#pre slash

“Your turn, Gwaine.”

Peals of heavy laughter break the night.

“God, not again.”

“Sire, please—spare us.”

“Hey!”

More laughter as a gust of wind mimics the crackle of the splintering coals. Kindled by dry leaves, the flames don't require much tending, but nevertheless, a soft curl of magic flows against the charred wood with practiced attention.

“We can always skip to Elyan,” Arthur says, jovial. Beside him, Merlin chuckles, and the smoky thrum of magic pulses joyfully against the wind.

“No, come on,” Merlin says. “Let him have his go.” He smiles at Gwaine, and Gwaine smiles back.

“It’s not all barmaids and fistfights, you know.” The knight rolls up his sleeves, readying his arms and leaning forward against his knees. “I’ve been around these woods. I’ve heard things.”

“Try me,” Arthur says, “I’ve been around these woods a fair few times myself.” The others laugh again, and between them, the fire laughs along.

Gwaine’s eyes flick around in the dancing light, searching their faces. “None of you lot have spoken to the Druids much, have you? Not casually?”

A hush falls over the clearing. Merlin’s magic stutters as the bright, golden curl remembers the pain alongside him.

“Ah, never mind. If you—”

“No, please.” Arthur opens his arms, giving a welcome smile, albeit a small one. “My grief is not my father’s.” The tension eases and the earth calms. “Tell us your mighty tale.”

“I’m not sure how mighty it is.” Gawain smiles. “Have you ever heard of the Druid King?”

Merlin goes still. “The druids don’t have any kings,” he says, feeling certain of the fact, and a bit annoyed, besides.

“Oh, yes they do,” Gawain says, fire glimmering in his eyes almost like liquid gold, “and they say he could destroy us all with a snap of his fingers. They say he could even take on Camelot, all by himself.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” It’s Arthur who asks the question, full of bravado, every bit a king. A few of the others laugh and cheer.

“No one knows,” Gawain laughs. Then, he leans in. “But it’s no joke. Years ago, I met this rogue Druid—“

“Nobody wants to hear about your conquests, Gawain,” Elyan says, and there's another good-natured laugh at his expense. Merlin closes his eyes and sighs into it, grateful in spite of himself.

“Shove off, you don’t get that part,” Gawain says, smirking. “She was a smart woman, though. Resourceful, even from a young age." A hush falls as they all stop to listen. "She and her brother were scouting together up in Cenred’s kingdom, years and years ago, looking for a good stream to fish in. Everything seemed quiet, at first." He pauses for effect. "Then, suddenly, they felt the earth shift underneath their feet.” He makes a noise, waggles his fingers, and the others begin to jeer.

"Right, of course," Merlin forces himself to say through peals of half-hearted laughter. "I suppose the Druid King had come to, what, snatch them up and eat them?"

"No." Gwaine shakes his head. "This was something else. It seemed as though the earth itself decided to move. All of the trees swayed over in one direction, and all of the birds and rabbits turned to look. Magic flowed down from the stars and up from the earth." He paints his words with long, careful strokes, ever the storyteller. Then, he grins. "But it wasn't a sorcerer. It was a baby."

“A baby king? No father, I’m guessing?” More laughter, but it’s weaker, this time. Merlin’s chuckle gets stuck in his throat.

"Wouldn't he be a prince, instead?"

“Ah, the Druids don't think of things the way we do.” Gawain looks to the sky, pausing now that he has their attention. “He was just born powerful. They call him Emrys.” He huffs out something that isn't quite a laugh. "It means 'immortal.'"

Merlin goes still. Something in the earth goes still, too.

“So he isn’t a king at all? He’s just a sorcerer,” one of the knights chimes in.

“Mate, at a certain point, you may as well be king,” Gawain laughs. “He’s made of magic, tip to toe. He never even had to learn it.”

“That’s impossible,” Arthur says. Unbeknownst to him, the curl of magic that rests against his ankle out of habit pulls back as Merlin closes his eyes.

“No, wait, I’ve heard a version of this.” It’s Elyan who chimes in, raising a hand. “He’s not talking completely out of his arse, this time.”

“I asked her if she was scared of him, and she said she wasn’t sure,” Gawain continues. “The Druids don’t believe that magic is, ah, evil necessarily,” he hedges. Arthur chuckles, nodding for him to continue, and he relaxes. “It’s just a tool to them, like a sword.”

“And this king, he’s, what, made of swords?”

"Sounds more like he was born with one in his hand."

“Imagine that, eh? A baby sorcerer, whizzing things around.” Everyone laughs.

Amidst them all, Merlin remains frozen, his smile carving into already pained cheeks. The fire flickers.

“Wait a second. How long ago was this?”

Gwaine tilts his head. “What? Why?”

“There’s likely a person attached to it, sorcerer or not,” Arthur says. He turns, and Merlin’s breath catches in his throat as he locks eyes with the King of Camelot.

For a moment, his body prepares to defend itself, muscles twitching, blood rushing; but, of course, Arthur Pendragon is so far away from the truth that he couldn’t possibly grasp it. Instead, he's looking to Merlin as a friend, as though he's already imagining this as something they’ll figure out together.

Merlin swallows.

“What else is known about him?”

“Well. Nothing, really. Elsie was young at the time. Her father tried to ask around, but none of the locals seemed to realize it was such a significant birth, aside from being touched by magic.” He shrugs. "They were probably being cagey about it, too. You know how Cenred was."

A moment of silence.

“How did they know that the birth was touched by magic?” Arthur frowns. "A baby magician should be impossible."

"They say that his eyes looked yellow, almost like a bird,” Gawain shrugs. “They named the child after his father’s favorite hawk, as if it were a normal baby.”

"Oh, by the gods. Could be anything, then," one of the knights laughs. "My father must've named a hundred hawks."

They all laugh, again. Merlin tries his best to laugh along.

"To be honest, sire, I doubt there’s any truth to it.” He laughs. “But it’s a fun story.”

"Right. I suppose we know to watch out for any immortal sorcerers with golden eyes and birdy names, then." It's Elyan who says it, raising his flask, and the others join him with a cheer.

Thank you for the prompt! I wanted to get this out before I go ‘off grid’ for a week 😛

(Quality disclaimer: this is the first thing I’ve written in two fucking months, bear with me)

“Good game.” Ice grinned as he shook Goose’s hand.

“Yeah, yeah.” Goose rolled his eyes. “Drinks on you, right?”

“If it makes your crushing loss easier to swallow.”

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the ocean blue horizon, last light vivid orange and fading fast. The sticky humidity of a Miramar summer day had conceded to the marginally less sticky humidity of early evening. Ice relished the sea breeze blowing in from the west, cooling his skin beneath its sheen of sweat and sand.

A heavy arm settled around Ice’s neck, crushing him against a familiar chest in a grip two degrees shy of a headlock.

“Mocking the man while he’s down, Ice?” Slider simpered. “I’ve taught you well.”

Ice drove a sharp elbow into Slider’s ribs, his choked wheeze ringing like sweet music.

“Did I hear drinks on Ice?” Hollywood said loudly as he and Wolf joined them at the edge of the volleyball court.

Ice clicked his tongue. “Do you often have auditory hallucinations, Wood? You should get that checked out.”

The responding protest was rowdy and over the top, and Ice found himself slipping into an easy smile as he let himself fade to the edge of the conversation, content to simply observe the good natured posturing.

He took a small step back when Slider made a telegraphed swing at Wolf for his smart mouth.

For the first time since arriving at Top Gun, Ice felt the looming shadow of competition slide away. It felt like the first breath of salty air after a long patrol over a neverending sea, the relief found in small moments of reprieve. The light warmth in his chest betrayed a fast growing fondness for the men he’d spent the last month sharing the sky with.

His eyes jumped from face to face, cataloguing bright eyes and smile lines.

He hadn’t realised he was looking for one in particular until he found it absent.

Ice’s brow furrowed when he didn’t immediately spot Maverick hovering at Goose’s elbow like a package deal. He cast his gaze beyond the boundary of their little group, scanning the bleachers either side of the court.

A head of spiky black hair popped through the collar of a white tee by the picnic tables on the far side.

Before he could overthink it, Ice slipped away from the conversation unnoticed and crossed the stretch of cooling sand.

Maverick was in the middle of what looked to be a desperate struggle with his ludicrous cowboy boots when Ice reached him.

“Where are you going?” Ice said sharper than he’d intended. He didn’t wince, but it was a near thing.

Maverick startled, head snapping up, eyes lit with the same burning intensity Ice had met unflinching that first morning in the classroom. It was as much of a challenge now as it had been then.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, Kazansky.” Maverick’s words were clipped, syllables bitten sharp by his crooked teeth.

“You-” Ice began but cut himself off quickly, breathing in through his nose and consciously forcing the tension from his shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried again, tone even, not dissimilar to the voice one might use to coax some feral woodland creature out of the garden shed. He stuck out his hand. “Good game.”

Maverick blinked at him in owlish surprise, as though Ice’s sudden congeniality had single handedly shattered his entire perception of reality. He accepted the handshake with the hesitancy of a bomb squad new recruit.

“Good game,” he echoed haltingly.

They maintained contact for a socially acceptable three seconds. Up, down, up, down, release. Ice half expected Maverick to immediately wipe his palm off on his jeans.

Ice stuffed his hands into the tragically sandy pockets of his sweat pants. “We’re getting drinks. You should come.”

Maverick nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then another.

Ice cleared his throat before it became too awkward for even him to bear. He jerked his head towards their classmates, the volume of their shenanigans having increased exponentially since his departure.

Darion

“... It’ll be a hard mission, so be careful, Lady Anti-Villain,” Captain Hero-Man said before dismissing her from the line of heroes he was giving missions to. “Man-Man, we need you to substitute for Magic-Person for her training at five because she’s sick.” Man-Man nodded and was dismissed. “Cadet D, there’ve been sightings of a new villain. We have suspicions that they are planning something with the town hall.”

Darion winced at the undignified nickname. She hoped that she could come up with an actual hero name soon, so people would stop calling her Cadet D. Without a real hero name, she just didn't feel like she was properly living up to people’s expectations. “Here, there was one of these on every desk in town hall,” Captain Hero-Man handed Darion a pink note.

—

Today at 1pm there will be a super cool thing at the local park!!! Everyone gets a free hour lunch and it's mandatory! Anyone in the building from 1pm to 2pm gets their pay docked 100 dollars. Also if you don’t go everyone will think you're a loser.

Kisses!!! <3

—

“What.” Darion was befuddled.

“This is all the information we’ve been able to gather. At 12:40 we’ll be evacuating the building. The park will be closed off as a precaution." Captain Hero-Man informed Darion. “You’ll be stationed on top of the bakery behind Town Hall. We don’t know what they have planned, so be careful, okay?”

“Yes Captain.”

“You can call me dad. If you wanted to, I mean.” Captain Hero-Man said hesitantly.

“Yes Captain Dad.” Darion had always been a good soldier and could easily follow her adoptive father/leader’s order.

“Okay,” the Captain said ambivalently. “You’re dismissed.” Darion nodded and left.

Waiting on the roof of the bakery, Darion checked the time. 12:59, the villain should be here soon. The moment the second hand hit twelve Darion heard a loud noise coming from the left side of the building. She stealthily jumped between rooftops until she located the source of the noise. It was a roadheader, a large machine with a drill on its front, that was sloppily painted pink and covered in glitter. Inside the operator's cabin there was a small figure wearing a domino mask. Darion could see from her youthful face that the villain appeared to be about her age, twelve.

Darion saw that the compartment at the end carrying the electrical box was held closed by a few screws, so she just had to unscrew it and cut the electrical wires to stop the machine. She quietly jumped to the ground behind the roadheader and climbed onto its side. She looked at the screws and pulled out a matching screwdriver from her utility belt and unscrewed it. She quietly opened the lid to the electrical box to get to the battery surrounded by wires. Matching the theme of the villain, the battery had cat stickers on it. She pulled out wire clippers and started cutting until the machine stopped. Thankfully she was wearing insulated gloves so she wasn’t electrocuted.

“What!?” the villain yelled in surprise when her machine stopped as the drill was a centimeter away from the wall.

Darion jumped out from behind the machine. The villain looked around before locking eyes with her, “You!” she shouted. “What did you do to my roadheader!?”

“I have defeated your machine, and now I will do the same to you!”

She climbed out of the operator's cabin and onto its roof. She pointed at Darion, “You will never stop the great and powerful Pastel!”

Pastel

Pastel jumped to the ground. Pastel ran toward her and aimed a punch, but Darion dodged. Darion pulled her bo staff out and swung it at her but also missed. Darion jumped into the air to dodge a rock Pastel threw at her. Pastel crawled up the wall of the town hall onto the roof to get the high ground, but Darion followed her, jumping onto the roof in a single bound.

Darion lunged towards Pastel. Darion grabbed her and pulled something out from her utility belt. She swung it at Pastel’s shoulder, but Pastel, in her panic, turned Darion’s hand around and tapped her with the thing.

Darion went limp and Pastel caught her before she hit the ground of the roof. Pastel stood there holding the limp hero looking incredibly confused. She looked at Darion’s shoulder where a seemingly magical rubber duck was?

“Oh no.” Pastel exclaimed and her thoughts began to race, ‘Oh no, no, no. What do I do now!? What was that? Is she going to be okay? Should I take her to a hospital? How would I do that without drawing suspicion?’ She paused and took a few deep breaths. ‘Wait, why am I panicking? I’m a villain. This is great. I’ll just… take her I guess?’ Pastel put one hand on her back and the other under her knees and lifted. ‘Wait, is princess carry not villainous enough? Whatever, it'll be fine.’

She walked across the roof and crawled back down the wall and hurried into the shadows of the alleyways running to her secret base. ‘Thank goodness for my powers or this would be hell,’ she thought as she ran through the alleys carrying Darion.

Darion felt somewhat woozy. Her body was limp but she felt gravity from beneath her limp feet. She slowly opened her eyes. Bright lights flooded her vision, and she quickly squeezed them shut again. She tried again, opening first one eye and then the other. At which point, she discovered that she was tied up with a flimsy-looking rope, hanging one foot above a giant tank of water filled with a large school of identical-looking fish. Piranhas!

She looked in front of her and saw Pastel sitting on the catwalk across from her. She was at the only part without a railing and her legs were dangling over the edge of the path. She didn’t seem to be paying attention to her as she was holding a small brown chunk and wiggling it in front of a brown tabby.

“Come here,” Pastel spoke softly to the cat. “I need to have a cat on my lap to pet menacingly," Pastel whined, but the cat was still uninterested and walked away.

Finally she turned her head back to Darion hanging in the air and startled, “Oh! I didn’t know you’d be awake so soon!” She quickly got up from the ground and calmed her face before starting her monologue, “Greetings, hero. Welcome to my lair, is it to your liking?“ She steepled her fingers.

‘What is wrong with this villain? She is going completely off protocol,’ Darion thought anxiously.

“Hero! Do. You. Like. My. Lair?”

Darion looked around. It was a mostly metal room, but it was filled with different pet paraphernalia. The piranha tank under her was filled with different greenery, rocks, pieces of wood, among other things. To her left there was a large frog enclosure. On the other side of the grand room, there were many cat related things including multiple dramatic cat trees.

“Yes.”

“Thank you! I tried really—” she coughed, and then started again. “You may think you have thwarted my plan to take the key to the city—”

‘The key to the city is symbolic. It doesn’t even unlock anything. What is with her?’ Darion thought, growing worried as Pastel grew further and further away from what she was supposed to be.

“—but, um, you have actually fallen right into my trap.” Pastel paused, trying to think of what to say. “The real reason I attacked town hall was to draw you out. I have some questions for you. I… uh, wait, give me a second.” She turned around and pulled out a list from her pocket. A few feet above Darion the rope creaked with strain.

Pastel went over the list, thinking about what to say, ‘No not that, not that either, no, no, maybe? Actually no, hm no, yes!’

Darion heard a strand of the rope snap and for the first time since she woke up captured she started to get scared.

“So, hero-” The rope snapped and Darion fell into the piranha tank.

They screamed in unison as Darion’s feet hit the water. Darion panicked, the fish were probably starving. She had no idea what to do. She squinched her eyes shut, floating in the water waiting for her demise, but nothing happened. She slowly opened her eyes. The piranhas seemed startled by her presence, but they didn’t attack, choosing to instead avoid her floating body.

Darion felt a hand grabbing her arm and realized Pastel had used a grappling hook to climb down and stand on the edge of the tank. Pastel pulled her out of the water and picked her up and grappled back to the catwalk with her. On the catwalk Pastel put Darion’s arm back in the ropes and re-tied them and tied her to the railing of the catwalk. Pastel left and returned with a towel and used it to dry off Darion.

Darion sat with her back to the piranha tank and Pastel sat across from her.Darion cocked her head and looked quizzically at Pastel. “They didn't eat me. Why?”

“Well piranhas only eat people when they are starving,” Pastel explained.

“I know that. It’s just that… you’re a villain and you hung me over a piranha tank so I expected the piranhas to be starving and violent."

Pastel looked taken aback. “I love my piranhas, I would never starve them!”

“Lady Anti-Villain let me visit her home and she has piranhas and they were friendly. I am curious as to how they got that reputation.” Darion said.

Pastel leaned forward, eager to explain. “The whole crazy piranha thing was actually popularized by Theodore Roosevelt in the early 1910s on a trip to the Brazilian Amazon…”

Darion listened intently as Pastel spoke about piranhas. She loved learning about animals so this was a pleasant surprise.

“...The ones I have are red-bellied piranhas…”

‘She speaks very passionately about her pets.’ Darion thought, feeling almost… fond?

“… not all piranhas are even carnivores. Most are omnivores, like mine, and there are even some that are primarily herbivorous.” Pastel took a deep breath after finishing her speech.

Darion saw something in the corner of eye. She turned to it and saw that it was a cat. Not the same cat as before. This one was a calico and very fluffy. She walked up to them and stood next to Pastel looking nervous, but curious.

“She’s a cute cat. What is her name?” Asked Darion.

“His name is Turtleneck.“

Turtleneck slowly walked up to Darion. She held her palm out as far as she could while being tied up. Turtleneck sniffed her hand for a moment before climbing into her lap. She turned around for a bit to curl up, not caring to be polite and sticking his butt in Darion’s face while doing so. Darion accepted her new purpose as cat furniture with grace.

“He’s a man cat because of chimerism,” Pastel said with a bright smile on her face.

“Cool,” Darion said, though she wasn’t sure what that meant.

Pastel scratched Turtleneck’s chin, “He ate his twin in the womb to become pretty."

“Well, he is very pretty, so I guess the sacrifice was worth it.

”Pastel let out a snort. “He’s my second cat. I have four.”

“Tell me about them,” Darion asked.

Pastel smiled widely, “Okay so my first cat is Daisy. He’s a black cat I found all beat up a year ago. He’s around three years old and pretty skittish, but super sweet once he trusts you. He walks a little funny. My third is Toad. She’s a brown tabby and is like five years old. It's give or take what she's going to act like. Some days she's super sweet, others she wants to be alone and avoids me. She was a stray cat I gave food to a few months ago, and then one day she walked in here –Don’t ask me how she got in, I don’t know– carrying a tiny tortoiseshell kitten, my fourth cat, Window. Then they just stay here and I take care of them.”

‘She doesn’t really act very villainous. She seems… almost… nice?’ Darion thought. So she asked, “Why did you become a villain?”

“I was made from evil for evil. It's what I was made for, so it's kind of all I can be.” Pastel said dolefully. “Why did you become a hero?”

“Well, it's what I was made for, so it's kind of all I can be.

”Pastel looked wistful. “Lucky.”

“I wish it felt lucky. I’m not very good at it. All of my peers already have hero names, but I still haven’t decided on one yet." Darion said ruefully.

“You don’t have to think that hard about it. I mean look at the other hero’s names, they’re completely ridiculous!” Darion smiled at that.

“Yes, well unlike my idiotic coworkers, I want an actually good name.

”Pastel chuckled. “What, don’t wanna be Hero-Man Jr.?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Safety-Lady? Dame Helpful? Miss Do Gooder?”

“I think the last one’s already taken.”

Pastel let out a laugh at that. “Daring-Girl? Maybe Captain Gallant?”

They both laughed.

“Okay, I’ll try to think of something good this time.” Pastel paused to consider. “What would you say are your main powers?”

Darion hesitated, but reasoned that it'd be obvious anyway. “My main powers are gliding and super jumping.”

Pastel thought for a bit. Suddenly she had a great idea for what the hero’s name could be. "Lizards of the genus Draco can glide for up to 200 feet while only losing 30 feet of altitude.”

Darion raised her eyebrows and then her face softened and she smiled, “Draco? I like that name. Thank you.”

The doors swung open, startling Toad, who was licking her paw on one of the lower platforms of a cat tree. Pastel immediately climbed to the bottom part of the catwalk and hid. Captain Hero-Man flew from the door up in the air before spotting Darion and rushing to her.

He picked up Darion and pulled her into a bear hug, “Oh, thank goodness you’re okay!”

Darion could barely breath, but the comforting weight of her mentor’s arms made it not matter much. Once he loosened his grip, Darion spoke. “I apologise for getting captured.” Darion noticed Pastel crawling from the catwalk to the wall of the building.

“Don’t apologize. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have sent you on a mission with an unknown villain.” Pastel crawled out the door and ran. “Speaking of which, where’s your captor and what is this place?”

“She already escaped. It seems to belong to an animal lover. I doubt a villain lives here. We should just leave.” Darion could tell from their time together that Pastel wouldn’t abandon her pets and if they stayed any longer Pastel might try to use force.

“Yes, that sounds good." He then left with Darion in his arms, closing the door behind them.

I really love your omegavers fic, I hope you continue to write it! (No pressure)

My prompt can be related or not related to omegavers, as you see it.

Clothes exchange. Any variation that comes to your mind. Maybe Dustin asked Steve to give him his clothes? For real reason, like cold weather, or because he misses him and wants something from him. Maybe Dustin steals it and then feels guilty but can’t help himself because he needs that so bad. Or Steve or Dustin leave a spare pair of clothes in their houses, just in case, and another finds it and just can’t contain himself…

Whatever you write, I will be happy to read it! I wish for your inspiration for each of your ideas!

Hi, my friend! 💓 You are so kind. Thank you for liking my wee drabbles so much and thank you for sending me such a sweet prompt.

I am still writing my Omegaverse fic, I swear! I’ve started on the next chapter already. It just takes me a long time because of my ADHD rattled brain. I either jump from fanfic to fanfic or I get so overwhelmed I don’t write at all, ugh! So sorry for making you wait for it, but I’m so honored you love the few chapters I’ve shared so far. 🥹❤️‍🩹 I’ll share a sneak peek of it with you now as a sorry and a thank you all in one.

“Dustin’s different from the rest of your pack, huh?” Robin asked. Steve dropped a scooper in the soapy water and turned to face her after hearing Dustin’s name. “Is it because he hasn’t presented yet?”

“Henderson is different from everyone,” Steve corrected. “I can’t explain it, but he’s special, Buckley, and it’s not because he’s a late bloomer. We just clicked instinctively when we first met and have been best friends ever since. I hated it when he was at camp, though I’d never tell him that to his face.”

He didn’t back away from Robin’s scrutinization. In fact, Steve welcomed it. The Alpha in him wanted her to know what Dustin meant to him and that he wasn’t playing around when it came to his younger friend. Robin said something else, but Steve tuned her out the very second his nose was overtaken by the smell of vanilla wildflowers spiked with adrenaline.

Alright; back to your prompt now. I will not being going the Omegaverse route with this drabble and I really do hope that’s okay with you. Instead, I have another angsty idea up my sleeve because I am a masochist who likes to share my suffering with others. 💀 I’m so sorry if you wanted a fluffy piece and this angst fest is what you get.

This takes place the night Eddie dies. Dustin doesn’t want his mom to see him covered in blood, so Steve takes him to his house in order for them to get cleaned up and new clothes.

CW: Death, Blood, Grief, PTSD

————————————————————————————

Dustin is covered in blood that is not his. Blood that belongs to his best friend that no longer needs it because he is dead. He is dead and way more than six feet under and Dustin wonders why he let Steve drag him away. Eddie deserves more than to be left behind in the Upside Down all alone. Nancy said there wasn’t a way to bring his body back with it looking like that. Dustin wonders if she would’ve thought that about Barb.

The meetup at the hospital just makes Dustin feel worse. Everyone is injured in some way — Max most of all if you don’t count Eddie dying — and morale is at an all time low. They might have injured Vecna tonight, but they didn’t stop him for good. Dustin considers it a loss, which makes Eddie’s death sting even harder. What the hell did he die for exactly? What is the point of anything now? He thinks staying with Eddie would have him feeling better than being in Hawkins without him does.

He doesn’t know how he’s managed to make it so his mom wasn’t called yet, but he works that to his advantage before it changes. After the Sinclairs show up because Lucas won’t leave Max and Erica won’t leave Lucas, Dustin follows Steve, Robin, and Nancy to Steve’s car. He sits down in the passenger seat when someone pushes him into it. When the door is shut, Dustin drops his head against the window. His eyes are closed and he’s turned away from Steve.

Without even asking, Steve drops off Nancy and Robin first. Dustin thinks they each give him a squeeze on the shoulder as they slide out of the car, but he can’t be sure. He can’t feel anything because he is numb and his mind is frozen on the image of Eddie’s dead body getting smaller as he’s carried away by the man driving him home. Wait —

“Don’t take me home yet! I can’t go home like this. My mom wouldn’t handle seeing me like this very well,” Dustin manages to say. His voice is rough and panicky and he hates it. Hates that it’s just as weak as his physical body is. He refuses to look at Steve and he’s not even sure why.

“Yeah, okay, Henderson. Fair play. We’ll go to my house first and get you cleaned up before I take you home,” Steve readily agrees. Dustin wonders if he’s just placating him right now because of what happened or if he really wants to be around him as long as possible. You know the truth, Dustin thinks bitterly. He’s tired of being the goddamn babysitter and is only doing this because he feels sorry for you.

Dustin doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride and neither does Steve. The Beamer has never been so quiet, but Dustin is relieved Steve isn’t playing music.

As Steve drives through Loch Nora, Dustin feels a bitterness and anger deep in his stomach that makes him sick. Eddie and Max’s trailers in Forest Hills are wrecked to shit, but Steve’s big house and all of his neighbors’ are fine. He’s not sure why he’s surprised at that, but he is because the universe should be better than society and it just isn’t. Not after tonight. Dustin is glad when Steve pulls into his driveway and stops the car. He pushes his door open and falls out on the ground dry heaving and sobbing.

Steve is by his side instantly and Dustin thinks he’s speaking to him, but nothing is registering in his brain because Eddie is dead and he is not and Dustin knows that’s just another thing the universe fucked up. The blood on him should be his own.

It’s the thought of the blood on him that helps him snap back into reality and calm down. He wants to get in the shower and scrub at his body until it’s all gone. Dustin thinks that’s selfish of him since Eddie’s blood is all he was able to bring back of him, but he can’t stand being covered in his biggest failure any longer. He takes some deep breaths and gathers all the strength in him as he allows Steve to finally help him off the ground.

That is when he’s violently reminded of his badly sprained ankle. Steve steadies him like he always does and Dustin hates it for the very first time. Dustin isn’t deserving of that kind of comfort. He’s too exhausted to pull away, though.

They make it into the house and Steve leads them to the first floor bathroom. Dustin tells Steve he’ll be fine and that Steve can leave clean clothes on the counter while he’s showering. Even though he didn’t want Steve to fight him on that, he’s left feeling disappointed when Steve leaves without hesitation and he hates himself for it.

Dustin doesn’t bother looking in the mirror and wastes no time in peeling the blood-soaked layers of clothes off him. He turns the hot water handle as far as he can and wishes he, too, could vaporize into thin air like the steam does. The hot water scolds his skin and that’s when Dustin discovers physical pain can override his mental anguish. He would not be forgetting that anytime soon.

There’s a bar of soap on a shelf in the shower and Dustin grabs it. He scrubs all over his body as roughly as he can — wants to feel as raw on the outside as he does on the inside. His eyes stay screwed shut because watching Eddie’s blood go down the drain feels like a betrayal. When he washes his hair, he makes sure to nearly pull every curl out of his head.

When he’s finally done in the shower, he peeks out of the curtain and is surprised to see a clean towel and clothes by the sink. Dustin doesn’t remember hearing Steve open the bathroom door. He likes that Steve didn’t invade his privacy. For some reason he doesn’t understand, Dustin doesn’t want Steve to see him in such a vulnerable state. He doesn’t want Steve to think he’s a babysitter instead of a best friend.

Dustin dries himself off with the towel and then pulls on the baggy underwear and black sweat pants. He doesn’t take the time to notice what shirt Steve is letting him borrow until he’s finally staring back at his face in the mirror.

Tears fill his eyes as he sees that he is currently drowning in the fabric of his favorite sweater that Steve owns. It swallows up his hands and goes down to the middle of his thighs. Dustin buries his face in the soft sweater and tries not to cry again. Steve knows Dustin loves this dark teal sweater. He knows this is Steve trying to show he cares without saying it and Dustin hates how much he likes that.

A knock on the bathroom door pulls him out of his spiral. He clears his throat and wipes his face before opening the door. Steve is showered and changed now, too. Dustin makes eye contact with him and wonders if that’s his sorrow reflected back to him in Steve’s eyes or if it truly belongs to Steve.

Dustin looks away first and starts to tremble. Looking at Steve reminds him of everything he just lost and everything he could still stand to lose. It terrifies Dustin and all he wants is to go home and crawl under his blankets, so that’s he asks Steve to do and that’s what Steve does.

He knows Steve wants to stay the night, wants to make sure Dustin will make it through the worst night of his life, but Dustin can’t allow that. If Eddie is all alone where they left him, Dustin deserves to be alone in Hawkins.

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Dustin extremely injured. Steve feels like he is going to lose him and wonders, how the hell has he been so stupid as not to realize his feelings for his best friend? How had he not been there for him in his grief over Eddie? Because if Dustin dies today, ironically he will finally understand what for 18 months he had refused to see. Although if Dustin were to die today, he would throw himself off the quarry at the first opportunity, because there was no way he could keep living without him.

Coming in hot with the big angst and whump guns aren’t we, Dannie?! Let’s see if I’m able to hit where it hurts!! It’s not much of a feelings realization per se, but it is meant to be taken as pre-slash. Hope it’s good enough! I’m pretty proud of this and it feels like something I could definitely expand on later.

I’m also using this drabble as a small challenge to write in present tense since I normally use past tense. Eek!

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Steve wonders when life will stop playing in his face. He has taken enough hard hits over the last several years and he wants a break from it — no, that’s not right; he needs one. It’s been three weeks since Steve and Dustin reconciled and it is the one thing driving him forward, even after all the carnage that came from defeating Vecna. He refuses to ever go back to the way things were for the last eighteen months with Dustin. Steve’s endured a lot of pain physically, but the emotional distance and damn near rupture of his friendship with Dustin hurt much worse than any of that. Now that they are on the other side of things permanently, Steve’s showing Dustin how much he’s changed in regards to his grief over Eddie. His jealousy of a dead man died when the words “not you” whimpered off of Dustin’s lips straight from the bottom of his soul.

He’s at the Squawk with Robin clearing out all their stuff when his walkie talkie roars to life. He’s expecting it to be the curly haired boy he’s been thinking of while away from him all day, but it’s not him and Steve is immediately on edge now.

“Code red, Robin! Code red!” Vickie’s voice fills the room. Steve’s blood runs cold and it feels like his heart and lungs stop working. Vickie is working a shift at the hospital today and he didn’t think she had a walkie of her own. Robin picks up his and answers faster than Steve’s ever seen from her.

“Oh, God, Vickie. Are you okay? What happened?” Robin demands haphazardly.

“Is Steve with you?” Vickie asks. Steve hears something in her voice that he doesn’t like. It seems too close to sympathy or pity for his liking.

Robin looks at Steve with a worried expression before confirming to Vickie that she’s with Steve and he’s listening.

“Steve, you have to get to the hospital right now! It’s an emergency! A code red one!” Vickie exclaimed. Steve is sure she’s joking. The Upside Down shit is over for good. Nothing else bad is supposed to happen.

“Who’s hurt? What happened?” Robin blurts. She knows Steve can’t talk just yet as he’s frozen by dread.

“I-it’s Dustin and it’s bad, Robin. You guys need to hurry!”

Steve’s keys are in his hands and he’s moving out the door on autopilot. The only thing running through his mind is that things have to look worse than they are with Dustin or he wouldn’t survive it. Is this how Dustin felt about Eddie? The thought makes him sick to his stomach. He starts the car and shifts into drive just as Robin’s barely closed the passenger door and he peels out fast. It’s barely a relief that Dustin’s mom is working at the hospital today, too, so he could go straight there instead of stopping to pick her up first since she’s letting Steve borrow her car until insurance and his parents reach a deal about the BMW.

“What happened to Dustin, Vickie? Please?!” Robin interrogates her girlfriend. Steve thinks she knows he needs as much information as possible right now or else he might explode into a million pieces. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are taunt and white and all his careful driving goes out the window. “Are you using his walkie? Or are his friends there?”

“His friends are here. They’re the ones who found him and brought him here. Oh, Robin. He was biking over to the Wheelers when he was hit head on by a car. They did a hit and run and just left Dustin on the side of the road. His friends went looking for him when it was taking too long and Dustin didn’t answer the walkie.”

All the breath is punched out of Steve and he feels like he’s floating outside his body. This can’t be real. Dustin was saved from getting impaled to death by an interdimensional monster only to get snuffed out by a goddamn fucking man made car with a bad driver? That thought makes him start hysterically and manically laughing because he knows Dustin would be pissed about that and call it a cruel twist of irony or fate brought to him by the universe. Robin looks at him like he’s lost mind and he wishes he could tell her she’s not too far off the mark.

I've looked at clouds from both sides, now (25133 words) by lexaaroo Chapters: 4/8 Fandom: Smallville Rating: Explicit Summary:

They'd hurt each other. Lied to each other. Betrayed each other. Punched each other. And now they sat next to each other, animosity all used up.

Solomon stares back, a defiant smirk curving the edge of his mouth. Valkyrie looks between the two men, and suddenly remembers years’ worth of mentorly-jealousy and petty spats that was all a thin facade for… “Oh boy.” * the pre-slash Soldug fic I never thought I'd write...set during Hell Breaks Loose. Also on a03. @maximillien-morreldantes ...look!! I finally wrote it!!!