Summary: Dean Winchester seeks solace in your embrace during a vulnerable night.
The room is dark, with only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls. You’re half asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you feel the mattress dip slightly beside you. It’s subtle, almost unnoticeable, but then you hear the sound of soft, measured breathing, followed by the warm presence of someone close.
You blink your eyes open, and there he is—Dean Winchester, sliding under the covers with you. His movements are hesitant, almost uncertain, as if he’s not entirely sure of what he’s doing. This is new, uncharted territory for both of you.
“Dean?” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep and surprise. He doesn’t answer immediately, just settles beside you, closer than he’s ever been. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against his chest. The weight of his body, the solid warmth of him, is comforting in a way that’s both familiar and strange at the same time.
“Sorry,” he finally mutters, his voice a rough whisper in the stillness. “I just… I couldn’t sleep.”
You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight as if he’s waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead, you reach up and gently run your fingers through his hair, soothing and calming. It’s a small gesture, but it seems to be exactly what he needs.
Dean exhales, a long, shaky breath that you didn’t realize he was holding. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel the faint tremble in his shoulders. It’s then that you realize just how much he’s been holding in, all the stress and fear he never lets anyone see. The weight of the world on his shoulders is too much for him tonight, and he’s turned to you for comfort, something he’s never done before.
“I’m here,” you whisper back, your hand moving in slow, calming strokes through his hair and across his back. “You’re not alone.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady now, and you know he’s starting to relax. Slowly, his tension melts away, and you feel him begin to drift off, his grip on you loosening slightly but never fully letting go.
You close your eyes again, your heart beating a little faster, a little steadier, knowing that for tonight, you’re the one thing keeping Dean Winchester from falling apart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to help you both find a little peace in the darkness.
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Y/N Halstead has been pushing herself to the breaking point, eventually, she can't do it anymore. Will her brothers be able to help her rebuild and teach her it's ok to not be, ok?
There was a subtle tightness in her chest from the moment she woke up. A pressure. Not painful, not alarming. Just… heavy. But she ignored it. Because she had things to do. A full day of classes, studying for her CCMA Certification exam, a closing shift at her restaurant job.
Always something.
Always moving.
Because if she kept moving, maybe her world wouldn't give in on her.
Her brothers, Will and Jay, had been worried. She brushed them off like she always did. "I'm fine," she said that morning. "Just tired."
But the thing about constantly carrying weight is that eventually, you drop it, and you never know when it will happen.
It started in her favorite class. Medical Assisting.
The heaviness in her chest had turned into shallow breaths. Then the chest pressure spread, like an invisible hand pushing down on her lungs. Her hands trembled, and the room began to tilt.
She didn’t know what to do. She ran.
Jay was sitting at his desk at the Precinct, when he got the call from an unknown number.
“Halstead.” He answered.
“Hi. Detective Halstead. This is Mrs. Nalton from the Vocational Center. I just wanted to let you know that Y/N ran out of class very abruptly. I just wanted to make sure she was ok.” She stated, genuine concern in her voice.
“Oh wow, that is not like her at all. Thanks for letting me know.” He ended the call without so much as a goodbye.
He got up from his desk and went to Voight.
“Sarge, Ive gotta take a personal. Y/N’s teacher just called. She ran out of class.”
Voight looked up at him in shock. “Go. Keep us posted.” He said with no hesitation.
Jay nodded and ran. He called Will as he did. “Will, be ready outside Med. Its Y/N.” No further statement was needed. Jay got in his truck and gunned it towards Med.
Y/N didn't even know how she drove home, but she did.
Get water, her brain said. Water will help.
She stumbled through the door, into the kitchen, her vision doubling, black creeping in at the edges. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, each beat a frantic warning.
By the time she reached the sink, she was gasping, each breath more difficult than the last.
And then the floor rushed up to meet her, the last thing she heard was the shattering of the glass she tried to grab.
Will and Jay arrived, Jay barely putting the car in park before he was out of the truck, Will hot on his heels.
The first red flag was that the front door was ajar.
"That isn't like her at all," Jay muttered as they entered the apartment.
"Not at all," Will replied, already concerned. He dropped his keys. "Y/N?"
No answer.
Jay reached the kitchen first.
And he froze.
"WILL!"
Y/N lay crumpled on the floor. Her skin pale, her breaths shallow and fast. One hand was curled toward her chest. There was broken glass nearby and blood on her palm.
Will dropped beside her, instinct kicking in.
"Y/N, hey!" he called. She didn’t respond.
He pinched her trapezius. Nothing.
Then he did a sternal rub—knuckles against her sternum, hard. Her eyes fluttered open at the pain stimulus, but they were glassy, unfocused.
"There she is," Will breathed.
"What—what happened to her?" Jay asked, voice cracking.
"Panic attack. A bad one," Will said. "Help me lay her flat"
But as they tried to help her to her back, Y/N flinched violently.
"No… no, don't touch me!" she cried out, eyes wide with terror.
"Y/N, it’s us," Jay said quickly, kneeling next to her. "It’s me. Jay. You’re safe."
She pushed his hands away, barely coherent. "I can’t breathe… can’t—"
"Will," Jay said urgently.
"She's combative," Will murmured. "We need to ground her."
Jay didn't hesitate. He sat her up, pulled her into a tight bear hug from behind, arms wrapped securely around her, anchoring her like he had when she was little and scared after nightmares.
"You’re okay," he whispered into her hair. "I got you. We got you."
She struggled for a moment, then slowly melted into his hold, sobbing, shaking, and hyperventilating.
Will took her hand that wasn't bleeding and held it to his chest. “Y/N, sweetheart, listen to me, and follow my breathing.” He said as he started to take deep, exaggerated breaths.
Once her breathing was under control, Will grabbed a towel and gently wrapped her bleeding hand. "Just a small cut. We’ll take care of it."
He helped them move to the couch. Jay held her while Will cleaned the wound.
"You fainted," Will told her gently. "You were hyperventilating. Do you remember?"
She nodded weakly.
"It’s okay now," Jay said, brushing hair from her face. "You’re not alone."
"I’m fine," she whispered a few minutes later.
Will froze. Jay sat up.
Will looked up, eyes shadowed. "Y/N…"
"I’m okay. I just—needed a moment. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s nothing."
Jay stood fast. He started pacing.
Then turned. "Don’t you dare say it’s nothing."
She shrank into the couch.
Jay crouched in front of her. "We walked in and found you on the floor, barely breathing. There was blood. You didn’t know where you were. And you think we’re just gonna let that go?"
Tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to flow over again.
Will’s voice was softer, but no less pained. "Y/N… you ran out of class. Your teacher called us. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s not ‘a moment.’ You’re not okay, and it’s okay to say that."
Jay sat beside her again, not touching her yet.
Will leaned forward. "You know what kills me? I see patients like this every day. People who push themselves too far, who hold it in until their bodies give out. And I didn’t see it in my own sister."
Y/N’s lip quivered.
"I should’ve noticed," Will said. "The late nights. The way you brush us off. You’re so damn good at pretending. You didn’t have to be."
"I didn’t want to be a burden," she choked out.
Jay swore and pulled her into his arms. "You could never be a burden."
She broke.
Sobs wracked her frame, raw and shattering. Jay held her tighter. Will wrapped an arm around both of them.
"You’re ours," Will said. "There is nothing you could go through that we wouldn’t want to help you with."
"I thought… if I just worked harder… kept pushing… I could hold it together."
Jay tucked her hair behind her ear. "You’ve been holding the world on your shoulders. You never had to."
Jay helped her to the bathroom, sat on the floor while she washed her hands. When she couldn’t dry them, he did it for her.
Will brought her a sweatshirt from her childhood—soft, oversized, familiar. He helped her into it.
They settled her on the couch. Water. Weighted blanket. Quiet.
After a long silence:
"I’ve been having attacks like that for a while."
Will didn’t look surprised. Just sad. "How long?"
"Weeks. Maybe longer. This one was… different. I couldn’t stop it."
Jay’s jaw ticked. "We’re getting you help. No arguing."
"I know," she said. "I want to."
Will looked stunned for a second, then nodded.
Later, she lay curled under the blanket, Will on the floor beside her, Jay at the other end of the couch with his hand resting on her ankle like an anchor.
Almost asleep, she heard it again:
"Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break."
But something had shifted.
"You broke.
But they were there.
And you’re still here."
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Jason and Tim are trapped in a cave in, and jason nearly loses control of his pit rage.
This serves as your warning that I have not actually read the comics, so take that as you will.
Panic attack, coping by distraction, claustrophobia (not directly mentioned, but that’s the whole cause of this thing)
Jason shoulda known accepting this mission was a bad idea.
First of all, he’s paired with Tim, who is a nuisance on a good day and a full on trigger on a bad day. And today is not one of his good days.
Second of all, the mission involved staking out a warehouse that was possibly rigged to blow up.
Who thought it was a good idea for him to be assigned to this mission?
“See anything yet?” Tim breaks the silence.
“No. I say we just go in, make sure it’s clear, and dip. What’s the point of watching an empty warehouse?”
“What’s the point of rigging an empty warehouse to blow up? Maybe it’s not so empty.”
“I’m sure we can take whoever’s in there. Let’s just go.”
“Batman—”
“I don’t give a fuck what Batman thinks! I’m going in with or without you.” Jason whisper-yells back. “You comin’ or not, Pretender?” Jason grapples off the roof without waiting on a response, landing near a skylight in the warehouse.
Tim lands silently next to him, and when Jason looks at him in shock, grumbles, “Well someone’s got to make sure you don’t meet your second untimely death.”
Jason smirks under his helmet and lifts the pane of the window.
“Well what are you waiting for?” He gestures for Tim to go ahead of him.
The warehouse appears to be deserted, the only things occupying space are massive crates spread throughout.
“See, Red? No one’s even here.”
“Something’s wrong…” Tim spins, checking the room. “This isn’t right.”
“Whatever, let’s just clear it and get goin’. I’ve got better shit to do than sit on an empty warehouse.” He slings the crowbar off his back and pries open one of the crates. “Look, it’s not even a bomb.”
The sheer amount of drugs in the crate is concerning in a different way, but hey. It’s Gotham, whatcha gonna do?
“There’s still about thirty other crates a bomb could be in.”
There were no bombs in any of the crates, and Jason would really like to go home now.
“You seriously just made me check all of them? Why are we even here? We coulda left hours ago.”
“I told you, Batman got intel about a bomb and this specific warehouse.”
“Well Batman’s fuckin’ wrong! The only thing in this fuckin’ warehouse is a shit ton of drugs.”
“Something doesn’t feel right,”
“So you keep saying. Stick around if you like, but I’m leaving.”
Just as Jason turns to leave, one of the crates on the opposite explodes.
“You were saying?” Tim sasses.
“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up and let’s get out of here before any of the others detonate.”
Tim slams into him, pinning him to the ground as the next bomb detonates much closer to them.
“What the fuck!”
“Stay down, I mean it, Hood.”
“I’m not stayin’ in a warehouse with bunch’a bombs.”
“Bombs you didn’t even think were here five seconds ago?”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” Jason pushes himself up and starts jogging to the nearest exit, only for Tim to shove him again.
One of the support beams crumbles, crashing to the ground next to them. One of the falling pieces strikes Tim—where Jason would have been standing—and knocks him off to the side. Just as Jason tries to grab him and yank him out of the building, the rest of the bombs detonate together, and the ceiling collapses around them.
They happened to be standing under the one support beam still standing (lucky them?), so they weren’t trapped under concrete, but they were blocked in.
“God fucking dammit!” Jason growls. Tim chuckles next to him, and Jason nudges him with an elbow. “What the fuck do you think is funny?”
“We’re fine, chill. None of the concrete is close enough to cause an issue.”
It’s too dark, too dusty.
Jason can practically feel the walls pressing in, his breaths coming in sharp gasps.
He paces, counting the strides in his head from one end to the other.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Turn
Five paces, 5 steps.
“Hood, we’re fine. The rest of the bats are one their way.” Tim’s voice is distorted, like he’s talking from under water.
Green takes over the edges of his vision, Jason shakes his head.
Not here.
He can’t let it take over here, he can’t let himself hurt Tim, not again.
“Hood!”
“Just…just shut up, alrigh’?” His voice is more of growl than he means for it to come out, but it’s a little hard to control his tone when he’s so close to losing it.
Jason loses track of how much time he’s been pacing, how long they’ve been trapped.
The silence is deafening, the only noises being his harsh breathing, the posing of his heart, and the (possibly imagined) groaning of the concrete as it settles.
He tugs at his helmet, trying to get it off.
Tim is suddenly in front of him, pulling at his arms.
Jason tosses him off, barely hearing the grunt his brother lets out when he hits the concrete across from them.
He finally gets his helmet off and chucks it in the same direction as Tim, burying his hands in his hair.
“Jay, you need to breathe.”
”Shut the fuck up!”
smoke, dust, blinding pain
No
No
He’s not in Ethiopia.
He’s in Gotham, with Tim, not with Joker.
Batman is coming this time, or at least someone is. He’ll make it out.
It’s still too quiet.
”Fine! Fine, start talking. Distract me.”
“Wanna sit down first? You’re only working yourself with all your pacing.”
”Tim. Either start talking, or I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”
”Thought you wanted me to shut up?”
”Not the fuckin’ time, man!”
Tim snorts. “Fine. You watch the race last week?”
”That’s what you’re goin’ with?”
”You wanted me to talk! I assume you don’t want me to talk about work, so dunno what else you want me to talk about.”
This time it’s Jason’s turn to snort. “Fair. Yeah, I watched the race. FIA is fuckin’ bullshit.”
”Yeah that whole swearing ban? Control freaks. Anyway, it also sucks that it was Ricciardo’s last race and they didn’t even properly inform us. That man has been with Red Bull for fuckin’ forever, and the most he gets is a post a week after the race?”
Jaosn tugs his hair again, heart still pounding uncomfortably in his chest, but the green is starting to recede slightly. ”Mm, same thing happened with Sargeant, right?”
”Yep. Also it’s wild that there’s been so much happening this season, feels like so long ago when Verstappen was dominating. Plus we’ve got one rookie scoring points for two separate teams, two drivers being fired mid-season, 4 rookies debuting in F1—I think anyway—plus the four new drivers next season. And Sainz moving to Williams is fucking crazy. He deserves better.”
Jason finally calms enough to settle near Tim and stop pacing.
”Feeling better?”
”Think so.”
”B will be here soon.”
”Hm.” Jason twines his hands together, fidgeting restlessly.
”Here.”
He glances over, and Tim’s extending a knife towards him, hilt first.
”Are you seriously giving me—who was on the edge of a pit episode not even two minutes ago—a knife to fidget with?”
Tim shrugs. “Don’t stab me and we’re good.”
”Your standards are so low.”
”You’re the one that keeps stabbing me.”
”So maybe don’t give me knives!”
”It worked didn’t it?”
”Tim—“
”RR, Hood, you good in there?” Batman’s muffled voice drifts through the layers of concrete.
They both call back the affirmative, and Tim stands up.
It doesn’t take long before there’s an opening cleared big enough for them to squeeze out of.
“Thanks for the save, Old Man. I’m out of here.” Jason attempts to leave as quickly as possible.
Dick grabs his arm before he gets far. “Nope. Back to the cave, Little Wing.”
“What the fuck for? No one’s even injured.”
”Hood, cave.”
Jason glares at Bruce, but ultimately complies. Whatever will get him back to this safe house the fastest, preferably without fighting his way out.
“Whatever.” He stalks off to the batmobile.
Back at the cave, Bruce performs a thorough medical exam on both of them before clearing them to sleep, with the stipulation they had to stay in the manor.
“Goodnight, Jason. I’m glad you’re safe.” Bruce calls before heading to his room, pulling Jason in for a one armed hug.
Jason blinks, shocked, and by the time he can think of a response, Bruce has disappeared into his bedroom.
Hi! I just found this page and was wondering if there are fics from Andrew's pov when he finds out what happened to Neil and what the "thank you, you were amazing" really meant.
i found some!
-rocky
What died didn't stay dead. by freshtaylorswiftduck (T | 11,065 | 3/3)
Neil Josten is dead. Neil Josten was never even a real person.
Thank you. You were amazing.
And now Andrew Minyard was left with a pair of keys and nothing else.
choke by reaching_my_summit (T | 1,413 | 1/1)
"thank you. you were amazing."
then he was gone.
---
or, the riot from andrew's point of view.
You Were Amazing by shewhoisntnamed44 (G | 755 | 1/1)
"Thank you. You were amazing."
These words rang in Andrew's head. They were like a bell, constantly reminding him of his own stupidity. His inability to guess the implication of these five words. How had he not seen it? Neil hadn't looked that sad in months.
you were amazing. by rosesau (Not Rated | 5,271 | 1/1)
“Thank you. You were amazing.”
Why was there such finality in those words? Like he was thanking Andrew for more than the game? Andrew knows every breath Neil took was at least half a lie, concealed hints of the truth laced with every other word. So why did this sound like the most honest thing he’d ever said?
Amazing by reneewvlkers (M | 4,892 | 1/1)
Andrew can be patient. His knuckles are red, and with that familiar pain comes a wave of calm. He has no control over this situation and that’s nothing new. Neil Josten is a force of nature; utterly unpredictable and infuriating.
But he knows one thing. Neil would not leave if he had a choice. He would come back to Exy, to the Foxes, to this godforsaken bus if he had to limp the whole way. And Andrew will be right here when he does.
