{➹} – THE HEDGEHOG SUPPOSED he should have expected such a reaction. He always had been told that he moved too quietly for his own good, add that in with his natural speed and he was capable of giving just about anyone, or anything, a proper fright whether he intended to or not. Today had been the latter but it seemed his question and appearance had the exact opposite effect of what he wanted and, at the sight of the claws and fangs, he took a step back for both their sakes.
“Sorry...I didn’t mean t’ scare you,” the apology was somewhat automatic but no less true. Taking mild relief when the claws were sheathed, Sonic tried to explain himself while he had the chance. Not that he didn’t think he couldn’t defend himself from what he thought was just a talking cat, but it was better to be safe than sorry. “I just thought you might have been in trouble, ‘s all. Most people don’t tend t’ hide in bushes unless their running from someone or...up t something.”
As he said that last part a curious look came to the hero’s face, his head cocking slightly. Almost suspiciously. Still he disregarded it and smirked at her question, looking from her hiding place and then back to the feline. “You’re a grey cat in green bushes. It wasn’t as hard as you’d think.”
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The toll of the clock tower bell drew a curse from Bucky and he picked up his pace from a walk to a sprint. He had plans to meet Steve, Derek, and Tony at the library and it was clear he’d be late. He dodged other students, raced up the staircase and past Professor Crowley near the entrance of the library before he spotted the trio at a table near the back. The soldier slowed to a walk to catch his breath as he wove around the other obstacles until a book suddenly dropped from above to land at his feet.
A glance around showed no other students nor staff so h he picked it up to set it on a table yet the moment his fingers brushed the cover, the environment around him shifted; a sensation that twisted his gut uncomfortably.
Once the sensation settled, he realized rather quickly that he wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore. In front of him was a quaint village with a small amount of people wandering around. He turned his head to look back and was greeted with the sight of a lush green field. And he.... was in a blue dress. With an apron. “Wha-”
“Bonjour!” Before the Hufflepuff could even comprehend the greeting, four other townspeople joined in with the same greeting in a melodic tone. Pale eyes narrowed at the sound of music that filled the air but a glance around didn’t reveal the source of it.
A man with a tray of bread crossed in front of him while he looked at the younger man expectantly. Bucky stared at him for a long moment before it became clear what the other was waiting for and he shook his head in a negative.
“....I’m not singing.”
“Good morning, Belle!” came the chirped reply.
“It’s Bucky.”
“And where are you off to today?”
“I... I don’t even know where I am-”
“That’s nice. MARIE! THE BAGUETTES! HURRY UP!” The baker turned away to shout at his wife through the window of a nearby building and Bucky silently continued on his way past a crowd gathered near his side of the street.
“Look there she goes that girl is strange, no question. Dazed and distracted can’t you tell?”
It took every ounce of willpower not to turn back toward the singing townspeople to argue that one, he’s not this Belle girl and two he seemed dazed and distracted because he had just fallen into a goddamn fairy tale and everyone here was the opposite of helpful. Instead the brunet just took a deep breath and kept walking away from the cluster. He had to find some way out of this mess.
“Never part of any crowd-”
“Stop.” Bucky muttered under his breath.
“'Cause her head's up on some cloud.”
"Just stop.”
“No denying she's a funny girl that Belle!”
“Bucky. It’s Bucky.” Fingers dragged through his hair only to hit a bow in the back and he stopped walking as he pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the impending headache he could feel approaching.
“Listen man, I don’t want any trouble.” Stiles simply lifted his hands defensively towards the hulking mass of Gryffindor that stood before him. So maaaybe Stiles had accidentally interrupted a pretty important moment for the guy, asking a girl to be his valentine. It wasn’t HIS fault he’d decided to do this where Stiles happened to be practicing for charms. It wasn’t HIS fault they’d gotten in the way and now his maybe-yes-maybe-no girlfriend had run off....missing all of the hair on her body.
“Being bald is totally a look!.....Maybe the lack of eyebrows and eyelashes is off putting....but if you loved her enough it wouldn’t matter!” Stiles practically bellows at the guy.
If the guy wasn’t mad before, he’s totally, 100% mad now. Red in the face he reaches to grab Stiles who slips away and takes off from the courtyard, the Gryffindor on his heels, wand out, sending spells here and there but not managing to catch him. Not yet.
Was he really going to be obliterated by a Gryffindor for this? Was this really where he was going to die?
It would figure things would go horribly wrong just he needed them to go right. The day had started out on the right track. He had gotten up early to head to Hogsmead with the intent of getting a tuxedo, flowers, candy and even a haircut to finally get rid of the long strands that had been his hair style since he’d awoken.
Even all those errands had gone off without a hitch and, staring into a mirror of the stylist, Bucky had felt human for the first time in decades. The reflection actually looked like James Buchanan Barnes instead of the Death Eater forced to serve the Dark Lord and, in another first, Bucky felt a real smile curve his lips.
It was nearing the time for the last train to Hogwarts for the day and he found himself dressed to the nines with a large bouquet of roses in hand and a bag of numerous candies from Honeydukes in the other. That was the star of his luck changing.
Aurors from the ministry had appeared in front of him and had demanded he return with them. Of course he had refused and put up a fight, knowing this was going behind the backs of the school officials acting as his guardians. If he went with them, he’d never see the light of day again.
The fight had ended in his favor but not before his candy had been destroyed after being used as a weapon and most of the roses had lost their petals though he’d managed to hold onto the bouquet. He’d lost his pursuers soon after but by that time, the last train had departed. Without a wand and not wanting to return to town knowing he could be attacked again, the only option left was to walk back.
So he did.
It was well past midnight by the time the Hufflepuff reached the school grounds. The bouquet of roses hung limply from his metal hand; most of the petals missing and stems bent out of place. The once pristine suite was soiled with mud and rainwater and once stylishly cut and styled hair hung limp and lifeless in his face.
Instead of heading inside the drenched figure moved to sit under the walkway, practically collapsing on the stairs before staring out at the rain coming down around the school. What was supposed to be a simple day had gone horribly wrong and silently the soldier wondered if this would be his fate in life. Was there even a point in trying when nothing seemed to go in his favor? The brunet just buried his head in his arms and sighed, hoping to forget this day had ever happened.
A soft noise of complaint escaped the prone figure’s lips as he stirred against the stone floor. He was in agony, pure agony, and something felt... completely different about him. Hazed eyes blinked open and focused on the steel bars of his cage, narrowing in confusion shortly after. Where was he?
Carefully, to keep the throbbing in his head from getting worse, the soldier pushed himself to sitting and rubbed at his head. Another glance around showed he was alone in the cell. There was a streak of blood, still fresh in the corner and it all came back to him in a rush that had him doubling over and dry heaving. That blood was his.
The escape had gone horribly wrong. Not only had Crowley sicced Grims on both him and Stark but- wait. Stark. Bucky moved towards the bars and peered out to search the room. “Stark?” Silence greeted him and he finally dropped his forehead against the bars. Considering what Crowley had done to him, he had to guess that Stark was dead.
The anger in Crowley had been... unlike anything directed at him before. He could remember the twist of fingers yanking at his hair as he was forced down the stairs to the basement of the manor. There were such horrible sounds from within. A viable zoo of magical creatures at Crowley’s beck and call. Some kept for ingredients for potions. Others as pets. So afraid, he hadn’t paid attention to the threats of the Slytherin. He just remembered being slammed into the bars of a cell where a pale gaunt form of a man sat. A look of pure hunger had crossed the man’s face, black eyes locked on him.
Then Crowley had thrown him into the lion’s den.
He hadn’t had the time to defend himself before arms were wrapped around him and he was slammed into the wall, teeth tearing into his throat. Then everything had gone from blood red to black until now. Trembling fingers reached up and brushed the markings he knew were present on his throat. If he hadn’t thought he was a monster before, he certainly did now.
There was little doubt he could stay here. Twice he had been tortured and this was by far the worst. His whole being had been changed. Yet there was silver lining. He remembered. He remembered who he was and what had happened to him. James Buchanan Barnes. Hufflepuff. Son of a Deatheater.
“Stop.” he berated himself as he opened his eyes .This was not the time for reminiscing. He had to escape before the Slytherin returned. And he had something on his side now that he remembered who he was. With careful concentration, he shifted to his animangus. The bars were wide enough that his arctic fox form slid between the bars with ease. After a moment of consideration, he let instincts take over and bolted for the grate of sewer. He could faintly smell the hint of autumn and knew it would lead him to freedom.
Luck was on his side and soon enough, he emerged into the crisp night. The moon hung high in the sky which gave him enough light to travel by. He needed to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible and find Steve or anyone to help him.
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Stiles balanced his books precariously under one arm against his hip, his other hand making a partially successful attempt to hold open a roll of parchment. He had the curly end braced under his elbow, holding open a portion of it for him to read as he walked into the potions lab. "Three... powdered? Powdered... leeches. Fourteen and a half turns widdershins with a green sprig of oof.” Stiles’ shoulder rammed into the edge of the door and the end of his scroll unhooked from under his elbow and rolled up with a taunting flapping sound.
“Fucking...” Stiles hefted his books up again before dumping them onto the nearest flat surface, unknowingly spreading them carelessly all over someone else’s notes. He tugged at his scarf and rolled his shoulders before his eyes locked into the person occupying the space he wanted to use.
Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed slightly and he worried at his lip with his teeth as he spun slightly to take in the rest of the small room, but nope. There was still a bulky, darkly broody guy with some intense eyebrow action at the workstation he needed. No one else was ever at this work station. It was basically Stiles’, honestly. It had his metaphorical Stiles stink all over it. How did this guy not realize that?
“You... brewing?” Stiles gestured in a circular motion above the obviously brewing cauldron. “That’s cool. You almost done?” His voice had a note of obvious impatience, the fingers now quickly fiddling with the edge of his shirtsleeve an even more obvious display of nervous impatience. “I kinda have dibs.”
Hey guys! It's been quite a while since I last posted something in this verse and it's really time for the next installment. I hope you like it, even though it's short.^^
The bat sunk into the pile of mashed flesh and shattered bone with a sickening sound, tearing out bits and pieces whenever Newt raised it back up. They scattered across his ripped pants, painting them into a vile mixture of red, grey and washed out blue. His stomach roiled dangerously. It felt a bit like it tried to push back through his throat. Swallowing against that feeling seemed to be useless.
“Newt?”
The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, small and dull, like the talker was speaking through a thick ball of cotton. But that cotton was in his ears and Newt slowly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. It didn’t work, though. Instead the motion made his stomach rebel even more and this time Newt couldn’t fight the urge to throw up. The bile rose rapidly, making him gag twice before he had to bend over.
“Newt!” The voice was closer now.
A hand landed on his shoulder, slow and tentative, as if to test his reaction. But even if Newt hadn’t been doubled over from his aching stomach he wouldn’t have been able to shake it off or protect himself. He was trembling too hard for that, even if the adrenaline was still running strong, dulling the sensations and preparing more energy for him to use.
Never in his life had he been so afraid for his own life. Sure, there had been encounters with zombies, but usually they ran from them and didn’t try to fight. Fighting meant the possibility of getting bitten and that was a death sentence. If he had been bitten, the people in the camp wouldn’t allow him back in. He would die a slow and painful death out in the wilds and return as a zombie. He’d seen it happen. More times that he wanted to remember.
“Newt?” Thomas’ voice shook, like he was close to tears.
“I’m okay,” Newt finally managed to say, though he didn’t feel okay. He felt anything but okay, actually. But he had to keep it together and get them to the camp. Then he could find a spot to break down and cry, like he wanted to in that moment.
“Yeah, right,” Thomas snorted weakly, moments before Newt felt his hand on his shoulder. It squeezed once before slipping away again. He followed the movement with his head and found himself looking at his friend, pale faced and with shining eyes. His heart broke. He had wanted to spare Thomas a sight like this but it seemed that life had other ideas.
He swallowed again, before standing back up. His throat burned, his stomach continued it’s rollercoaster ride and all in all Newt just wanted to collapse. But the sun was steadily sinking towards the horizon and light was getting sparse.
“Alright,” he finally sight, not really feeling better but at least his mind managed to get back on the right track. “We need to get going. I want to get as far away as possible from the corpse. Who knows what the stench will attract.”
Hello there guys! It's me again and I know that it's been a while since I posted something. But have you seen the weather outside? Well, over here it's way too warm to be truly productive. But surprisingly? This is by far the longest part in this little verse. So, I hope you enjoy it! If you find something (mistakes or so) drop me a line, please.^^
They heard the breaking twigs and rustling leaves before they heard the broken snarls heading their way. Thomas looked over at him, pale faced with wide eyes. Newt swallowed and took in his surroundings. They weren't that far from the next shelter but the way there was hard and littered with fallen branches, that would make one of them stumble for sure.
“Quiet now,” Newt mumbled, barely breathing himself. His hand tightened around Thomas' fingers reassuringly. “It hasn't noticed us just yet but it will if we stay here for longer. We're close to one of the shelters, so we'll try to get to that.” He swallowed and stared into the direction where the inhuman growls and snarls were coming from.
“Okay,” Thomas breathed, his voice trembling and his whole body shaking with fear and anxiety. Newt knew, that even though his friend had spend a rather long time in the city he was still terrified from their run in with the zombie and the caved in roof. Who could blame him, really?
“Let's go then,” Newt whispered and gently tugged on the hand still wrapped up in his. They started walking again, always keeping their ears open to the sounds following them.
For a while the distance between them stayed the same. But Newt was very aware of how quickly that could change. He had experienced it first-hand, when he was out with one of the men, trying to gather firewood. The man, he didn't even remember his name, had laughed and said that they could take on a single zombie. Newt didn't stay to test that theory. He turned around and ran back to the camp. They found the remains of the man days later but the nightmares still haunted Newt every other night.
The fight to keep his breathing calm and steady was a hard one. Especially when he could hear the slightly panicky gasps Thomas let out. And who could blame him, really? Newt tightened his grip gently and carefully manoeuvred them through the underbrush of the forest. He caught Tommy a couple of times when his friend stumbled over a root or a hidden hole in the ground. Every twig they stepped on broke with a crack that made Newt wince. He had no idea if there were other zombies out here. The one that was still following them, fell back in one moment and seemed to come closer the other.
“Fuck!” He only had a second before his arm was pulled downwards. Thomas had stumbled again but this time Newt hadn't been able to catch him. His friend was down on his knees, his free hand cradled against his chest. He had tried to catch himself and that must have jarred something in his shoulder which was still tender from catching Thomas' weight on the roof.
There was a loud crack from behind them and Newt whipped around to see the zombie crash through the bushes they had walked around in order to stay quieter.
“Damnit,” he muttered and pulled Thomas back up, feeling a stab of guilt at the pained shout from his friend. “Sorry, but we have to get to the tree over there.” He pointed over to a huge, very old oak.
“Okay,” Thomas gasped and Newt could see the way his friend had to force himself back into motion. He promised himself, that he would take care of Thomas once they were in the camp. Tommy would stay close to him and he would make sure that he got the treatment he needed. But they still had a long way to go before they could truly relax.
The tree came closer and closer. But so did he zombie behind them. Newt could already smell the stench on the wind and the snarls seemed unbearably loud in his ears. The adrenalin pumped through his body in heavy waves, sharpening his senses and lending more power to his muscles. He ached already but he knew that he couldn't allow himself a break. He had to get Thomas to the shelter.
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, but finally they reached the tree with enough of a headstart that Newt could jump up to pull the rope ladder down. He pushed Thomas closer to the tree and pressed the ladder into his friend's shaking hands.
“Get up on the tree and pull the ladder up after you,” Newt ordered and turned around to face the zombie. He must have been working in the woods, maybe a hunter or a ranger, though the clothes he wore had turned into rags, dirty and riddled with holes. What had once been a man's face had turned into a snarling grimace, that seemed to only consist of lidless eyes and a gaping hole that might have been his mouth before the change.
Newt swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat while his ears kept listening to Thomas making his way up the ladder. The boy was panicking, sliding from the steps more often than not. But Newt didn't follow him. Instead he reached for the bat that was stashed beneath one of the roots. The top end was littered with already rusting nails.
“Newt, come on up!” Thomas' voice was almost drowned out by the blood rushing through his veins. But he only shook his head.
“Stay up there and pull the ladder up. Now!”
“But ...”
“Just do it, Thomas! I'm going to be fine!”
Newt knew that he couldn't be sure about his survival in this scenario. If he won – which was a possibility – he could climb up that tree and take care of Thomas. Just like he had promised himself. If he lost – which was likely as well – Tommy would be stuck in that tree until he died of starvation and dehydration.
Time came to a standstill. Nothing mattered anymore. The only important thing was the best way to start this fight. How to do the most damage and how to avoid being hit himself.
Newt took one last breath to settle his nerves and lifted the bat. He would win this.
