#(my source for that is i belong to a family of insane gingers)

[renarin-spren]

thinking about how spot on it was to make shallan a ginger. truly.

[stupendousconnoisseurpuppy]

The son's warmth

Yandere! Hinata x Reader

Notes: This is my entry for @seijorhi's Deal with the devil collaboration~

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, Violence detail, injury detail, manipulation, kidnap, yandere.

Please refrain from reading if you are uncomfortable with the above!

That said, please enjoy!

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Generosity. You suppose it could be a bit of a double-edged sword.

Although in hindsight, all you had wanted was to care for the exuberant ball of sunshine you had believed was dealt a bad hand. Parents and younger sister deceased, orphaned at the tender age of 14 and placed in a less than ideal environment - one devoid of love.

You had always been one of a large sympathetic capacity and it had always been a goal of yours, born of the principle’s kindness and compassion, passed on by your parents and sanctioned by your entry into adulthood; allowing you to action your desire to care for a young child struck by tragedy…

You’re not exactly sure, however, how that’d landed you in the basement of your own house with a broken leg and shattered kneecaps.

It was to be expected you'd reasoned at first, you had defied common sense and made a deal with a less than savoury entity.

Too bad you hadn't considered the fact that demons could come in the shape of fair seeming, walking tangerines with an aptitude for overbearing affection.

To his defence (something you’ve now come to consider a very ironic concept) Hinata wasn’t exactly - as far as signatories go - the one you'd even made this... deal with. It had been his orphanage, an institution shrouded in fraud and doused in the bitter aroma of embezzlement that had sealed your fortunes in the form of crisp white adoption papers.

You didn’t mind his clingy nature, the crushing strength of his grip when his hand found - sought - yours… actions that could and would have seemed to untrained eyes like a misplaced and overwhelming sense of desperation, like the shock of betrayal carved upon his features when your focus wasn’t solely trained on him, or the unnerving intensity pooling beneath glittering brown iris’ whenever they met yours during his volleyball matches. Again, this was something you’d chalked down to an amalgamation of a passion for the sport, desire to win and an appreciation for the fact that his beloved mother had come to show him the support he had clearly lacked in the early stages of his teenage years.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

He was the coolness of your eyes whilst paradoxically, providing an all-encompassing warmth (much like the sun) and with an ostensibly boundless supply of energy. Such was the ardour that made your heart swell with pride. It was just a terrible pity – in your case at least - that this energy he had was now being put towards severing your contact with the outside world.

Wanted to go outside? He’d want you to help him practice.

Meeting someone? He’d pout and complain.

How could you refuse? You’d naively attributed such possessiveness to the trauma of losing his family and would excuse such behaviour in consideration of the circumstance. It was only natural. You’d decided to be there for him, accepting the responsibility as soon as you’d inked your name on the dotted line… if he needed a little more attention, that’s what he’d get.

And so, the story progressed until towards the end of his third year of high school, he’d decided the affection you were providing him with, however plentiful, wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as he knew it could be. For you still to be surrounded by others must mean his slice of the pie was diminished in size and a growing boy such as himself needed all the nutrition he could get. He’d reasoned that the entirety of said “pie” belonged to him, anyway. Surely no one could chastise him for exercising a due right over his own property?

He didn’t want to be the occupant of most of your time, he wanted all of it… And it was to be brought to your attention as soon as he arrived home from school.

No sooner had he entered through the front door than he was skipping towards your location (in the kitchen) with a blinding smile on his face, proceeding to grip onto your shoulders with a force that clearly betrayed his cheery demeanour.

“What’s wrong Shoyo?” You queried.

He’d went on to detail how neglected he felt whenever you enjoyed the presence of anyone other than him “It feels like you don’t love me anymore!”, like he’s not good enough, y’know? But it wasn’t your fault, all you needed was the chance to see that he was fully capable of being the only one you needed to depend on.

You were, at first, inclined to think of such proclamations as some silly prank, followed by laughter, declarations of how well and truly you’d been fooled and fabricated in boyish mischievousness. You’d managed to ask as such, but the speed and surety of his response had you becoming increasingly concerned.

“Nope!”

You forced out a nervous puff of laughter, clutching at the rapidly burning straws of denial because surely, he couldn’t be serious, but your dismissal had only served to become the source of his irritation and he squeezed you harder, fixing you with a determined stare that could only have been described as no less than peering into your soul.

You had ignored the red flags and were getting your just rewards.

“Sho- stop that hurts!”

“Reeeeeally Okaa-san?!” He quipped with insincere concern “It hurts more when you don’t care for me…”

It was at this bitter intonation that you’d scrambled back in shock and had prepared your body’s primal function of flight in the direction of the nearest exit.

But were you really going to run away from him? Shoyo, your own child, the coolness of your eyes and springtime in the haggard winter of your life?

Yes, yes you were.

And you would have gotten away with it too, had not the subject of your internal conflict taken advantage of your moment’s irresolution. For in a ginger blur of motion you were on the ground, he had taken a hold of your leg…

SNAP

He roughly covered your mouth to silence the scream, pinning you down with the weight of his own body as hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. The pain was excruciating, but you wouldn’t feel it for long, as with a swift hook to the jaw you were out cold. It hurt for him to have to utilize violence on the one he cherished; however, it’d seem a tad counterintuitive for him to give you the opportunity to run away.

You’d forgive him, you’d come around. You always did.

He’d swept you up and carried you to the large basement of the house, gently placing you on a worn settee; sickly ochre in colour - the one you’d been meaning to dispose of for years. His actions were soft and caring and his thoughts clouded almost entirely with his overwhelming love for you.

In passing hours he observed your peaceful state mindfully as his core pulsated in the cosy warmth of his rib cage, imagining what a future found solely in each other’s embrace would hold… eventually you’d stay of your own accord, he reasoned. He’d have no need to harm you or to keep you under the low, flickering lights of the basement. Defiance would become a thing of the past. You’d realise how happy you are he’d made the decisions for you, both of you, together…

“Why?” That was a question you sometimes took to asking yourself; more out of pure, unadulterated boredom than anything else. Something you’d already explored the answer to but thought it better to keep your mind occupied with trivial matters than to succumb to insanity (or the intensifying ache of your battered legs).

On that same note, though, contact with the world outside wasn’t the only thing he’d severed.

At the time, such an observation had very nearly made you laugh (and you could probably blame it on the fact that you’d always been quite partial to the more gruesome forms of satire). It was in an impulsive burst of inappropriate and rather facetious humour that you’d wanted to entertain yourself in the recital of depressing hymns (expected, given the nature of your surroundings), to congratulate your stupidity and wallow deeper into the marshes your own self-pity; only to be met with the simple fact that you didn’t have the option.

Your tongue? Gone.

And it hadn’t been the work of the proverbial cat, but your own son, who – cheery as always – had explained that it was another necessary action to stop you from hurting yourself, done behind the ever-wise teaching that prevention was indeed, better than cure. Could you not see he only wanted what was best for you?

It was then you were sure he’d dangerously distorted his self-awarded role as your protector and had lost his mind.

“Okaa-San, Its aright…” He beamed whilst you’d engaged in silently cursing your weak will “You won’t feel a thing!” - he flashed a guilty smile - after I knock you out…again.

And you didn’t. He’d sutured the wound (with what you really didn’t want to know) and made sure you didn’t choke on your own life juices, patching you up like the loving, doting son that he is… It was your job not to worry about the extremity of his actions, as a mother that should do everything in their power to put their beloved’s mind at ease.

Saved from the fate of Exsanguination… shows how much he adores you right? Not that you'd had half the courage or audacity to end your own life in such a macabre fashion, but even if you hadn’t been relieved of the burden of speech; you weren’t one to shatter another’s fantasies - especially if they were high school athletes with inhuman amounts of strength.

In the passing weeks, your mind had dawned upon the realisation that no one was coming to save you - and did you even need saving? – for your parents were far too busy, friends far too distant and dashing officer that’d do everything in his power far too non-existent. Shoyo was the only one who had cared for you, providing you with physical and emotional sustenance you’d never thought you needed - maybe for the reason that he had made himself the only source.

Another thing you’d come to realise, this time regarding unintelligible murmurs, is that they are very much open to interpretation. So even though his barrage of saccharine words were met with your limited arsenal of what might be considered responses, they been understood as absolute agreement, alongside the reciprocation of his affections. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that far off from the truth, as it was by that point, you’d learned the path of resistance was futile and that you were beginning to get used to (and even bask in) the flattery and praise he showered you with, silently and psychologically solidifying the notion that he was yours and you were his.

“You’ll stay with me forever right, Okaa-San?”

He giggled, placing a soft, lingering kiss upon your lips as if he were certain of your answer. And so were you. However, when he looked at you, tenderly caressing your form there was something amiss, a dormant hunger that hadn’t been there before, one that when coupled with the intensity he’d always regarded you with gave birth to towering waves of nausea and accentuated the persistent throb of your injured legs as if in subtle warning…

But you could deal with that later.

Because, despite the fact that his, short, brilliant orange hair had grown long and luscious with time and his scrawny figure had evolved into a mass of lean muscle, he still looked to you … like he did the first day he entered your care. Young, innocent and without fault. Unfairly dealt a bad hand and with you tasked to be the provider of everything he never had. So, as per the contract signed…

You nodded.

After all, what was a guardian without unconditional devotion to their child?

[headcanonsandmore]

‘All of Me’ A Romione fanfiction

You know how so many of us on the Romione side of Tumblr often comment about how (in canon) Hermione never seemed to really understand just how bad Ron’s insecurities were, and that it always seemed to be Ron having to evolve and grow as a person, rather than Hermione? 

Well, this was on my mind for a while, so I decided to write a fanfiction that does precisely that. One that has Hermione growing as a person, realising just how bad Ron’s insecurities were, and realising how Ron never thought he was good enough for anything (including Hermione herself). 

I wanted to show that, while Hermione did not intentionally contribute to his insecurities, she certainly was a significant factor in them, but that was she also one of Ron’s greatest sources of comfort and joy. Because, despite all the pain and hardship that she caused him, she was also the love of his life, and he wouldn’t trade it all for the world. 

Also, it’s my birthday, so I thought it’d be nice to give all you wonderful people a big thank-you gift for following my blog. You’re all awesome, and I hope you really enjoy this fanfic. 

With special thanks to the amazing @hillnerd for their fantastic editing suggestions and support (this fanfic was basically made by their help and guidance with the writing), I hereby present...  

‘All of Me’ A Romione fanfiction’ 

Read on Fanfiction.net

‘You want to what?’

Hermione pursed her lips. They were sat at the breakfast table; Ron’s hair was sticking up at all angles, and his eyes were tinged with sleepy-dust. Hermione didn’t know what her own hair looked like, but it was probably a nightmare. Not that Ron ever complained. If anything, he liked her hair as messy as possible. Trying not to blush at the memory of the last time Ron had intentionally messed up her hair, Hermione cleared her throat and spoke again.

‘I want to learn Occlumency.’

‘Are you insane?’ Ron gasped. ‘Wait—of course you are—you’re Hermione. But still—’

‘Ron!’

‘You do remember how bad Harry got when he was learning it from Snape, right?’

Hermione bit her lip. Of course she knew— but that had been different. Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape hadn’t worked properly because: a) Harry already had angry emotions about the potions master, so he couldn’t clear his mind. And b) Harry didn’t understand why he had to close his mind, or how he could do it.

But this would be different.

‘Ron— it won’t be like that!’ she spat, irritably. ‘I don’t have angry emotions directed at you—’

‘Have you forgotten our entire shared history?’

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend, and continued as if he hadn’t interrupted.

‘We have a great interpersonal relationship compared with Harry and Professor Snape. And, unlike Harry, I know how I need to close my mind off.’

Ron frowned. Hermione could see him inwardly trying to find some fault in her argument. It was one of the things she liked best about him.

He had always been the only person around her who would actually argue back. Growing up, the other children at her primary school had avoided her, calling her ‘bossy’ and ‘annoying’. The students at Hogwarts hadn’t been much better; Lavender and Parvati developed a habit of deliberately shutting themselves out of conversations with her, as if they couldn’t handle how much she was prepared to talk. Even Harry wasn’t great at it. All too often, she saw the look in his eyes saying ‘oh here she goes again…’ before just agreeing with her in an effort to stop the argument.

But Ron— he argued back. He didn’t take it for granted that she knew more about a given subject, even though she often did. The youngest Weasley boy wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to do some mental sparring with her. He didn’t find her annoying or bossy. He liked her—no, loved her— just the way she was, argumentative side and all. And she loved him all the more for it.

Eventually, Ron’s brow relaxed.

‘Okay, fine.’

They returned to eating in companionable silence, Ron absentmindedly rubbing a hand against his morning stubble. Hermione remembered back to the first day she seen him with actual stubble— it had been one morning in Grimmauld Place, and she’d thought he’d spilt coffee on his chin. Ron had burst out laughing, and pulled her into a hug, rubbing his chin against the top of her head. Butterflies exploded in Hermione’s stomach at the memory.

Ron gulped down the last of his morning pumpkin juice, and moved his empty bowl and cup over to the sink.

‘We can start some Occlumency practice after we’re up and dressed,’ he said, as he began to pour hot water in the washing-up bowl. ‘Might as well start today, since we’re both off work.’

Hermione grinned. ‘I’d like that.’

Several hours later, Ron had joined Hermione in her study. They would have started sooner, but Hermione had become distracted earlier that morning. Ron had walked out of the shower-room wearing nothing but a small towel and his usual lopsided grin. Needless to say, they had both thoroughly enjoyed the day so far.

After that wonderful morning, Hermione removed all damageable goods from the room, and brought a pensieve out from a cabinet downstairs. The pensieve was a little different to the ones she had seen in the past- it had been given to her as a graduation present from Mrs Weasley. According to the redheaded matriarch, it was based more around emotions that most pensieves, which usually just showcased memories.

‘Hermione, dear,’ Molly had said, as they chatted over mugs of cocoa in the Burrow’s kitchen. ‘It’s a very old pensieve— from Arthur’s grandfather, if you can believe that. Bless him; tinkering with things does seem to run in the family.’

‘How so?’

‘Unlike most pensieves, it’s doesn’t just replay memories. The Weasley’s have always had a strong affinity for emotions. Although I’m sure you’ve already figured that one out.’

Hermione had tried not to giggle. Ron Weasley was a very passionate man, although she decided not to inform Molly about the full extent of her son’s passion. That particular information would be just between Hermione and Ron.

‘In this pensieve,’ Mrs Weasley continued. ‘You can actually feel the emotions of a memory.’

Hermione’s mouth had dropped open in shock.

‘Is that even possible?’

Mrs Weasley smiled knowingly at the bushy-haired witch over the rim of her mug.

‘With the Weasleys, dear, anything is possible.’

Back in the present, Hermione brushed her golden-brown hair out of her face, and tried to clear her mind. She was finding it difficult to clear her memories of the past few hours. She didn’t want Ron to get too far inside her head, after all, even if this was just practice. She would never hear the end of it if he found about that thing with the oil and that massage table-

‘Hermione? Are you still with me?’

Ron’s voice brought her back to earth. Hermione coughed, and shook her head, trying to get rid of the blush that was burning on her neck.  

‘Oh, s-sorry,’ Hermione exclaimed, turning her attention to him. ‘What were you saying, Ron?’

‘I was just asking whether or not you’re all ready to go?’

Hermione nodded.

Ron put his wand to his temple, and a long string of translucent glowing memories appeared as he pulled it away. Turning, he deposited the memories into the pensive, which was glinting eerily nearby.

‘Just in case you end up accidentally getting into my mind.’

Hermione chuckled.

‘Ron, there won’t be any chance of that, and besides— don’t I know most of your memories already?’

The tall Weasley gave her a long, thoughtful look.

‘Trust me,’ he said, his blue eyes, for once, unreadable. ‘Those are some things you really don’t want to see from my perspective.’

Hermione frowned. She knew that Ron was just trying to give her peace of mind, but it annoyed her that he was avoiding showing her all his memories.

‘Shall we start, then?’

----

The practice went reasonably well. Hermione could feel that her resistance to legilimency was getting stronger as, by the time they finished, Ron was having significant trouble getting into her memories.

However, after they had finished, the memories that Ron didn’t want her to see began to weigh on her mind. What was he keeping hidden? Did he not trust her? No, Hermione was sure it wasn’t that. They had been through the war together, and been dating for well over a year now. On top of that, they were also best friends, and had been since their first year at Hogwarts.

Hermione didn’t think it was a matter of trust that was preventing Ron from showing her memories. Knowing Ron, it would likely be things that he wanted to protect her from. As much as she loved him for being so caring, she didn’t want to be mollycoddled. She wasn’t a child, and she needed to know what was so bad that he had to keep it from her.  

‘You did great, ‘Mione.’

Her thoughts were interrupted as Ron placed his arm round her. Hermione could feel the warmth of his skin through her jumper. Her stomach did the usual flutter whenever he called her by that nickname.

‘Thanks,’ Hermione said, nuzzling into his shoulder. Ron’s mouth stretched into an easy smile.

They sat in comfortable silence. Hermione could hear Ron’s heartbeat through his clothes, and it felt good to sit there quietly with just each other for company.

‘I’m going to start dinner now,’ Ron said, removing his hand reluctantly from around Hermione’s shoulders.

‘Right,’ Hermione yawned, stretching her arms above her head. ‘Be down in a minute.’

Ron smiled, pecked her on the cheek, and walked out of the room. Hermione heard his large footsteps grow fainter as he climbed down the staircase towards the kitchen.

Hermione turned her head, and noticed the pensive placed on the table on the far side of the room. It was still full with Ron’s memories. She could make out the occasional glimpse of ginger hair, which could have belonged to any of Ron’s family, as well a few flashes of dark messy hair (clearly, that was Harry); and, outnumbering all the others, a large mess of bushy brown hair. Her hair. Why would Ron have put memories of her into the pensieve?  

She approached cautiously. Was it right of her to look at them? This was an invasion of trust. And, despite the many bad things Hermione had done in the past, she couldn’t betray Ron’s trust.

However, before she could move away, her feet slipped on the floorboards, and she was sent flying forwards. Her hands gesticulating wildly as she fought to keep her balance, Hermione could only look on in horror as the pensieve grew larger and larger as she fell.

And suddenly, Hermione Granger’s mind was filled with memories that were not her own.

Hermione saw a young boy being ignored by his mother as she sewed Ginny’s first dress. But that was okay, he was older- he didn’t need too much attention. And Ginny did need to have her dress properly made. It wasn’t like she could just wear baggy hand-me-down jeans like Ron had. No, it was okay. After all, his mother still loved him. So what if he didn’t have so much of her attention as everyone else- he’d be fine…

The memories changed. Ron was a little older this time, but he was still a young boy. He couldn’t have been older than three.  

Ron was sat on the floor of his room, cuddling a small, slightly ragged-looking teddy-bear. Hermione normally would have smiled at how adorable he looked, but she could feel the tension lingering in the memory. Something horrible was about to happen.

The door of Ron’s tidy bedroom swung open, and ricocheting off the wall with a crash. Fred, his face livid with anger, marched through; a broken toy broomstick in his hand. His twin followed, looking concerned.

‘Care to explain this?’ Fred growled, shaking the splintered piece in front of Ron’s face as he did so. ‘You really didn’t think I’d notice?’

‘Fred!’ George exclaimed, putting himself in between his twin and their younger brother. ‘He’s just a kid- he didn’t mean it!’

‘My toy broomstick!’ Fred yelled at Ron, ignoring his twin. ‘I don’t care if he is just a kid- I won’t get another broom for ages!’

Ron clutched the bear closer to his chest, his small fingers getting lost in what sparse fur was left on his well-worn toy.

The back of Fred’s neck was rapidly turning red, as he glared down at Ron. He clenched the broken toy broomstick in his hand, and his eyes seemed to flash with lightning.  

George opened his mouth to argue with his twin, but his voice was cut off by a scream from Ron.

Transfixed with horror, Hermione and George turned as one.

Ron was screaming at the top of his lungs, his eyes wide with fear. His well-loved, tattered, but cuddly teddy-bear was no longer a teddy bear.

It was an enormous spider. The same size as Ron. It was hairy, with several horrible unblinking eyes, and eight legs that seemed to close around the small boy. Pushing at him, clawing at him, and the pincers beginning to move towards his neck.

‘No!’

George bounded forward, grabbing two of the enormous legs and trying to pull the hideous creature away from his young brother.

Fred had gone strangely pale, the toy broomstick falling out of his hand. His eyes were wide with shock. But he didn’t move.

As George continued to wrestle with the legs, Ron’s eyes started to fill with tears. What had he done wrong? Yes, he had broken Fred’s broomstick, but it had been an accident. He would never have wanted to break anything of his brothers’. He just wanted to fly like everyone-else could.

Why wasn’t Fred helping George? Helping him? Did he not care? Did he not care about Ron? No, that was absurd. Of course he cared; Ron was his brother after all. He was just angry at Ron for breaking his toy. Ron had broken Fred’s toy, so Fred had broken Ron’s toy. This was just his way of making things even. After all, it wasn’t fair that Ron had a toy he loved, when Fred didn’t.

Hermione felt her gut squirm with guilt. She remembered Ron telling her about this when they were at Hogwarts, but to her it had always seemed very humorous. Tall, gangling Ron Weasley- afraid of a little spider? But now, it seemed anything but funny.

However, before Hermione could process all of this, the pensieve swirled around her, and the genesis of Ron’s arachnophobia vanished before her.

The room had changed, but Ron was older this time. Hermione guessed that he must have been at least seven years old.

Ron pushed his second-hand helmet (one that Charlie used for training), and walked towards his bedroom door.  He remembered watching Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George all learning from their father, and now it was finally his turn. It was something of a special tradition within the family. Despite being so busy with work, their dad would always teach them how to fly when they got old enough. And it was a personal thing- a special memory that they all had with their family, where they had his undivided attention. Ron had been looking forward to it for years. He had spent the previous night barely able to sleep from sheer excitement.

‘I’m sorry, Molly dear, but I’ve got to go in to work.’ His father’s voice could be heard from several floors below. ‘Something’s come up.’

‘Oh, really, Arthur!’ came his mother’s voice. ‘This is very short notice! Besides, didn’t you promise Ron something? A game of wizard chess, was it? —’

‘His flying lesson,’ — there was a sound of his father slapping his hand to his forehead — ‘he’s been looking forward to it for ages.’

‘I’m sure he’ll understand that you’re too busy. Ask Charlie to show him.’

‘But I taught all his brothers —’

‘Arthur, you’re going to be late at this rate!’ Ron’s mother appeared to be shooing her husband over to the door. ‘Don’t worry about Ron — I’ll get Charlie to teach him- I’m sure he won’t mind the bother —’

Ron walked back to his bed, untying the helmet strap and setting it down on the duvet. Was he really just a bother? No, of course not. His mother didn’t mean it like that. Of course his father couldn’t help being busy at work — that could have happened with any of the others. It just so happened that Ron wouldn’t be taught by his dad. And it wasn’t like he was getting a bad instructor in return —Charlie was brilliant at flying. This was fine. This was exciting; he’d be the one who got taught by his brother rather than his father. None of the others could say that — they’d all been taught by their father. He had been looking forward for that undivided attention from his dad, but this was fine. It wasn’t like he was a bother… Was he?

Hermione saw Ron staring down at his second-hand threadbare robes and the bulge in his pocket that was Scabbers, as Percy paraded around the kitchen in his new robes, his new owl Hermes sat on his shoulder. But Percy was a prefect, so of course he had to have new robes and a new pet. It wasn’t like Ron should complain about his own robes, wand and pet- money was tight, after all…

Ron groaning on the Hogwarts Express as he opened his sandwiches to find corned beef again, despite asking his mother if he could have anything else. Surely, it wouldn’t have been difficult to give him cheese like she had done for George. But there was probably a good reason for that. Maybe they were getting low on cheese. And besides, it wasn’t as if he could last the day on no food at all. Corned beef was better than an empty stomach. This was okay, this was fine…

Ginny being delighted with her new wand, and Ron was looking down at his own second-hand wand, a look of barely-disguised pain on his face. He was the only one of his siblings without a wand to call his own. Sure, it was nice of Charlie to give him his old one, but it wasn’t the same. And now Ginny would be starting Hogwarts with her own wand. Ron wanted the best for his sister, but he couldn’t help but feel a huge surge of jealousy towards Ginny as he looked down at his battered old wand with the unicorn hair sticking out the end. But money was tight- he couldn’t complain…

Hermione saw herself trying not to laugh as Ron admitted his arachnophobia, and Ron’s face covered in shame and discomfort. No doubt she thought he was an idiot for fearing spiders. Well, he was used to that with Hermione. He wouldn’t be surprised if she thought he had trouble tying his shoelaces…

Ron staring jealously over at Fred and George in their second-hand-but-still-decent dress robes, his own maroon robes looking more like a dress than ever. Out of all of them, why did he have to have the maroon robes that barely fitted? Couldn’t Percy have lent him one of his old dress-robes, like Charlie had done with the twins? He would have given anything to have just normal dress robes, like Harry had. Nothing too fancy, of course, but anything would have been better than this. Just once, he’d like to not be the sap wearing ill-fitting robes that clashed with his hair.

She saw Viktor Krum, resplendent in his dress robes, and Ron thinking ‘of course she’d go with him- he’s everything I’m not…’- Talented, older, a Quidditch star…Of course she’d want to go with him. And it was Ron’s fault to begin with for not asking her. Obviously, he already knew she was a girl. He had always known. But she wasn’t like a potential girlfriend. She was his friend, after all. And friends didn’t ask each-other to balls, no matter how much it hurt to see her with someone else. Dancing with someone else. Having fun with someone else. Laughing with someone else. This was fine. Krum was everything he wasn’t. It was fine.

Ron being shocked that his mother was at Hogwarts. Was she here to see him? No —of course not. She was here for the third task, to wish Harry support. And that was good — Harry needed that. The Dursleys certainly weren’t going to turn up. This was fine. His family was Harry’s too — it had been since they had first met. If he’d been a Triwizard champion, his mother would have turned up to see him. But maybe she would only do that for Harry. After all, he was as good as a son to her. Maybe more like a son than Ron was. But this was fine- Harry needed the support. Ron’s family was Harry’s too. Even if Ron’s mother treated Harry as more of a son than she did for Ron…  Because she wouldn’t have turned up if Ron was the Triwizard Champion… She probably would have just sent him a howler about ‘keeping yourself out of trouble’…

The look of disappointment and anger on Ron’s face after Hermione revealed that she and Harry had missed him winning the Quidditch Cup. The time he had finally overcome his insecurities about the sport, and earned glory on the pitch. But the two people he had most wanted to see this were not there. Because his achievements clearly weren’t important. Not to them. Not compared to finding out about Hagrid’s half-brother.

Ron being ignored by Professor Slughorn, as the enormous-bellied Potions master invited Harry and Hermione to his party. Of course, why would Slughorn invite him? Ron wasn’t talented, or famous. He was just another Weasley boy, the spare part, the third wheel. Hermione had her brains, Harry had his fame (unwanted, sure, but fame nonetheless), and what did Ron have? A plethora of freckles, average school marks, and chess skills. And being good at Chess didn’t get you an invitation to Slughorn’s party. Maybe Hermione would find someone more suited to her at the party- someone famous or intelligent, or both. Someone she wouldn’t have to nag to get them to do their transfiguration essay. Someone who didn’t walk around in second-hand robes, third-hand jeans covered in patches, and fourth-hand shoes held together by stretching spells and a lot of hope. Someone whose hair didn’t clash with the hand-knitted maroon jumpers that their mother kept insisting on making them, despite their constant requests for any colour except maroon. Someone who would be worthy of Hermione Jean Granger.

Ron’s stomach turning to acid as Ginny shrieked ‘Hermione snogged Viktor Krum!’- Of course she would. Krum was famous, older, a Quidditch star. How could he ever think Hermione would like him when Viktor Krum had seen she was a girl way earlier? He’d been deluding himself- he was her friend and nothing more. She clearly saw him like that. She’d kissed Krum, after all…

Hermione setting the birds on Ron. Ron desperately trying to bat the animals away, as he watched Hermione slam the door. Why had she attacked him? Why was she so angry? She’d never shown any signs that she saw him as anything more than a friend. Well, she had invited him to Slughorn’s party, but that was just as friends. She spent all that time going on about how fanciable Harry was, but hadn’t said anything about Ron. She didn’t even think he was any good at Quidditch — why else would she have assumed his brilliant saves were caused by a luck potion, rather than his own skill? She had clearly invited him to the party out of pity. He had been deluding himself that she could feel anything more for him. And yet, his heart still burned with guilt as he heard her give a gut-wrenching sob as the door slammed shut behind her.

Ron’s mind swirling as he stared at Harry and Hermione whispering in the tent. Were they… Surely not. But then again, he was the third wheel, wasn’t he. The spare part. He wasn’t the hero or the brains — he was the sidekick. Was he really their friend? Why had they kept him around? Were they laughing behind his back? They had a lot to laugh at. He was just the sidekick, after all. The spare part. The third wheel. The odd one out. The expendable one…

Yes, you are, hissed a voice inside Ron’s mind as the memories swirled once more, you always have been…Look at them-talking behind your back…  Do you even care for you? Did you think they liked you? Poor boy, you were deluded…  Obviously, you are little but an amusement to them…  The sidekick…  It’s a wonder they haven’t told you to leave…  Give them more time alone together…  That’s what they want….  To get you out of the picture…  They don’t care…  They want you gone…

‘Go home, then.’

Harry was glaring at Ron, his voice cold and uncaring. It had all started because Harry didn’t seem to care about Ginny…  She had been in the forbidden forest, and yet Harry (and Hermione) were more concerned with talking about Gryffindor’s sword…  His sister —Ron’s only sister in the world — had been into the forest…  The one with the giant spiders…  But they didn’t seem to care…  ‘The Weasleys don’t need another kid injured’…  Did Harry really want him gone? Ron had wanted to help…  That was his job…  He was Harry’s friend…  His best friend…  He would have gone to the ends of the earth for him…  But Harry didn’t seem to care…

And now Harry was telling him to leave…  Did he really not care about any of them?

Of course he doesn’t, a voice in Ron’s head hissed, he’s Harry Potter…  Why should he care...  After all, it’s not like  he cares about you, is it?

‘It’s alright for you two, isn’t it’ —Ron’s eyes narrowed —‘with your parents safely out of the way —’

‘MY PARENTS ARE DEAD!’ bellowed Harry, his voice reverberating around the tent.

‘And mine could be going the same way!’

He doesn’t care, the voice hissed again in Ron’s head, he doesn’t care about your family…  Especially you….

‘THEN GO!’

He doesn’t care… He doesn’t care if you lived or died… What are you to him but a sidekick?... A spare part…  The expendable one…  The one no-one would miss, least of all him…

But maybe she would care. After all, she seemed to care when he almost died from getting poisoned, and she was terrified when he got splinched. She would care, surely.

She could see why Ron was so angry. Harry seemed to have no idea what he was doing. Dumbledore had left him — them —with barely anything with go on. It was all well and good having the horcrux necklace around, but how could they destroy it? And how could they find the rest of the horcruxes? They had spent the past several weeks —it must have been more than a month — stuck in a tent. No new leads. No way to destroy the locket. Nothing.

Hermione would know. She wasn’t some blind follower — she could see how badly things had got. She was intelligent — it was one of the things he liked —loved — about her.

And maybe — just maybe — she felt the same way for him as he felt for her. If there was a time to show that she cared for him, it was now.

Ron’s heart beat heavily against his chest. It was decision time for Hermione: Harry or Ron.

He took a deep harrowing breath.

‘Are you staying, or what?’

Hermione saw Ron turn to the past version of her. She remembered this well, but this time she saw it from Ron’s perspective. She had a choice —come with Ron, or stay with Harry.

‘I….’ she gasped, anguished. ‘Yes- yes, I’m staying. Ron, we said we’d go with Harry…we said we’d help.’

Of course she would stay…  After all, what was he to her…  Just a friend…  He had been kidding himself…  How could he ever compete with Harry…  Ron was just the sidekick after all…

She didn’t care either…  Of course she didn’t…  She never had…  And now she had proven it…

The memories swirled again, and Hermione found herself standing in a clearing beside a pool of deep water. Ron and Harry were standing in front of the horcrux, the sword of Godric Gryffindor in Ron’s hand.

Once again, Hermione heard that deep, hissing voice that had pervaded Ron’s thoughts, but this time it spoke as if it was Ron, or was she just imagining that?

Always overshadowed and least loved, first by the mother who craved a daughter, and then by the girl who preferred his best friend…why should they care about him?  

Hermione looked on in horror as Ron stood, rooted to the spot in front of the horcrux locket, as the distorted doppelgangers of herself and Harry burst forth.

‘You are nothing! Nothing compared to him!’ the Riddle-Hermione crowed at Ron, her eyes malicious and unhinged.

The Riddle-Hermione entwined herself around Riddle-Harry, embracing him tightly. Their lips met.

Hermione saw Ron, face filled with anguish, raise the sword of Gryffindor.  

‘Do it, Ron!’

The real Harry was standing nearby, his eyes wide and intense.  

But, as Hermione watched Ron turn to Harry, weapon raised, she saw a trace of scarlet in the usual blue of the redhead’s eyes — those beautiful, gentle eyes that she loved so much. Her heart stopped in her throat — no, he couldn’t have…  Had he succumbed to the will of the horcrux?

‘Ron —?’ the real Harry’s words were cut short as he dived out of the way, away from Ron. There was a loud clash of metal on metal that echoed around the clearing, and seemed to reverberate through Hermione’s brain.  

The real Harry whirled around, wand in hand— seemingly to defend himself. But there was no need. Ron had done it; he had destroyed the horcrux. But the Horcrux had mentally tortured him in the process. Making his innermost worst fears flesh-and-blood, personified by the gross distortions of his two best friends, who didn’t seem to need him, care for him, or even want him around…

Hermione, tears rolling down her face in shock, watched as Ron dropped the sword and fell to his knees, his body wracked with sobs.

With a dawning sense of horror, the weight of Ron’s memories seemed to crush Hermione down. All that anguish, all that self-loathing and doubt… All that pain had not come from nowhere. It had been created in Ron’s mind by the actions of those around him…by Ron’s parents, by his siblings, by Harry’s fame, and (most of all) by her.

She had caused this. So much of this mental turmoil that had festered in Ron’s mind for the better part of a decade was her fault. It hadn’t been intentional on her part, but it had happened nonetheless.

She had played with his emotions.

She hadn’t tried to understand his insecurities and self-doubts.

She hadn’t believed that he could succeed, especially not without her.

She hadn’t tried to make it known how amazing she knew he was.

She had mentally and physically hurt him, for so long.

And, as she watched Ron continue to sob in front of her, the shattered locket before him, Hermione felt a stab of self-hatred the likes of which she had never experienced before.

A deep, burning sense of shame, guilt and overwhelming anger at herself and her actions.

He was her best friend —the boy she had been in love with since the age of thirteen —and, yet, she had never realised how badly things had been for him…  How much he had forced below the surface because he honestly believed that he wasn’t anything special, and didn’t deserve attention…  Didn’t deserve respect, or compassion, or love…

After all she had done to him, why did he still love her? How did he still love her?

She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve Ron’s love.

‘Hermione!’

With a gasp, Hermione pulled her head out of the pensieve, wheeled round, and found the real flesh-and-blood Ron stood next to her, his eyes wide and worried.

Falling to her knees, Hermione tangled her hands in her hair as she began to cry. Loud, angry sobs that seemed to escape her mouth as if ripped from her throat.

‘Hermione!’

Ron had dropped to his knees in front of her, and put his hands on her shoulders. Through her watery eyes, Hermione could see his face— concerned, slightly scared and desperate to help.

‘Hey — c’mere,’ he breathed, trying to pull her into his chest for a comforting hug.

‘N-no!’ she wailed, pulling away from him. Her eyes were already growing red and itchy from the tears. The back of her throat burned with a fiery pain, as if holding back a scream.

‘What?’ the redhead asked, his voice fraught with worry. ‘Hermione, why?’

He didn’t understand. Hermione didn’t want Ron to comfort her- she wanted him to yell at her, to scream and to bellow; to let out those intense emotions that she had felt inside his mind. The emotions of jealousy and self-loathing that she had helped create.

‘R-Ron,’ Hermione mumbled, blinking back tears. ‘Please…get angry at me.’

The freckled face grew scared, as if concerned for her sanity.

‘No!’ he exclaimed, his eyes wide and fearful. ‘’Mione, why would you want me to do that?’

Hermione gave a great, shuddering breath.

‘B-because I deserve it.’

Ron’s mouth fell open in shock. As if on instinct, he put his arms around her, and pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione was so mentally drained that she didn’t resist this time.

‘How…how could you think that?’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Hermione, how could you possibly think that you deserve that?’

‘How…how can you possibly think that I don’t?’ Hermione wept, her body shaking with emotion. ‘H-how can you not…h-h-hate me after all that? After…after all that pain I caused you? You must hate me!’

‘Hermione —’

‘No, Ron,’ she went on, the words tumbling out of her mouth. ‘You can’t spin this a different way. I…I saw it. Everything. All those moments…all that pain…that your parents caused…that Harry caused…that I caused…what we’ve all done to you…how could you not hate all of us — especially me?’  

‘I don’t think you understand —’

‘But I do understand, Ron!’ Hermione yelled, looking through her tear-stained eyes at his handsome freckled face. ‘You’ve always thought you were no good- the second-best, the least of the Weasleys. And… I knew that you thought that, and I still made things worse for you!’

Agog, Ron’s eyes widened as he watched her.  

‘Ron, when did I ever show you that I actually thought you were good at anything? When did I ever make it known to you that you were never just “another Weasley boy” to me? Never!’

‘Hermione, you didn’t have to—’

‘BUT I SHOULD HAVE DONE!’ Hermione screamed, her voice bouncing off the walls of the room. ‘I’m your best friend, Ron — I should have known how low your self-worth was! Y-you spent your entire childhood being passed-over in favour of your siblings! And then you had me and H-Harry overshadowing you at school! And I never realised…  I never realised how horrible that was, and how much you just wanted to be noticed — just noticed— by those around you! But I never did. I just made light of it… “Emotional range of a teaspoon”…  Why did I never realise that-that you probably had more emotional range of all of us...’

Her voice was starting to crack now, as the pain and self-loathing that had exploded in her heart seemed to erupt out through her mouth.

‘Why didn’t I notice….  Why didn’t I notice how badly things were for you? And, yet, you still stayed with me… All this time…  Even though I never seemed to change or-or the fact that it took me so long to understand how much of an amazing, kind, wonderful person you are…  You still stayed.’

‘Because I love you.’

Hermione looked up at his face. His eyes seemed to be swimming with tears, and his voice was tight, as if holding back a sob.

‘You really shouldn’t,’ she mumbled, voice straining. ‘I don’t deserve it… I don’t deserve you.’

‘Do you really think that?’

‘After all that hurt I caused you? I know that.’

Ron loosened his arms around her, so that his face was just in front of hers.

‘We need to go into the pensieve again.’

‘W-what?’ Hermione gasped. ‘No…please, Ron…  Anything but that…  It was bad enough seeing those memories by myself! With you there, I don’t know how I could —’

‘This time will be different.’

Hermione stared up at the redhead, her eyes still burning with tears.

‘How…  How can you be sure?’

Ron smiled.

‘Because this time, you’ll see all of the memories,’ he said, putting his wand to his temple. ‘All of me.’

A long sparkling strand of memories appeared, which he dropped into the pensieve. The images swirled around- Hermione could make out Ron’s mother, Harry and Hermione herself amongst the myriad of luminous memories.

Ron grasped Hermione’s hand, and squeezed.

‘Do you still trust me, ’Mione?’

Hermione didn’t even need to think for her response. She had known the answer to that question since that fateful encounter with a mountain troll all those years ago.

‘With all my heart.’

As one, they ducked their heads under the surface of the pensieve.

And suddenly her mind was flooded with memories again. But this time, they were not full of pain and anguish.

Ron’s mother hugging him after he had fallen over, and telling him that ‘it’s okay, Ronnie — I’ve got you’.

Fred helping George to pull the spider off of Ron, and the spider shrinking back into a harmless teddy bear. Fred pulling Ron into a hug and saying how sorry he was. Ron, his eyes still burning with tears, folding tightly onto his brothers’ shoulders as he sobbed. Fred did care…  George cared…  The twins did care about him…

Ron’s father ruffling his hair fondly as Ron stared, wide-eyed in wonder, at the Chudley Cannons playing. His father had managed to get the tickets from someone at work. True, the Cannons were one of the least successful teams in the country, but Ron didn’t care. He was out with his dad, spending a few precious hours with his father, and enjoying the match. Ron grinned as his dad lifted him onto his shoulders so he could see better. This was fantastic. Sure, the Cannons would likely lose the match, but it was still a Quidditch match, and he was here with his dad. No siblings interrupting, no mother yelling at him for not tucking in his shirt; just him and his dad.

Ron receiving a letter from his parents about how proud they were of him being sorted into Gryffindor. Ron’s heart swelling with warmth as he re-reads the letter again and again over the next few days. They were proud of him.

Hermione pulling Ron into a hug and, happy tears streaking her face, telling him how brave he was for sacrificing himself on the giant chess board. Ron’s face breaking into a massive smile as his heart pounded warmly against his chest. She thought he was brave…

Ron seeing the look of gratitude on Hermione’s face after he defended her from Malfoy. Ron’s stomach squirming slightly (no doubt from the slugs), but Ron not minding it. Because she was his friend, and he’d defend her no matter what. As much as she didn’t need to thank him, it still felt good to see her looking at him like that.

Hermione hugging Ron after she had been de-petrified. Ron’s stomach churning again as she exclaimed how happy she was that they’d solved it, and the warm feeling enveloped his insides again as he looked down at her. She was okay…

Hermione unconsciously putting her hand in Ron’s as they waited for Harry to finish the third task. Ron’s eyes growing wide, and his heart pounding against his chest. What was she doing? Was it possible that she — but she couldn’t, surely? He had blown any and all possibilities with her during that fiasco at the Yule Ball. But here she was — holding his hand. Not Viktor Krum’s hand. His. Ron squeezing Hermione’s hand tenderly, and feeling the warm, soft feeling of her skin against his. Hermione squeezing his hand back.

The look of respect and gratitude in Harry’s eye as Ron defended him from Seamus’ accusations at the start of fifth year. Ron feeling a little baffled — of course he would defend his best mate — but still appreciating it nonetheless.

Hermione looking on in pride as Ron conjured his first corporeal patronus, and smiling as the Jack Russell Terrier playfully chased her own otter. Ron smiling modestly, whilst his heart beat frantically against his chest. Why was his patronus chasing Hermione’s? Did that mean something? Were his intentions that obvious? Did she not mind? Was it actually something she was hoping for- no, surely not?  But maybe…just maybe…it was possible she felt the same way he did….

Hermione hugging him tightly after he woke up in the hospital wing, the brain-scars still fresh on his arms. Ron pulling her in close, and never wanting to let go. She was safe…

Harry hugging Ron after the locket had been destroyed. The look of respect in those green eyes as he said ‘Saving my life’- Ron pulling Harry closer to him. Holding the person who had become like a brother to him in the seven years they had known each other. They were family. And Ron silently promised that he would never let Harry down again.

Seeing Hermione awaken, battered but alive, at Shell Cottage after her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron sobbing silently as he held her close. She was alive. They weren’t going to lose her. Ron wasn’t going to lose her. She was too important to lose. Ron couldn’t forgive himself if she had…but the thought had been too terrifying to consider. He wouldn’t consider it. Despite all that he had gone through with Hermione — all the heartbreak, all the confusion, all the jealousy, all the pain — he wouldn’t change it for the world. He loved her. That was the simple truth of it. It had always been true, even before he knew it himself. His fate with her had been sealed since the moment they had met, on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. And he wouldn’t change a moment of it. Not a single one.

Hermione looking on in wonder and pride as Ron came up with the idea to get the basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets. Ron trying to quash the growing feeling of excitement growing inside his stomach. Hermione thought he was smart? Had the world turned upside down? He was Ron Weasley — the average student with a chess fixation, and yet here he was— being looked at by Hermione Granger as if he were some kind of genius. And the weird thing? He didn’t even think it was that impressive of an idea. They needed basilisk fangs — why not get them from the original source? Not a spectacular idea. Quite simple, really. But maybe the simplest ideas were the best. Maybe that’s what he brought to the table. Harry brought the leadership, Hermione brought the brains, but Ron— he brought the common sense. Often estimated, but crucial. The little details that could get over-looked in the wider picture, but vital to the whole process. The everyday things that stop everything else falling apart.

Hermione throwing her arms around Ron’s neck, and kissing him full on the mouth. Ron wrapping his arms around her, and lifting her off her feet as he kissed her back. Ron’s heart roaring in triumphant glorious abandon. All those years of pining, of hope, of despair, of half-glances and hidden smiles. They had all culminated in this moment. The moment that was so utterly perfect, despite the danger and devastation all around them, that Ron would have happily lived in that moment for all eternity. Just him and Hermione, their bodies close and their lips pressed together in pure emotion. The outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, as he held the girl he had loved since the age of eleven. Together at last.  

Molly Weasley pulling Ron into a tight hug after the battle, sobbing that she was so happy he was okay. Ron hugging her back. He had always felt overlooked and unloved. But that wasn’t the whole truth. He was loved. He felt it as his mother hugged him. He was her son. He might not have always felt it, but she would always love him.

The Weasley family pulling Ron into a massive group-hug. All of them; his mother and father. All but one of his siblings. The sibling who never got back up from the battle. They were grieve, they would mourn, but they would do it as a family. Strong, united in their love for each-other. All of them being each-other’s crutches, and their reasons for carrying on, despite the odds.  

Harry and Hermione both hugging Ron. His two greatest friends- the boy who had become like a brother to him, and the girl who he had fallen in love with. The three of them holding tight, supporting and energising each-other, as they always had done. Somehow, they had overcome the odds, and Ron was so happy that he had them by his side.

Hermione kissing Ron. The second time. The third time. Every single time.

Hermione turned to look at Ron, and he squeezed her hand. He gave her his usual lopsided grin, and Hermione understood.

With a great heave, she pulled herself out of the memories. Ron was smiling at her, his blue eyes glinting.

The tears were still running down her face, but they were no longer sad tears—they were tears of joy and happiness.

Ron dipped his wand into the pensieve, and retrieved the memories he had removed, placing them back inside his head.

He then leaned in close. Hermione could see her own face reflected in his blue eyes.  

‘Now do you see why?’ he breathed, making goosebumps erupt all Hermione’s neck. ‘All those bad times…they weren’t the full story. They weren’t my story. They weren’t our story. Do you see why I could never hate you? You; the person who could see more than the bumbling Weasley boy that everyone else saw? You; the person who kept me going through the darkest of times? You; my best friend who made me feel whole. You; the woman I loved before I even realised it myself? Now do you see why I could never hate you?’

Hermione put her arms around Ron’s neck, her eyes shining with happy tears, and pulled his head forward.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, before pressing her lips to his. ‘I do.’

There may have been a lot of bad things in their past, but they had been outweighed by the good. That was the way life worked. You couldn’t just dwell on the bad times, because the good times made life worth living. For every time Ron had felt overlooked, there had been a time where he felt loved. For every time he felt under-appreciated, there had been times — so many times — where he had felt more appreciated than anyone-else in the world.

Even though his life had contained its fair share of insecurity, fears and pain, Ron Weasley had also encountered so much appreciation, respect and love that it had made his heart glow with warmth. And Hermione now knew that — more so than ever before.

She had seen all of Ron. All his memories, all his emotions. And she knew that he wouldn’t change any of it for the world. Because the good times wouldn’t have felt so good without the bad times being there as well.

Hermione had seen, in Ron’s words, ‘all of him’. And she loved him all the more for it.

Thank you all so much for reading- I hope you enjoyed it! Special thanks again to @hillnerd for all their help and support with the editing of this fic. They are awesome, and I would highly recommend checking out their blog (as well as their art- which is amazing- on their @hillyminne blog too)

If you liked this fic, please reblog and comment, and make sure to leave a comment on the fanfiction.net version. 

[ageeksnerdyworld]

It’s Only A Nightmare

Characters: Jett Leach, Emery Becker, Avia Carstairs, Kelly Ronan O’Connor, Isabelle Lombardi, Scribe Jenkins, Holland, and Walker

Word Count: 6,485

Trigger Warning: Death, Violence, Swearing, Fire, Flashback, PTSD Episode

A/N: So this took like forever to write because I’ve been sick and I had my wisdom teeth taken out. It’s real hard to write while you’re super drugged up and in pain. Also according to my laptop that word count equals 15 pages. And always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: People are falling victim to heart attacks all over Dashland. None of the cases are alike except for that fact. The body count is growing. And so the team is sent on their first field mission. Click the read more if you want to.

~~~

The young woman tried to run but it was of no use. The shadows that chased her looked real but they weren’t. The monsters that lurked deep in those shadows weren’t real either. She felt them. Her fear was real. And that’s all that mattered.

All Enjay Sno could hear outside of her own screams was the sound of her boots against the concrete sidewalk.

Her mother always comforted her whenever she had a nightmare when she was a child. But she wasn’t a child living in her parents’ house anymore. She had moved out years ago and started to make her own life; she hadn’t even spoken to her mother in months. And she wasn’t really having a nightmare.

She ran down the alley and out into the street; screaming.

When the local police found her body the case surprised everyone at the station. The young female fox virus didn’t die because she was hit by a car. In fact she wasn’t hit by any of the vehicles on the road that night. She miraculously didn’t have a single scratch on her person. It seemed that her heart just gave out on her. The medical examiner ruled her death as result of a sudden cardiac arrest.

A few weeks went by and the young woman was quickly forgotten.

Key Scotts could feel the fear running through his veins as he searched for the source of his terror. But there was no one around. There was nothing to be seen in the middle of the woods and the deep, dark, of night. He had no reason to be there on a normal day especially if he was in his right mind. But neither of those things were the case.

Everywhere he looked he saw something terrifying.

He ran from everything that was out to get him. He ran from his deepest fears. He died cold, alone, and afraid. He had everything going for him in life. Just like the woman his death was ruled a sudden cardiac arrest. He was the son of a prominent lawyer; going into the same field of study. He had a fiancé and a happy home life. There was no reason for him to die that quickly. His family issued a statement to the press against the dangers of drugs.

Suddenly there were five dead and no one had any answers.

XXXXX

The day started just like any other day; hell on earth. Mornings were always hectic ever since the group was put together as a team. It didn’t make much sense to any of them. Putting eight people all on a single team? It was insane. This meant that eight people had to share a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living space. While a few team members were somewhat absent in the morning from time to time it was always chaotic.

“Avia you can’t hog the shower! There are seven other people here!”

“Calm down, sweetie,” the bird virus’ voice rang out from behind the bathroom door. “There should be enough water for you when I’m done.”

“Are you sure becau—Wait a minute! Was that a short joke?” Isabelle yelled; banging on the door.

Emery was sleeping soundly on the top bunk but the commotion from the girls woke him up. He tried to go back to sleep but that’s when Isabelle started banging on the door. People who never lived with a larger amount of other people tended to forget that most places had thin walls. Most of those people also usually thought that walls were completely sound proof. Giving up on sleep he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and hopped down. He knelt down and peeked into the bottom bunk. He saw a body shaped pile of blankets and pillows but he nudged it just to be sure. Jett responded with an annoyed grunt and rolled on his side; away from where he thought Emery was.

Satisfied that his best friend was still alive he groggily walked out in to the hallway.

“Ladies, ladies, stop yelling. There’s a civilized way to fix this.”

He walked into the kitchen and turned the hot water on full blast.

Avia came running out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel; carrying her clothes.

“You stupid troglodyte!” she yelled as she slammed the door shut.

“Hey! I’m not a caveman!”

“I’m honestly surprised you even know what that means,” she retorted through the door.

He opened the fridge and grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on. Grabbing a spoon from the utensil drawer he spun on his heels and walked to the living room. Once there he plopped himself down on the couch with a sigh. He pulled the lid off the yogurt cup and licked it clean. Sitting alone in the living he peacefully ate his yogurt while the others woke up and made their way to the kitchen.

Soon the others woke up and the dorm got a lot more hectic as people fought for the bathroom, space in the kitchen, or some other thing. Walker was making pancakes for the group which surprised everyone. Holland made a batch of tea which surprised no one. Kelly sat at the table with a mug of coffee and a bottle of whisky and was currently pouring the whiskey into the mug. Everyone was going about their morning. Except for Jett who seemed to still be asleep.

Emery sighed and got up from the couch.

He knocked on the door to the bedroom that he and his best friend shared. Jett answered with a grunt. Emery tiptoed in and closed the door behind him. He could see that in the bit of time that had passed Jett had moved around quite violently in his sleep. The bed was now a total mess. One of the blankets was shoved off the bed and wedged between the frame and the wall, another blanket was half on the bed and half draped off the edge. None of the blankets were actually on Jett’s body. His black tank top was full of wrinkles and rolled up; exposing his stomach. He held a pillow over his face with one arm draped over it. His other arm dangled off the side of the bed.

Emery walked over to the bunk bed and sat on the edge of the bottom bunk.

“Bro you gotta get up.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Emery gave Jett a hard shove. Jett responded in kind by slapping his friend in the face with a pillow.

“Dude, today’s the big day.”

“I don’t care.”

“Pretty sure you don’t want to be stuck in here all by yourself while we go take down bad guys, bro.”

“I’m not moving until somebody finds that bitch.”

“Well, you’re not gonna know if we find her if you stay here all day.”

Jett grunted in agreement and got up. Emery left the room and gave his friend time to get ready. Everyone else was ready and waiting. He gave the group a wink and they all collectively sighed. Once he was ready Jett emerged from his room to see everyone waiting expectantly. Avia was a bit annoyed having wanting to make a good impression with whoever they were working with. Jett apologized and held the door open for everyone as they filled out of the room.

Once outside the team made their way to the police station.

XXXXX

They were assigned to tag along with Detective Legacy Root. He was a good cop, with over thirty years on the force, who was nearing his retirement. Root was a grizzled centaur virus with a splattering pattern of gray, black, and white all over his horse torso and legs. The human half of his body was tan and muscled even in his old age. He had gray hair that matched his beard and a few freckles across his nose. His tail was stark white. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, color and they set a stern and steely gaze on the group as they entered the station.

“Look what the Academy sent us, Sarge, a buncha wannabe heroes,” the voice of rookie cop Tyke Bunsen loudly proclaimed to his friend as well as everyone else in the room.

“Think y’all took a wrong turn this ain’t the playground, kiddos,” Sarge Rajah added; laughing.

Legacy turned his stern gaze on the young cops and they quickly shut their mouths. He greeted the group as they approached his desk. He took in each person who stood in front of him for a minute or so. There were eight of them in all and the detective was surprised that the Academy let this big of a group even exist. Even though he had been given a briefing on the group prior to their arrival he let each one of them introduce themselves.

“Go grab some chairs for yourselves,” he said once introductions were over with, “unless you all prefer to stand.”

The group left except for the black rabbit virus.

All Legacy knew about the kid was what the Academy knew. Which was actually next to nothing. The rabbit, Walker was their name according to the Academy’s records, looked around the station as Legacy went about collecting the copies he had made of the case files. The detective watched the rabbit out of the corner of his eye as they surveyed the room. Soon the group was all together again the detective handed out a copy of the case files to each of them.

After they had discussed the known facts of the case he let the kids ask a few questions. The tall, lanky, ginger kid didn’t ask any questions so much as he just talked out loud. The rest of the group ignored him and so Legacy did the same.

“This is crazy. We’re actually working a case, you guys! Heart attacks ain’t much of a real case if ye ask me but I can’t believe we’re actually doing this! This is the best day ever. Actually, no, that’s not true. If we saw any 99ers out there doing stuff then it’d be the best day ever.”

“Babe,” Avia whispered. “I love you but do shut up.”

Walker picked up one of the files and stared at one it with a murderous look. After a minute or two Walker set the file back down on the desk without a word; leaned against the side of Legacy’s desk and crossed their arms over their chest. Two of the girls, the dark skinned one with round glasses and the one with the Devil’s Eyes, asked if he had any suspects yet. He chuckled lightly before going into detail about the few suspects he did have in mind.

A small time crook with who went by the name Hilarity was a possible lead. Hilarity was one of the local criminals with a power of the Empath variety. Usually the guy would make his victims laugh until they cried using the scene to commit robberies and make his escape but it wasn’t a stretch that he had changed his MO. There was a succubus virus that had become quite known to the police recently who could’ve been involved. Another possible lead was this suspicious vagrant woman who had been seen in the area recently. No one knew anything about here but this wasn’t the time to be leaving out any suspects.

And, of course, there was also Fiyero Nonagon.

“Fiyero Nonagon isn’t your normal Empath, kids.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emery asked trying his best to tone down his usual snark.

“He’s pretty damn dangerous, that’s what it means.”

Walker turned a suspicious eye on the detective; looking him up and down but said nothing. The detective returned the look and Walker nodded; clearly impressed.

“What makes you think an Empath did it?” Jett asked; hand raised.

“No need to raise your hand, kid,” Legacy said with a chuckle. “This isn’t math class.”

An awkward silence fell as his joke went right over the group’s heads. Legacy gave them all a slight nod. These kids didn’t want to mess around and that was commendable. If any of them wanted a career in law enforcement in the future he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Like I said before every victim’s death was ruled by our ME to be cardiac arrest which is a big coincidence. The only thing that connects these cases is that fact that each victim’s body was found in a place they had no reason to be—”

“What about the fifth victim, the human?” Scribe asked.

“What about ‘em?”

“They were found in the only place they would’ve been. Seneca Orion had no other place to be besides the church. The only place.”

“Could be a fluke,” Legacy said, “or maybe our perp is just getting more confident. That happens all the time. Far too often, actually.”

“So you’re saying we could have a serial killer?” Avia asked knowingly.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

With that he stood up from his seat and told the kids to follow him. Sitting around talking about the case wasn’t going to get them anywhere. And if the group really wanted to help, or at least finish their assignment, then they had to get going. The more time spent doing nothing the more time the killer could use to strike. For all they knew the killer already could have. The group had to work fast if they wanted to catch this killer.

Legacy lead them out to the front and told them all to stay put.

In a few minutes he came back in a large police van. The group stared at him all with different expressions. Walker’s face clearly showed that they didn’t think the van was necessary. Avia was shocked to say the least. Jett’s expression didn’t really convey anything that Legacy noticed. Both Kelly and Isabelle stared with wide-eyed excitement.

“Kelly was right you guys. This is the best day ever!” Isabelle said excitedly as they all piled into the police van.

XXXXX

The sermon room of the church was large, empty, and cold. Even the large stained glass windows seemed darker than usual. Only a few candles were lit on the altar at the back of the room. The confessional booth that sat on the left side of the altar was open and empty. A few small pamphlets and religious texts scattered the pews. But the entire building seemed dead to the world. It was if the building itself knew of Seneca Orion’s death and was in mourning. If rumors were to be believed Seneca not only grew up in the church but he never left its walls.

“Right in the Academy’s backyard. No wonder they sent you all to work this case.” Legacy said; taking in the scene.

He sent the group to look around the rest of the building while he surveyed the sermon room. Walker went off by themselves to look outside while Kelly and Avia searched together. Neither choices were much surprise to anyone else. Isabelle, Holland, and Scribe all went to search the Jett and Emery decided to stay behind with the detective and search the scene of the murder for clues.

In the sermon room there wasn’t much to see or to search besides the body of the deceased. So the boys went to inspect it first.

“Don’t touch it, bro.”

“Dude, bro, why would I touch it?” Emery asked feigning innocence.

“Because you always do shit people say not to do and the detective told us not to touch. If you touch it I will burn your hands off.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dude, do I look like I’m joking?”

Emery knew by the sound of his voice that Jett wasn’t joking from the very beginning but he just wanted to test it. He held his hands up in front of him and turned them around to show that he wasn’t holding anything suspicious. Then he made a big show of putting them in the front pockets of his jeans. Jett nodded approvingly and then both of the boys laughed at how stupid that was. They turned their attention on the body of the deceased.

The body of Seneca Orion was still and unmoving. He lay in an odd pose; on his stomach, face to the ceiling, arms and legs akimbo. His jet black hair fell down over the front of his face in waves. The longer sections stopped just short of his eyebrow. The shaved sides of his hair had an intricate design cut into the short hair. He wore a long blue scarf that was wrapped around his neck a couple times. The rest of his clothing was typical of those who ran in religious circles.

“Isn’t it weird that his body’s still here?” Emery asked.

“This guy was killed last night… or was it this morning? I don’t remember, man. But yeah it is weird that his body is still here.”

“Guess they wanted the detective to check it out first,” Emery said with a nudge in the detective’s direction.

As the group went about searching the church for evidence the detective’s phone rang.

“Root, it’s me.”

“What is it, Rajah? I’m on a case.”

“That’s just it, we got another one.”

“Dammit,” he said with a sigh. “Where?”

“Harbor on Fanend. Not too far from the church you’re at now, actually.”

The officer gave Root the address of the where the victim was found and wished him luck. Root thanked him for the information. He told Jett to gather the test of the team and when they were all back in the sermon room he relayed it to the group. Then they all group into the van once again and drove off.

XXXXX

The body was recently deceased. By the looks of it the victim had been murdered not too long ago. The soul was still leaking from the victim’s right eye; a dull pulsing sea green. The victim looked to have died in the same way as the other five. The victim was another male. But unlike the others he looked to still be a sprite. His dark hair was cut angled across his forehead. He wore blue and gray tennis shoes, tan cargo pants, and a dark gray hoodie. The way his body laid on the sidewalk it looked like he had died while running from the building.

This one’s just a kid, dammit! he thought angrily.

Legacy knelt down and looked at the body of the boy more closely.

The boy’s brown eyes were filled with terror and his face was now a permanent fearful expression. He had a small crack on the bridge of his nose as if he had been in a fight some weeks prior and the injury was almost fully healed. While he inspected the boy’s body the students behind him argued.

“Whoever did this has to be in the area still,” Avia said.

“Yeah,” Walker said, “they couldn’t have gotten far.”

“Well, actually, they could have,” Kelly said. “If they were in a car, or on a bike, or a motorcycle they could’ve gotten far. They could’ve gotten pretty far actually. And if they’re a mervirus then, well, we are by the boardwalk. Or if they can fly or if they have super speed or even speed burst powers—”

“Fucking hell dude shut up! That isn’t helping.” Emery said; cutting him before he could continue any further.

“Control your boyfriend’s mouth.”

“You think I have any control over anything he says? Or when he says it?”

“What should we do, Jett?” Isabelle asked; bringing the group back to the task at hand.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re team leader, dumbass,” Emery said.

“Oh yeah… okay um… I think we should look for clues around here. Maybe there’s something that’ll tell us where the murderer went.”

But before anyone moved to do anything Scribe tugged on Jett’s left arm.

“He went north. Could be going back towards the Academy or somewhere else.”

“Oh,” Jett said completely at a loss for what to do.

“We’re going north. On foot,” the detective said; standing up. And before anyone could protest he galloped away from them. The rest had no choice but to follow.

XXXXX

The group was approaching from the area from the south; going up the street. They were only about four or five blocks from where the sixth victim was found. And Nonagon was just there; waiting. He stood underneath a street lamp with an expectant look on his face.  He leaned against the lamppost with one leg bent at the knee and his foot resting up against the post. He wore a long tan, somewhat stained, leather duster jacket. Underneath the duster he wore a pair of dark washed blue jeans, black tennis shoes, and a plain white t-shirt. Legacy motioned the group to duck into a small alleyway and made them huddle up.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

“Oh yeah, really,” Emery said rolling his eyes; not even trying to hold back his snark.

Scribe tugged on Jett’s sleeve again and his ear turned to her direction. She whispered; “It’s probably an ambush. He’s just sitting there waiting for us. Ambush.”

“I agree, but, we’re kinda supposed to follow his lead right?”

“Maybe we can just talk to him,” Holland suggested.

“You really want to try talking to a guy who killed five people?” Walker asked. “Fucking pacifist.”

“I’m just saying we can maybe reason with him.”

“There’s no reasoning with psychopaths or serial killers, Holland.”

“Takes one to know one—”

All the while the kids were arguing Legacy was silent; blocking out the noise. He was unsure of what to do. It was pretty clear that this was an ambush. Maybe Nonagon wasn’t working alone like they thought. But he couldn’t see anything that pointed to signs of other people in the area. It didn’t make sense that he would just be here, a few blocks from where his latest victim was found, waiting for them. It was strange. Serial killers always do strange things but this was beyond that. He had to have backup posted somewhere or at least waiting on it to arrive.

But he didn’t want another body on his hands and so he had to act fast.

“By the looks of it he could be setting up an ambush for us. Now as far as we know he isn’t working with anyone else. I’m not sure whether he’s waiting for us or for his partner to arrive. So we’ll go with the latter and hope it works out.”

“What do you want us to do, detective?” Jett asked.

“You eight, damn they are eight of you isn’t there…”

“Yes, there is,” Scribe said matter of fact.

“Yeah. Yeah. So you eight are gonna all come at him from different sides, okay. How and when you do that is up to you, alright. I’m going to talk to him and maybe distract him so he doesn’t notice any of you.”

The detective walked over to the killer without giving the group much thought.

XXXXX

Jett divided the team into pairs and went about drawing a plan in the dirt of the alley. But then he realized that there probably wasn’t enough time for that and the plan was simple enough. They just had to circle the guy and then flank him when Jett gave the signal. He told everybody to make sure they didn’t all go in the same direction. He and Emery backed out of the alley and climbed to the top of the building on their left. They made their way down the opposite side of that building and rushed across the street. They had Nonagon’s lower right covered. While that was going on Kelly and Avia went in the opposite direction; ultimately taking the upper right. Isabelle and Scribe dived out of the alley and rushed up the street. They hid behind a couple trashcans and waited.

“Leaves us to stay here, then, huh?” Holland said turning to Walker.

“Guess so.”

Holland turned back to wait for the signal. The detective was alright from what they could see. The centaur virus was standing across from the guy, supposedly Fiyero Nonagon but Holland had no clue, with his arms folded across his chest. It seemed that whatever conversation they were having was going well. The detective wasn’t making a move to arrest the guy but the guy wasn’t making any moves on the detective. Then Holland saw a flash of reddish orange fly into the night sky before it dissipated into nothingness.

“That’s the signal, alright,” Walker said.

The group all rushed out of their hiding spots at the same time; affectively covering the killer from all sides. But instead of being frightened or the least bit surprised Fiyero Nonagon laughed.

“You’re resorting to this, Root? You’re sending Academy kids after me? That’s low. Even for you.”

“What’s he talking about, detective?” Jett asked; worried.

“Run along, little Fire Boy. Shoo. Go,” Nonagon said with a smirk on his face and a motion of his hands.

Jett instantly froze up.

But before anyone could react Fiyero turned his gaze on Holland. Holland screamed instantly and their entire body shook in fear. Their legs were quivering and felt like jelly; cold and weak. Their hands trembled at their sides. Their loud, terrified, screams never stopped. The shadows that crept in the corners of the nearby alleyways quaked in response.

The shadows moved with a rapid pace along the walls and the street; making their way towards Holland and the rest of the group. Long, outstretched, tendril-like shadows wrapped around buildings, pooled off edges of the sidewalk, and climbed up lampposts. A mass of shadows began forming on the ground next to Holland. The mass grew, pooling at the virus’ feet, and started to take shape. Soon the black mass wasn’t a mass anymore and instead was a pile of angry opossums. A few of the shadows wrapped around their legs and arms but the shadows slowly made their way up; creating a hooded cloak on Holland’s form. They were now concealed in total darkness. Their terrified screams echoed through the night air as they commanded the shadows to attack.

The black, void-like, opossums lashed out at whoever was near.

Avia screamed as the opossums jumped on her; slashing and biting at her. They scrambled up and down her body as she lashed out at them. But they were too fast for her and they evaded her attacks almost effortlessly. She struggled to pull her rapier out of its sheath at her side.

“Call them off Holland! It’s me, dammit!” she yelled in their direction.

“They can’t hear ye babe,” Kelly said rushing to his girlfriend’s side.

Suddenly he shadows were on him as well and many more were coming. Kelly gripped the handle of his axe with both hands and swung it at his feet. The blade of the axe cut the shadows and they dissipated into the night air. But more were coming, a few even starting to attack, and he still didn’t have proper footing on the ground.

“Get these things off me! Get them off now!” Avia yelled; her voice muffled through a sea of shadows.

“Give me a fuckin’ second will ya?” Kelly yelled back.

He swiped at the shadows but they were growing and growing.

The shadows engulfed his legs once more and he fell back on the ground. The shock made him lose grip on his axe and it fell from his hands. His axe was soon covered in shadows and unable to be seen. He lashed out against the shadows but it did nothing. More shadows crawled on his body; covering him from all sides.

Meanwhile Avia reached through the darkness; searching for her rapier. Punching and kicking at the shadow opossums didn’t seem to do much. And that didn’t do anything to the other shadows either. The shadows were suffocating her and she didn’t have many options left. She gritted her teeth angrily hating that she couldn’t get her weapon out. She tried everything she could and that was her only option. There was always the option of waiting for the others to possibly survive this fight with both Fiyero and Holland.

But if she did that she could be dead by that time.

Suddenly she felt a poke in the small of her back. She struggled against the shadows to turn and see what it was; hoping it wasn’t something that was actively trying to kill her.

There her rapier was seemingly floating in the darkness that surrounded her. But in reality one of the shadow opossums was holding it out. There was some part of Holland, deep inside the fear he felt, that knew what he was doing. Some small part of him knew that Avia wasn’t an enemy. Trying not to dwell on how insane and completely impossible this whole situation was she grabbed her rapier. In the same movement she swiped at the shadows around her.

“I made it out. I actually made it out,” she said between harsh breaths. Realizing what she said she shook her head and gripped her rapier tight.

“Of course I made it out.”

That much was true but the shadows were still everywhere; still on the attack.

XXXXX

Meanwhile the rest of the group, along with the detective, focused on Fiyero who was trying to get away during the commotion. While the commotion wasn’t enough to distract the entire group it was enough for Fiyero to dive across the street and into another alleyway. Legacy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled to get the killer’s attention.

“We have you surrounded. This is over. You can--”

“It’s just you and those kids, Root. You can’t stop me.”

Emery stepped up, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and turned to the others.

“Stand your ground and cover your ears.”

With that he let out a scream that knocked over a couple trash cans and sent Fiyero to the ground.

“Dude!” Jett said giving Emery a slap on the back.

But the one attack wasn’t enough and Fiyero stood up once more; “Nice try, Songbird.”

“Songbird? What in the fuck?” Emery echoed with confused disgust.

“Oh crap,” Isabelle said readying her flail.

Fiyero rushed to where the others were in an obvious attempt to push the group back towards Holland and their shadows.

Isabelle swung her flail wide and it smashed into the side of Fiyero’s right leg. She pulled on the chain and the spiked ball of the flail fell away from the handle. With the spikes still embedded in the villain’s leg she punched him in the face. While that distracted him she yanked the chain and yanked the spiked ball from his leg. She pressed a boot down on the wound in his leg and leaned down; pressing the barrel of the gun against his temple. The black cord necklace hung off her neck the Nevermore talon dangling just a few inches from the man’s face.

“We got you now, mister. If you’d just--”

He gritted his teeth and yanked on her necklace; choking her and simultaneously pulling her face closer to his. Then he slammed his head against hers. She stumbled off him in a pained daze. He swung at her leg with his own and she fell to the ground.

In the middle of the group stood Scribe; frightened of all the noises around her. She sat on the ground, brought her knees to her chest, and held herself tight. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. As the noises around her became louder she thought about wanting to disappear. She closed her eyes tighter. Her shoes, and her feet inside, began to blend in with the dark gray of the road underneath her.

“Scri, do you have any—” Jett said turning to realize that she had seemingly vanished.

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry bro,” Emery said. “She’s probably gonna go do something awesome.”

Just as he finished his sentence he was tackled to the ground by Isabelle; completely caught off guard.

“What the hell? Stop it!”

Isabelle started hitting him and he put his arms up to block her blows. Kicking around he tried to use the momentum of his own body to throw her off of him. It didn’t work. Surprisingly she was stronger than her small frame made it seem and she held on. Elbowing her in the face he hoped the pain would distract her and he could wiggle free. But that was of no use either. He took a deep breath and waited for an opening.

He really didn’t want to do this.

But he had no other choice.

He let out a scream right in Isabelle’s face and it instantly flung her off him. Emery shook his head and pulled himself to his feet. Isabelle ran at him again but this time he was ready and he pushed her back a few feet with another scream. Soon she was engulfed in the shadows along with three other of his teammates.

“We’re fucked.”

Legacy and Jett tried to stay focused on taking Fiyero down. But the shadows at their backs were too much of a distraction. A large, swaying, shadow wrapped its form around Jett’s leg; tight. He tried to kick it off but it was of no use. A trickle of fear began to creep up his spine. Looking up his eyes met Fiyero’s and the trickle ballooned into a full on panic. His pupils went wide and his breath quickened.

Terrified, and unsure of what to do, Jett turned on the detective.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, kid?”

Jett didn’t respond. Instead he sent a harsh right hook to the detective’s face. Then he sent a knee to the detective’s chest. Legacy could see the struggle in the boy’s eyes as tears ran down his face. But he didn’t stop attacking the detective. His fear was too strong and overpowered any and all other rational thought. This was worse than the detective could have ever imagined. The rumors about Fiyero Nonagon were true. The virus wasn’t just some unstable junkie with powers.

They were dealing with a Nightmare Aura.

The detective shoved the teenage litten virus off him and he pulled his gun from the holster at his side. He turned the gun on Nonagon and pulled the trigger. But before he could actually get a shot off a small fireball hit his hands. In the pain and the surprise Legacy almost immediately dropped the gun. Jett’s right hand clenched in a fist and then opened again; a small fire emitting from his palm. He did the same with his left hand.

Jett launched fireball after fireball at the detective; forcing him back to the others.

Every last one of Jett’s team members were somewhere in that mass of shadows. And in this state he didn’t care if he was headed that way as well. He didn’t know, think about, or even care if his team was still fighting one another. The only thing that ran through his mind was sheer terror.

He forced the detective into the blackness and walked in after him.

Almost at the same time his fear suddenly melted away. So did Isabelle’s and her knees buckled underneath her. Emery caught her before she hit the ground. Holland gave one last terrified scream before they passed out on the ground. As Holland’s fear subsided the shadows began to crawl back towards the alley. The shadowy opossum figures dissipated into benevolent pools before gliding back to where they originated from. The long, flowing, hooded cloak that had engulfed Holland in complete darkness began to fall from his prone body.

Kelly was holding Avia; both of which were covered in minor cracks and scratches. Scribe came out from behind a mailbox; eyes wide and terrified. Her normal coloring slowly came back as she stopped using her camouflage. Walker found their way back to the group also covered in cracks and bruises. The detective slowly got to his feet and pulled small flecks of concrete out of his hair.

Jett was standing in the middle of the street; flames licking off his body. He stared out with wide eyes at nothing. His chest moved up and down in rapid time with his breathing. Panic crept up his spine once more. He wanted to run but there was nowhere to go.

Suddenly he was back home again.

He was outside and it was night. His parents were inside and they were crying; scared. His dad who always had a joke to crack or some other way to make light of a dark situation was shaking. His mom would always try her best to be a light in a dark room, to be there for those suffering, was now sitting the destroyed seating area of the bakery she tried so hard to bring to life. The majority of their small corner store bakery was trashed. Broken glass and cracked ceramic lay strewn about everywhere. He could feel the broken glass underneath his feet. He could feel a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the presence of two other people. One of those people stood next to him. She knelt down and whispered in his ear. Words he would never forget.

Burn it all down, Fire Boy.

He took a breath. Then another. A tear fell down his cheek. He couldn’t stop any of the others that followed. He stood there; stuck in terrifying moment he could never forget. Then he felt the very faint sensation of a hand on his back.

“Breathe,” a voice called. “You’re not over there right now, dude. Just breathe.”

Emery stood there with a comforting hand on his friend’s back guiding him out of the episode. Once his breathing was back to normal Emery pulled him away from the scene. Standing in the place where he almost set the detective on fire wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t helpful. This whole thing was horrible. Emery talked to Jett the whole time he walked away from the middle of the road. Once they were safely with the others he sat Jett down on the sidewalk.

“Wh—where am I?” Jett said; blinking.

“It’s okay, dude. You just had an episode. But it’s okay. I’m here.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said forgetting about the others in the moment. “The others are here too, Je. The detective’s here too. We’re helping him with a case. You’re at the docks.”

“The detective. The docks,” Jett repeated; nodding.

“Where is that asshole by the way, Detective?” Emery asked turning to Legacy.

Everyone looked around for Fiyero Nonagon. But he was nowhere to be seen.