#Also apologies to anyone that follows me that's about to be flooded with Destiny content

[retro-memo]

What. The. Fuck. Was. That. Trailer.

I feel unwell.

[bonny-kookoo]

Nightlight (PJM x Reader) 💜☁️⚠️🔞👹  Chapter 1

Pairing: Demon!Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Demon!AU, Angst, Possibly triggering content, Fluff/Romance, smut

Warnings: graphic description of violence, panic attacks, graphic description of certain fears and phobias, nightmares, blood, insects, accidents, death, it’s kinda messed up really, mild stalking, demon jimminie be kinda creepy ngl, confused jimin, intercourse with a demon (duh), restriction of movement, sleep paralysis, slight somnophilia, big dick!Jimin but wbk, marking, biting, scratching, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, y’all I’m gonna go to hell for this smh, more to add as the story progresses

Summary: The nightlight he once gave you with a smile always kept the nightly terrors of his pale and lifeless face at bay, giving you at least mild comfort in a time spend without his soothing touch. But when you’re admitted to the hospital due to an accident, there is no light to keep your thoughts safe from terror. Luckily for you, the demon responsible for your vacation between hand sanitizer and itchy sheets actually feels bad for once; and decides to help you out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part ?

Watching the clock tick away as every second passed didn't seem like a good hobby- yet it had become your main source of distraction nowadays.

Every moment you'd look at the clock, eyes focused on the small pointer going round after round was a reminder that the world didn't stop spinning even for a moment. That the world didn't care about someone's misery or happiness.

At his funeral, the sun had been shining too. The weather had been disgustingly nice, making birds sing their songs of gratitude in their trees, and children run in their home's yards, laughing away, unknowing of the tragedy that befell you and him. You remembered how hot it had been, how angry you've been- how could the world just continue on without any form of sadness for him?

He wasn't supposed to die so soon. You both just moved in together into a small apartment he'd rented after his work had given him a promotion, talked about maybe adopting a cat together, and started to think about settling down. Yet destiny had been cruel, taking him away from you just because it could. It had been two horrible changes of seasons since the day you had to watch him get buried six foot deep.

And you haven't been the same since.

Barely talking at all, simply existing as you buried yourself under the covers of your once shared bed, desperately trying to hold onto every scent, every trace that he'd been alive, but soon enough his body was just a mere memory, fading away like the scent on his shirts you wore at night to keep you sane.

The nightlight he'd bought you to help you with your insomnia and nightly terrors helped you a little- it felt like a small glimpse of hope in the corner of your room, no matter how childish it may seemed to the people around you. You'd long cut ties with former friends anyways, not wanting to be seen by anyone anymore.

You just wanted to be left alone.

Tiredly walking towards the stairs to get yourself a glass of water, you failed to notice the figure standing in your kitchen, eyeing the furniture and unwashed dishes in the sink with not much interest. He studied your form, pale and sad, as you simply shoved the ceramic plates a bit to make space so you could fill your glass up, uncaring of anything.

He was interested.

Humans like you, so broken and consumed by tragedy most of the time had the most delicious dreams he could think of- the deeply scarring emotions drowning your soul in heart wrenching thoughts and visions. He truly loved these- even though he preferred dreams of fear and terror.

As he followed you upstairs, silently, something inside him made him raise his eyebrow. He stopped at your bedroom door, hesitant, as if something was holding him back. Memories of a young couple playfully fighting played in front of him, two lovers falling into the bed, getting tangled in the sheets with feelings of euphoria- and he suddenly found himself at your bedside, watching you.

Your eyes suddenly opened, as you saw a figure looming over you, dark and menacing, its presence making the room feel stuffy and tight, as you could only watch, not move. Your body was frozen, not reacting to anything you told it, as the figure stepped closer, hands slowly creeping around your neck, increasing pressure as you heard it sigh out in pleasure. You could feel your fingers start to tingle, oxygen unable to enter your lungs, before you could suddenly breath again.

The figure yelped as if burned, falling back and pushing down the clock from your bedside table, breaking the glass front of it. You finally got up, scrambling out of bed in a hurry, tripping over your charging cable for your phone, before you stared at the shadowy figure in your room, breathing heavily.

It was hunched over, gasping for air itself as you slowly found a speck of pity in your heart, making you reach out your hand, as if to prove yourself that it was real.

Everything after was a blur, scenes happening too quickly to comprehend them properly inside your head.

A Hand pushed against your chest, the body moving, forcing you to walk backwards until he pushed with another boost of force- successfully making the glass of your window shatter, your body flying out of it, right into the rosebushes beneath your window, planted by your landlady to 'brighten up the visual appearance of the complex'.

The only thing you remembered after that was the pain and the shadow, making you close your eyes.

"Miss, are you awake?" The nurse asked, soft voice making you open your eyes. "Welcome back miss. You took quite the fall. Good thing someone found you." She said, checking your vitals as you simply stared ahead.

You weren't dead.

It should be something good, it should please you to know that you survived, but instead, it made your mouth taste stale, and your throat clog up. The nurse carried on, leaving the room after a moment. You knew she didn't care. She was only doing her job.

A look to the side told you that it was late- only some lights of other rooms of the hospital lighting up the outside, curtains pulled shut. It was dark in your room.

Too dark.

Your breathing increased as the shadows started to morph into heads, animals, and monsters; anything your mind could come up with. You could feel the bile raising in your throat, sour taste on your tongue making you swallow desperately, head whipping from left to right to find something to light the room up, but finding nothing. Your whimpers seemed to echo inside the room, making you feel awfully pathetic as you could only watch as the monsters- dissipated?

They vanished as a gentle glow flooded the room, originating from a figure behind the hospital curtains, shadow showing a seemingly male figure clad in unknown robes. You swallowed.

"Ah, the daughter of eve fears the dark?" He sing-songed, almost mockingly as the curtains moved a bit with the fresh air flowing into the room. You stared at him or more like his silhouette, as you whispered in a wavering voice.

"What are you?"

He chuckled, a breathy sound that didn't feel threatening. "Ah, she is smart however. She knows I am of a different kind." He said, voice low and rumbly, yet with an almost feminine tune to it. It reminded you of your lover, in a sense- yet his voice sounded nothing like his at the same time. "I am the fourth son of Rosier, a former Angel now residing in what you humans call hell." He stated, as if he was simply telling you how nice the weather would be tomorrow. So if he was the son of a fallen angel, was he-

"So you're.. a demon?" You asked, voice still almost only a whisper. He chuckled at your voice.

"Not quite, but it serves as a good definition for your kind. My heritage is quite.. difficult to explain, I'll admit." He mumbled, moving his head a little to the side. You couldn't make out his features at all, the only thing serving as a hint to his physique being the light accentuating his shadow.

"Why.. why are you here?" You asked, and he moved his arms a little, the sound of fabric moving the only noise for a moment.

"Ah, you really are smart. I usually hear the question of what I desire from someone- yet there is not really anything a human could offer to me I could have use of." He said with a humored undertone. He continued as you stayed silent. "I believe there has been an.. incident that should not have happened, and I am the one at fault."

"So you came to.. apologize?"

He clapped his hands, making you jump a little. "My my, why do you sound so surprised?" He asked, voice growing a bit more hostile. "I am not an angel full of itself because of its purity. My kind may be known to be quite tumultuous and.. unconventional, yet we do have our standards and pride." He said, leaning against the wall next to the window.

"I see." You simply said, and he didn't answer for a moment. You felt like you were being watched, observed even. You cleared your throat before asking. "Why.. why did you, you know.. throw me?"

He sighed. "I was not born with a body like your kind is. I have to.. lend or take one for myself." He said, and you nodded, unknowing if he could see you properly. It seemed like he did, because he took your gesture as a silent way of telling him to continue. "I have only recently acquired this body. For your standards of time, at least.Your planet spins faster in a year than my own world would consider a full change of seasons." He said.

"So you.. know what happened to him? Like.. the body's actual owner, I mean."

Running a hand through his hair, he answered you, though with mild hesitation in his tone. “Sometimes.. memories remain. What we do with them is up to us.” He said lowly, his voice so familiar, yet also nothing like a voice you’ve heard before in your lifetime. "He left this world with quite a dramatic final, I admit. I do not know details, however. He is.. keeping them from me. Which is fair, considering I did take without asking." Whoever was hiding behind those hospital curtains made your head spin in confusion, as you tried to pin point what exactly was happening.

There was a demon in your hospital room. Not only that, but this demon was drowning the entire room in a soft and gentle glow, prohibiting the natural shadows of all the furniture and items placed on their respective spots to turn into terrifying monsters ready to haunt your time of rest and healing. But for some reason his presence made your blood flow calmly in your veins, soft noises from the opened window making your eyelids close.

You could feel him come closer, notice how the mattress dipped a bit where he leaned to loom over you. “Rest. I’ll keep them away from you.” He murmured, a cool hand touching your forehead as you drifted off, not being able to catch the confused and frustrated face of the demon who was watching you.

How strong must this man have felt for you if even after his death he harbored those emotions inside those veins he’d decided to possess and claim as his own? His soul has long left this body, yet it seemed like pieces of him still remained, forcing its claws between his will, and leading him down a path he'd rather not take.

Sitting on a bench, only light a streetlamp illuminating the park around you, you finally felt alone. It may sound like this should be an upsetting feeling, but after a week of constant hovering of others, nurses and patients alike, it finally felt like you could breathe again. That was, until you felt a presence behind you.

"Do not lift your gaze." He said, as he walked around the bench to sit beside you, the only visible thing now his shoes up to his thighs, decorative and expensive robes in silvery and dark colors, accentuated with thin golden patterns. You admittedly expected something more.. cliche. Like a black suit, maybe. "You have yet to recover fully." He murmured, crossing his legs before resting his arms on the backrest of the bench. "Why did you leave?" He questioned, referring to your decision to leave the hospital against doctors advice.

You fiddled with your fingers, before sighing. "I couldn't take the lies and masks around me." You said, and he hummed.

"Ah, yes." he chuckled before he continued. "That nurse was quite.. envious of your bodily features, I've noticed. And one of the male patients had been quite fond of you as well." He said, and you raised your eyebrows, scoffing. He looked down at you, amused. "What? My kind cannot lie, if it makes my words more trustful for you." He said, and you chuckled.

"Well.." You started, before stretching your legs a little bit in front of you. "I'm not much to look at." You said, and he clicked his tongue.

"Hm.. Who is speaking untruthful now?" He said with humor in his tone. "You are quite visually pleasing to look at, if I may say so. I cannot imagine what you may look like without the draining burden of sorrow and hurt." He spoke, a hand carefully tracing a stray strand of hair, before you chuckled. The sound was good, he decided. He would make you laugh more.

"Thank you." You said, and he simply hummed a reply.

It was quiet for a moment, before you told him your name. He, again, only hummed a wordless reply.

"I'm afraid I cannot give you mine in exchange." He said, and you nodded, understanding.

You didn't need it anyways.

He slowly started to become a regular guest at your home. You had started to move away your lover's things as summer passed outside your windows, trying to mend your broken self together piece by piece with the Demon's help here and there. He distracted you when things got overwhelming, spending time with you and keeping you in touch with the world outside your walls. You had also started to work again. A simple job at a restaurant, washing dishes, nothing special. But it paid the bills, and it gave you something to do during the day.

A distraction, if you will.

This time when you came home however, his eyes widened at how you immediately fell to your knees, crying desperate tears into your hands. He didn't ask what happened, simply walking over to you, putting a hand on your head- a gesture he'd learned during his time with humans, a simple touch that was meant to bring comfort. Yet it also helped him to look into your thoughts, and see the situation that had occurred during your day at work, making his blood buzz inside his veins.

He could see how you were working, not participating in the chatter of the cooks and waitresses around you, until they started to make fun of you. Calling you names, laughing about your job, your clothing, your stand in society he guessed. It all went as far as to the simple moment a waitress let a plate fall, giggling at your desperate try to catch it before it could hit the floor. She did it again and again, plate after plate, until a chef made her stop, chuckling himself as he led her away, leaving you to clean up the mess, and deal with the harsh words of your boss that night.

Carrying you upstairs he laid you down on your bed, pulling the sheets over your body before vanishing in a simply cloud of black smoke.

Oh, this would be fun.

He was getting quite hungry anyways.

He watched from afar, as the waitress in question walked past her bedroom window before shutting down the lights, most likely preparing for sleep. That was his moment.

Fear was an interesting thing to him. Not only because he fed off of it like most Demons did, but because he loved how fears told him almost everything he needed to know about a specific person. The simple instinct that tormented humans during their time of rest told him stories of their deepest desires and secrets-giving him all the power he needed to rule over them during the night.

But this time, he didn't care about that.

He'd observed her already, knowing how narcissistic she was. The small vanity full of expensive makeup showed him her insecurity of her visual image towards others- a truly childish fear in his opinion. Yet it did give him enough to play with already.

Diving into her sleep, she didn't notice his intentions at all, simply watching him as he'd sat down in the corner of her room, casually lounging in her chair placed on that spot. She smirked, as if he was her property, and he smiled back, yet with a vicious intend behind his eyes, hidden from her sight, her instincts clouded by her own desires. "Ah, jesus, haven't had a dream like that in a while." She said, getting up to sit on his lap, making him smirk at her. He knew the effect he had on humans- the body he'd chosen quite attractive already, yet his own natural aura enhanced its beauty even more, giving him a tempting charm. It worked on her just as well as it did on others, and maybe that was why he'd been hiding his face from your gaze all along. This young woman was.. basic in every way he could think of. Nothing about her peaked his interest as it did with you- a fact that should be worrying him. Yet he decided to eat first.

She started to rudely push her hands in between the fabric of his robes, making him grasp her wrists with a predatory grin. If she noticed that something was off, she didn't mention it, as she grew even more happy at the fact he was trying to control her. Humans were so fond and protective of their dreams, loving the way that they thought they had full control over everything that happened. It made nightmares the more terrifying for them. "Feisty. Love that." She murmured, and he placed his hand on her cheek, making her raise her eyebrows.

"Oh how ugly you are."

He sang with a voice playful and mocking, as she widened her eyes, trying to get off of him. "Ah-ah, where do you wanna go now? You chose your seat, yet now you want to take back your decision?" He said, gripping her waist as she gasped in pain, heart rate surely increasing as she began to sweat. His smile widened as his hands dug into her skin, surely leaving bruises as she whined out, not yet where he wanted her yet. "Feisty- love that." He mused impishly, his eyes slowly drowning in black, oozing out shadows as his pupils glowed a vibrant red, a fire behind them it seemed.

The young woman squirmed on his lap, desperation calling out to her in her veins, making her try and scratch him- yet instead of blood, she only found black ink on her hands, making her wipe them furiously as she noticed ants crawling up her legs. She began to breath heavily, eyes widening, as he laughed at her pathetic attempt to push away, his hand now gripping her jaw. "what do you think, whore?" He mused, voice distorted by an unknown force she didn't want to understand, her eyes leaking tears to no end as she realized how this was out of her control. "Ah, she is empty already. How boring." He said, letting her fall onto her back, coughing violently as she ran to her bedside table, trying to find something in it. Yet he was already behind her, forcing her body in front of her vanity mirror as he had her hair in his fist, forcefully pulling on it as if it was a handle to use, her eyes closed as she chanted to wake up. He laughed, before he spoke his words. "Look ahead, stupid child. Do you still think your disgusting words make you more appealing?" He said, as she opened her eyes;

waking up screaming louder than she'd ever did before.

With bruises ever so present.

The demon was in a good mood these days.

Maybe you just imagined things, but he felt more carefree around you, simply lounging on your couch as if he owned the place- and you didn't mind him doing that at all. He was nice company after all.

He joked around with you, asked you things, and seemed genuinely interested in you as a person; you felt as if you both got closer the more you conversed.

He noticed your dreams, yet never interfered to this night, as the nightlight broke in your room, darkness drowning your dreams in terror and war. You sobbed in your sleep, and his nonexistent heart clenched at the sight- the force inside his veins however didn't have anything to do with him joining your dreams, however. No, this was all his own decision this time.

Your dreams were.. a feast, to be exact. For him, it felt like he was at a buffet, ready to pack his plate until he was filled to the brim- yet the curled up form of your body, tormented by shadows and fiends, he sighed. He couldn't feed off of you. His own pride didn't allow it.

He considered you something humans called a 'friend', yet the desire he'd started to develop speaking different words, his own fantasies not so saint as yours.

But for now, he pushed these rabid thoughts away from his mind, crouching down next to you, embracing you into his arms for the first time, your sobs dying down as you noticed who it was shielding the darkness. Your hands grabbed onto the expensive looking fabrics he wore, trying to get even closer to him than you already were, while you calmed down, whispers and shouts around you slowly dying down, leaving nothing but comfortable white noise.

You slowly detached yourself from his form, eyes widening at the way he seemed to be emitting black smoke all around you two. Yet he also seemed to glow, just like he did back in your hospital room, a source of light without clear form. Just like a shadow, you knew what he looked like- yet you couldn't tell for sure. His face was completely blank, making you feel uneasy.

"You cannot dream of something you haven't seen yet." He said, voice low and humming, mildly distorted by some unknown force around you two. You nodded at that, his words making sense to you. Yet it made you feel a bit sad, knowing that you'll probably never see him either way. "Have you hoped to catch a glimpse of my features in your dreams, hm?" He playfully asked, brushing some hair away from your face, and you liked to imagine his face gentle and soft. "How sweet of you." He mused, before he leaned in, his features not distinguishable for your own eyes- it was as if you could see them, but forgot about them immediately. It hurt to know that you could see him, yet you couldn't hold onto the memory of it. Like your own mind was mocking you for not having the courage to go against his rule of not raising your gaze enough to study his face properly when you were awake.

Yet his kiss felt as real as it could get.

It was confident, knowing in the mere fact that you had developed feelings for the unknown being following you around these days, even though it seemed stupid to the both of you. It felt like you found something missing again, yet at the same time it was way too foreign to be something that had happened to you before. You were a shy being, way too gentle to ever find someone who would drown you in a kiss like this; fiery and demanding, yet also giving and utterly bewitching.

But didn't he say that you couldn't dream of something you haven't experienced before?

[ezilyamuzed]

There’s no place like home - part 6.

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place during episode 13.18.

Warnings: Language.  Flashback are italicized. POV may switch after certain sections. 

A/N: This is my awkward part of the story and I apologize. I hadn’t rewatched the episodes yet when I had started posting to mesh these in correctly to the episodes. Dean and Sam would not have left Gabriel. I promise that will not happen again. Additional note that the description of the handling of psychological files is not HIPAA compliant, it just had to work this way for the story. Your therapists are not reading your files at home!

Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Gabriel was still a beaten and broken man hiding in the darkness of the bunker when they had returned, unwilling to speak or have anyone come close to him. Cas had just arrived, unknowing how bad the situation truly was. Ketch followed Dean on a mission to apocalypse world to find mom and Jack leaving his brother to watch and wait for their return. When Cas had heard what Dean was doing, he was furious at how Sam could let him do that, going into that world practically alone was a suicide mission. When Castiel saw Gabriel huddled in the dark corner of a room in the bunker, the gravity of the situation at hand hit him. 

“Where were you Sam, while you left Gabriel alone in this condition?” Castiel demanded.

“There was something we had to take care of Cas,” Sam replied while thinking about those last couple of days. 

“Who is Y/N,” Castiel growled while reading Sam’s mind, his eyebrows pushing together in concentration while holding back his fury towards Sam.

“You know I hate when you do that,” Sam replied with an annoyed tone while sitting down in the War room. “She is Bobby’s daughter, Cas. We just found out and well…we had to go and see for ourselves.”

“I understand your reasoning Sam, but you’ve wasted precious time that we did not have,” Castiel replied in a serious tone, not shifting his facial features as he spoke. 

“I know Cas. No more distractions,” Sam said solemnly. That was easier said than done. Y/N. The mysterious girl who showed up at one of the worst possible times. Y/N, the girl he needed to push out of his mind and forget. The girl he needed his brother to forget, at least for now. That was going to be the hard part. He saw the way his brother looked at her, he had never quite seen it before. Sure his brother did have the way with the ladies, but this was different. With Lisa his guard was up to protect her and Ben, but with Y/N? It was like they had known each other all their lives the way that they bantered back and forth, it was just so…natural. Saving the world again almost seemed like the easier task now.

_______________________________________________________________ 

The drive to Lawrence wasn’t as horrible as you had thought it would be. Yes, you were going on only about two hours of sleep from the night before but there was something freeing about being in your baby on the open road again with the wind blowing your hair and the tunes turned up. Everything felt like it was going to be alright for once in a long time. 

Almost 7 hours later you found yourself parking in the driveway at your new home. A simple one-story cottage house tucked away in the woods on the outskirts of town, away from the business of people. Just the way you liked it. You allowed yourself to appreciate the change you were about to walk into, your new home. Your new start. 

Walking in the front door you sighed heavily at all the boxes and furniture that the movers had left in stacks. You definitely had work to do, but you happily accepted the challenge for the next 5 hours. Setting up all the furniture just right and stacking the unneeded boxes for another night. Except for one. The patient files stored on little flash drives you had collected over the last decade since you were in your doctoral internship. Inside the box, they stayed tucked away within the small safe. You pulled it open to double check that they were all still safely secured, counting them one by one noting the dates of each. One had fallen underneath the couch as you started to place them back carefully in the safe. After pushing yourself to the floor to retrieve it, you glanced at the dates written on it. Something about it made you grab your laptop to open it up, imputing your password to unlock the contents. As you glanced through the initials one stood out in your memory more than the others, C.S., but why? You opened it and sat on the floor with your back against the couch, eyes widening as your past flooded back into your mind.

“Oh, my…Chuck.”

_____________________________________________________________

“Charles Shurley, white male early to mid-30’s complaining of severe headaches, anxiety with paranoia symptoms, insomnia, and vivid nightmares,” you read out loud before grabbing your new patient from the waiting room. You rocked back and forth in your office chair while looking over the intakes notes. “Admits to using alcohol to help himself sleep,” you gave a little scoff as you read it. “Don’t we all buddy.” 

You walked out to the waiting room, expecting a somewhat nervous man patiently waiting but what you found was a clearly shaken soul that looked like he was seconds away from jumping out of his own skin. Standing directly to the left of him, a bright glowing light figured with no face. An angel. This guy had a literal, honest to fucking God angel watching over him. You diverted your eyes away from it, not knowing exactly what it was doing here, with this man crumbling in his chair. Angels were unpredictable usually with their own “holy” twisted agendas.

“Charles,” you called out from the doorway.

He jumped up from his seat and followed your lead towards your little corner office that was sparsely decorated for use of other future interns when you left in a month. Honestly, if they hadn’t of been so short staffed at the moment you would be finishing up the termination and referrals for the people you had already been working with, not taking on a new client. The Angel followed him closely behind, you keeping it in the corner of your eye. This was going to be interesting. 

The two of you sat down in the somewhat comfy leather chairs, perfectly at the 90-degree angles you were taught they should be in. You crossed your legs as you watched him stare nervously at the ground. The Angel stood guard next to him, unfaltering.

“Charles, I’m Y/N,” you stated while trying to ignore the celestial entity in your office. “Were you informed prior to your consent signing that I am a doctoral student and not a licensed psychologist?”

He nodded his head yes in reply, still focusing on the ground. His hands trembling on his lap. His left foot bouncing off the ground.

“Charles? I will have some general questions for you for assessment purposes, but first, why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

“It’s Chuck actually,” he said while raising his eyes to yours. 

“Okay, Chuck,” you politely smiled. “What can I help you with?” 

“I’m going to sound crazy. You will probably end up throwing me in a padded room and tossing the key.”

Your gaze moved over towards the celestial being. Being followed by angels, now that was crazy. You shook away your thoughts and gave your best professional tone. “Are you harming yourself or others or have any plan to do so?”

“No,” he replied quickly.

You gave him a little half smile as you sat back a bit farther into the chair, not wanting to piss off his angelic handler by getting too close. “I don’t think there is any reason for that then.”

“You are going to think it’s crazy.”

“I’ve heard a lot of crazy stories Chuck,” you said with a friendly smile, trying to calm down his nerves while thinking of how this situation was definitely in the top 10 of crazy.

He took in a deep breath and straightened himself out in his chair before replying. “I have these dreams. Almost like nightmares. When I wake up I can still remember every detail.”

“Remembering details in one's dreams is pretty common,” you stated in reply. “Sometimes we remember our dreams more because of the memories of events that happen to us during the day prior.”

“Yeah well, I don’t exactly go hunting wendigo’s, vampires, werewolves, and ghosts during the day.”

Your heart and breathing stopped suddenly at his words. What did he just say? Did he just say what you thought he said? You looked at his angelic guard in nervousness. It’s light flickering a yes to your thoughts. This guy is a goddamned prophet. 

“You are having dreams about supernatural entities?” you questioned while readjusting yourself to keep your expressions and body movement as calm as you could be.

“Not just them, but also these guys. Brothers and a dad hunting them across the country.”

“Are these individuals perhaps someone you may have met before?”

“No, I’ve never seen them, but in the dreams, I am not exactly interacting with them, more like watching a television show unfold.”

You felt yourself nod in reply. Definitely a prophet. But how much did he know? Did he even believe?

“Are you religious Chuck,” you questioned calmly.

“Like God and that stuff? I mean I know about it but I don’t exactly go to church or anything like that,” he replied in confusion to your question.

“Some people find religion to be an outlet when dealing with stress,” you calmly replied, answering his unspoken question. “So did you have prior knowledge or interest in the supernatural before these dreams started?”

His eyebrows scrunched while contemplating his answer. “I mean, I’ve read Dracula, and I’ve seen the Patrick Swayze movie but other than other that it had never been a hobby of mine.”

“Had never been? So is it now?” you questioned while wondering how far he had dug into the truth. 

“After I have a dream, I research some things about it online,” he replied quietly. “Almost everything I dreamt is right there, black and white.”

“So what do you do after?”

“I wake up and start writing it all down,” he said with tears forming in his eyes. “It’s like I can’t stop myself from doing it. Like someone is making me do it.” 

You looked over to the Angel, hatred forming in your eyes at what they were doing to this poor man. A man who had no clue what was happening to him. How far were they going to push him until he completely shattered?

“What happens if you don’t Charles?”

“My head feels like it is about to explode. I can’t do anything until I get it all out. I can’t think. I can’t sleep, and when I do sleep more of the story comes to me.”

“May I ask what you do for a living Chuck?” you asked to change the subject. His general background you were going to need anyways for your assessment, might as well do your job even though this was not what you expected to walk in.   “Nothing right now, it’s been too hard to try and do anything else since this began.”

“What kind of work would you like to be doing?”

“Well I went to school to be a writer,” he replied sheepishly.

You gave him an empathetic smile. “Well then maybe these dreams can be used as a blessing in disguise then.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said it was like a show playing right in front of you that you feel the need to write down, so do it,” you said while taking a quick glance toward the Angel. “Don’t stop yourself, take control. It could very well possibly reduce your other symptoms that you are having if you allow yourself to do it. Maybe you could turn it in for publication.”

“Then the whole world will think I am crazy,” he exclaimed.

You gave him a little shrug. “Use a pen name or blog them anonymously. Just get the story out of your system or you very well may drag yourself even further down.”

“A pen name,” he said quietly. “Monster Hunters by Joe Smith.”

“You may want to visit other possible names for the book title about the supernatural,” you replied with a little chuckle behind your voice. “Also you might find and use a name that means something to you.”

“Supernatural,” he replied while staring off in the distance. “I like it.”

____________________________________________________________

When Dean came back alone he was furious to discover that Gabriel had split during his absence. Mom, Jack, Ketch and now apocalypse world Charlie were counting on him to bring them back. To save them all. The weight of two worlds now weighing on his shoulders.

He pushed himself into his room, throwing everything that laid on his dresser in anger in one quick swoop. He sat down on the corner end of his bed and laid his face into his hands. What was he going to do now?

“Dean,” said the gruff voice of Cas while standing still I the doorway, observing the destruction Dean had made in his path. 

“Not now Cas,” Dean said while not looking up to him. 

“Dean, this is not your fault,” Cas stated solemnly. “We will find Gabriel, we will get to them.”

Cas continued talking about hopeful possibilities, none of them would be easy. What Dean wouldn’t do to just run away from it all, but he couldn’t. There were too many people counting on him. People he loved were on the other side. In this world, all the others he would and has laid down his life for, and now another person just got added to that list, Y/N.

“You are thinking about Bobby’s daughter,” Cas asked while already knowing the answer.

“How did you…”

“Sam informed me of her unexpected arrival,” Cas stated, interrupting Dean.

“Yeah well, that’s a whole other situation that we don’t have time for,” Dean quipped back.

“Dean, maybe you should take some time,” Cas said while feeling the frustration radiate off if Dean. “Maybe go and see her. Get your affairs in order while we figure out the next move.”

Dean sat there quietly pondering the idea. Every plan so far all had the same possible no-win situation if they did manage to get to them and stop Michael. These could very well be his last days on this earth at least. Seeing Y/N again, at least one last time sounded like the best plan he had heard all day. One last time to forget that the worlds were about to crumble all around him. 

Keep Reading Part 7 Here

Tags: @jaylarkson @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @iamabeautifulperson18

[thetimelesscycle]

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 55

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

A/N: PLEASE READ BEFORE READING.

I must apologize for this one, as it does not resolve the cliffhanger you were all left with at all. In fact, it is the same cliffhanger, just worse. Upon writing up Chapter 55 I realised I did not like the way the sequence of the scenes played out in their planned order. The beats were off, so a little reshuffling was needed. As such, Fili's scene from the last chapter has been brought forward to this one. If you have already read Chapter 54 you may like to go back and read the new scene with Dwalin that took the place of Fili's piece. It is not vitally important to the story to read it, but it may give you some hope for the cliffhanger in this chapter.  

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

All the best, TTC

/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT V

-The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 55

The Unravelling

No matter how much he might have wished it, Thorin had not been able to rush directly to his nephew's aid, and not just because to do so would be throwing caution to the wind. No, the obstacle barring his path was far more physical in nature, a literal stone wall sitting where it had no right to be.

"What in Durin's name…?" Gloin moved past his king to press against the barricade, finding, as Thorin had done, that it was immovable. "A cave-in?"

"Not a chance," Nori corrected him. "Look at those clean edges. That's dwarf work, that is."

"But why would someone build a wall here?" Bofur wondered aloud. "On the main road to the forges? Were they trying to keep us out?"

"No." Thorin frowned at the blockade. "They were trying to keep something in."

Balin understood immediately, and spoke his grim realisation aloud. "They're trying to channel the water down a single route."

"There are too many tunnels," Thorin nodded. "The flood will lose strength if it's diverted too many times." He turned to the rest of the Company. "Tear it down."

There was no hesitation, no question as to whether or not they would be able to disassemble the stone barricade with only their weapons on hand, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield simply did as they had always done; They found a way. Thorin felt a swell of pride at seeing how well they all worked together, the bonds this quest had created between the most motley band of adventurers he had ever had the pleasure of leading, and for a brief moment the shadows of Erebor seemed to recede a little.

Then Oin laid a hand on his shoulder and drew him back to the present peril. "We have this, Thorin," the healer assured him. "Go."

He was right. Thorin did not have time to wait for the wall to come down, not if he wanted to reach Fíli before Erebor inevitably turned on Durin's Blood as it always had in the past. He nodded gratefully, already moving, and found Balin at his side as he turned.

"We can take the western passage," his advisor said as they began to sprint. "It runs towards the lower halls. They won't have blocked it."

"No." Thorin shook his head without slowing his pace. "That will take too long. We'll use the pulleys."

Had it been anyone other than Balin with him, that plan would no doubt have been met with a myriad of protests. As it was the older dwarf simply shook his head and kept his opinions to himself, trusting that Thorin knew what they were without him needing to speak them aloud.

And he did. It was a rare occasion now that he did not know what advice Balin would offer when he thought his king was being needlessly reckless. But there was nothing needless about this. Fíli's fate, and perhaps the fate of the entire mountain, hung in the balance of aid reaching his nephew in time. Even if Fíli had managed to stop Valin's plans from eventuating, his heir was still in grave danger, and Thorin refused to let him face that danger alone.

The passageway ahead of him branched suddenly and he swung to the right, not slowing his headlong charge even when the ground dropped away beneath him into a series of stone steps. If anything, he quickened his pace, bounding down the stairwell with Balin holding steady a few strides behind him.

Never before had Erebor's colossal interior seemed such a cold thing, indifferent to the plight of its people, unmoved by his desperate need for haste. He knew it was only his imagination, that a mountain was a mountain and could neither hinder nor help those who chose to make a home beneath it, but this kingdom had cost so much already. He did not know if he would ever be able to forgive it if it took more.

He didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself if he let it.

"There!"

Balin, whose attention had not wavered, spotted the opening first. Ten strides further on the steps ended, and they emerged onto one of the platforms suspended above Erebor's mines. As Thorin had hoped, the pulleys by which the miners did their work were still in place. Some were even new, a testament to the restoration work Dain had spearheaded right up until the moment Valin showed his true colours.

Leaving Balin to check the integrity of the pulleys themselves, Thorin moved towards the platform's end, snagging one of the hanging seats in his hand as he went. It had been a long time since he had used such a device, Ered Luin's veins had never run as deep as the Lonely Mountain's rich caverns, but there was no hesitation in his step as he approached edge.

"It all seems to be in working order," Balin announced. "Though I can't promise the way will be open when you reach the top."

"It doesn't matter." Leaning out over the precipice, Thorin looked down, not up. "The enemy is below us."

~The Heart of Erebor~

It was not often that Dís lost her hold on her herself. She might never have been as serene as Frerin, or as peaceable as Nali, but she had a level head on her shoulders that prevailed more often than not. Someone had needed to set an example for her sons, and her self-control had the added advantage of making her rare outbursts of frustration far more effective than they might otherwise have been. Thorin had learned he had better sit himself down and listen when Dís chose to raise her voice, though it had taken him a while. Her sons had been quicker studies when it came to that particular lesson, unencumbered by the years Thorin had had to become so stubbornly set in his ways.

She doubted even he would have dared cross her in her current mood. It was foolish, she knew that, and reckless, and brash, and all those things she had reprimanded her brother for so many times. She should know better, she did know better, she just didn't care. Valin had taken too much: A brother, a husband, a home. And then he had tried to take more. He had threatened her children, and in so doing, he had sealed his fate.

She heard Kíli call after her as she bolted from the room, but she paid him no heed. He was safer where he was, under Dain's watchful eye, far from Valin's reach, and removed from the bloody confrontation that was sure to come. So she kept running, she did not turn back, following close on the traitor's heels as he fled before her, as fleet as any coward she had ever met.

Their path did not take them upwards, towards the great hall of the King or the treasury that had once bewitched her grandfather. Instead they plunged down, down, down into the heart of the mountain, where it hid its wealth in depths of shadow that failed to dissuade Durin's Folk from seeking whatever prize Erebor was willing to surrender.

Valin reached the central mining shaft and struck out across the bridge that spanned the gaping hole, narrow as only dwarf bridges could be and without a handrail in sight. Dís did not hesitate to follow, not casting a single glance towards the dizzying drop on either side of her, her attention reserved for the dwarf who now turned to face her. She kept walking until she was standing just out of arm's reach, the both of them suspended above the very middle of the shaft, and neither of them giving any sign that the precariousness of their position bothered them.

"It wasn't meant to be like this, you know." In contrast to his earlier volatility, Valin seemed almost conversational now. "Your ends could have been swift, painless, had you only been content to die."

"Swift and painless like Frerin's?" She retorted, her hammer in her hand, though she did not recall drawing it. Her vision was darkening around the edges, honing in on Valin alone, and she fought to hold steady, to not be the first to throw a blow. "Or do you expect me to believe those beasts only defiled his body after he was dead?"

"I had nothing to do with your brother's death," he denied, smiling as he did so. "That was Thror's doing. He is the one who chose to awaken the sleeping beast. Is it any wonder he was devoured whole?"

"Ah, yes, of course." She was trembling now. "You do prefer the swifter death, don't you, Valin? Nali could attest to that."

"An unfortunate accident," the snake replied smoothly. "Such as befalls those who stand beside the Line of Durin."

"Don't pretend you didn't want him dead!" she snapped at him, wavering. "He stood for everything you hated."

"On the contrary," he chose to refute her. "I had no quarrel with Nali Silvertongue. He brought his fate on himself, when he chose to wed you and continue your cursed lineage."

Dís tried to answer him, but her thoughts were scattering, the words would not come, and Valin was blurring before her eyes even as a sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"What is the matter, Lady Dís?" There was a knife in his hands, but he was not holding it for battle, toying with it as he gave her a knowing glance. "You look unwell."

Realisation struck her like a cold wave, her free hand instinctively rising to cover the wound he had dealt her. It was only a scratch, she had barely felt it when it happened, but now… now…

Her knees folded beneath her, and for a terrifying moment she was staring down into the deep, deep emptiness of the mineshaft. She reared back away from it, falling onto her haunches, her hammer slipping from her grasp. She watched, unable to do a thing, as Valin approached her, kicking her weapon over the edge as he came, and halting only once he towered over her, triumph making his eyes glow.

"Consider it a mercy, Lady Dís," he told her. "You will not have to watch your children die."

Oh, he was a fool.

Summoning what remained of her failing strength she struck him, hard, in the stomach. He flailed backwards, choking on his surprise, but he did not fall. His boot heel scuffed the edge of the drop and then he stopped, rage transforming his face in a way that was truly frightening as he charged at her, his intent clear. She had nowhere to go, no strength left to fight, and she uttered a silent apology to her children, to her brother, then watched as Valin ground to a sudden, inexplicable halt.

His knife slipped from his hand and he staggered back, reaching up with groping fingers to grip the bolt embedded in his shoulder. As shocked as he was, Dís summoned the strength to turn around, her distorted vision doing nothing to stop her from recognising her youngest child, struggling to reload a weapon he was still not truly familiar with.

"No…" The words made no sound as they left her lips, and her fingers were too weak to do more than drag across Valin's boots as he stormed past her, tossing the bloody dart aside with a savage snarl. "No, Kíli…"

He didn't hear her, backing away as he struggled to set another bolt to the string without taking his eyes off the raging madman bearing down upon him.

A madman who never made it off the bridge.

She thought she was seeing things at first, the poison taking its toll as she watched her brother descend from the heights like a thunderbolt of pure rage. He crashed atop Valin's back with a cry that echoed in the hollow space, his sword piercing through the traitor's chest and grinding on the stone below.

Valin shrieked like a wounded animal, and she was certain she was not imagining that, watching him writhe and thrash and simply refuse to die. Thorin pulled his blade free, set his foot against the madman's side, and sent him toppling into the abyss. The screaming did not stop even then, ringing inside the cavern, inside her head, long after the echoes had died away.

But then, monsters never did die quietly.

"Dís!" Thorin was beside her suddenly. She had not seen him move, but she knew his voice, the firm grip of his hand upon her shoulder as he lifted her upright. "Dís, look at me."

It was a struggle, but she managed it, adding a reproving note of reprimand to her voice as she gasped, "You're late."

"And you are a fool," he bit back at her, tearing her sleeve away ruthlessly to get a better view of the tiny scrape that had brought her so low. "What were you thinking, Dís?"

"I wasn't," she admitted truthfully. She had to pause for what seemed an age, wrack her mind for the question she needed to ask next, but it came to her at last. "Where's Kíli?"

"I sent him to find Tuilinn." He was lifting her now, guiding her back off the bridge and onto more solid ground. "I fear we have need of her services once more."

"Truly?" He set her down against a wall and she rolled her head to the side, struggling to get a clear view of his face. "Did the world end while I wasn't looking or did Thorin Oakenshield swallow his pride?"

He made a sound that might have been a strangled laugh, tightening his hold on her shoulder. "It would appear I have no choice. You are all so intent on landing yourselves back in a sickbed it is an unavoidable occurrence."

He deserved a sharp answer for that, a reminder of the many times he had been the one bleeding all over her clean sheets. To her regret she did not have the strength to point as much out to him as the world around her darkened suddenly, a weight on her chest making it hard to breathe.

"Stay with me, Dís," she heard Thorin plead with her from a distance, his voice muted and faint, and then she heard nothing at all.

~The Heart of Erebor~

Fíli was angry.

No. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't anger, this burning fire that had started in his chest and spread from there, a tidal wave of rage, of wrath. Anger wasn't a strong enough word for it. Wasn't a strong enough reaction to all that these people had done. What they had planned to do. It wasn't anger, it was an absolute fury that drew a red sheen across his vision and made his heart pound to the beat of the war drum thrumming somewhere in the back of his mind.

His encumbering limb forgotten he hurled himself at the enemy, his twin knives coming up in a tight guard as he put himself between Rin and Tárr, steel slamming against steel with a ringing 'clang'. Around him, the tension in the air had finally snapped as Tarr's followers engaged Rin's improvised army, trying to make use of the advantage their weapons gave them over their unarmed, but far more numerous foes.

To his chagrin, Fíli could do nothing about the plight of his kinsmen, struggling as he was to keep up with Tarr's violent blows. The scarred dwarf fought in a manner that left no doubt as to his intentions, and, once the initial flush of anger had abandoned him, Fíli was left to come to terms with the fact he had put himself in a very bad position. He could not hope to hold his ground, not with a game leg ready to drop his guard at any moment, but nor was retreat a tenable solution. Tárr would follow, would press the advantage, and he could well end up in a worse corner than the one he had already put himself in.

He looked around briefly, seeking aid, but Lnolir had been cut off by one of Tarr's henchmen the moment Fíli engaged the enemy, and Rin, still without any weapon save his bullheadedness, had rushed to the defence of the all important switch, foreseeing that Valin's trap would remain the goal of their adversaries so long as it was within reach.

No help was coming, he was going to have to do this on his own.

With that sobering thought lodged in the forefront of his mind, Fíli slowly and deliberately began to give ground, enticing Tárr away from his original goal, giving Rin and the others a chance. It wasn't easy, Tárr knew every second step was a stumble, an opportunity to try and slip beneath Fíli's defences, and he pushed him every step of the way. But Fíli wasn't the naive youth he had been when he left Ered Luin, ready for combat but only under the understanding it would be a fair fight. He had fought a dozen battles since, many whilst wounded, and if he had learnt nothing else he knew now how to survive.

His leg may be useless and his heart filled with doubt, but his hands were as steady as ever, and the instinct of all his years of training served him as well as it always had in the past. He met Tárr blow for blow even as he retreated away from the switch, catching every strike, deflecting some back, keeping his knives moving in a swift and ceaseless pattern that forced his opponent to keep up, and gave him no time to stop and consider the trap he was walking into, step by steady step.

Fíli felt more than saw the space open up behind him. Erebor's wide expanse landing like a cold embrace across his shoulders. He did not turn, or flinch, or give any indication that he was aware of what lay at his back. Instead he let his leg cave beneath him, let the weakness show as he stumbled, and let Tárr assume he had found the opening he was seeking.

As expected, the scarred dwarf charged forward, his ax raised as he let out a triumphant shout. Fíli stopped straining and let his leg drop him completely, putting all his weight on his good limb as he ducked and pivoted. His assailant, not expecting the sudden movement, sailed past him to trip upon the edge of oblivion.

There was a brief moment where they both stared at one another, the one in outraged horror, the other in triumphant satisfaction, and then Tarr's free hand latched onto the edge of Fili's tunic, and before his mind could grasp the true relevance of that fact he was tumbling, head over heels, down a series of stone steps, Tárr above and below him as they fell together.

He nearly blacked out when they reached the bottom, a silent scream wrenched from his lips as his bad leg folded beneath him. Darkness crept into his vision, deeper and more dangerous than the mountain's natural shadow. He fought it, hands grasping blindly for his dropped weapons even as he tried to roll over, to see where Tárr had fallen.

He did not have long to wonder as a hand snared in the cloth covering his chest, dragging him upright with brutal force to slam his back against the wall. Vision still blurred, he reached for one of the other weapons concealed on his person, only to have it dashed from his hand before he could put it to good use. The pressure on his chest grew, he thought Tárr might have been screaming something in his face, but the sound was muted, drowned out by the growing swell of panic and the fact he could not breathe.

In that moment he wasn't in Erebor, facing a traitor for the sake of all his people. He was back beneath Gundabad, trapped in the clutches of an enemy he couldn't hope to overcome, desperate only to survive. He struck out instinctively, aiming for the foe of the past as much as that of the present, and caught his assailant a stunning blow on the cheek that loosened the hold on his collar just enough for him to wrench free.

He rolled away, the movement made clumsy by his uncooperative leg, and then dragged himself backwards in the bare seconds it took his attacker to recover, seeking refuge in one of the alcoves etched into the stone wall at his back. His breathing was ragged, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to quiet it, ears straining for any sound of pursuit even as his mind insisted it wasn't safe to stop, to stand, and he was going to die down here.

But no. No. That was before, not now. Kíli had come for him. This wasn't Gundabad, this was Erebor, his home, and he was going to defend it. He closed his eyes to the memories lurking in every corner and thought of the lake in Nordinbad, of the great expanse of stars his father had so loved, of anything but the walls closing in around him, and the venomous creature lurking in the dark, ready to attack at a moment's notice.

He thought of Kíli, pale and weak, but stronger than Fíli had ever seen him. He thought of his mother, sitting at his bedside and holding his hand in her own as she refused to give up on him even when he wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He thought of Thorin, so full of doubt and self-loathing, yet here nonetheless, because his family had asked it of him. He thought of Nali, the father he had barely known, whose first thought when it came to his sons had been their protection.

Protection.

Startling back to himself, Fíli leaned back against the wall, balancing precariously on one leg so he could bring the other boot up to his waiting hand. The knife slid easily into his palm, settling there as though it belonged, and he felt the shadows retreat the moment his fingers closed around it. He was not unarmed, he was not helpless, and he would not let Tárr win.

"There you are, little mouse."

Pushing off with his hands and his good leg, Fíli dived for safety, hearing Tarr's ax bounce off the stone where his head had been a moment before. The scarred dwarf was near silent on his feet, and Fíli had no way of knowing where he was as he struggled to right himself from where he had landed, sprawled on the stone floor. He had barely made it to his knees when Tarr's boot caught him in the side and he crashed onto his back, winded. His father's knife was still in his hand, clutched tight, and he used the pattern of the handle digging into his palm to keep the panic at bay as Tárr loomed above him.

"You should have stayed away," the traitor hissed at him as he bent down, the ax in his hand disconcertingly close, though it did not seem to have occured to him to use it. "Did you not understand? This mountain is cursed."

"You're wrong." Fíli did not let his stare drift away from Tarr's face, despite the weapon threatening to end him then and there. "You're the one who is cursed."

He lashed out, his father's knife slashing across Tarr's face. The scarred dwarf reeled back with an outraged scream, his hand flying to cover his good eye as he staggered in pain. Scrambling to his feet, wavering himself, acting more on battle honed instinct than rational thought, Fíli latched on to Tarr's shoulder with his free hand and pulled him close, driving Nali's knife into the traitor chest right up to the hilt.

Tárr went rigid in his grip, and Fíli turned his head just enough to whisper in his ear, "That was for my father."

Tarr's ax hit the floor as he jerked in pain, trying to pull away. Fíli let him go, yanking his blade free and stumbling back himself. He tried to put weight on his bad leg and ended up sitting down in a graceless heap, his head spinning as he watched Tárr crumple to the floor, twitching senselessly for several, long moments before he went utterly still.

Dead. He was dead. Fíli had killed him. The dwarf responsible for ending his father's life, for taking Nali away from his sons, for countless other crimes against his own kin that Fíli did not know about but doubtlessly existed. And yet… and yet… He had never killed anything that was not beast, warg, or orc before. It felt different. It was different, and both anger and panic were bleeding away to be replaced by something hollow and bleak.

He wished…

"Fíli!"

He jerked his head up at the sound of Bilbo's voice, spying the hobbit's silhouette at the top of the steps. It was hard to tell, staring up into the torchlit shadows, but Bilbo sounded frightened. Panicked even. He opened his mouth, prepared to tell the halfling he was alright, when another sound caught his attention. A sound that had been there all along, roaring in the background unheeded, only now it was getting louder.

He had barely a second to realise what that meant, and then a wall of water came crashing down over his head.