Thought About How Embarrassing It Is To Be Attracted To A Small Alcoholic Pixel Man With Blue Chickens

thought about how embarrassing it is to be attracted to a small alcoholic pixel man with blue chickens today. disappointed in myself.

A Pair of Trouble

A/N: I'm back! Season 4 has me missing Billy so here we are. Also can you tell I love writing brother! Billy? Will probably continue on with this specific reader in future.

Characters: Sibling!Reader x Sibling! Billy (Twins)

Warnings: Mentions of Domestic Abuse (Neil), underaged drinking, mentions of date rape (nothing specific), Billy gets in a fight, blood, etc. Vomit. Y/n is pretty similar to Billy with her actions, but also notably tamer. Some wholesome sibling content. (Most warnings are for the end of the story!)

word count: 6.3

Out of all places you thought you’d end up living, Hawkin’s Indiana was the last on your list. It was quite literally, the middle of fucking nowhere. Compared to the sunny California you’d grown up in your entire life. You hadn’t even seen the house you’d be moving into across the country. Only your father Neil and new step-mother Susan had. You were going in blind and it terrified you.

The last minutes of your school day were quickly approaching, the last moments of normalcy creeping up on you like some kind of monster in the night. As soon as the bell rang, you’d climb into your twin's car and leave your entire life behind, leaving straight from the school. Both yours and Billy’s belongings were either already in the uhaul Neil, Susan, and Maxine were driving or tucked away in the back of the camaro. Your friends had been giving you teary-eyed goodbyes all day. All the plans you’d discussed regarding your senior year, halloween plans, and graduation had been thrown away when your father dropped the bomb about the move last week. Based on the fight that had occurred between you and Billy versus him, he’d been waiting until the last minute to give the two of you zero room to argue and change his mind.

A shrill sound rang out, signaling the end of the school day. You gave one last hug to your lifelong friends, and headed to your locker. Billy was already making his way to the car and you saw numerous guys pat him on the back and girls throwing themselves at his feet, telling him how much they’d miss him making him promise to stay in touch. You scoffed, knowing he’d be doing none of that. Shoving the rest of your books and miscellaneous items from your locker into your backpack. You slammed your locker angrily and hot tears began to stream steadily down your face as you grit your teeth together, your jaw set in the expression that deemed you a bitch from most people.

It was bullshit, everything was bullshit. You wanted to punch something, anything to release the anger coursing through your veins. There was no denying that you and Billy both had extreme issues when it came to controlling your anger, you could thank your father and his methods of ‘parenting’ for that.

You made your way to Billy’s camaro, Neil had sold your car without you knowing the day the bomb about Hawkins was dropped. Probably knowing you’d be the less explosive between the two of you. You had screamed at him, that was for sure and it wasn’t until Neil had stood up abruptly you made eye contact with Billy, no doubt him telling you to pick your battles. This was not one you’d be winning. Your brother was currently leaning up against the driver's side door, a cigarette placed between his lips which you took the minute you noticed it.

“Give me that.” You muttered, placing it between your own lips as he protested behind you. Ignoring him, you found yourself in the passenger seat, arms crossed as you took a puff from it, blowing the smoke out of the side of your mouth. Billy had already lit another one by this point and was now getting in the car, placing the key in the ignition and listening to the engine turn over with a rumble.

He said nothing as he pulled out of his parking spot and onto the main road, music blaring through the speakers. The windows were rolled down, and you took the time to take in your surroundings of the place you grew up in one last time. You snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray occupying the middle of the front seat. Eventually, when you made it to the highway leading away from California, Billy rolled up the windows and turned down the music.

“You okay?” He asked cautiously. 17 years of arguments and tears from that exact question in the back of his mind. The two of you being twins meant that sometimes you knew the other better than they knew themselves. Both of you were practically attached at the hip, and it was always just the two of you against the world. God forbid anyone got in your way. You’d go to war for each other, and there’d been numerous fights broken up by each other to prove that. It was school-wide news that the pair of you were trouble and not to be fucked with.

“No.” You said shortly, puffing out your chest and he laughed quietly as you stated the obvious.

“Neither am I.” He admitted, turning the radio up once more.

_____

You arrived in Hawkins, approximately 48 hours later. After hours of switching between who was driving, and even pulling into a rest stop to sleep in the camaro, you in the backseat, Billy in the front, (who admittedly hadn’t slept well, waiting after you had gone to bed to make sure no one approached the car until eventually he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore) your new house was in front of you. It was a shit shack. An actual shit shack.

“Fucking hell.” Billy grumbled, parking on the street and turning off the car. Silence encased both of you as the radio turned off with it.

“Fucking hell is right.” You muttered, opening the car door and stretching your legs for the first time in hours, getting the first official glance at your new house.

The front porch was encased by screens to keep bugs out, and the house itself was white. Mildew stained the sides of it green and your fathers car was already parked out front, taking up the entirety of the driveway that could easily fit two. Guess the Camaro would permanently be parked on the street.

You and Billy walked to the front door, your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. Max was sitting outside on the porch, taping her skateboard.

“Welcome home.” She grumbled, her attention never leaving the skateboard.

“Thanks.” You said back pushing the door open, Billy following suit. Boxes were stacked everywhere, some already unpacked, more waiting for the two of you. It was Sunday night, you’d have school in the morning but your father surely wouldn’t let either of you sleep until the entire house was unpacked. You had flashbacks about the conversation regarding “respect and responsibility” that ended up with you having a bruised wrist from how hard he’d gripped it, and a hole in the inside of your cheek from biting it so hard to avoid snapping back.

The house had four bedrooms, they were extremely tiny, but at least you’d have your own space and wouldn’t have to share with Max. Probably better for everyone involved. The bathroom would be shared between the three of you but you could work with that, fully prepared to fight Billy for your time to get ready in the morning.

“About damn time the two of you showed up.” Your father spoke, coming from what you could only assume was the kitchen area. “What took so long?”

“We had to sleep sometime, dad.” You mumbled taking in the space that would now be your room. Whether he heard you or not wasn’t discussed as Billy came into your room, holding your backpack out towards you.

“Thanks.”

“The two of you need to get your rooms unpacked before you go to bed tonight. Try not to slack, you still have school in the morning. No excuses.” Neil said, looking between the two of you as if waiting for some sort of objection. Neither of you had the energy to fight him on this and it already felt like you were walking on eggshells around your fathers temper the minute you entered the house. “Susan and I are going out, so I expect you both to keep an eye on Maxine.”

“Yes sir.” Billy said hoping the conversation would end and Neil would leave them both alone.

Finally, Neil left the room. The twins let out a sigh of relief when he was out of ear shot. It was 5 o'clock now, and the amount of boxes that crowded the hallway was already overwhelming enough, let alone the fact that you had school in the morning and had been in a car for the past two days. You heard the door shut and the engine of your fathers car come to life and pull out of the driveway. They’d be gone for hours, you could almost guarantee it.

Every bit of your entire being wanted to lay down and sleep, but unfortunately your mattress hadn’t even been placed on the bed frame. Instead it was leaning against the wall in the hallway, right next to Billy’s.

“Alright Billy, better put your workouts to use.” You said, grabbing his attention from where he was putting your knick-knacks on shelves. Oddly enough it was one of his favorite things back in California. He’d rearrange them to make them fight, or put them in lewd positions waiting for you to notice and bitch at him for moving them.

“I’m busy.” He all but whined, placing seashells in the shape of a penis. Still he followed you to the hallway and helped you maneuver the mattress through the door.

“Jesus Billy, are we in middle school?” You asked, shaking your head. He only giggled and told you to move and allow him to put the mattress on the bed frame.

Eventually your rooms began to resemble just that. Like there were people living there rather than blank walls and bare shelves. It was approximately 11 o’clock when the two of you finished unpacking. Boxes were broken down and put in a recycling bin on the curb.

Max was already in her room with the lights off, probably sleeping while you and Billy shared a cigarette on the front porch. Probably the last moments of peace you’d have for a while.

Your new house was smaller than the last, and tensions were bound to be high. The fall air was cold, you had a crew neck from your old highschool on. It was strange, referring to it as your old school. Didn’t feel normal at all. Nothing about this was normal.

You snuffed the cigarette out on the railing, throwing the bud somewhere in the bushes hoping Neil wouldn’t find them.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” You asked your brother who was taking the final drag of his own cigarette. Blowing the smoke up into the brisk night air and watching it disappear.

“Not worried about it whatsoever if that’s what you’re asking.” He scoffed putting his cigarette out on the same rail you did. “Won’t take long for us to climb the ranks, I’m sure everyone’s dying for someone new to roll in.”

_________

Morning came and Billy’s words from the night before seemed to be proven correct. All eyes were on the camaro as it peeled into the parking lot, blaring Rock you like a hurricane by the Scorpions. Max was in the backseat, eyeing the middle school with disgust. Billy stepped out first, his dirty blonde mullet styled to perfection. Every single person in the lot eyed the denim clad boy who shut the car door behind him taking a cigarette out from in between his lips as he looked back towards you letting Max out of the car, putting the passenger seat back in position. Max skated off towards the middle school, and Billy offered you a drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the side with a flick of his fingers.

You blew the smoke towards the sky with a laugh shaking your curls back behind the base of your skull, pulling your leather jacket on tighter. Your jeans hugged your waist and the cream colored sweater you had on kept you warm in the brisk October air.

“Who are they?” You heard a feminine voice ask from across the parking lot. You smirked looking at your brother and the two of you walked in the building as if you already owned the place. Then again, it wouldn’t take long until you did.

By the time the bell rang, the two of you were still in the office getting schedules and locker combinations. Luckily, they were practically the same. Apparently the majority of Hawkin’s students had the same one. In a town this small, they could be. Eventually the secretary let you go to find your first class of the day which happened to be chemistry. Internally, you groaned. It should be a crime to take chemistry at 7:30 in the morning but here you were.

Billy was behind you as you opened the door, interrupting the man teaching who you presumed was Mr. Blake. Once more, all eyes were on you.

“Ah, you two must be our new students. Everyone, this is Y/N and William Hargrove.”

“Billy.” You and your brother spoke in sync. Immediately correcting him.

“My apologies, Y/n and Billy. There’s a couple of spots in the back for you.” Unfortunately the only spots left were at different tables, luckily they were tables adjacent to each other. You sat next to a boy who was practically drooling as he took you in. His black hair was to his shoulders and he held out his hand for you to take.

“I’m-” He started but he never got the chance to finish his sentence.

“Piss off.” You grit through teeth and you feel Billy glare at the guy next to you before slinking back into his seat. If there was one thing Billy was good at, it was getting creeps to back off if you couldn’t.

Mr. Blakes lecture droned on and you tuned it out completely, tapping your pencil on the desk mindlessly as the guy next to you blatantly stared at your curls. Eventually after learning about ionic bonds or something along those lines, the shrill sound of a bell ringing pierced your ears. Immediately you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor as you grabbed your backpack.

A girl was handing out bright orange flyers in the doorway. Both you and Billy took one graciously. A badly drawn ghost and bottle of booze accompanied the words “Tina’s Halloween Bash” and it was telling everyone to “Come and Get Sheet Faced.”

“Hey.” She said with a wink towards Billy. “Be there.”

“Guess we have plans for tomorrow.” You grinned. It wouldn’t compare to any party you’d gone to in California, but free booze was free booze. Along with that, it was the perfect opportunity to get out of your house for the night.

By lunch, the Hargrove siblings were the talk of the entire school. Spots at the table with the so-called popular kids were already reserved for them and Billy let you take your seat first. Turning the chair next to you around and straddling it. He leaned his chin on his fist as the people already sitting began to introduce themselves.

There was Tina, the one throwing the party tonight. Tommy, was the one of two guys at the table and was obviously looking for a new leader, saying something about how the now King of Hawkins was whipped or whatever. Carol was his girlfriend, a girl with bright red hair not to be confused with Vicki who was currently eyeing Billy hungrily. There was also a man named “big Mike” who was staring straight at your chest.Your brother rolled an apple in your direction and you took a bite out of it, breaking Mike out of his trance and listening to the gossip of your new school.

“Will you two be at Tina’s party tomorrow? It’s gonna be all the rage.” Carol asked, Tommy’s arm slung over her shoulder.

“We might make an appearance.” You weren’t one to promise things, especially knowing that there was a chance one or both of you would be required to babysit Max, who probably already had plans to trick or treat anyways. You saw the Michael Myers mask and fake knife sitting on her bed yesterday as you moved things in and shut the door so Billy wouldn’t find it. Your brother knew you had a fear of horror movies and would most likely use it to his advantage at some point to scare the living hell out of you for a quick laugh.

“How are you liking Hawkins so far?” Tommy asked, puffing his chest out, like they were in some sort of competition. Like he could be superior to Billy. There was a sense of pride in the boy's voice, probably because he was the top dog around the place, then again there was no competition before either of you came around.

“It’s shit.” Billy said, twirling a cigarette lazily between his fingers. He wasn’t dumb enough to light it with teachers staring him down like a hawk at the edge of the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah, it definitely is.” Tommy’s smile was wiped off of his face within a split second of Billy’s response. That gave you all the information that you needed to know about Tommy, he was a pushover and willing to bend over for anyone he deemed superior, if you weren’t he was a bully.

“What’s it like in California?” Vicki asked, resting her head on her hands and batting her eyelashes towards Billy. Just like that, your position at the top of Hawkins High was claimed.

_______

After school the next day, Billy was leaning against the Camaro, obviously annoyed that he was waiting for not only you, but Max. He was smoking a cigarette, watching as you conversed with the girls from the lunch table earlier. Obviously in no rush, he was growing irritated with you as more time went on. Max skated up to the car from the Middle School, and you looked at your brother watching you angrily. Obviously in a hurry to leave.

“I’ll see you ladies tonight.” You said tossing your bag over your shoulder and approaching the Camaro.

“You're late again and you’re skating home, you hear me?” Billy was telling Max as you got to the passenger side door.

“Oh piss off Billy.” You said ruffling his mullet, knowing that would push his buttons even further. “She’s got a farther walk.”

“Yeah and she still made it before you.” He mumbled, flicking his cigarette to the side.

“She still made it before you.” You mocked in a high pitched voice getting in the front seat of the Camaro. “I was getting our plans for the night dipshit. Stop being a grouch.”

He simply ignored you starting the engine and blaring Wango Tango through the speakers. Obviously annoyed. He sped off, going much faster than the speed limit on the backroads to your new house. You noticed he always took the back roads, probably because that meant you'd be home later and that was less time to deal with your father.

“God this place is such a shithole.” You laughed pathetically looking out the windows at dead trees that had fallen to the ground.

“It’s not that bad.” Max piped up from the backseat.

“No?” Billy asked, rolling down the windows of the speeding Camaro, and plugging his nostrils for dramatics. “MMMM. You smell that Max? That’s actually shit.”

“Cow shit.” You laughed, your curls blowing in the wind around your face.

“I don’t see any cows.” Max said, reaching in between the two of you to roll the windows up.

“Clearly you haven’t met the highschool girls,” Billy said.

“Please, you’re still gonna bang your way through the school.” You said smacking your brother on the shoulder. You knew him better than he knew himself.

“So, what do you like it here now?” He asked the redheaded girl who was angrily staring out of the window.

“No.” She said defensively.

“Then why are you defending it?” You asked whipping around to look at the girl. She shrugged silently and looked once more out the window before replying.

“I’m not.” She mumbled.

“Sure sounds like it.” Billy spoke. It was unfair, the way you both seemed to gang up on her. The relationship you had with Max was a rocky one. When you were all introduced she was the definite outsider. Both you and Billy were entirely content that it would be just you and him against the world for the rest of your life, there was no room for someone to join that pact. Thus, Max sometimes fell victim to the way you and Billy seemed to bounce off of each other.

“It’s just that we’re stuck here so,” She told you both.

“You’re right, we’re stuck here. And whose fault is that?” Billy asked and there was not a doubt in your mind that this was about to be a famous Billy explosion. Especially after you heard Max mumble something that you couldn’t quite pick up. “What’d you say?”

His attention was quickly going back and forth between the road and Max in the rear-view mirror.

“Jesus Christ Billy, just focus on the damn road.” You interjected before he could start yelling. “Deflate your ego for just a damn second.”

“Shut up Y/n.” He snapped and your eyes widened turning towards him angrily. “Don’t be a bitch.”

“What did you just say?” You asked bewildered, your jaw set in a scowl.

“I told you to shut up.” He said.

“No, uh-uh. What the fuck did you call me William.” You asked angrily. “Because I swear to fucking god if it starts with a B and rhymes with itch I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first.” He said snarkily, changing gears on the camaro and beginning to speed even faster down the street. The sudden change of force made you hit the back of your seat and cross your arms. You both knew you didn’t mean it but when your temper got this high there were no apologies coming any time soon, just rage filled screaming matches.

“Oh yeah, here we go Mr. Fucking tough guy.” You said throwing your arms in the air with a laugh, you turned the music up louder. He hit his hand on the steering wheel to the beat and you noticed a group of kids on bikes and he only sped up faster. “Jesus Billy are you on a fucking warpath?”

“Billy slow down.” Max warned from the back.

“Oh are these your new hick friends?”

“No I don’t know them!”

“Guess you won’t care if I hit them then huh?” He spoke, turning around to look at the fear on her face and you laughed. “I get bonus points if I get them all in one go?”

“No Billy, stop! It’s not funny.” Her panicked voice made you laugh loudly as Billy didn’t appease her at all, and only continued banging the steering wheel to the beat of the song as he looked back at her. “Billy slow down! Come on! Stop it! It’s not funny, stop it!”

As you came closer to the group of kids Max quickly launched herself at the steering wheel and swerved around them. Billy laughed maniacally as she did it matching your own.

“Woo!” He yelled shrillely. “That was a close one huh Max?” Your adrenaline was pumping as you looked back at the kids who had peeled off into the grass seeking refuge from the speeding Camaro. Your brother’s laughter was louder than your own as he still continued to drum on the steering wheel the entire time it took to finally pull up to your house.

As soon as you let her out, Max was the first one inside of the house and slammed the front door shut behind her. Luckily, your father’s vehicle wasn’t already parked in the front to complain about the noise that surely you or Billy would get blamed for. You only had a couple hours to get ready for the party tonight so you looked over your shoulder who was walking behind you.

“I call shower!” You yelled and raced in the house before he could object, grabbing a towel from the linen closet and slamming the bathroom door shut before he even made it inside the house.

______ Tina’s house was large, and sweaty teenage bodies filled every square inch of the interior and exterior. You had a drink that was most definitely vodka, fruit punch and more vodka. Already you were beginning to feel the effects of the drink in your body, everything seemed a lot funnier and Billy had pointed out fairly quickly that the whiskers drawn on with eyeliner were already smudged, to which you flipped him off and took another large gulp of your drink.

Billy, as always was shirtless underneath his leather jacket leaving little to the imagination of the girls who were oogling him without remorse. Currently he was upside down in a keg-stand, chugging as much beer as he possibly could, the sound of Mötley Crue no doubt motivating him even further.

“Fourty! Fourty-one! Fourty-two!” The crowd was cheering him on as he came down, spitting in the air and raining down beer on anyone who surrounded him, including you.

“Yeah!” He screamed, loudly taking the cigarette you gladly handed to him. Before coming, the two of you had made a promise to stick close to each other, mostly to relieve any type of anxiety Billy would have about worrying about your safety if you weren’t in his line of sight.

“We’ve got ourselves a new keg king!” Tommy yelled loudly following you and your brother inside the house like a puppy. The crowd surrounding you chanted his name like a mantra and you smiled wickedly knowing that there was no doubt anyone that would over take you both at this point in time. In a matter of 48 hours, the two of you had made Hawkin’s high your bitch.

“That’s how you do it Hawkins!” Billy yelled, taking a drag of his cigarette. “That’s how you do it!”

You passed off your cup to big Mike who was on your left shoulder. “Get me another drink will ya?”

You danced your way through the living room, arms reaching for Billy’s cigarette as he held it above his head as he weaved through the crowd, pulling Tina’s ‘decorations” which consisted of toilet paper hung from the ceiling, down to wipe his mouth. Finally you snagged it and took a drag, smiling as he looked at you in annoyance. You’d seen that look many times before and only blew the smoke in his face.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink yet?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Not enough to forget we’re in California!” You said as big Mike came from the kitchen with your drink in hand, you took one sip cringing at the taste. “Besides, this shit still tastes awful. That’s how you know I’m fine.”

“Alright just, slow down a bit okay?” He whispered, letting down his facade for just a second to be the older brother he always was. Even if he was only older by 6 and a half minutes. “Let’s try to be coherent for at least an hour more.”

“Yes sir!” You slurred and he rolled his eyes.

“I see we’ve already failed that request.” He scoffed, grabbing your wrist and dragging you through the crowd once more. He took the cigarette out of your mouth and placed it between his lips. “Give me back my cigarette.”

“It’s got my germs on it now.” You warned.

“We’re twins, we share the same fucking DNA Y/n, we have the same germs.”

“Oh yeah.” You laughed clutching your stomach tightly as you tried to regain composure. Once more, he dragged you up the stairs stopping in front of a boy in sunglasses. He stood next to a pretty girl, who was obviously annoyed with the interruption.

“We’ve got ourselves a new keg king Harrington.” Tommy said, appearing over your shoulder to gloat Billy’s accomplishment.

“Yeah, eat it Harrington!” Mike said from next to you.

The girl accompanying Harrington rolled her eyes and walked away quickly disappearing into the crowd.

“Better go follow your bitch.” You whispered, pointing to the girl who walked away. Billy and his posse laughed and Harrington took off his sunglasses to glare at all of you. Big Mike returned to your side, handing both you and Billy a cup full of punch. “Word on the street is that you’re whipped.”

Without a word back, he followed the girl to where the large bowl of punch sat and you smirked. Your words proved to be right as he watched her make her way into the crowd after slamming her drink. Mimicking her, you did the same dragging Carol and Tina to come dance with you.

“I love this song!” You screamed laughing hysterically as AC/DC blared on the speakers. Carol was equally as piss drunk as you were and sometime throughout the night her cat ears had gone missing.

You weren’t sure how long you danced for, but you knew you were in need of another drink and made your way over to the punch bowl, filling your cup to the brim with red liquid. Steve and his girlfriend were in the middle of an argument about her having more to drink. You sipped yours, entertained as the arguing caused the girl to spill the liquid all over herself.

“Party foul!” You yelled as the rest of the onlookers let out a collective ‘Ohhhh’ and downed your own drink as you saw Billy making his way towards you. You filled it up once more and set it on the counter.

“Fucking hell, I left to piss for one minute and you disappeared.” He snapped.

“Billy!” You cheered. “My song came on! I can’t believe you missed it, you shit head.”

“Sorry kid.” He apologized but it was anything but sincere. “How much of that garbage have you had?”

“I don’t know, probably at least one or two” You slurred and your words hinted that it was anything but one or two. You picked up your cup once more. “I’m just trying to have fun Billy. I’m just trying to catch up to my friends, they said if you walk out with no help you’re doing it wrong and, and, and I agree. You need to catch up.”

“No, you need to chill.” Billy said glaring. You said nothing and only took a sip, there was no taste by this point and some tiny, very tiny, voice in the back of your mind said you should probably stop, another voice, a very loud one said you should annoy your twin at all costs and you smirked. “I know that look, don’t even think about it Y/n.”

You laughed and instantly chugged the rest of your drink, red stained your face as you brought the cup down.

“Happy now?” Billy asked.

“Very.” You told him, beginning to wobble on your legs. He put two hands on your shoulders to steady you and you looked at him strangely. Your legs felt like they were giving out. “Fuck Billy-”

You reached for your brother with weak arms, collapsing into him the same way you did the first time you got dumped freshman year. Your make up smeared on his chest, leaving black lines from your whiskers as your words only became more and more incoherent. He held you upright, leading you outside quickly.

“Don’t feel-” You said, short breaths escaping your mouth.

“I know. Just cooperate with me a little bit Y/n.” He was leading you towards the camaro but it felt miles away. Your vision was blurry and nothing around you felt right. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

“Trying too.” You mumbled as the passenger side door opened and you were placed inside.

“Don’t puke in my car or I’ll kick your ass.” Billy warned, but it was an empty threat. Most he would do would be to make you clean it up. He eyed you with caution, watching your eyes stay wide with wonder looking at the streetlamp above you.

“Why the fuck is the moon so close?” You asked, looking at your brother before letting your body fall forward and head drop onto his shoulder

“Because that would be a streetlamp, not the moon.” Billy said, turning the key to the camaro making the engine roar to life. “God you’ve never been this fucked up. Did you drink the same punch as me?”

“Yup.” You slurred, eyelids getting heavy as your body began to grow limp. “Big Mike hand delivered it to us, remember?”

Billy took his hands off of the wheel immediately, lifting your body off of him by the shoulders. Your eyes were barely open and words were becoming less and less coherent as more time went on.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself before gently setting you down and taking the keys out of the ignition. “Fuck, fuck,fuck.”

“Fuck is right.” You slurred once more. “Dad can’t see me like this Bill, please don’t let him, he can’t- fuck. He’ll kill me.”

“Just stay here kid.” Billy said, getting out and slamming the door. “Don’t fucking leave this car, got it?”

Crowds parted as Billy walked back into the party on a mission for blood. He found Big Mike talking to Tommy with a drink in his hand.

“Hey Billy! Where’s Y/n?” Mike excitedly, reaching out to give the guy a hug. Billy said nothing as he grabbed Mike by the shirt and shoved him against the wall.

“What the fuck did you do to my sister Mike?” He yelled, grabbing the attention of Tina and Carol who were nearby.

“What the fuck man?”

“You have less than a second to answer me or I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you.” He whispered in his ear causing the boy to shake. Already, a crowd was beginning to form around the two boys.

“Nothing! I swear!” Mike said. “Get off of me man.”

“Well if you swear, then I guess you’re telling the truth.” Billy said, shrugging and putting him down, beginning to turn away. “Except, did you know you look past me when you lie?”

His knuckles hit Mike’s face with a crunch, and the boy was on the ground in less than a second. Billy on top punching him once more, he didn’t stop until Mike was pleading.

“If you ever even think about my sister again, you’re dead.” He whispered into his ear. “Got it little man?”

“I’m sorry!” Mike was crying on the ground. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Billy said nothing as he turned on his heel and left the party, finding you barely conscious in his car. He couldn’t go home, he knew that. If Neil found you in this condition you’d be dead, skipping curfew would have consequences but not as dire as coming home reeking of alcohol. He was afraid. You barely looked alive in the passenger seat of the Camaro as your eyes were half opened and you laid limp. He wasn’t sure what to do, waiting it out seemed like the best option so he decided to stop at a gas station, purchasing a couple waters and something solid in hopes of getting you to eat and filter everything out of your system. He found the bathroom on the side of the building, an idea sparking in his blond head.

“You’re gonna hate me for this, but you’ll owe me big time Y/n.” He said, opening the door and leading you towards the bathroom. He placed you in front of the toilet and gently opened your mouth.

“I’m sorry” He muttered before sticking his fingers down your throat, forcing you to puke all of the contents of your stomach into the bowl before you. Green bile coated the toilet and you groaned falling back into your brother's chest.

“Fuck, Billy why?” You asked, hiccuping as you regained your breath.

“Just, trust me on that one.” He said handing you a water bottle. “Feel better?”

“Kind of. You’re not going to hold this against me will you?” He only laughed and shook his head.

“I think we need to forget this night ever happened.” Billy said, helping you lean over the toilet once more as you gagged. “And Y/n? Let me know if Big Mike gives you trouble.”

“Noted.” You muttered. “You kicked his ass didn’t you.”

“Something like that.” Billy shrugged and held your hair back away from your face. “Let’s just say he won’t be coming around you anytime soon.”

“If I ever see that slimy fucker-”

“Don’t even worry about it, I took care of it.”

You liked this side of your brother. The one that was caring, even if the two of you fought like no other, you still loved each other endlessly. It was the two of you against the world and sometimes it felt like you only had each other.

“Thank you Billy.” You said, finally sitting up on your own.

“It’s kinda my job, I am your older brother.” He said teasingly as the two of you walked back to the camaro. Your legs felt wobbly as he opened the door and you all but fell into your seat.

“By like 30 seconds, hop off your high horse.” Billy laughed loudly and got into the driver's seat next to you.

“So, we’re already in trouble because it’s way past curfew.” He said. “Figured we just don’t go home.”

“Can we get food?” You asked, clutching on your stomach that still felt like there were waves inside of it.

“Yeah, we can get food.”

1K notes View Post

mintszn

2 years ago

𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You're not sure you're ready to come back. Hotch has total faith in you. Or, your transition back into the team after your abduction doesn't go as smoothly as you'd hoped.

6k words, fem!reader, bau!reader, some mutual pining, reader is suffering from effects of ptsd, allusions to kidnapping + torture, hurt/comfort, hotch has a soft spot for you (as do most of the team)

༺༻

Reid was abducted, once.

You can remember the anxiety of it like a hand around your throat. It feels cruel to say that his abduction and torture had effected you more than if it had been a stranger, but you meet so many people, so many victims of cruelty, that the fear starts to blunt.

Though it doesn't blur. You find it impossible to forget the people that you've failed, and failing a team mate? That had been excruciating.

Only when you'd been taken yourself had you realised it wasn't a failure at all.

You wish the others would understand that.

"Are you feeling okay?" Prentiss asks as you sit down.

You suppose you had gone down a bit hard. "Mm?" you hum in question, pulling a copy of the initial case file toward you.

"You looked a little wobbly."

"Long night?" Morgan asks.

There's both sympathy and mirth in his voice. If you did have a long night, it wouldn’t be from anything fun. He knows that. Everybody knows that. That's why they're treating you like glass.

"I actually slept really well," you say softly, returning his smile with one that's entirely genuine.

"That's good, considering," he says, bracing his forearm against the conference table.

He's been your number one supporter since you came back. Probably because he feels very guilty about what happened. You'd been paired up at the time.

"Actually, it's common for people who've been abducted to sleep incredibly well for a long period afterward. It's similar to the leisure sickness phenomena- Your body would have been in defence mode, and-"

"Reid," Hotch says firmly, stepping into the room with his usual lowbrow.

"Sorry."

And the spiel begins. JJ lays out the details of the case she's triaged and the team gives their first input. The barest beginnings of a working theory. You try to contribute and find your tongue a leaden weight in your mouth. Ever since you got back, you've been useless.

You can't do your job, but thank god you can sleep at night, right?

You miss the start of his sentence, your focus latching onto Hotch's conclusive, "Wheels up in thirty."

Your team are standing in seconds, trained in the art of quick departures. You used to be good at this part. You're a good agent, even when you're a mediocre profiler.

"L/N?"

You blink. "Mm?" you hum, meeting your unit chief's concerned look with a perfected blasé.

You've come to a stand in front of the table, and everyone else has left. It's you and Hotch alone.

"If you're not ready to go back into the field, that's okay."

If you were Reid, or Prentiss, or especially Morgan, you'd get defensive here, and you would lie well, but you’re a bad liar and Hotch is a great detector for them, so you tell the truth.

"I'm not sure that I'm ready, but I'd like to go. I won't be a burden. I can work effectively."

"I know you won't be a burden."

You tilt your head to one side and feel your hair shift over your thick sweater. You haven't felt like showing much skin, lately. Everybody has noticed, because they notice everything, and nobody has made you feel bad about it. In fact, your fellow agents have made numerous comments about the chilly weather. It's July.

Hotch's eyes fall to your long sleeves for a split-second.

"Do you think he's alive?" you ask.

"Sorry?"

You nod your head toward the board, where the portrait of your kidnapping victim hangs in full colour. "Do you think he's alive?"

"Unless there's evidence that would suggest otherwise, we shouldn't assume. You know that."

"I know that that's the answer you're used to giving."

His voice goes too soft, like he's talking to somebody in grief. "I think he is."

You honestly can't stand it when he talks to you like this. You tilt your head a little further and see him the way he'd been that morning, his tenderness, his fear. He'd opened the door and suddenly you'd known you were safe.

He hasn't looked at you right since he found you.

"I have all my best clothes in my go-bag," you offer.

"Well, go get it. This might be a long one."

—

The jet is a really nice jet.

It's hard not to feel impressed by it. It's a vehicle that can take you from one crime scene to another, and it's a necessary expense, but it feels lavish. The clean smells, the comfort, the kitchenette. It has a full-sized toilet.

"Missed this?" Morgan asks knowingly.

You wheedle your way into one of the four seats surrounding the main table and smile when he drops down next to you. "Missed using you as my personal pillow, maybe," you tease.

"Table hogs," Prentiss complains, sitting on the armrest of the couch in defeat.

You laugh under your breath. Morgan pulls out his laptop and turns the screen so everyone can see Garcia, and as soon as the jet's taken off the second round of speculation begins.

You regret sitting where you had quickly. You can feel Hotch's analysing gaze where he sits opposite. He doesn't believe you're ready to come back.

You lick your lips.

"Why would she cut him open just to kill him straight afterward?" JJ asks. "I mean, if she didn't assault him?"

"It's unlikely that she's a sadist," Reid infers.

"Disembowelment is a pretty painful, horrific way to die. Maybe she realised that and killed him," Morgan suggests.

"Remorse?" you murmur. "Could mean she's… younger. And revenge killers don't always see it through."

"Why take another one if you can't commit to the first?" Prentiss asks.

"Maybe that's why she took him. She wants time to work herself up," you mutter.

You hide your hands under the table. It's hard to ignore the similarities with the current case and the one you're investigating. The unsub who'd taken you had been narcissistic and self-righteous, punishing the BAU for stopping her second murder — you'd predicted her next victim and moved him before she could take him.

So her victimology had changed, and she'd stolen you.

She couldn't commit to her first session of torture: hesitant cuts, loose ligatures. By your turn she'd improved, but her tentative resolve had remained and she'd run after three days. It's the worst thing she could've done, buying herself less than a week on the run and leaving you with no outside communication.

You'd almost died of dehydration.

"She's choosing from a specific group," Reid says. He holds up a photograph of the first victim. He'd been murdered in his bedroom, and the walls are plastered in playboy. Kill all men has been written across his forehead in red lipstick. "Our abductee, he was wearing a t-shirt featuring popular bikini model Miss Olympia. In a state of undress."

“Is that specific?” Prentiss asks wryly.

"She's angry," you say.

Hotch leans forward and clicks Garcia's call button. "Garcia?"

"Sir."

"Are there any prolific feminist groups in the area? Radicals?"

They fall into conversation, a pulling and pushing of information. Something about online forums, flame wars, political arguments.

It's not the strongest theory in the world but they can make it work. You should be making it work with them.

The flight is an early morning longhaul to Idaho and you work the case the entire time you're in the air. There's an abundance of coffee that you reject because you're worried it'll rehash your on-again off-again migraine, and while your teammates are offering theories, intertwining details with bright eyes and bushy tails, you struggle to keep up.

There's a lull before landing where everybody parts ways. JJ moves to sit with Prentiss where they talk in hushed but conspicuous giggles. You hear the words Will and dishes and back rub and decide to stop listening for your own sake.

Morgan laughs, having heard what you just heard and liking it a far deal more, and stands. "Coffee?" he asks as you yawn.

You shake your head sluggishly. "Be quick, we'll be landing soon."

"I know, sweetheart, I heard the same announcement as you." He takes your empty water glass with a supportive squint. "Let me get you another."

"Thanks."

You'd regretted your seat as soon as you'd taken it, the feeling of being boxed in having grown and grown over the course of the journey, and Morgan’s brief departure gives you some much needed space.

You squeeze your hands together until your knuckles ache.

"L/N?"

Hotch is looking at you. You know exactly what he sees. Someone who isn't ready to be back in the field. Someone who isn't being effective, as you'd promised.

"You okay?"

"Just warm,” you lie, pushing your hair away from your neck.

You're a bad liar. He gets up to turn on the air conditioning anyway.

You slouch down in your chair and pretend to nap for the rest of the flight.

—

Crime scenes where people died smell bad. It's a fact. They smell like pee, the sharp stick of ammonia, and the metallic aftertaste of blood. You're trying hard not to fall into your own memories of the two.

You need to move past what happened. The only way you're gonna be able to do that is to re-desensitise yourself, and that includes volunteering for the nasty stuff when Hotch tries to relegate you to questioning witnesses.

"I'm not good at interviews," you'd said plainly.

And he'd taken it for what it was and let you do what you usually do: you look for clues. If anybody could hear you think that you'd be ridiculed, but they can't. You enjoy yourself.

Let's Scooby Doo this bitch.

"Careful," Hotch says, holding a hand near your hip. You'd almost stepped into the largest puddle of blood still wet in the very middle.

Right. He'd let you take the gross job but now you're being babysat.

What did she do in this room? Why did she kill him here but abduct the second man?

"If it weren't for the photos, I'd never link this victimology," you confess.

The photos. The unsub had sent pictures of her abductee with Kill all men written across his forehead. In lipstick.

What changed the MO? Why kill the first at home and steal the second?

The political theory feels more plausible.

"I think you would've." Hotch casts his gaze over the desk. "This is a messy one. Opportunistic but personal. Our unsub, she…" His voice turns to a mutter, as it tends to do when he hits a roadblock. "She wants attention, because the first murder didn't do what she'd hoped."

"What is she hoping for?"

He picks up a piece of coloured paper and holds it up to his chest so you can see it. It's a flyer for speed dating at a Café Martini, every Friday at 6PM.

"Where was Paul last seen?" you ask.

"Good question."

He takes his phone from his pocket to call Garcia.

You listen to their conversation for a while, his serious questions and her flirtatious answers.

You look back to the floor and push the white toe of your tennis shoe into the rug until the rubber's red with blood. It's not good practice. You're now a walking biohazard. Why is the blood still wet? It should've sunk into the carpeting hours ago. How much did he bleed?

When you'd been abducted your unsub hadn't been keen on torture. She'd made small, quick cuts over your upper arms, more to punish you than because she truly enjoyed it, and she'd hit something important by accident.

The blood had pooled in the crook of your elbow. It had stayed wet for a long time. You remember trying to clean yourself up with your t-shirt, too drugged up to move right, and eventually the drugs had worn off and it had really, really hurt.

This boy had been cut from hip to hip.

"Maybe you should go sit in the car," Hotch says.

"Why?"

"I've been talking to you."

"I've been listening."

"Don't lie." Hotch takes a step forward, black shoe close to your white. "Look at me."

You look up, eyebrows raised as you try to blink yourself awake. His eye contact is something you've always struggled to hold, knowing he's learning a lot more from your expression than you are from his. You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks and find them hot with embarrassment.

"I'm really sorry," you apologise, eyes aching. Not burning, just aching. Like a bruise.

Hotch nods, expression impassive. "It's okay. Go sit in the car."

He outranks you as an SSA, he's your boss for every intent and purpose. He's your friend, sometimes, and you've yet to see him make a bad call. You listen and go back out and down to the car. You've already broken your promise not to be a burden.

Best to play along and play well. You don't want a desk job. You don't want to lose the team.

In the car, things feel better. It smells like new and you take some time to breathe it in with slow, deep breaths. The pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror is still soft and wet to touch. You rub it between two fingers, pensive, until Hotch appears from the house. He looks severe and solemn as usual when he opens the car door and climbs inside.

"Tell me if you can't do this," he says. He never beats around the bush. You wish that he would.

"I don't know."

"I need a yes or no."

You're screaming at yourself to say yes. Hotch stalls with his hand poised at the ignition, waiting for your answer before he turns the key. If you say no, I can't do this, he'll take you back to the room. You know he won't hold it against you because he'd tried to persuade you to take more time off, as much as you needed.

Being alone reminds you too much of your abduction. You hate how you can't stop thinking about it. At work, at home. What if this is it? This is the only thing you're going to think of for the rest of your life.

Unless you can get some new memories.

"I can do this."

"I know that. Do you know that?" he asks firmly.

You lean your head back against the headrest and turn your face to look at him fully. You hadn't been expecting any praise, any softness. You're fucking up on a time-sensitive case — he should be reprimanding you. He should send you packing to Virginia.

"I'm sorry," you say softly.

"For what?" he asks. His eyebrows pinch up at the starts, his lips curve into a frown.

It's startling to see so much emotion on his face on the job; Aaron Hotchner has a switch. He comes to work and he turns off everything that doesn't help the case. Only on rare occasions do you get to see him as a friend — his laughter over group dinner dates, his gentle smiles when he'd kept you company in the hospital.

"For being- For being disorganised," you explain choppily. It is not the right word.

He turns the key and reverses out of the parking space before speaking. "You are an asset to this team. If you can't be an asset right now, that's fine. If you need to go home-"

"I don't need to go home."

He doesn't seem offended at being interrupted. "Your wellbeing is more important than your effectiveness as a profiler. But you can't get in the way."

"I won't."

"I know you won't. Just…" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, dials a number. He's not looking at you when he finishes, "Calm down. Stay present. We need you with us."

You turn your face to the window so he can't see your smile. He hasn't been this nice to you since your birthday.

—

The thirty six hour mark comes to pass quickly and you find yourselves no closer to a positive ID on the unsub or their location. Any leads you follow dry up, witnesses won't cooperate, nobody has slept properly (besides yourself), and the boy's parents are hysterical. Hysterical and an irritant.

You can hear them arguing with Hotch and the police chief in the other room.

"You look amazing," JJ says tiredly. You can't tell if her annoyance is genuine or not.

"Did you sleep?" you ask.

JJ looks amazing herself despite what she might say, all perfect skin and lovely blonde hair like a moving sheet of silver-gold. You revere her pretty thin sweater with poorly hidden envy as she yawns and stretches against her straight-backed chair.

"I slept. Bed was about as comfy as this chair," she says ruefully.

"Ninety percent of all abduction victims are killed within the first thirty-six hours," Hotch says as he enters the room, in what Morgan would call his drill sergeant's drawl. "Every hour past that point, the percentage increases."

Everybody in the room knows that statistic. His passive aggressive reminder serves to electrify a dozing Reid and a slumped Prentiss, both of which sit up in their chairs and pretend to be busier than they are as he makes his way into the room.

"Actually," Reid whispers to you, voice rough with fatigue, "the math isn't that simple."

"Do you want to explain it to me?" you whisper back.

You can't admit to really truly listening to Reid's explanation. You want him to feel heard even when you don't have the capacity for it, so you nod and hum as he explains, heads bent together as the rest of the team trade new theories. He talks surprisingly quickly for all his fatigue, and before you've realised it he's talking about something new.

"Reid," you intrerupt gently, "can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

You look up. Everyone seems too busy to be listening to you. You take what semblance of privacy you can and push your chair an inch closer.

"Do you think I've been an efficient agent these last two days?"

He juts his head forward. "You've been distracted. Tired, unfocused. But your insight on the unsub's age and what you said about her propensity for regret are both incomparable parts of the profile."

"But easily something someone else would've suggested?"

"Not necessarily." He smiles at you, a mirthful quirk. "Psychologically, the effect that working a case so close to your own trauma," — you bite your tongue in surprise — "would render the average person prone with memory. It also gives you a thought pattern that not everybody else would have."

"You have it."

"Let's focus on the behaviour pattern," Hotch says.

You'd agreed to run point today. Or rather, Hotch had said, "L/N, you'll run point," and you hadn't argued. After all, yesterday had been telling on how much you can handle. Crime scenes are a no go.

Not that there's any crime scene left to analyse. Your team have spent hours and hours trying to draw blood from stone. The case hadn't felt so impossible on the jet, and now…

"I'm benched," you murmur.

"You're not benched," Morgan says, which is irksome because you'd been talking to Reid. "If you were benched you'd be back in Virginia typing up my paperwork."

"She doesn't care about the crime scene, she doesn't care about the crime itself. There's nothing in it for her besides making a statement. So why take a hostage with no ransom, no instruction? Why tell us you have a hostage and cut communication?"

You rub your eyes at Reid's questions and find you have no theories to offer. You have nothing.

"Work the problem," you mumble to yourself. "Work the problem. Where would she go?"

She cut that boy from hip to hip. She killed him quickly after rather than leave him in pain, but she disembowelled him for the statement it would make. For the… mess?

You feel off-kilter enough to stand. You weave through people and hesitate in front of Hotch where he's reading over the timeline, waiting for his face to turn before you talk.

"Hotch," you say tentatively, "what if she's like… an arsonist? Disemboweling is messy. The blood was still wet when we got here two days later, and it ruined the floor."

He thinks for a second. "Her escalation from a private mess to a public one would make sense."

"We thought the pathway from murder to taking a hostage was a step backwards, but what if it's not about the murder at all, it's about the blood?"

"It's common for arsonists to suffer paternal violence," Reid chimes in. "Could explain the unsub targeting men with outward misogynistic attitudes."

You turn to find the whole team looking at you, a familiar drive on each of their faces.

They rebuild the profile. Reid fiddles with what you've said, they specify, they redirect.

Your moment of clarity dissolves quickly but you try to help as they move on to possible locations. If the unsub wants to make a scene, light a metaphorical fire, there are plenty of places she can do it this weekend.

Surprise surprise, Garcia confirms a 'men's rights' rally happening in around two hours, and suddenly everybody's in motion. Hotch lists instructions and the team disperses. You've done it all a hundred times before, Hotch quadruple that, Rossi octuple.

"L/N," Hotch says.

You lift your face to his.

He's really quite close.

"Do you want to stay here?"

You take note of his wording. Do you want to stay here?

His phone is already in his hand. You don't wanna waste anymore of his time. You're pretty useless during movements anyways.

"Is that okay?" you ask.

He doesn't say yes or no, his head doesn't give the slightest nod or shake. His eyebrows remain in their usual pushed down position. "Expand the profile. Make sure we haven't missed anything." In case the unsub isn't where you think.

And then he leaves.

You take your seat at a now hastily vacated table and spend an hour on the laptop with Garcia. She's mostly at the beck and call of the rest of the team, but it's nice to listen to her clicking away.

She hangs up when the team are about to storm the rally venue and things get difficult.

You'd passed all your psych evaluations to return. You can be an effective agent. You can work.

You know all of this.

It won't stick.

You don't have a clue how long you spend staring at the table when your phone starts to ring. "Morgan?" you ask, pressing the screen to your cheek.

"Hey, sweetheart, we got her. And Paul, safe and sound. You ready to go home?"

"Uh," you say, trying to understand what he's said. "I'm not sure." Your migraine is coming back.

When a person gets dehydrated your head starts to pound. It's like a heartbeat, a pulsing ache at the base of your skull and your temples.

You know that it's all in your head, but ever since you got back you've been victim to what feels like a hundred headaches.

Your head hurts, and you look at the floor and suddenly the floor isn't the dull blue carpeting of the police station, but the plywood of your unsub's warehouse.

"Are you there?"

"Morgan, I don't feel well," you say. Your mouth is full of cotton.

"What?"

You cast your gaze around the room.

You leave your phone on the table, unsure if you've hung up, and make your way out of the conference room they've delegated to the BAU. You're in two minds. You know where you are, and who you are, but you feel like you're back there. The walls look like the police station walls but the floor looks like the base plywood of the warehouse.

I'm just thirsty, you think. When you'd been kidnapped you'd become dehydrated somewhere between the fourth and fifth day, and that had come with some minor auditory and visual hallucinations. Dark spots in your peripherals shaped mildly like people, murmurings that could've been the cicadas. Right now, there's a low pitched ringing in your ears. I'm dehydrated. I'm fine. I need a drink, and I'll be okay.

You don't have the facilities to smile at the people you pass, easing your way through officers and into an empty break room. There's nobody here.

You round the table in the middle of the room and move to the cabinets and the sink basin. You take a mug into shaking hands and turn the faucet on.

The water is frigid and soon your fingers are like ice. You part them in the stream, watching the water worm down your palms and wet the cuffs of your sleeves.

"Agent L/N, is everything okay?"

You turn with a smile, ready to assuage any fears, but it's her.

It's obviously not her. It's not her, but she looks like her. Same face, same hair. You turn back to sink and fill your mug.

"Agent L/N?"

"Please," you say quietly.

"Agent L/N?"

"Detective, would you excuse us?"

His voice. Your shoulders relax just enough to ease the ache in your neck. You hear the woman depart, but you're disorientated enough to ask, "Is she still here?"

"She's not here."

“She looked-“ like her. You press your wet hands to the bottom of the sink. It's silver and covered in scratches, a thousand scratches that glow white with the fluorescents. "I don't think I should be here," you mumble.

"I think you're overwhelmed."

"I am." You cringe at the numbness spreading up your arms. "I don't know how to make it go away."

Hotch isn't just your boss. He's a father. He was a husband. He knows how to comfort somebody and he's proven that to you already, but you're still surprised when he pulls your hands out of the sink. He holds both in one palm while he turns off the faucet, and then he tears off a wad of paper towels and starts to dry your fingers.

"You're not in any danger here," he says, turning your hands palm up. "There are a wall of people out there who would stand in front of you. Nothing is going to happen to you."

Despite his careful reassurances you're curling in on yourself, trying to hide. You don't want to be here. You're not sure where you want to be. You have the self-awareness to know you're being awful, that this is embarrassing, and you've put Hotch in a position he likely doesn't want to be in, too.

You blink at his chest. "Where's your suit jacket?" you ask. Your voice sounds far away in one ear and too loud in the other.

"I left it in the car," he says lightly. "We just got back from the rally. You were waiting for us here."

"I didn't go."

"No. You haven't been at your best."

"I'm trying."

"I know," he says softly, thumbs rubbing over your warming fingers. "I know you are. You're doing really well. Why don't we sit down?"

You let him lead you backward into a hard-backed chair. He doesn't sit with you, but he doesn't let go of your hands. They're limp in his and smaller, colder.

You think he might be the only thing keeping you here.

"I've never been that scared before. I've had a… gun to my head and… it wasn't even her-" You choke on it. "Her. She hurt me and it wasn't even the worst part."

He frowns down at you. "What was the worst part?"

You let your fingers unfurl across his open palm. He pulls your hands to his chest, sandwiches them between his own hands and his crisp white shirt. His tie feels silky soft.

"I didn't want to be alone. I," — you close your eyes and press your chin to your chest, hiding, always hiding — "knew I wasn't going to last long by myself. I could see that bottle of water on the table and I couldn't reach it and I just kept waiting for somebody to open the door and pass it to me, and I was so scared that nobody was ever going to do that.

"I close my eyes and- and I see it. I see the wood flooring, and I see the table. I can't remember anything that she said to me anymore, but I remember thinking you weren't ever coming to get me."

You can see the way the light from a crack in the corrugated roof had lit the water bottle up like a lamp. You barely have to think about it and the image of it is there. Your mouth had ached.

You can see him if you try a little harder. The door flying open. Hotch in his vest with his hair falling onto his forehead, a gun in one hand and a flashlight held high in the other. His broad, quick sweep, and then the way he'd leapt for you. His voice, shouting, screaming instructions. You can feel his hand behind your head, his fingers pushed roughly into your hair.

"You're okay," he'd said.

You trust him with your life. You've never had cause to doubt him. But you hadn't believed him then, and you're not sure you do now.

His expression changes slowly. He moves both of your hands into one of his own and squeezes them reassuringly as he cups your cheek. It's a quick touch, a half-second of contact.

"You made a mistake, in that case," he says, hand moving from your cheek to the hill of your shoulder.

You tamp down a wince. "Yeah." He's being generous. You'd made hundreds of mistakes. Every opportunity to save yourself wasted.

"Your mistake," he says, holding your eye, his voice gritty with severity, "was thinking I wouldn't find you.”

He turns to a blur the longer you stare at him, panicked tears welling up with nowhere to go. You tip your head forward so he can't see them, and he steps closer in turn, ushering your face into his abdomen.

His hand falls to your trembling back.

"That was your only error. You did everything else right."

Your tears come thick and fast. Hotch doesn't baulk.

—

You agree to take some more time off.

Realistically, you can't be an effective agent or a reliable member of the team whilst smothered in memories as you are. You don't take it personally when Hotch insists, as he takes great care to explain to you what's happening.

This isn't a punishment. You need more time.

You're a safety risk. Not that your consultation isn't valuable, it is, you're still a good profiler — an amazing profiler, if your team are to be believed — but you're in the aftershocks of a traumatic event.

A wound can't heal if it's being picked at.

"He said that?" you ask quietly, bed sheets upto your chin.

Hotch's voice rings scratchy with tiredness down the line, "He said you can have all of the blue ones."

"He's generous. He gets that from his dad."

"He's much kinder than I am." You hear a small voice on the other end, and then a muffled, "Yeah, g-man, I'll tell her. I'll tell her right now. Okay. Y/N?"

"Yeah, still here."

"Jack says," he recounts, parent tone in play that tells you his son is nearby, "that you can have all the blue and all of the green band-aids, if you need them."

You stare up at the white plaster ceiling of your apartment, a tiny smile playing on your lips.

"Tell him I said thank you. I'm sure they'll make me all better in no time."

He tells Jack what you've said. You hear his lovely voice saying something too quiet. "What was that?" Hotch asks him.

"I said," Jack says, voice close to the receiver, "she just needs a kiss because they always make me feel better."

"I've been getting lots of kisses!" you promise him, turning to look at your nightstand.

Propped up proudly is a picture of you and your team in that restaurant in Las Vegas, where Reid hadn't been able to use his chopsticks, and where Hotch had laughed so loudly you'd felt your heart skip twice. It's surrounded by a sea of 'Get Well Soon' cards, and backdropped by a small bouquet of sweetpeas.

Tell me when they wilt, Reid had said. And I'll get you another bunch. It's been proven that flowers have a long term positive effect on moods. People who received flowers regularly reported less agitation, less depression, and an overall sense of satisfaction.

Beside the sweetpeas, in pride of place, is a handmade card from none other than Jack himself, though the message inside was penned by an older hand.

"I'm well looked after," you say, smiling softly.

"You're well loved," Hotch adds.

That, too.

༺༻

again, im not that used to writing hotch so despite my character study he may feel a little ooc that's my bad, hard to show him pining bc he's such a professional at work. thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging i promise it means so much to me ♡

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mintszn

2 years ago

Hat mouse is the definition of girl boss. Like they’re an entrepreneur. Like fuck Pierre and joja. They don’t know what it’s actually like to be a small business like Hat mouse does. Like Pierre can say he’s a small business but he gets more customers than joja. Hat mouse only has US!! They rely on us to buy their hats. And I’ll gladly spend all my gold on hats.

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mintszn

2 years ago

If we're talking about cool extras from Cali lets not forget "goth who walks behind Will and El in the hallway" what an icon

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mintszn

2 years ago

sapnap you are so hot jesus christ

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mintszn

2 years ago

Uncle Stephen

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Request: The reader has a sister, and she has a child and asks if they can take care of her baby for two weeks, Stephen is not happy about it, but everything changes when after some time the child hugs Stephen and calls him "uncle"

Tags: Fluff, Fluff and more Fluff

Word count: 3k

masterlist - taglist

“It is only for ten days,” you bargained with Stephen, chasing him around the room as he tried his hardest to ignore you. “I am talking to you, Strange.” You finally raised your tone, standing before him and forcing him to put his book down and look at you.

“The Sanctum is no place for a child,” his response was short and generical, giving no insight into his desire or lack thereof to be around a toddler. His eyes returned to his book as he stepped aside, continuing his meditative stroll through the room. You, however, did not see it like that, reading between the lines.

“So, what will we do when we have children?” The question came out in a tone more serious than you wanted it to, causing the doctor to stop in his tracks and look back at you.

“That is not something we need to concern ourselves with yet, is it?” His eyes scrutinised your face before moving again, continuing the relentless pacing. It was a delicate topic, that of children. You were somewhat on the same page. You wanted children eventually. The day, however, had somehow been frozen in time in Stephen’s mind, continuously seeing the eventually as long from now while you counted every passing year as a step closer. Then the engagement had come earlier this year, and the promise to share the rest of your lives together had been spoken into reality. Having children had suddenly become more of a desire in your mind, yet Stephen seemed to be unphased by the change.

“She is smart and well-behaved, and I already told my sister she can stay with us, so you’ll deal with it.” You answered before walking out of the room, frustrated at his lack of interest in your niece. Stephen had met her only once before on her first birthday; your sister living far away meant you rarely saw them. She was thankfully moving back to New York but that also meant she needed to look for an apartment and deal with the moving. Hence her request for you to take care of the little girl in the meantime. You had agreed instantly, not thinking Stephen would have any problem with it, but he had refused straightaway and dismissed the topic every time you asked about it.

…

The day of the little girl’s arrival came quicker than expected. Stephen had been gone for the last couple of days on a mission with Wong and Peter, meaning that you had met with your sister alone to pick her up. She had invited you to brunch, and you had discussed some of the wedding plans and any needs little Cecilia had. Cece was a lively ray of sunshine who was starting to put her first sentences together and loved horses. There was no way Stephen’s heart would not melt as soon as he saw her.

Eventually, at the end of your brunch, your sister handed you Cece’s bag and gave her a goodbye kiss. The little girl waved goodbye as her mom reminded her that she would be staying with her aunt for a couple of days. You and Cece went on with your day, eventually finding your way back home to the Sanctum. Wong had helped you bring some things she would need to sleep into one of the many empty rooms of the enormous property, making it easy for you to set her up.

After such an eventful day, she fell asleep, giving you a minute to go to the kitchen and make yourself some late lunch/dinner. As you finished preparing your sandwich, you heard the familiar sound of a portal opening behind you; turning around to meet your sweaty and dirty fiance with a smile. “Hello there, handsome,” you gave him a dashing smile as he moved towards you, his hands cupping your cheeks into a passionate kiss.

You broke the kiss catching some air, and gave him a preoccupied smile. He was usually only this passionate when something dangerous had happened, and he was terrified of losing you. “Is everything okay? I-“ you tried to speak, but the sound of another portal distracted you. Through it, Peter and Wong came out also looking pretty rough. “Oh god, are you guys okay?” you asked, moving away from Stephen, who stood there exhausted.

Wong gave you a comforting look, but you noticed a tension-filled silence in the room. “Peter, are you okay?” you asked as the boy looked down with a hurt expression.

“Oh, he is excellent. He almost got himself killed and ruined our mission, but he is perfectly fine.” Stephen answered for him, forcing you to give the doctor a fulminating look. Peter looked regretful enough; bashing him now would not help.

“That is enough, Stephen. I will make everyone dinner. Go shower.” You spoke to the three men in an authoritative voice. The spiderboy spent so much time in the Sanctum that he had clothes and an assigned room. Peter and Wong left swiftly, going into their rooms to wash up, but Stephen stayed there, knowing you would want to talk to him. As soon as you were alone again, you spoke, “You cannot talk to him that way. He is just a kid. He is trying his best.”

“He almost got himself killed. He wants to help everyone, save everyone, but he does not see he will end up killing himself like this.” Stephen’s words were filled with frustration. He worried for Peter's safety; you knew that was the truth. He had decided to let him die once before. He could not make the same decision again. “I have watched him die, and he does not understand that. Someday I won’t be there by his side, and he will actually get himself killed.”

Just as you thought, he was not mad at the boy for the way he behaved. He was just scared of losing him. It was hard to keep in mind all the time that Stephen had to live with the burden of knowledge. You wondered how many times he had seen you go and how he felt about it, but he never wanted to speak of it. “You are doing your best, and he is doing his best. It is all we can ask for,” you finally answered, inviting him to lay his head against yours and embracing him in a tight hug. “I love you, you know? We all do, and we are so grateful to you for protecting us, but you cannot always keep us safe, and that is okay.” Your left hand caressed his back, hoping to soothe him slightly.

Suddenly the sound of the baby monitor interrupted your hug as Cece woke up, startled by your absence. “Oh, when did she get here?” The doctor stiffened in your arms, unhappy that you had gone through with your decision.

“A couple of hours ago. Wanna help me check on her?” You asked, breaking the embrace and giving him a hopeful smile.

“I am gonna go shower,” he spoke, tightening his lips and looking away from you. You sighed and walked away, still confused about his dismissiveness. The sounds from the baby monitor suddenly changed as the little girl was no longer alone. Confused, you checked the screen and saw Peter approaching her bed.

“Hello there! Who are you? I am Peter,” the boy spoke, slowly walking towards the sleepy child. “Do you need food?” he asked, and Cece nodded emphatically back, sweetly raising her arms for the boy to pick her up. You watched, amused through the camera, as Stephen left the room, feeling your heart ache from the cuteness.

…

Peter helped you keep Cece entertained in the kitchen as you made dinner. He told you all about what had happened, and you finally completely understood Stephen’s frustration. The boy had been incredibly reckless, but thankfully nothing bad came of it. Peter was extremely patient with the toddler, who was just around that phase where she asked questions about virtually anything. It was lovely to see them interact. You could not help but imagine how much of an amazing big brother he would have been.

Eventually, Wong joined the three of you, instantly entertained by the little girl running around the kitchen table, singing some non-sensical song. Food was ready shortly after, but Stephen was nowhere to be found. You excused yourself quickly, asking Wong to watch the children so you could look for the grumpy doctor.

You opened your bedroom door carefully, spying your fiance sitting on the bed with his head between his hands. You pressed your lips worriedly, unsure of what to say to make him feel better. “Babe, would you like me to bring you your food here?” You asked careful, understanding how tough these missions were for him.

“Yes, please. That would be great.” He responded, lifting his eyes and giving you a thankful look.

…

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly as Cece, Peter, and you played with some relics that Wong thought would be appropriate. Eventually, the boy left, and you put Cece to bed, exhausted after such an adventurous day. You checked that the monitor was working properly and went to bed yourself as Stephen was already lying in bed, deep asleep.

…

You woke up startled, unsure why your alarm had not rung. The bed was empty, and the monitor of Cece’s room was turned off. You tried to turn it on, confused, looking around for your fiance in the bathroom and adjacent office. He was nowhere to be found, and the monitor was not turning on. You decided that looking for Cece was the best decision, scared she had been crying all morning, and you had not heard her.

The sense of urgency in your steps slowly calmed as you heard Stephen’s voice whisper from Cece’s room. You stopped, hesitant to enter and curious to listen to what he said, “finally, Cece, we managed to get you to calm down. I don’t understand how your aunt understands you. It would help if you spoke more clearly.¨

You giggled at the comment, deciding to enter the room. Stephen seemed slightly startled as you knocked on the door’s wood to inform him of your arrival. “Hello there,” you smiled at him as he quickly backed away from the child.

“She was not letting me sleep with her crying and complaining, and it looked like you needed some rest,” he scrambled an excuse, scared you could suspect he could enjoy spending time with a child.

You hummed in agreement, thankful for his help and aware that he would not admit to anything else anyway. “Do you mind looking after her for a little longer? I will make breakfast for the two of you.” You kissed him and waved at Cece, leaving the room before he could argue against it.

…

The next couple of days were a back and forth between Cece chasing Stephen around every room while he tried his best to ignore her. He would still manage to wake up before you with the excuse that the toddler was whining and play with her, entertaining her with some magic and making her breakfast.

Eventually, he gave up on ignoring her and started answering some of her redundant questions. Cece tried her best to speak clearly to him, but the communication problems were still there. She, for example, struggled to pronounce Stephen, which caused both parties a certain level of frustration.

Eventually, Stephen was called out on a mission again. You kissed him goodbye, and Cece waved at him, saddened. Your fiance tried his best to hold onto his stoic facade as he barely acknowledged the little girl, whispering a quick “goodbye little Lilia, see you tomorrow” as soon as he was sure you could not hear. His heart broke seeing the sad expression of the little child as he left.

…

Stephen’s mission took longer than expected, taking him the whole week to complete. You had been left alone with Cece to enjoy the blooming spring. Peter had not been allowed to tag along in this mission, so he joined you most afternoons for walks and to play with the girl.

Cece seemed to miss Stephen almost as much as you did, so you took the chance to teach her how to say “uncle Stephen.” It would be a pleasant surprise even if he would not admit it.

Sadly, the ten days went by quicker than expected, and Stephen had yet to return from his mission. You met up with your sister to tour the new apartment and give her the toddler back, promising Cece that uncle Stephen would come to visit her sooner than later.

…

You were lying on your bed that afternoon, enjoying the newly found silence of the house. It had been a great experience to take care of your niece, and it had given you a ton of baby fever, but you could not help but sigh in relief at the peace. The sound of a portal opening in front of you forced you to sit up and smile, excited to see your fiance again. Stephen walked through the portal and towards you, giving you a soft kiss on the lips, instantly scanning the room for the baby monitor.

“I dropped her off today. She missed you,” you answered the unspoke question. The doctor tried his best to control his expression, but the disappointment in his eyes could not be denied. You caressed his hand, inviting him to sit by your side on the bed, climbing on his lap to stare into his eyes. “You can admit that you enjoyed having her around, you know?” you kissed his nose, cupping his face with your hands, enjoying the long-awaited closeness.

“I barely tolerated it.” He shook his head, closing his eyes and smiling, knowing his secret was out of the bag.

“Why can you not just admit that the Sanctum feels more like a home when a little babbling creature is chasing you around?” you laughed, dramatically laying your head on his shoulder and shaking it.

“I don’t want to get attached,” he responded thoughtfully, forcing you to lift your head and look at him again.

“She is just our niece, babe. She cannot break your heart,” you tried to lighten the mood, hoping he would smile, but he lowered his gaze instead.

“I have enough people to worry about already, you, Peter, Wong. Every decision, everything I do or don’t, I am burdened with the fear that it may hurt you. I cannot get attached, or I will think of little Lilia too.”

“Lilia?” You asked, amused at the funny nickname he had chosen.

“She refuses to say my name right; I shall do the same.” Petty old man, playing games with a little child.

“You don’t need to worry about us, my love. We love you regardless. I don’t want to be a burden in your life,” you spoke softly.

“You are not a burden. I just at times wonder whether the universe would be worth saving if it meant losing you or the kid.” The honesty made his voice softer as the words left his lips like a whisper, ashamed of his admission. “That is also why I have been delaying the ‘children’ conversation. I think I could no longer protect the world once we have children. They would be the only thing that’d matter to me, just them, and our adopted son and you.” He chuckled slightly at his recognition, finally realising that Peter had already become your de facto child. You felt a weight lift from your shoulders as his words brought some explanation to his dismissive behaviour finally.

“I understand…” you exhaled, trying to put your desire aside and understand the stress it would put him in. “I was going to see Cece tomorrow for breakfast if you’d like to join me.” You tried to change the topic.

“I would love that,” he confirmed, giving you a crooked smile. You looked into his eyes and wondered how you would live without seeing a mini version of you and your lover walking around this Sanctum. You would never know whether they would get his beautiful eyes with that little brown spot on the right iris.

…

You spent the rest of the night cuddling with the doctor, talking about his time away and discussing his excitement to see the little monster tomorrow. The morning after could not come quickly enough as you hoped Cece had not forgotten how to pronounce ‘uncle Stephen.’ In the morning, Stephen went out to buy some pastries to take with you, letting you know that Lilia was a massive fan of chocolate croissants. You shook your head at the information, wondering what other unhealthy foods he had been feeding her for breakfast. He reassured you that he had checked his old introduction to paediatrics book, and 26-month-olds were allowed to eat chocolate croissants.

The two of you arrived at the building at around 11 a.m., ready to see your family. You knocked at the door and were received, disappointingly enough for Stephen, by your sister alone as Cece was still asleep. She had apparently struggled to get used to the new bed the night before. You started catching up as Stephen politely asked about your sister’s moving struggles. Eventually, the commotion of your conversation woke up the little girl, who began to ask for help from the crib.

You exchanged a look with your sister, who offered Stephen to go pick her up. The doctor refused initially, joking nervously that she probably did not even remember him. Your sister thankfully insisted, and he got up eagerly, walking towards the indicated room. The little girl squealed with excitement as soon as she spotted the familiar face, “UNCLE SFEFEN.”

The doctor could not help but chuckle happily, hugging and lifting the toddler who held on tightly to the hug. “Hello, little Cece.”

“Lilia,” she repeated, confused at why he was calling her Cece.

“Lilia it is,” he reassured her, re-entering the room with her and keeping her on his lap.

“They seemed to have bonded,” your sister looked at you entertained, giving you a cheeky smile.

“Seems like it,” you responded, giggling as you observed them interact. The four of you spent almost the entire day together, and by the end of it, both Cece and Stephen were absolutely exhausted, falling asleep on the couch as they watched some cartoon. You had never seen him so soft and sweet with someone that was not you. It was genuinely heartwarming. The comical way Stephen's head had dropped onto the couch's backrest as the little girl laid her head against his side forced you to think of what an amazing dad he would be.

You shook your fiance's shoulder once it was time to leave, waking him up. The goodbyes were prolonged as Stephen had to promise the little girl to come to visit her again. The doctor was equally as saddened by the separation, but finally, after forty-five minutes, you managed to thank your sister and head home. Once the door was closed, the doctor moved to your ear and whispered, “maybe we should start planning on that first baby.”

-------

Liv's Note

Thank you so much as always for reading my work! If you enjoyed it please please reblog it, it makes sure other people can enjoy it too ♥️

Please feel free to check out my masterlist for more Dr Strange stories and join the taglist to be notified when new stories are posted ♥️

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