t want her to know I’m failing divination.”

James burst out laughing. “You two are both actually insane.”

“We are motivated. It’s entirely different—“

“—and she’s not my girlfriend.”

Your eyes went wide for a second at his sudden clarification; James seemed almost as surprised as you, as though the words had come out without his permission. The two of you seemed extremely close all of a sudden; the smell of his aftershave and broom polish was a little disarming.

“Oh, okay.” you said, slowly.

James moved his hand off the shelf, pretending to inspect dust on his fingers before rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, er— shelf looks pretty shiny now. I’d better be off.”

“Thanks for getting my book,” you said, a smile creeping onto your face.

“Oh, that’s alright.” he replied, a little breathlessly. “Good luck with your fortune telling— load of bollocks, I think.”

You laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“Night, Y/N.”

James spun round on his heel and started walking in the direction of the stairs.

“Oh, and James?” you said.

James turned around quickly, eyes big. “Yeah?”

“Who is Merlin Christ?”

“What?” 

“When you fell, you said “Merlin Christ”.”

“Oh, er— some famous muggle that Remus was telling me about the other day. Sounded a lot like a wizard to me though, if I’m being honest.”

“I think you meant Jesus Christ.”

James put his hands up in mock defence. “Alright, little Miss know-it-all,”

You opened your mouth to respond, but closed it abruptly in shock as James winked at you, turned around and disappeared between the shelves.

The library fell silent again. Then—

BANG.

Ten feet away, where James had thrown the definitely-not-a-firework, plumes of smoke began erupting, releasing about one hundred lilac-coloured canaries into the library at once. 

You immediately took off in the direction that James had just left, clutching your book tightly to your chest to stop it being ruined by purple feathers.

word count: 7.4k

summary: The last 18 months have been hard on everyone, but Dustin is spiraling out of control. Steve will do anything to make sure you and your brother are safe, together, and loved. Crawls be damned.

content warnings: some s5, vol 1 spoilers, Steve pov, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, mild descriptors of blood, everyone is actually full of anxiety in this one, no use of y/n

author’s note: first fic!! I liked the idea to match the titles to a song that was playing as I was writing. love this one. I was really thinking heavily about how paranoid Steve could be, especially when he wants to protect something/someone. This is also very self indulgent so sue me! Please go easy on me this time, but I’d love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!

Steve isn’t a stranger to having someone in his bed. There was once a time where this house—this room—was a revolving door of pretty sighs and low chuckles. A time where he thought Nancy was the one for him, and that there was nothing to be afraid of in this world outside of his parents’ vague yet ever lingering disappointment.

But now his room is at a standstill, void of all those old ghosts. The only sound being the soft huffs of air coming from the other side of his bed.

From you.

He doesn’t really know how long he’s been sitting here watching you. Long enough for the faint glow of moonlight to slowly slip down from its starting point near you brow to where it now cast a blue beam across the curve of your lips. Longer still that he has started timing those soft puffs of air, counting every rise and fall of your shoulders.

It’s a habit he picked up the night after everything had gone to shit over a year ago. Something in the devastation on Lucas’s face as they had rushed Max to the hospital had made Steve himself grow almost unfairly paranoid about his own girlfriend.

What right did he have, he’d ask himself. You hadn’t been selected to be one of Vecna's victims. You’d made it out of the Upside Down, Steve had made sure of that.

And although any scrape or bruise on you was an affront to everything Steve stood for…he was grateful that that’s all they were. Your eyes still clear, hands still carding absentmindedly through his hair when you can. So seeing you sleeping—albeit fitfully—is a blessing that he acknowledges every night.

Of course, he always has room for more habits. Picking fights with Jonathan for instance. You had sat primly in the passenger seat of the van just days ago, shaking your head while halfheartedly chastising him.

“Don’t be mean Steve. He’s going to assume you are going for a hostile takeover.”

There wasn’t a single hint of real anger in your tone though. In truth you also loved pressing buttons, especially when it came to Jonathan and Nancy.

You’d never quite forgiven them for playing hooky at Murray’s while you and Steve nearly became demodog food—no matter what their intentions were.

Steve pulled out a Bopper, another recently formed habit. Tearing at the wrapper he smirked over at you, “Maybe I want to keep him on his toes.”

“Well,” you let out a snort. “Then we will just have to divide and conquer.”

We. There was something so warm about your demeanor despite everything. You never left any room for doubt or distrust.

From the moment Dustin had dragged Steve to your house and thrown you into a world of monsters and lab experiments, you’d somehow decided he was worthy of something. Of trust, of being in your orbit. Of love.

It reminds him of standing in the soft rays of sunlight at the start of spring.

Now, the November chill curls up into his bones as he slips out of bed to perform his newest habit: checking on Dustin.

The doors to both Steve’s bedroom and the guest room across the hall are wide open. An unspoken rule when your brother spends the night. Harsh snores erupt from under the quilted blanket, currently the only sign in the cover of darkness that Dustin’s face was swollen beyond belief.

Whatever happened to him tonight was not a bike accident, that Steve knows for sure. His tough love tactic hasn’t exactly been successful lately, but honestly he’d take Dustin screaming at him over silence any day. The only white flag they had been able to fly these days was you.

Dustin had completely turned in his seat to stare at Steve once he explained what a shit show tonight had been. Jonathan was still fuming in the back of the van, headphones firmly on his head.

The words that had been thrown around between them didn’t bother Steve—not really. He was more offended that the older Byers brother still couldn’t get it through his thick skull that Steve has moved on. Happily even. Besides, he had bigger fish to fry than his ex and her very insecure partner.

“You let her go in there?” Dustin gritted out, rings glinting under the streetlights as his hands clench around the fast food napkin Steve shoved his way.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Henderson I don’t let her do anything. I didn’t even know about it until they were already on the way to the hospital!”

Truth. Though he was scared shitless, he’d never deny you the right to fight. Despite your qualms with Nancy, there had been zero hesitation in your bones when Will had given the group some sort of warning about the attack on the Wheelers house. You knew how to handle yourself, he’s seen it. Even if it does scare him.

“I asked one thing of you! You’re supposed to be protecting her and instead you can’t even figure out how to prevent a power surge,” Dustin’s voice cracks with disbelief as he swipes at the dried blood on his chin. “Why wasn’t she with you in the first place?”

Steve cradles his head in one hand as if that could dampen the headache rolling in, “She wanted to stay at the station in case you showed up you little shit.”

Dustin scoffs at that, “You told me you wouldn’t leave her alone.”

That’s it. Against his better judgement Steve slams on the brakes, throwing everyone in the van forward.

“Jesus Christ Steve! We’re losing the signal, what are you doing?” Jonathan yells, fumbling with the headphones as he braces himself against the built in desk.

Steve ignores him completely as he throws the van into park and fully swivels in his seat to look at the boy beside him.

“She isn’t alone. And you told your sister that you’d be careful. That you’d stop doing this,” he gestures up and down Dustin’s frame. “You remember that, huh?”

Dustin opens his mouth to say something but Steve presses on, “Do you know how worried she’s been tonight? Everyone was wondering where you could possibly be and if it had been up to her, we would have cancelled the damn crawl to look for you.”

“Guys come on!” Jonathan presses, “We are wasting time.”

Dustin’s blue eyed gaze pierced into him, but Steve didn’t let up on his stern expression. The silence of the night pressed into them, tall rows of corn swaying slightly in the breeze. Something snaps in Steve as he turns back into his seat.

Slowly, he shifts back into drive before muttering, “Yeah, we are wasting time. I’m looping around one more time and then we are going to the hospital.”

Jonathan sputters in protest, “But what about Hop? The crawl-”

“I don’t give a damn about the crawl Byers!” Steve shouts. “We lost him two hours ago. I don’t care what you tell your mom either, but we need to regroup. Take the van for all I care. But your girlfriend’s parents are in surgery. Holly is missing. And I’m going to get my girlfriend.”

Steve was never one to back down from anything, but there was an unfamiliar edge in his tone that silenced the other two. Not that Dustin was saying anything at the moment.

Jonathan finally radioed in to Joyce back at the Squawk, speaking quietly as if to soften the blow that Hopper would have to be on his own for now. Steve glances just once at Dustin blotting his nose tenderly, before turning down Cornwallis towards the glow of Hawkins.

If he was being totally honest with himself, Steve felt truly terrible about the Wheelers. Of course he did. But he was more concerned about minimizing any sort of panic within Dustin. You weren’t injured, that much he knew, but lack of wounds wouldn’t stop Dustin from the warpath he’s been on since Eddie.

At one time you were the protector. The older sibling that went above and beyond to get your brother and his friends out of harm’s way. You had the scars to prove it.

Now, Dustin treats you like you’re made of glass.

-

It had been little things with Dustin since Eddie’s funeral. You’d woken up one night to him tucked into bed with you—something he hadn’t done since you had moved to Hawkins. One night turned to every night, but you never questioned it, and he would disappear before your alarm went off in the morning.

He’d taken to constantly checking the batteries on your walkie, even when you’d said they were good. Steve even began to notice that your brother was nudging you as far away from doors and windows as humanly possible. As if you’d be snatched away if he wasn’t paying attention.

When you’d moved in with Steve after your graduation, Dustin didn’t riot. He just…adapted. Part of his excuse for showing up constantly was to avoid explaining why he was up at all hours after a crawl to your mother. She was thrilled at the very thought that you’d still be watching him.

But nobody was more thrilled than Steve himself. His parents didn’t make an effort to return home from Chicago once he’d told them about the quarantine situation. The last phone call he’d gotten was a quick happy birthday from his mother. Then of course she ended the brief call with a, “Do try to keep the house in order, dear.”

And order he kept. He knew they wouldn’t be coming back. You’d purchased soft yellow curtains that made the living room feel cheerful for once. Furniture was rearranged, and closets were filled.

It began to feel like a home.

So when Dustin showed up past the military’s curfew with an overnight bag and a small stack of books, Steve didn’t give you the chance to wonder if he was alright with it.

“Henderson!” he grinned wildly, before pulling Dustin inside. Your brother’s eyes were still dimmed but he had an expression of calm once Steve had slapped a soda in his hand and turned on the TV.

He had then disappeared upstairs for so long that you went looking for him. You’d found him in the guest room, your brother’s books stacked on the bedside table and extra blankets piled high at the foot of the bed.

“Baby?” you had a smile in your voice that made something in Steve’s heart swell.

“Do you think he would want his room painted?” he blurted out.

The truth was Dustin didn’t really care, but Steve shoved various paint chips into his hands for weeks until a deep green was begrudgingly selected.

It was much easier getting your brother to join in on the actual painting. You would bring them lemonade and hear Dustin laughing along to whatever Steve had come up with. Steve didn’t miss the glassy smile you gave him before popping out again.

The guest room project turned into the fence needing to be touched up, and that turned into your request to have the shutters done in blue.

Steve would come home with paint cans and Dustin would silently consent to assisting. He never pushed a topic, never brought up the bats or Eddie at all. He was just grateful to have the old Dustin back, even if it was just for a few moments at a time.

School made everything worse. Of course there was the Hellfire Club issue. But then there was Dustin’s unwillingness to forgive the student body as a whole. Nearly everyone at Hawkins High was guilty of complacency regarding Eddie’s death in his eyes—almost more than Vecna.

“His grades are fine,” you’d said one night at the dining table. “But he barely sleeps as it is. He seems…anxious.”

Steve frowned at the wrinkles of worry etched on your forehead. Trying to get you to relax he grabbed onto your hand gently, clearing his throat before saying lightheartedly, “I think we still have my mom’s sleeping pills.”

“Steven, we can’t sedate him.” you say sternly, though he can tell your heart’s not in it.

“Hey,” he tuts softly. “We’ll watch him. I just wanted to give you the nuclear option first.”

And you laughed before taking another bite of lasagna, meaning Steve had won another battle. He was just as concerned about Dustin as you were, but he was prepared to take the brunt of whatever this grief was transforming into.

-

The grief, it turned out, melded into near crippling anxiety about you.

You’d recently taken up a librarian position, offered to you in the wake of quarantine—no masters degree required for the time being. You and Steve had a schedule to maintain on top of the crawls, and Dustin needed to be in school, which meant less sleepovers.

Steve always tried to make sure that he was present with you at the Henderson residence at least once a week. He liked the idea of a family dinner. Of Claudia hugging him tightly and setting that week’s bouquet of flowers into a vase with unabashed glee. But more than that, it was an opportunity for you and Dustin to have time together.

Steve knew that it was going to be a problem when a surprise military shipment came in three months ago. You had to feign a cold to get the two of you out of family dinner last minute, leaving Dustin with your mother.

“Yes,” you said with a sigh of exasperation into the receiver. “No-Dustin, I won’t break the antenna. Yes, I’ll be careful.”

Steve stood next to you, frame leaning casually against the wall as he assessed the tone you were taking with your brother. He could just make out the muffled sound of his name through the line before you let out a sigh, shoulders slipping forward in defeat.

“Yeah, okay. I love you,” you hold the phone out to Steve. “I’m going to grab our snacks.”

Steve gingerly takes the phone as you start down the hallway, but not before ghosting his lips across your forehead.

“Hey Dust,” he greets.

Just a speck of dust, that’s what you called him when you were little. The ease of the nickname has embedded itself into Steve’s vocabulary.

“You have her mixtape?” Dustin asks bluntly.

Okay so this is how it’s gonna go tonight, Steve thought to himself.

“Yep. The soothing tunes of Fleetwood Mac are safe and sound.”

And they are, along with a variety of your favorite songs that he has in the van. And the station. And the living room stereo.

In fact, he has tapes for each member of the party scattered everywhere—spent the early months of quarantine holed up in the station, recording from the turntable. But no matter who the tape was for, he made sure the third track was Gypsy. For you.

There was a pause of silence that almost made Steve think Dustin had hung up. Then, softer now, “Be safe.”

Click.

And you were safe. Steve still hauled ass through town but went easier on the turns, determined to keep you in your seat. Everything went without a hitch, and you returned home in the early morning hours hand in hand.

“How long do we have to sleep?” you mumbled into his shoulder as Steve fiddled with the house keys in the darkness.

Steve sighs, silently cursing himself for not remembering to turn on the porch light before you left the house.

Squinting at his watch he replies, “Three hours? Maybe three and a half if we shower together.” He didn’t need extra light to know that you had matching smirks.

“Jesus, you two are disgusting.”

Steve didn’t think as he dropped the keys, shoving you behind him as you both turned toward the disembodied voice.

But you registered the familiar cadence much quicker than Steve. Poking your head around him you narrow your eyes before calling out your brother’s name.

Light erupts from the other end of the solid wooden planks, casting shadows along the side of the house. Dustin is holding court in one of the rocking chairs, flashlight in hand.

Steve sucks in a breath of air, “Henderson, what are you doing?”

Dustin avoids the eye contact before muttering, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“No dude, what are you doing outside my house at 3 in the morning?”

Dustin’s lips slip into a frown so similar to yours that it makes Steve blink, “I couldn’t get in.”

“Oh jeez Dust,” you say softly. Steve crouches down, feeling for his key ring while you pull your brother into a hug, “Does Mom know you are gone?”

Finally Steve jams the silver key into the lock, yanking open the door. He can see Dustin shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Come on. In.” Steve calls, waving the two of you inside before firmly shutting out the rest of Hawkins.

A robotic sort of instinct took over him as he flicked on the kitchen lights and started pulling out ingredients. He can feel the two of you watching him in confusion as he yanks the egg carton out of the fridge.

“Henderson I can hear your stomach growling from here, will you grab the frying pan.”

There was a flurry of motion from you and Dustin behind him as he tried to wipe the grin off his face. The three of you ate breakfast as the sky gradually lightened, speaking softly and forgoing sleep entirely.

Steve made it a point to press a copy of the house key into Dustin’s palm a few days later. He wanted your brother where he could keep a close eye on him. And sure, there was good and bad days with Dustin—with all of you if Steve was being honest.

This was something Steve knew he couldn’t fix. There was no manual when it came to death and monsters and the loss of a friend. How can he shield both you and Dustin from any more disaster when you were still grasping at straws with the crawls?

It was these things pressing on his mind some weeks later as he played a laughing track for Robin.

“And don’t forget kids, please do not try to catch the mystery dandruff with your tongue. I can promise you that it isn’t snowing in August,” Steve scoffed at that one as Robin turned toward the records. “But I do forecast a slight drizzle with this next one by the Eurythmics.”

Here Comes The Rain Again started up and Rob reached across the panels to switch off the microphones just in time for the side door to slam open.

Both DJs flinched as the metal bounced against the wall, rattling the picture frames and plaques lining the walls. And then Dustin was bursting through the doorway, hair disheveled and chest heaving as his mouth moved a million miles a minute.

Steve scrambled to tug off his headphones, nearly overturning the stool he had been perched on in his haste to exit the sound booth.

Every worst case scenario from more Russians to Henry Creel standing outside the building flashed through his mind.

“Henderson,” Steve crossed the room in quick strides. “What happened?”

“She’s missing,” Dustin panted, dropping his backpack to the ground.

Steve’s face screwed up in confusion, “Missing?”

Names and faces flashed across his mind. Robin was right here, Max wasn’t disappearing from the hospital. Erica? Nancy? And you were-

At the same time, Robin stopped beside him, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

Dustin ignored the pair of them, dropping to the floor by the couch and pulling out the crowbar Steve had hidden under there, among other blunt objects in the building.

“She’s not answering on the walkie. And I went by the library but Rose said she left in a hurry. An emergency.”

Library? The gears finally started turning again for Steve.

“Dustin, hold on a minute. Your sister-“ he began.

The younger boy actually gripped onto Steve’s shirt. Robin’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind her bangs.

“I forgot to radio her at lunch,” Dustin choked out. “I knew something would happen and now-”

“Dust?”

All three heads snapped up toward the sound of your voice. You had paused at the mouth of the hallway that leads to the kitchen and store rooms, balancing three steaming mugs of coffee.

Between your cozy look in Steve’s sweatshirt and the comically different shades of the coffee (black for you, extra sweet for him, and Robin somewhere in the middle) he felt an endearing, feather-soft tug on his heart.

Confusion clouded your eyes as you looked between Steve and Dustin. Steve was suddenly very aware of how unhinged your brother looked at the moment. Lowering his hands from where they were locked onto Dustin’s shoulders, Steve slipped the crowbar out of the boy’s hand.

You had set down the mugs by now, and Steve tried to give you a look to convey the severity of the issue.

“Rob, the music,” he mumbled tugging her back toward the booth.

She snatched up both their mugs as she trailed after him, giving you an apologetic smile. And there they sat, switching between Bowie and Wham!, ELO and even a Metallica song. That one was for Eddie.

Robin made sure not to look over at the siblings, but Steve wouldn’t look away. He didn’t need to hear through the thick glass to know that Dustin had begun to tearfully explain himself, talking with his hands as much as his voice. Your own gestures mirrored his, hair bouncing as you pointed toward the basement and then toward Steve himself.

Tension was obviously bleeding out of Dustin as his shoulders sagged further the longer you spoke. Though he knew you weren’t yelling, you had taken on a stern expression that made you look more weary than angry.

He only looked away when you finally threw your hands up in defeat before pulling your little brother into a desperately tight hug.

-

It was honestly a miracle that they hadn’t been pulled over on their way through town. Steve’s mind was clouded with half-baked jabs from a grumbling Jonathan and a deep need to just take you home.

“That was a red light back there in case you couldn’t see,” Dustin mutters beside him, voice nasally from the tissue shoved up both nostrils.

Swallowing a sigh, Steve’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he immediately tries to relax his eyes. He knows he needs glasses. Could have used them since Starcourt, but he isn’t quite ready to admit that particular defeat.

“Yeah? Well keep getting the daylights beat out of you, and we can go to the optometrist together.”

Dustin doesn’t fight back, some of the anger fizzling out the more Steve states the obvious—this was no bike accident. Steve takes a moment to really look at the boy beside him, flashing back to that day at the Squawk.

Your ‘emergency’ wasn’t entirely fabricated. Murray had gotten through the check point with a shipment, including an obscene amount of ammo for Hopper. Along the way to the station for drop off, the truck had given out leaving Murray completely vulnerable to soldiers showing up for food only to find bullets and grenades. You could hear the frantic code coming from the walkie buried in your bag in the library’s break room, taking off in a hurry to grab the gear and go.

Steve and Robin were more than happy to see you arriving earlier than expected with your miniature haul. And in your haste to get inside the station, you abandoned your radio in the car—not that Dustin had remembered to contact you at all.

In fact, he was actually having casual conversations with his friends for once that day. It was only during his history class that it dawned on him that he hadn’t done his self imposed duty of checking on you like he’d been doing all semester.

Now, as Steve brings the van to a screeching halt he can’t help feeling a little useless to both Hendersons tonight.

“Byers get out. Go find your girlfriend,” Steve makes a point to maintain eye contact from the rear view mirror. “I’ll find a spot to park this thing.”

Something akin to understanding passes over Jonathan’s face, but he doesn’t say anything before slamming the back door and ducking inside. Silence overtakes the vehicle as Steve maneuvers into a parking spot and shuts off the engine.

Neither boy looks at the other, they both just stare forwards at the large hospital wing in front of them.

Then Dustin gives Steve the biggest shock of the night.

“I’m sorry.”

There is an audible crack of his neck as Steve whips his head around to look at the curly headed boy, “Did you get a concussion or something?”

Dustin rolls his eyes but presses on like he didn’t even hear him, “I was a little harsh.”

Steve nods his head, but says nothing. Dustin lets out a deep breath before continuing.

“I didn’t mean to miss the crawl. Or make you worry,” he looks over at Steve now. “Do you…think she’s mad at me?”

“No! God no,” Steve nervously runs a hand through his hair, debating whether he should put his full emotions on display before just going for it. “She hasn’t been mad this whole time. Anxious maybe. And a little scared, but she just wants you to be okay. As okay as we can be stuck in this town.”

Dustin quietly huffed a laugh, and it feels like Steve just won the lottery.

He presses on, gentler now, “I know you miss Eddie. Hell, I think I might too. But you’ve got to remember that your sister is strong. And a little crazy. I know you don’t want anything to happen, and I can’t promise these things away anymore. All I can tell you is that she loves you more than the whole world. We both do. I will always do everything I can to protect her. Can you trust in that?”

Dustin stares at him for a long moment, but Steve doesn’t flinch from it.

“Yeah,” Dustin answers quietly. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Steve claps him on the shoulder. “I can work with that. Just remember to trust her. Now take those napkins out of your nostrils, it’s making it look worse.”

Dustin fumbles with his makeshift first aid solution before they head into the hospital.

Steve takes the opportunity to lay down the law as they navigate towards the ICU, “Remember, she’s fine. I don’t know what she saw for sure, but she isn’t physically hurt okay?”

“Yeah, got it.”

By the time they finally found the right waiting room, it was just Mike and Lucas.

“Dude what the hell happened to you?” Lucas asks dumbfounded as he takes in Dustin’s injuries.

“Long story, I can explain later. What happened to Nance and Jonathan?”

Mike finally snaps out of his stupor and looks at his friend, “She needed some air.”

Steve doesn’t want to be insensitive about all this but he breezes right past the whereabouts of the eldest Wheeler. Putting a hand out he interjects, “So where is Henderson right now?”

Lucas tenses slightly as if deciding how much he wants to say.

“She…wanted to go see Max. I gave her a minute.”

Dustin hesitates for a moment, shuffling his feet before wrapping his arms around Mike. Lucas turns to Steve with a look of utter astonishment, but Steve just shrugs as Mike finally raises his arms to return the embrace.

He quickly takes the opportunity to slip down the too familiar hallway towards Max’s room. If the guys want to have a heart to heart, he could join in on another day.

As he neared room 415, he could just hear the soft cadence of your voice from the slightly cracked door.

He pauses just outside, arm braced against the door.

“The White Rabbit put on his spectacles,” you murmur before becoming slightly more animated. “‘Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?’ he asked.”

You were reading aloud, much like you have been each time you’ve come to visit Max. Lucas insisted that any talking or music, even if it isn’t Kate Bush, has to do some good. You’d taken that seriously, and now have a small stack of classics in the cupboard next to the stereo.

Steve already feels the tension ease from his shoulders as he quietly listens. And then he feels a presence from behind. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Dustin caught up to him, but he does it anyway. With a pointed look at the younger boy, Steve shuffles just enough to the right to let him go inside first.

A short gasp from you echoes in the sterile air. Then, “Dusty, what the hell happened?”

Still in the doorway, Steve expects Dustin to launch into a watered down explanation, but instead is met with silence aside from the constant beep of Max’s heart rate.

Steve pushes open the door just to nearly run into Dustin’s smaller frame. Distract. Sooth. Do something, Harrington.

“Hey baby,” Steve says softly stepping around a still frozen Dustin to get to you. You are clutching onto a large book in one hand, the other resting on top of Max’s.

You look up at him for a moment and he can barely stave off the rush of air he takes in at the look of devastation on your face. The blood splattered on your cheek.

In fact you are covered in it, dark red staining the sleeves of your once yellow sweater and set in the knees of your jeans where you had to have been kneeling.

“I’m fine,” you say. But it’s too monotone. Void of the usual lilting sound of your voice. You’re looking at Dustin again realizing just how bad you look, before gently setting down the book next to Max’s too pale arm. “It’s not mine Dust. I was trying to help Mr. Wheeler.”

Jesus Christ, Ted. Steve flashed on awkward yet friendly dinners from long ago. If Ted objected to his relationship with Nancy back then, he didn’t show it. Didn’t show much of anything at all, but he didn’t deserve to practically bleed out.

You set your lips into a firm line before looking between the two boys sporadically, silver lining your eyes. He can see you are trying to hold it together and not freak out your brother even more.

You‘ve never been a crier, always feeling worse than when you’ve started, but Steve can tell you are on the cusp of a breakdown. The last time you looked at him like that was when he’d had to pull Dustin off of Eddie’s body.

Steve stops at the foot of the bed, and turns back to look at Dustin. The boy’s lips are wobbling slightly, but he still hasn’t made a move towards you. Backpedalling, Steve abruptly walks back to him and pulls him into a tight hug.

Dustin lets out a shuddering breath, which only makes Steve squeeze him tighter before whispering, “She’s fine, yeah? Not a scratch on her. She’s just a little upset.”

Dustin violently nods his head, and Steve can feel the damp spot growing on his sweater.

“I ca-I can’t. I need to-,” Dustin starts pulling away, clearly making for a hasty exit.

“Hey hey it’s fine. Just take a minute. Here,” Steve pulls out his wallet, shoving the leather into Dustin’s hand. “Go get something to drink, something for your sister too.”

Dustin doesn’t hesitate, spinning on his heel before disappearing down the hall. Steve sighs as the door shuts, the red glow of the exit sign across the way washing over his face.

He doesn’t get the chance to turn around before you slam into his back, arms wrapping around his middle. He can’t help the small grunt of surprise that escapes him, but manages to keep his balance as his hands naturally search out for the pulse points of your wrists.

“You know, the football team really could have used some of your coaching on their tackle last season,” he attempts to tease. “Maybe they would have actually won a game.”

You let out a wet chuckle, the vibrations radiating across his upper back, “Yeah right.”

Steve takes the opportunity to loosen your hold just enough to spin around, “No, no I’m serious. They could have been state champs with that move.”

The ghost of a smile you carry morphs into something somber as he cups your cheek.

Deflecting is no longer an option, he knows.

“Are you alright? Like, seriously?” Steve whispers.

It was like opening the floodgates. He isn’t even sure if you can see as you cling on to him.

“It was a lot of blood Steve. I don’t even know how he survived the trip to the hospital with those wounds. I was trying to help stop the bleeding,” you pauses for a gasp of air. “And when i put pressure on his chest it just sprayed everywhere. What if I made it worse? And Karen…Nancy is devastated.”

Steve wraps you up tighter, shushing you lightly. Across the room Max lies in her bed, the florescent light casting a blue hue onto her already too-pale face. A flash of the letter she wrote to him, still unopened in his dresser drawer, comes to him.

Closing his eyes, he plants a kiss on the top of your head, “It’s not on you. None of us knew that Vecna would attack the Wheelers.”

You are barely listening, “And Dustin, God! What the hell happened to him tonight. Did he tell you anything? We can’t send him home like that, my mother is going to skin us alive.”

“Okay,” Steve winces, somehow believing that Claudia would in fact haunt him for life if she got a look at her baby tonight.

“I’m going to let him explain that to you, preferably at home. Besides, he is more worried about you anyway.”

Home. He used to hate that place, and now he was all too eager to get you and Dustin back inside. As safe as he can get you—considering that demogorgons are just attacking at random now.

“After finding the Wheelers like that,” you croak out. “I thought that something must have attacked him too.”

Sort of from the looks of it. “I know. He scared me.”

You step back from him then, tears tapering off. Part of him naturally follows your moments, like he always has. But he lets you wipe at your eyes, and then your unruly hair.

But as your fingers snag at the knots, his eyes catch the blood stains on your sleeves again and he can feel himself pale at the sight. He knows it’s not yours. That you are full of life right in front of him.

Regardless, he understands Dustin more than he thought he did as he strides to one of the cabinets lining the far wall. Yanking one door then a second and third, he scans the shelves until he finds a stack of towels.

Turning towards you again, he sees that you’ve already placed Alice in Wonderland back onto the stack and are now fiddling with Max’s blankets.

“Baby, come here,” he calls, hand held out between you.

You smooth out one more nonexistent wrinkle among the sheets before coming to him. Leading you into the attached bathroom Steve flicks on the light as the door clicks shut. He immediately turns the hot water in the sink on, watching carefully for the steam to curl up before sticking part of the towel under the stream.

“We are going to get you all cleaned up and then we are gonna go back to the station, yeah?” he says, still testing the temperature with his fingers. You like it scalding to be perfectly honest.

Your lack of response gains his attention and he looks up into the hanging mirror to find you already looking at your reflection. Panic swells in him as he whips around to fully look at you, your hands shaking as you try to rub off the blood on the side of your neck.

“Hey no. I’m gonna get it off of you okay?” he says quickly.

“I ca- I can’t wear this,” you start yanking off your beloved sweater.

“Okay that’s fine,” Steve sheds his jacket to pull off the sweater underneath, leaving him in his white undershirt. “Just look at me for a second. Don’t look at the mirror.”

Thankfully, you oblige him. He quickly pulls the sweater onto you before guiding you to the counter. You don’t comment when he lifts you up to sit on the granite, hands steady on your hips before grabbing the towel again.

You still don’t talk when he gets the damp portion back to the necessary temperature and brings it up to your cheekbone. So Steve does the talking for you.

“You know, when they finally let us out of this town we are going on that road trip,” his eyes dart to yours for a moment before he continues gently wiping. “I figure by that time Dustin will have picked out a college, or a college will have picked out Dustin, and we can do the grand tour. Embarrass the hell out of him, get matching sweatshirts.”

Your lips wobble in a tiny smile at the thought while he starts working on the other cheek.

“And then you and I are gonna see the sights. I’m talking through the mountains, over rivers—everything. We’ll avoid the bison and get a picture in front of Old Yeller.”

You snort at that, “Steve are you talking about Old Faithful?”

Thank god she laughed, he thinks. “Yeah that. This is why you are the lovely navigator and I am the chauffeur.”

“I love you,” you say quietly. It’s not a confession. You’ve both said it enough times for it to become less of an announcement and more of a reminder.

Steve gives the corner of your mouth a quick kiss before dragging the towel down your neck, “I love you too.”

By the time he’d gotten you cleaned up, you’d exhausted any tears left over. Slipping out of the bathroom, the pair of you find Lucas. Steve tries to convey a look of understanding toward the boy who has taken up vigil next to Max.

“Hey, you okay?” Lucas asks gingerly, clutching onto his paper cup of coffee.

“Yeah. We’ve had better crawls I’d say,” you mutter, clutching onto the ruined knitting of your sweater. Steve isn’t a laundry wizard, but he knows that he’ll probably need to purchase a replacement.

The door bursts open to reveal your brother, looking thankfully less pale than when he’d left, “They were out of Coke on three floors but I finally found one.”

He holds the can out to you, but you pull him in for a hug instead, “Thanks Dust.”

You gingerly take the can from your brother and grab his hand before looking over at Steve.

“We will be back in a few minutes, yeah?”

Steve nods, and watches as you two go before letting out a sigh.

“You two make a good team.”

Steve looks back at Lucas, mildly stunned.

“Max thinks so too,” he continues from his chair. “She kinda bet Mike money that you’d get married before we started college.”

Steve barks out a laugh, “When was this exactly?”

“That summer at Starcourt. You both should have worked at Scoops with how much she was there.”

Steve smiles fondly at the memory. You had been with him a lot that summer. Robin was wary of him at first, but once she found out you were willingly dating him, you all became friends. The truth serum probably helped the bonding process though.

“Henderson keeps me honest, I’ll give you that. And I’ll put in a good word with the boss,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “See if we can win Max that cash.”

Lucas grins before looking back at the redhead, “I miss her, you know?”

Steve presses a hand gently on top of his shoulder, “Yeah. I know.”

-

Time doesn’t feel very linear in the hospital to Steve. Every visit has felt like both 10 minutes and a lifetime have passed. He couldn’t say for sure when you and Dustin returned, or when you all said loving ‘see you later’s’—never goodbye—to Max, or worse yet when the three of you took your leave in the station van.

The Wheelers will be in surgery for a couple more hours at least, and with the way Nancy was breaking down, Steve was more than willing to sweep for the tracker on the way back to the station.

Dustin crawled in to the back, but places a hand on the back of Steve’s seat as he hands over his wallet, which in all honesty, Steve had completely forgotten about.

“Thanks dude,” he says over his shoulder.

Dustin doesn’t reply to that. Instead Steve hears more shuffling before something is tossed into his lap. Looking down in the faint light of the parking lot, Steve squints at what he realizes is a peanut M&Ms package.

“What’s this for?” surprise laces his voice.

“They didn’t have any Boppers left. I got you the next best thing.” Dustin mutters before pulling the headphones over his hat, leaving no room for conversation.

Steve looks over to you, only to find you staring straight ahead with the softest smile he’s seen all day. Shaking his head, he maneuvers out of the lot and down the street.

Instinct has him reaching for your hand, but you are already meeting him halfway, fingers intertwining gently. You squeeze his hand sporadically the whole way home, but he knows all the meaning behind it.

I love you, we are okay, I’m here with you.

-

It was the same pressure on his hand that pulls him out of his thoughts in his darkened hallway now.

“Honey, what are you doing up?” you whisper groggily, hand cold—always colder than his own.

“Making sure he is still breathing under there,” he whispers back. You don’t respond, the silence forcing him to turn and look at the frown on your face. “What?”

You let out a huff meant to be stern but just ends up sounding incredibly sweet to Steve. “You worry too much.”

You pull him back toward your room, and he cranes his neck once more to make sure Dustin doesn’t wake up.

“Okay, no. Tonight was very worrying actually,” he speaks a little louder as you crawl into bed again, silently holding the blankets open for him to follow.

“I know,” you say once he has finally settled in, pulling you into his side. “But you need to sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a mess.”

Right. Hopper and El going MIA. The Wheelers. Holly.

Steve melts into you, nose buried in your hair, sweet with the scent of your shampoo.

“I just feel like if I don’t have you two within sight you’re going to evaporate into thin air,” he says after a moment.

“It’s not all on you,” your breath tickles his neck. “We are dealing with this the best we can. I think Dustin might try a little more though.”

Right. Your heart to heart had revealed as much as he had suspected. Andy and his sidekicks of course.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “He hates me half the time.”

You press soft kisses against his clenched jaw, trying to relax him, “He loves you like a brother. Fights with you like one too. I think he is just as worried about you as he is about me.”

Steve feels like you threw a bucket of ice water on him, “You think so?”

You give him another peck, “Yes. Don’t let the attitude fool you, love.”

And something unclenches in his chest, at least for tonight. You stare at each other smiling despite everything.

Finally you readjust yourself, getting comfy half on top of him. “Tell me about something good. Something happy.”

You relaxing like this finally makes him relax as he hums in thought. Suddenly he flashed on the revelation in Max’s hospital room, “Well. Apparently the kids have money on the timing of our wedding so…”

You laugh loud, disbelief on your face as you start asking rapid-fire questions.

And it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t asked—doesn’t even have a ring. These brief moments of your joy as the sun begins rising is as good as a yes.

യ ( j. grace ) 𓂃 as the child of the god of war, you're bound to end up with one of his revered, feared qualities. unfortunately for jason grace, you got his stubbornness.

gn (sick) reader. + college au. established relationship. wc 758.

you bled fire. 

golden blood coursed through your veins. this very ichor, though only slightly diluted, forged something hot-blooded, ruthless, merciless—all qualities engraved in the very core that make a child of war. 

“i have bested you and reyna in swordfights. percy jackson was knocked down by my sword. my prowess in battle is second to none.”

you sniffle. 

“i have slain giants. i have toppled thrones. i have come close to killing gods.”

and jason listens. his blue eyes are trained solely on you, and his hand is splayed over the fuzzy blanket covering your legs. he adjusts it when you shiver.  

“and you did amazing then, my love,” he says, then sighs. “but it doesn't change the fact that you need to take your medicine. it’s just a tylenol, see?”

your bottom lip juts out in defiance. you glare at the small plastic container in his hands. 

“no.”

(  jason exhales. if you look closely—or look at him at all; your eyes are shut and your cheek is stubbornly trained to the wall opposite to him—you’ll see him with his head in his hands, contemplating the pros and cons of summoning will solace to the other side of the country to heal you. 

in all the years he’s known you, he has never had to deal with a fever this bad—one that had your skin burning to the touch, nose running waterfalls, and you shivering like aquilon himself was outside of this very room. 

he knows that, unlike him, the medics at both camps have dealt with this. they’ve gone through this countless times, dealt with innumerable demigods with cases worse than this. if they can do it, so can he. that’s what he tells himself, what he uses to psyche himself up as he turns the container of tylenol over with his fingers. 

but, rationality tells him that was them—war medics with golden blood of the god of healing trained for this very scenario. he doesn't know any child or legacy of apollo here in this school of mortals, miles away from camp jupiter and miles further away from camp half blood. this is what scares jason grace, a boy inexperienced at healing without ambrosia or nectar, the most.  )

“angel, please stop being so stubborn,” he pleads, hands finding yours over the blanket wrapped around your entire body. 

but you know better. this is not stubbornness. this is a trial of flame and fire, a test you know all too well. you know it will end in your victory. 

“i am a seasoned warrior, jason. this frail body of mine is nothing compared to the indomitable demigod spirit. i will endure for as long as i have to.”

i always have. 

(  and jason grace is… quite frankly, at a loss. what do you do in a situation like this?  )

“i’ll give you a kiss if you take the tylenol,” he bargains.

“just a kiss?” you reply. “hmph. leave my house at once.”

“it’s our apartment, sweetheart.”

“and i’m not sharing it with someone who thinks only a kiss would be an adequate substitute.” 

(  and jason sees an opening, an opportunity to bargain. if you won't take the tylenol outright, he'll just have to make you meet him halfway.  )

“only a kiss?” he repeats. 

“okay, then,” he leans closer, resting his folded arms on top of the blanket. “i’ll add in cuddles?”

“add them. but it still won’t be enough.”

“we can go to your favorite spot when you get better.”

“not enough.”

“and i’ll do one week of dish duty.”

“just one?”

“three.”

(  he sees you hesitate. he holds in a smile.  )

you look at him, then at the plastic container in his hands. 

(  strike.  )

“fine,” you concede, and take the container of tylenol from his hands. 

in merely a few seconds, there’s one less tylenol in the container, there’s one less chore you have to worry about, there’s one less jason grace at the side of the bed, and there’s one less trial you have to endure.  

he presses a kiss against your forehead. then, another to your nose. then one on your cheek, then the other. finally, he presses a kiss to your lips, as if to seal the deal closed.

unlike all other trials of flame and fire you’ve faced, this one ends with your eyes closed, your exhales out easier, your beautiful boy in your arms, content. 

yet, like your very own self-fulfilling prophecy, no matter how all the trials go, they always end the same way: a triumphant smile and a declaration to the stars—i win. 

“you’re gonna get sick after this, my clingy baby,” you tell him, fingers playing with the small hairs at his nape.

“you’ll have to take care of me, then,” he mutters against your carotid. 

when he looks at you, his cheeks are flushed, eyes watery. “lucky for you, angel, you're more stubborn than i am.”

you gasp. 

“i am not!”

“are too—aah, achoo!”

i'm sick & i need jason grace to baby me sooo freaking bad 🙁 send me well wishes (and a jason) please

Said girl whipped around, previously disarming a boy from the Hermes cabin to see you stumbling down the hill, a large flag in your grip.

“Clarisse! I got it!” You stated the obvious, pointing at it while stumbling over your feet as Athena, Hephaestus's, and Hermes cabins alike chased after you for their flag.

“Go, go, go!” Clarisse ordered her siblings, running to surround and defend you with the flag.

It was going well, until you tripped and fell flat on your face.

“Seriously?!” Clarisse yelled. “Stop yelling at me, I’m fragile!” You scoffed back as she and her siblings grabbed you by your ankles, dragging you on your back as your armor made it easier against the slick grass.

Chiron could only watch with Dionysus as one cabin dragged a friend by their ankles, and a mob of kids ran after said friend.

“I see why we do this every year.” Dionysus said, almost with a satisfied nod as he watched children fight one another.

Summary: Chaos is an inevitable thing that you have to face while dating one of the marauders. And while it’s only the morning, the boys don’t seem to mind the still too early time is maybe not the best for a pillow fight.

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader (Wolfstar)

Tags/warnings: None! It’s short but I feel like it’s still nice enough to read.

Word count: 0.8k

A/n: Oh gosh, school is killing me. If you notice that the fics get shorter and shorter, you know that school is making me cry 🫡 Oh and btw guess who’s birthday is tomorrow *wink* *wink*

Flufftober ‘25

and in passing, his sweet girl lightly jokes, “well how close do you want another man getting before he sees i’m taken?”

and well, yeah Jack takes that SERIOUSLY so SERIOUSLY in fact that he’d take Robby and make him hold the ring while Jack takes 3ft, increment steps backwards to gauge if the ring is in fact big enough 😭

- 🦢 (hi first time here)

Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend! (3.2K words)

Jack's all too casual about how he insists that you wear the most expensive ring for him. // He's not a widower in this // He's just a drama queen who loves you too much

↪ the ring ↩ // MASTERLIST

“How many carats would you want for a ring?” 

Despite the fact that you can make him feel like he's gonna slip out of his skin and his dick's gonna fall off, there's still a confidence in him that he knows you admire and go soft at. It makes him smirk. Really, kid. Did you think he'd be nervous about the idea of marrying you? He's going to marry you. There was never a question of whether or not he was going to when he finally had you.

"...And this hypothetical ring is what I'd be presented with if you one day decided to marry me?"

Jack dropped his phone onto his stomach, crossed his arms as he lay beside you. He took your phone out of your hands.

"We are getting married."

SFW Alphabet with Natalie Scatorccio

a/n: using this ask for Nat’s since i finished that one first 🤞 but lottie’s is on the way i pinky swearrrr !! i’m having literally so much fun with these lmaooo i get to be silly it’s funnn if yall want me to do this for the other girls i def will 🫶🫶

no nsfw content here so yall are good to go 🤞🤞

please send me reqs and asks i loveeee talking to yall