#victimplagued

Of course, it does sting.

But pain had become a reoccurrence for them, hadn’t it? It barely phased Steve anymore. His body had been pushed, twisted, and slotted into impossible spaces when needed. He had become the hero that everyone desired him to be. Symbolic and a sign of hope, the weight of such a label written over the bruises knuckles and cracked ribs. Not dead - not even close. Held together by bandages and fierce determination.

Steve smiles because that’s what he does. Reassure anyone, especially Tony, that it’s going to be fine. The bad guy was defeated and they could all rest well knowing they had done their best. It’s the pressing and insurmountable weight of the cost of their decisions. The ones who hadn’t lived so others may. Steve feels the tear of his busted lip as his smile widens by habit, not quite meeting his blue eyes.

“You don’t have to.” He says but he is sure Tony knows. He is more durable than most. Been through a lot damn worse. How was Tony? Was he fine under that focused gaze? Was his mind here in the present with Steve or already calculating the next move they’d all need to make to ensure this never happens again? “Hey,” Steve finally manages breaking his thoughts to grab Tony’s wrist (gently) as his head cocks slightly to the side, “You good?” He asks. Tony was definitely the type to throw himself into tasks to keep busy. To keep his mind overloaded. He was the breakable one, was he not? “Before you go all nurse on me, how are you? You took a beating too.”

Crouching in front of Steve, Tony pressed the washcloth as gently as he could to Steve’s temple. It would heal--he knew that; it always did--but that didn’t make him feel any better about watching Steve throw himself into battle like a loose Lego piece: fully ready to be broken apart and put back together again, so overconfident that he'd be alright in the end that he’d let the whole concept of self preservation go out the damn window. And they called Tony reckless. 

“Don’t.” Tony batted away Steve’s hand on his wrist, no matter how good it felt to have him close again, to know that he even could hold him like this, that he wasn’t too far gone. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to play knock knock jokes on death’s door and then play the paranoid teammate. It’s my turn. And I swear to god, Steve, if you don’t let me ‘go all nurse on you,’ I’ll kick your ass myself.” Maybe he was a hypocrite to say it, and maybe it was stupid--Steve could take care of himself better than anyone Tony had ever known; his super soldier healing made sure of it--but he couldn’t help the way his weak old heart was pounding away on the other side of the arc reactor. Watching Steve fall like that had been one of the worst things he’d ever seen--and he’d seen the Hulk naked. 

The second his lieutenants clear out of the room Daryl’s against him. Fisting into that leather jacket, gripping and shoving in restless hands. “Fuck you” hisses out and he tugs him in tight for a heartbeat, soaks in the heat against his own battered body before pushing hard, stumbling after. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck.”

Daryl’s wrecked, shredded raw by this past week. By the two years and the lifetime leading up to it. He needs something to ground him, something familiar, and the feel of Negan against him should be like goddamn sanctuary but the asshole’s gone and done exactly what he’s always done: made taking any kind of comfort in him impossible.

(It’s a comfort anyway, and Daryl knows it. Impossible to beat down. Part of Daryl’s been aching to see him his whole life. Wanted him through the brutal beatings from his father. Through the Governor, losing Merle. After the prison fell and everything seemed hopeless, the one thought that kept hitting him over and over like a light in the black was everyone else might be gone, but Negan’s still out there. Has to be. We haven’t found each other yet.)

He can taste Negan’s breath as he knocks into him again. Feel the smirk in it. He’s known Negan through enough lifetimes to know he’s finding all this goddamn hilarious and Daryl–– Daryl hates him for it.

And he does. Hate him. Has to. This smug, stupid bastard. Dancing his way through every one of their lifetimes, leaving burned out wrecks in his wake. He’s a constant plague on Daryl’s endless existence and he hates him, hates him so goddamn much. Pushes his forehead to Negan’s chest to keep his mouth from going elsewhere because, because––

He can’t.

He shoves off and manages not to follow this time. Breaks away, body aching, staring with wide, shaken eyes as disgust pulses brutal through him. Disgust at this asshole. At what Daryl’s seen so far of him in this lifetime. The nightmare of that clearing. Way he’d dragged Daryl off and locked him up, just to prove he could.

...And at himself. At his own body for the sheer damn relief it feels, finally standing here with him. Like, with every wrong thing in this brutal nightmare of a lifetime, one single thing’s finally gone right.

Daryl’s never gone a life without meeting Negan, at least for a second. A glimpse on a battlefield. Startle of recognition across the prow of a ship, once. Something. He doesn’t know how it works. If they’re immortal, somehow, ‘til they find each other. If it’s just some endless sick trick of fate. But the notion of a whole life starting and ending without seeing Negan?

Daryl’s throat chokes: exhaustion and anger, loathing, and wild, frantic relief because...

     On her way out the door, jacket pulled over her shoulder, Rosie paused when she felt the burn of suspicious eyes at her back. She knew exactly what was coming next as she bit the inside of her cheek and faced the two youngsters that glared irritable, " How come you get all the fun? We're capable adults, We should be able to go out too!" Ashley stomped her heeled boot against the wood floor and folded her arms, a display that could only emphasize the answer which they all knew. Jay stood on the staircase, equally persistent in nagging their leader, though only with his pout. Rosie pulled the hood over her head and gazed between them evenly, " You know why. This is new territory, and you stand out like sore thumbs in a small town like this.” “ And you don’t, Miss Hello Kitty? ” Ashley raised her perfectly sculpted brow in retaliation. Rosie scowled, but did not feed into that despised nickname as she turned away, “ I know what i’m doing. That's all there is to it. Jacob is boss while i'm gone.”

Last thing she heard before the door shut behind her was the groans of despair as the heavy footsteps of their designated warden came out of the kitchen, no doubt grinning with the milk carton in his hand at the youngsters he would push around for the night. Rosie would probably ask about it later, if she managed to make it back sober.

     She’s been sober for so long now, broken the habit long ago. But passing months of grief have called back that nasty habit, her throat itching for that self destructive burn to dull the mind of all the pressure built. Away from the kids, away from prying eyes, she can allow herself to be someone else for a little while, under the excuse it's for a mission. No one needed to know. This place was a quaint little town, not much different from the place she once lived in further north. Full of hills, expanses of woodlands freshen the air with a quality she often forgot could exist since moving to the overcrowded big city. It's one of those travel towns, quiet save for the foot traffic of passers that stop for a night before moving on, the perfect place to start looking for their runaway when one could perfectly blend in with the sea of new faces coming in and out. In the worn out truck they were leant, Rosie leisurely cruised the town and marked out on a map every suggested point given within the casefile sitting in a manilla folder on the passenger side, til x marks the spot at the very end of her adventure. A perfect bar at the edge of town, where few cars parked tell her exactly what she wants to know. The scene is set at 9pm on a Wednesday night, the truck no more memorable than any other vehicle in the lineup as the little cat works her way into the night. Her files safely tucked away in the glove compartment, a skully pulled over her head to hide her ears, without those odd features, she was just like any other woman coming into a bar to forget. Given the country, she figures her hanging tail can be acquitted to a hunted creature she now wears as a pride. That was common in the south, wasn't it? And the point of coming around was blending in (Or so she likes to tell herself ). She slips in and already the motions feel like she’s reliving a dream ; something deep below the surface stirs and begins to alter her presentation. Not the confident Sphinx that fights monsters the size of buildings, but a more reserved, meek kind of woman. Its a push and a pull, spinning a web of lies that will be her fabricated life story to share with anyone willing to listen tonight. Wordlessly, Rosie takes her seat within a corner, nestled comfortably in the shadows where very few occupied -- save for another man just as bundled up as much as she was. In her mind a familiar habit clicks in place, the predatory instinct that hones in on the target and begins the invisible pull at the corner of her lips. The gears shift to set her into her role, relaxing with the rhythmic tapping of claws on the countertop, she feigns interest in the room ; what's playing on the TV, the conversation of the men around the pool table, the bartender, the menu… then her eyes drifted back to him. The point of interest for the night. Good to make friends with locals for points of reference, so she works the nerve and gears to string together the perfect opener. Lightening her expression, she smoothed the harsh edges of her features, lips pulling to the side, her drooping eyes seemed lifted as she found her voice and tapped her knuckle against the wood for attention,

“ You look like you had a rough day. Even worse for wear than me,” Warm, friendly affection laces her chuckle, “ Looks like you already have one, but How’s about the next drink is on me? I hear that's how you make friends in places like these.” Body language is key to setting down the bait, Rosie leans up on her elbows, her palm folding under her cheek in rests, those honey eyes seemed glowed around the rim in the dimness of the room,

“ Care to tell me about it? ”

@victimplagued​   /   hasn’t seen him since her betrayal.  it had been hard doing what she did, but in the end she knew it was the right thing to do.  her family, no matter how she’d been hurt, were still her family.  in the time she’d been with the saviors she’d missed one in particular very much.  and finding out he was their prisoner had set the wheels in motion.  that was six years ago.  six years since she’d seen negan face to face.  in that time she’d married, she’d adopted a child.  and in that time she had to witness a gruesome end to her fairy tale.  that was part of the reason she was here.  she needed his help, because he was the only man who would do what it took to save them all.

There was a buzz in the room as more and more attendees arrived, leaving Olivia feeling a mixture of overwhelming worry and excitement. Being on the charity committee was an additional responsibility she had been more than happy to take on, however putting together an event for this many people was something that had left her anxious for its success. If it all went swimmingly, there would be money to put towards the new children’s ward and it would likely lead to further fundraisers, but if it went poorly... Well, she did not want to think about that option right now. 

Brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, Olivia moved along the side of the large room they had hired, eyes scanning the guest list which she was en route to pass to their greeter, when she found herself walking straight into somebody else at full speed. Her papers drifted to the ground, scattered across the floorboards, and she immediately bent down to gather them, glancing at the stranger with an apology ready to leave her lips when-

His fingers press into the firm body next to him. Some things still managed to surprise him and how they had fallen into a shared bed was definitely one of those fucking things he hadn’t seen coming. Granted, it wasn’t a bad thing. The best kinda stress relief came in the form of another body. Whether it be beating it to a pulp for questioning his authority or merely getting off it released some tension either way. So-- it didn’t really matter how they had ended up like this as much as they had. “And the pillow princess is beat? All you had to do was lay there.”