#American Gods imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bearwriting · 9 months

Text

Gather

Start Here Previous Chapter

Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and he wants answers.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol use, drinking

Next Chapter

“Who was he?” you asked as he pulled back onto the freeway.

“Someone very powerful. And, like I said, someone you don’t want to fuck with. He gave up your keys too easily, I don’t like it.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m gonna try to get some sleep, but wake me up when we get to a motel.”

You balled up your sweatshirt between your head and the car window and fell asleep almost immediately.

Sweeney took that opportunity to scan your sleeping face, the fear from earlier a stone in his stomach. Why was Fear Doirich looking for you? He had said he wanted whatever it was that you had been sent to retrieve for Wednesday, but that was a lie. At least, it was a partial one. The Dark Man was plotting something, Sweeney just knew it, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Sweeney knew he couldn’t do anything about it now, but he could at the very least do his damnedest to make sure that you were protected.

A few hours later, Sweeney shook you awake. You peered up at him groggily and groaned. “Five more minutes,” you mumbled, turning away from him and pulling your sweatshirt-pillow closer.

He rolled his eyes. “We’re here so you can keep sleepin’. Besides, I already paid for the room so you are not sleeping in this car.”

You made a muffled sound that Sweeney was fairly confident was an impressive string of profanity.

He huffed. “We don’t have time for this. Up you get, let’s go.” He leaned down and pulled you from the car, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Now you were wide awake.

“Put me down!” you snarled, pounding on his back with your fists. “I’m not a child!”

He snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You growled and aimed a kick at his stomach, feeling your foot sink into the soft flesh there. He doubled over, loosening his grip and nearly dropping you, but you managed to land neatly on your feet.

“You are a fuckin’ piece’a work, you know that?” he snapped.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back. “Don’t manhandle me.”

“Then get your fuckin’ ass in gear next time!” He stood to his full height, massaging his stomach and sucking in a breath. “Every day you get on my nerves a little more.”

You glared at him. “No one’s forcing you to be here.”

He shot you a look as he unlocked the door of the motel room. You stepped in, wrinkling your nose at the faint odor.

“Would it kill us to get a halfway decent room every once in a while?” you muttered.

He pretended not to hear you and made his way into the bathroom, gesturing for you to follow.

“Up there,” he said, pointing to the counter. “Shirt off.”

You smirked at him. “If you wanted to get me naked you could’ve just said.”

He snorted. “Needta change your bandages.”

You moved to strip down but paused.

“You all right?” he asked. “I can get the scissors again, but at the rate you’ve been goin’ through clothes ‘m not sure—“

You cut him off. “It’s not that it hurts,” you murmured, twisting gently to your left and then to your right. “It’s that it…doesn’t?”

His red eyebrows shot up. “What?” You hurried to correct yourself. “No, I mean it still hurts, obviously it still hurts, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it feels like it should.”

His brow furrowed. “Lemme take a look.”

You pulled your shirt over your shoulders and presented your back to him. Sweeney carefully peeled back the layers of bandages. He sucked in a startled breath and you could see his surprise in the mirror on the wall.

“What is it?” you demanded.

“This is…it shouldn’t look like this,” he said slowly. “I mean, it still doesn’t look good, but considering your flesh was ribbons two days ago?” His eyes met yours in the mirror. “It shouldn’t look like this.”

You twisted to see your back in the mirror and an uneasy feeling settled over you. Sweeney was right, it still didn’t look great, but the deep lacerations across your back looked as though they were at least a few weeks healed, not just a few days.

You turned to Sweeney with wide eyes and were met with an equally surprised stare. He reached out, bracing a hand against your cheek, and gently pulled away the bandage on your face. It was the same. Far more along in healing than it had any right to be.

“What the hell is this?” you demanded.

He held up his hands. “How in the fuck am I s’posed to know?”

“I don’t know! You’re the leprechaun that’s supposedly thousands of years old, I figured if one of us was gonna know what the fuck is going on, it would be you!” You were fairly shouting now, but Sweeney could see the fear that was beginning to creep into your expression.

He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of things, love, but nothing like this. You’re healing miles faster than you should be.”

You chewed on your lower lip. “There’s gotta be someone we can ask.”

Sweeney shrugged. “First person I can think of is Circe.”

You shook your head. “I dunno, I don’t know that she would be able to help us with this. I don’t know how much she can help with things that aren’t a direct result of magic.”

He looked at you incredulously. “Look at yer back an’ tell me magic isn’t involved somehow.”

Now it was your turn to shrug. “I don’t know, but honestly? As long as I’m not dying from blood loss or infection, this is not at the top of my list of priorities.”

“So what is?” Sweeney demanded.

You blinked. “Are you serious? The weird bitch that had my car? The one that had you about to shit your britches?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Who was he?”

Sweeney squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose like he could will your questions away.

“Sweeney,” you demanded.

“He’s someone you don’t want to fuck with,” was his only response.

You stared at him in disbelief. “That cannot be your actual answer. Everyone we interact with is someone we don’t want to fuck with but none of them have ever had you acting like this.”

The ginger giant refused to meet your eyes. You sandwiched his face between your hands and made him look at you. “Sweeney. Who was he?”

His grass-green eyes looked at you pleadingly.

“Don’t make me smack you,” you threatened.

He sighed and pulled his face from your grasp. “You know how you won’t refer to Gr — to the old man by name? This is the same. Names have power, and that…that thing doesn’t need any more than he already has, just like the old man. We’ll call him the Dark Man. S’what his name translates to anyway.”

You looked at him expectantly and he took a deep breath.

Sweeney spoke haltingly. “F—the Dark Man, he…he’s fear itself, as it were. Or one of its iterations at least. He used to…take people. He was a servant of the Faerie Queen and he has…an ability, we’ll call it, to strip people of their will.”

“To make them do what he wants,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

Sweeney nodded. “Many have followed him, but few, if any, have ever come back. The Dark Man, the Black Druid, he’s gone by many different names. He feeds on fear and doubt.”

You scratched your chin thoughtfully. “So what could he want from us? Like…I’ve never actually heard of this guy, not in the way we’ve heard of the old man or Czernobog or anyone else. He can’t actually be that powerful, can he? There’s not that many stories about him, there’s no way—“

“Drop it,” Sweeney said sharply.

You blinked, startled at his tone. Usually, you would immediately be inclined to argue with him or to keep poking the bear, but something in his eyes, something that looked an awful lot like real fear, held you back.

“Fine. Whatever.” You turned your back to him. “I’m going to get food. Come with me or don’t.”

He put a warm hand on your shoulder. “You need rest. I’ll go get us some burgers.”

You looked up at him. “Can we get chicken?”

He chuckled. “Can those eyes get any bigger?”

You stuck out your lower lip for added effect and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “All right, we passed a KFC not too far from here. I’ll go, you rest. Don’t leave this room and don’t open the door for anyone but me.��

You saluted sarcastically. “Yessir.”

He rolled his eyes and left the room, grabbing your keys. The door shut behind him, the lock sliding into place, and you were alone in the dank room. You flipped through the channels on the grainy television until you landed on something that seemed even vaguely interesting.

Shucking off your grimy jeans, you dug through the duffel until you came up with a pair of relatively clean sweatpants and what looked like one of Sweeney’s shirts. You pulled on the sweats and tugged the shirt over your head, rolling up the sleeves until your hands were visible.

You flopped onto the bed, wincing when the wounds on your back twinged in protest, and sighed heavily. The bed wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was the best you’d had in a bit. At the very least, it was significantly better than being stuck in whatever shithole the Jotnar had you in. Sitting up, you pulled the pillows and blankets from their positions, building a nest around yourself, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. Then, you spied the phone on the nightstand.

You dialed the front desk. “Hi!” you said brightly. “Yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering if it would be possible to have some extra pillows brought to room fifteen? Two or three, if you wouldn’t mind, and an extra blanket if you can. Great, thank you!”

A few minutes later, you had the extra pillows and blanket. You arranged everything into a nest on your bed, propping yourself up with a pillow so you could see the episode of Kitchen Nightmares that was playing on the old, staticky television. You were determined to stay awake until the Irishman returned with your chicken tenders in tow, but as the minutes ticked by you found it more and more difficult to keep your eyes open. You didn’t even notice yourself fall asleep.

Sweeney shouldered the door open, balancing the boxes in one hand. “Here’s yer damn chicken, you—“

He stopped short when he saw you curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows, fast asleep and breathing softly. Your hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, and the circles under your eyes were dark as bruises, but you were asleep. Properly asleep, not passed out from pain or crammed into a car. He knew he should wake you and make you eat something, but you looked so small and fragile that he couldn’t bring himself to disturb you.

Sweeney turned off the TV and slid into the empty bed. Staring up at the blank ceiling, his mind ran a mile a minute. He still couldn’t wrap his head around why Fear Doirich would have taken an interest in you, and it made his skin crawl. The Dark Man had said that he’d wanted whatever it was that you had been sent to retrieve for Grimnir, but that wasn’t the truth. Or at least, it wasn’t the whole truth. He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel in his gut that there was more to what the Dark Man wanted.

And then there was the matter of your wounds. How were you healing the way you were? There was no way this was occurring naturally, but Sweeney could think of no time between when you’d shown up at his door on the verge of death and now where you would have been able to see a healer. He’d been by your side the entire time and there was nothing and no one that could have done this, but there had to be some sort of external force. He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything that you might have said or done that would indicate that something about you was more than human, but he came up empty.

The leprechaun slept, although fitfully. He found himself waking almost every hour, sitting upright and sweating, eyes darting frantically around the room until they landed on you and he was sure that there was no immediate danger and you were still asleep. That you were still safe.

The next morning, you busied yourself with the coffeepot in the motel room’s dinky kitchenette. The events from the previous day swirled through your mind and you were so preoccupied that you hadn’t noticed Sweeney had woken and was watching you from the counter.

You started when you turned and saw him, almost dropping the coffeepot, and scowled. “You look like shit,” you told him, taking in his bloodshot eyes.

He snorted. “You should look in a mirror, fuck.”

“Did you sleep at all?” you asked.

He made a noncommittal sound. “Here and there.”

You hummed and pointed to a roadmap that you had laid out on the table. “Okay, so the old man’s trinket is in Kansas City, about two and a half hours away from where we are now in Joplin. If we hit the road in the next hour, we can get it and then we’ll be in Kentucky by late tomorrow morning or early afternoon at the latest.”

You set a mug of watery instant coffee down in front of him and he lifted it to his lips, taking a sip and wincing before sliding a flask from his pocket and emptying the contents into the mug. You rolled your eyes.

“I think we should give it a bit before we go get whatever it is that he sent you for,” Sweeney said, eyeing you like he knew you weren’t going to take to that idea at all.

Sure enough, you looked at him incredulously. “Absolutely not. I want to get this shit out of my hands and I want to get paid.”

He glared at you. “You have the Dark Man after you because supposedly he wants whatever it is that you have and the Jotnar are after you for the same reason and because you stole from them. It might be a good idea to lay low for a little.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to get rid of it?” you asked. “If it gets returned to the old man, it’s not my problem anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes and grunted. “And if you get killed along the way?”

You set your jaw. “I won’t.”

“You’re so sure?”

“I’ve been pretty lucky the last couple of days,” you pointed out. “I’m willing to bet it’ll hold.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in something that really just amounts to chance,” he muttered.

You grinned. “That’s what I’ve got you for, isn’t it? Don’t you do that every day?”

He chuckled darkly. “That’s not how it works.”

You shrugged. “Either way, I think between the two of us we’ve got enough luck to get us to the other side in one piece.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine, but if you get me killed, I’m haunting you.”

You smiled. “Seems like a fair trade.”

Within the next half hour, you were fed and on the road.

The drive, surprisingly, was relatively peaceful. You bickered about radio stations and music choices, argued about directions, and tried to play road games, which then devolved into a shouting match in which you almost swung on him over his interpretation of the rules for the alphabet game. But nothing came after you. You sighed and patted the dashboard of the car.

“Thanks, darlin’,” you murmured.

Sweeney looked at you. “Talking to the car? And they say I’m the one that’s lost it.”

“You’re just jealous,” you shot back.

“Of who? You or the car?”

“Open to interpretation.”

He swatted at you with a meaty paw and you leaned your seat back as far as it would go, laughing.

He mimicked your laugh in a high tone. “You’re not gonna be laughing when I run us off the road,” he sang.

You sat back up and pouted at him. “You wouldn’t do that to me, you’d be lost without me.”

His eyes flicked to you for a moment before his attention was back on the road. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I would.”

Taken aback by the change in his energy, your eyes darted around for something to change the subject. In the signs whipping past, you saw that you were about half an hour outside of Kansas City, where you had utilized a bus station locker as your storage. You’d lost the key when the Jotnar had caught up to you, throwing it as hard as you could into the Arkansas River, but you were confident that even though your knowledge of spells was limited, you had one to unlock things. And even if you didn’t, you knew how to pick a lock.

You turned to Sweeney. “If we don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to do something to end up on national news,” you threatened.

“You’re the one that’s having us make this detour, you can wait a couple hours,” he replied.

You grumbled something under your breath about stupid rat bastards and he pretended not to hear.

When you arrived at the station in Kansas City, you shifted your body so you were facing Sweeney. “Can you please, for the love of all things sacred and holy, wait here?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself.”

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I can get in and out without anyone seeing me. Please, Sweeney. In and out, I promise.”

He shook his head again. “No. What if it’s a trap? What if they’re waiting for you?”

“Then I’ll scream.”

“I won’t be able to hear you from out here,” he countered.

You huffed. “If I’m not back in this seat in fifteen minutes, you can barge in and rescue me, okay?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Ten minutes.”

“Oh my god, fine. Ten minutes.”

He seemed slightly more satisfied with this, but still unhappy. “At least take this with you,” he said, taking a pendant from his neck and placing it over your head. His fingers brushed your collarbones and seemed to linger for a fraction of a second longer than they needed to, making your cheeks flush. You inspected it and found that it was a small clay pendant with knotwork molded into its face.

You looked at him questioningly but he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“It’s the Dara knot,” he said quietly. “The shield knot. We…we used to use it for protection.”

You wanted to say something, but your tongue was leaden in your mouth. You were overwhelmed with a surge of affection or the giant idiot in the passenger seat of your car and, unable to speak, you settled for patting him on the knee. “I’ll be back soon,” you promised.

He looked at you with a look in his eyes that made your chest tighten. “Be safe,” he murmured.

You climbed out of the car and pulled up the hood of your sweatshirt as you made your way inside the station. Your eyes scanned the rows of steel storage lockers until the landed on the one you were looking for. You made a lap around the station before approaching, eyes bouncing from face to face and scanning every nook and cranny, every corner where someone might hide. Satisfied that it was safe, you approached the locker as casually as you could.

The initial aura that hung around it seemed undamaged and you breathed a sigh of relief. Running your fingers around the edges of the door, you felt for the wards you had set. These, too, remained unbroken.

You whispered a few words and the door popped open. The contents within remained undisturbed and your legs jellied with relief. The canvas backpack was crammed into the back, same as you had left it, and you snatched it from the locker, rummaging around and doing a mental inventory. All of your charms and amulets seemed to be present and accounted for, but you kept digging until your fingers closed around what you were looking for. The rough wooden rod was there at the bottom, its warmth seeping into your hand and the carved runes pressing against your skin. You released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Gungnir was safe. You wrapped it in a silk cloth that had been tucked into one of the outer compartments of the bag and placed it back inside alongside a small number of vials and herbs before quickly making your way back out to the parking lot, conscious of the fact that your ten minutes was almost up.

Sweeney saw you coming and unlocked the doors. Tossing the bag into the footwell, you slid into the passenger seat and he immediately reached for the bag to begin rummaging through until he produced the cloth bundle. He unwrapped it and his jaw fell open.

“Are you serious? The trinket you were talking about was Gungnir?”

You nodded and he scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Christ, no wonder they were after you! You had Gungnir.”

You looked at him reproachfully. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

“Tone? You had one of the most powerful weapons on the planet in a bus locker and you’re worried about my tone? There’s no way we make it to Jack’s without dying, this might as well be a beacon for everything within a hundred miles!”

You flashed him a grin. “Ah, but therein lies the beauty of this old girl!” you crowed, smacking the dashboard. “She’s warded! Nigh impossible to find.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re sure about this? Even with something this powerful?”

You chewed your lip. “Like 87% sure.”

His eyes bulged and he made a disbelieving sound. You glared at him. “I’ll say it again, no one’s forcing you to stick around,” you snapped. “If you don’t like it, no one’s making you put your ass on the line. I can get there just fine by myself.”

Sweeney didn’t say a word, but tightened his grip on the wheel and stared straight ahead.

“That’s what I thought,” you muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he shot back.

“No, but it does mean you have to stop bitching. If I was forcing you to come with me I’d let you complain all you wanted, but let me remind you that you were the one that attached himself to me. So let me do what I need to do and shut the hell and fuck up about it.” You were beginning to get angry.

He didn’t answer but sulked in the driver’s seat. You rolled your eyes and flipped through the radio stations, settling on one that was blaring Alanis Morissette.

Sweeney groaned. “For chrissakes, can’t we listen to something else?”

“No. I’m not listening to your bullshit for the next ten hours.”

He made a face. “So I have to listen to yours?”

“It’s my car!”

“What happened to your rule about the driver picking the music?” he whined.

“When I’m driving,” you said, jabbing a finger at your chest for emphasis. “Otherwise it’s passenger DJ rules.”

“That feels rigged,” he grumbled. He opened his mouth to make what you could only assume was another smartass comment, but his eyes locked on something in the rearview mirror and his face paled. His hand shot out and gripped your thigh.

The sudden shift in his energy made you nervous. “What? What is it?”

He didn’t answer, but pressed his foot against the gas and the car leapt forward. You twisted in your seat to get a glimpse of what might’ve been after you. Three massive goat-headed figures were charging up the road after you, and they were closing the gap.

“Sweeney, what the fuck are those?” you demanded, unable to keep the tremor from your voice.

He swore. “Bocánaigh. He must’ve sent them, but I don’t know how—“

His words were drowned out by an earsplitting wail that turned your blood to ice. Something landed on the roof of the car with a thud and Sweeney jerked the steering wheel in an effort to throw it off, spewing profanities.

“Bran, the last time I saw one of these was…fuck it was millennia ago. Where did he find them?” Sweeney was talking more to himself than to you, but you still shook your head.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen—“

Before you could finish your thought, there was a tremendous bang as one of the front tires exploded. The car swerved dangerously, but Sweeney managed to wrestle it to the shoulder of the road, narrowly avoiding colliding with a telephone pole.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you white-knuckled your seat as you chanted every protection spell you could remember, sifting through the recesses of your mind for even the smallest thing that Circe had taught you that might help. You didn’t know what else to do.

“Is there any iron in here?” Sweeney demanded.

Your chanting stuttered. “Do I have any what?”

“Iron!” he bellowed. “Iron, do you have iron anywhere in this car?”

You blinked. “Horseshoe in the glovebox. Everything that was in the trunk is gone.”

He clenched his jaw. “It’ll have to do. Stay here, stay in this car, and pray to whoever the fuck might be listening that the enchantments Circe put on this thing hold.” He yanked the horseshoe from the glovebox, gripping it like makeshift brass knuckles in his fist, and launched himself from the car with a howl.

You returned to your incantations, doing your best to block the awful sounds. Every time one of Sweeney’s blows landed and the iron made contact with the flesh of the goat-headed men, you could hear their flesh sizzle and their screams of rage. You heard a nasty thwack followed by Sweeney grunting in pain as they head-butted him and did their damnedest to gore him with the curved and cruelly pointed horns that arced out of their heads.

You wracked your brain for something, anything, that you could do aside from sitting on your ass and muttering spells that may or may not have been working.

Sweeney’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud and you swallowed. Fuck it, you thought. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. You kicked open the car door, armed only with Sweeney’s pocketknife and a snarl.

You howled at the top of your lungs, slinging every word of Greek protection that Circe had taught you. The beasts turned to you, yellow eyes narrowing. Your heart picked up in your chest but you held fast, reciting the verses over and over, but they had no effect.

You opened your mouth to try again, but what came out was not Greek. It wasn’t any language that you knew and it certainly was not part of the meager arsenal Circe had armed you with, but the words flowed from your lips as though you had known them for years.

"Ceathrar a leag an tsúil, fear agus bean, buachaill agus cailín, triúr gortach, an tAthair, an Mac, agus an Spiorad Naomh!”*

The Bocánaigh hissed and cringed at your words and you moved towards them, more of that familiar-yet-unfamiliar language rolling off your tongue like you had never known another.

You picked up the horseshoe and began smashing your way through the three of them, your words never faltering, never slowing, until eventually the beasts fled.

After a moment, when you were sure the danger had gone, you hauled yourself to Sweeney’s slumped form against the side of the car.

“Hey dummy,” you said, crouching in front of him. “You okay?”

He groaned and rose to his feet, swaying slightly before sitting back down heavily. “I might be concussed.”

You nodded. “Yeah, you took a few slams to the noggin there. You hit the ground pretty hard, too. Other’n that though it doesn’t look like they did too much damage. Looks like your luck is holding.” You flashed him a grin, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, his eyes skated over your face, suspicion knitting his brow.

“Yeah, those things might as well just be specters that pack a punch, can’t do much damage to someone like me.” His voice was distant, he was distracted. “You, though…there’s barely a scratch on ya. And what the hell was that? Where’d you learn Gaeilge like that?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t even know that that’s what that was. I was trying to recite a Greek incantation, but that came out instead. I guess I got lucky.” You paused as you realized what you said. “Hey now, see? I told you you had enough luck for the both of us.”

Sweeney shook his head. “No, that wasn’t luck, love. That was…that was something else. I think we need to have words with Wednesday.”

You hummed. “Fine, but we need to get him his thing first. Get in the passenger seat, princess, I’m driving the rest of the way.”

He made a face but did as you said.

“C’mon, up you get,” you grunted, pulling one of his arms over your shoulders. He groaned as you pulled him to his feet and led him around the car, gingerly lowering him into the passenger seat. “Big baby,” you teased.

He glowered at you, but there was no heat behind it. “I did just get the living daylights beat out of me.”

You laughed. “My knight in shining armor. We’ll stop and get you some Advil on the way, yeah?”

“An’ a bottle of whiskey.”

You gave him a mock salute. “Yessir, a bottle of Jamo should get you right as rain.”

You managed to make it the rest of the way to Knott County without incident, the ride passing much smoother once Sweeney got his Jameson and his painkillers. You sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever it was that seemed to be looking out for you. Helping the ginger giant out of the car, the two of you made your way into the bar.

Instantly, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you were assaulted with the sounds and smells of Jack’s Crocodile Bar. You hated this place. As often as it had been the site of many rowdy nights and raucous fun, it was also the place where you had functionally sold your soul to the Devil. A devil with one eye and no care for anyone but himself.

You had hoped that you would have some time before the old man saw you, desperately needing a pint before whatever was about to happen, but it seemed that your luck did not extend that far. A familiar voice called your name, and it made your skin crawl.

The old man beckoned you to where he sat with a wide grin. Sweeney took the seat on his left and you took the one on his right. Wednesday had already ordered for you, a pint of lager sitting beside his glass of what you could only assume was Jack Daniels. The man had few vices, but apparently Tennessee whiskey was one of them. You eyed the pint glass suspiciously, not trusting anything he put in front of you.

“I see we have one more joining us,” he said jovially, clapping Sweeney on the shoulder. “Mad Sweeney! I wasn’t expecting you for another two days. Oh, this is delightful.” The Irishman grunted and flagged down the bartender and a few moments later a rum and coke was on the bar in front of him. You could see a muscle in his jaw feather as he grit his teeth.

“I’m not particularly in the mood for pleasantries,” you said coldly, reaching into your pack and producing the cloth bundle that held Gungnir. Wednesday’s cold eyes brightened and he reached for it, but you snatched it from his reach. “Payment first.”

He sighed. “Always business, never pleasure. When was the last time you sat and enjoyed a drink with an old friend?”

“We are not friends,” you sneered. “You are my employer and I am your employee. This is a business relationship.”

He pouted and then gave you a knowing look that made you want to poke out his other eye. “We know you’re more than that now, don’t we?”

“They were held by the Jotnar for almost a week,” Sweeney cut in. “Where were you?”

The old man looked at him coldly before producing a fat envelope from inside his jacket. “Payment, as agreed.” He turned to Sweeney. “And you! Let me buy you another round. Consider it thanks for bringing my favorite employee back to me in one piece.” His words oozed sarcasm. It made you itch.

“Weren’t for lack of trying on their part,” Sweeney muttered.

You cocked your head. “Yeah, about that. Some guy’s after your stick.”

Wednesday chuckled. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. There’s plenty of people that would love to get their hands on this.”

“Tall, dark, radiates fear? Ring any bells?” You were losing what little patience you had.

He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“The Dark Man,” Sweeney snapped, clearly no more in the mood for games than you were.

Wednesday’s face remained impassive, but his eyes widened. Just a fraction, but it was enough. It wasn’t fear, but at the very least he was unsettled hearing the name.

“The Black Druid?” His voice was careful, measured. He knew something that he wasn’t telling you.

Something new and different, you thought bitterly, but you nodded. “He stole my car and seemed pretty keen on finding this.”

Wednesday’s face pinched and he sighed. “The Dark Man isn’t after this, I’m afraid. He’s after you.”

Your face paled and Sweeney gripped the glass he was holding so tightly that it shattered.

“What? What in the hell could he want with me?” you asked.

He sipped at his whiskey. “I believe you have something that he wants.”

You stared at him, mouth agape. “What could I possibly, possibly fucking have that he would want? I didn’t even know who he was two days ago!”

The old man didn’t answer, merely gazed at you with an indecipherable expression. “I’d be very careful if I were you,” he said simply, before downing the rest of his drink and taking his leave before you could so much as blink.

The two of you stared after him, dumbfounded. “Great, we’ve got more questions than we had when he got here and he left us with the tab,” you said, scowling at your untouched pint.

Sweeney knocked back a shot. “Wish I could say I was surprised.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder and pulled you from your seat. “C’mon, let’s do what we do best.”

You looked up at him. “Get shithoused?”

He knocked back another shot and slammed the glass against the wooden surface of the bar. “Get shithoused,” he grinned.

That was how, several hours later, you ended up standing on top of the bar, belting “Mr. Brightside” at the top of your lungs. Sweeney watched you with a smile on his face as you led the entire bar through the chorus.

The song finished and you swept your arms wide, a huge grin plastered on your face. You moved to take a bow and pitched too far forward almost immediately. The world fell out from under you as you toppled from the bar, but you never hit the concrete floor. Warm arms encircled you and you found yourself gazing into a familiar pair of green eyes.

“I think it might be time for us to go, love,” Sweeney said.

You looked up at him and giggled. “Awh, we can’t stop now! The party’s just getting started!”

He chuckled and set you on your feet, steadying you as you swayed. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we need to bow out. Before you split your skull.”

He pulled you out the door and you pouted. “Can’t believe my king is telling me the party’s over. Y’know, if you’d acted like this before Mag Rath we might not’ve lost.”

At your words, Sweeney’s blood turned to ice. “Wh-what did you just say?”

Something in your eyes had shifted. There was a wild and determined look in them now as you held up your hands. “Look, don’t get pissy with me. All’s I’m saying is if we’d been more careful, Donall wouldn’t’ve—“

“No. What do you mean ‘before Mag Rath’? How would you know anything about that battle?”

You flicked his nose. “I was there, dummy. I led your battalion like you aaaaasked and you still booked it. Not that I blame you, honestly. That shit was horrific.”

Sweeney stared at you like he had never seen you before. A memory flickered at the back of his mind.

“Go!” you bellowed. “Go, I’ll hold them off!” You raised your arms wide and a gust of wind ripped across the field, forcing Donall’s men back.

He blinked, his mind reeling. His lieutenant…

No. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. That was almost two thousand years ago. That wasn’t you.

And yet…and yet. He couldn’t deny the magic that ran through you. The way the Irish incantations had pulled themselves from you like you had always known them. The way you were healing faster than you had any right to.

He grabbed you by the shoulders.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you?”

That wild look in your eyes cleared and you stared at him in confusion. “I’m me? Sweeney, what? You’ve known me for years, you know—“

“Who are you?” he bellowed. “How do you know about Mag Rath?”

You flinched and backed away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice shaking. “I don’t know what Mag Rath is. Sweeney, please, you’re scaring me.”

He stared at you, his expression frantic. “What about what you just said? About us losing and Donall…” he trailed off. You were looking at him with so much fear written on your face it made his chest ache. “Do you remember what you just said to me?” he asked slowly.

“I…I don’t…I fell off the bar and you caught me and then we were outside and then you were yelling at me.” You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He gripped his hair in his fists. You didn’t remember. You didn’t remember what you had just said to him, you didn’t remember fighting at his side. And he didn’t remember you. Why didn’t he remember you?

“What did you do before you worked for Wednesday?” he barked.

“I-I dunno. I don’t remember what I did, I don’t remember what my life was.” You were crying now. “Before Wednesday, everything is blank.”

He knew this. You had told him this before, that Wednesday had found you wandering through northern Minnesota, half-frozen and with no memory to speak of. But now…he had to wonder. Did Wednesday happen upon you by chance? Or had he lied? Knowing the old man, the latter was far from impossible or even unlikely.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I think we need to get some answers,” he murmured against your hair. “But first, let’s get you to bed.”

*"Four who set the eye, man and woman, boy and girl, three sick, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!"

tagged: @imaginethatneathuhpartdos @kind-wolf

#mad sweeney imagine #mad sweeney x reader #mad sweeney reader insert #american gods imagine #american gods x reader #american gods reader insert #bear writes

60 notes · View notes

sl-newsie · 3 months

Text

Proud To Be American (Dr. Spencer Reid x OC Coworker)

Summary: A BAU coworker is feeling down after a less-than-exciting 4th of July and Spencer schemes with the team to try and cheer them up.

“Welcome back!”

Penelope gives a big wave and the rest of the BAU joins in from where they’re standing at their desks. Usually I join in with their back-to-work celebrations but my holiday weekend didn’t go exactly as planned.

“Hey, guys.” My attempt to sound optimistic slides by Garcia but the profilers pick up on it right away.

“You alright, girlie?” Morgan asks. “Where’s your patriotic spirit?”

I walk past their section of the office to the break room. Sorry everyone but I’d rather just get through this Monday without wishing my plans weren’t interrupted.

“Hi?”

At least there’s one person who can lift my spirits.

“Hello, Dr. Reid. How was your weekend? See any fireworks?”

The kind man offers a cup of lemonade. He’s only been here a few seconds and I’m already forgetting about why I’m upset.

“Actually I didn’t do much for Independence Day,” Reid replies. “I took the time to catch up on some reading and watched some TV.”

“Oh? And how many books did you get through this time? Twenty?”

“Thirty five, actually.” His gaze narrows and I can feel him analyzing me. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s no trying to lie to him. Even if I refuse to say anything he’ll pry it out eventually.

“I- Everything changed.” I take a sip of lemonade and let its sour sweetness trickle down my throat. “Last weekend I was supposed to celebrate with my family. You know, the usual barbeque. Swimming, watching fireworks. But then some family drama happened and I spent the weekend stuck going through furniture.” Another sip. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend my holiday weekend. Instead of watching fireworks I reminisced through old memories.”

“Reid!”

Spencer looks back where Hotch is calling his team to the bullpen.

“I’ll catch you before we head out,” Reid says and walks off to the meeting.

I appreciate all that they do but each case does take its toll. Every time Spencer comes back there’s always something new. Another death. Since I only work in the office I never see any carnage. He’s thanked me before for giving him an excuse to talk about things other than work.

The new case must have little to discuss because the meeting’s already over. Prentiss and Morgan walk past my desk to grab coffee and JJ’s already going through paperwork.

“Hey!” Spencer comes over and bounces on his feet. “This case is only a few hours away. When we’re done Rossi is planning on having a small get-together at his place. Wanna join us?”

“She is joining us,” Rossi speaks for me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “No Fourth of July celebration? We’ll fix that.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, no. That’s not-”

“You need some of my Nero d’Avola. You prefer wine, correct?”

This man is so Italian it’s not even funny. “Yes, sir. But it’s really-”

“Wonderful! You’re going.”

He walks off to join Hotch. Reid and I exchange looks.

“Guess I’m going,” I shrug. “Did you put him up to this?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I just told them why you were feeling upset and he suggested a party.”

“Party? You said this was a ‘small get-together!’”

“Yes. You, me, and the rest of the team. It’s always a party when Rossi is hosting.”

The doctor gives me one last smile and grabs his satchel before heading to the door.

“I’ll await your triumphant return, Dr. Reid! Good luck.”

Good fortune does smile upon the BAU because the case is closed in a matter of days. The second the team walks back through the office Reid heads straight to my desk.

“Ready for tonight?”

I smile and start putting away today’s documents. “That's all I’ve been thinking about!” And you too.

A pair of hands grabs my shoulders and suddenly Penelope is steering me out.

“Time to clock out. Let’s go!”

Half an hour later and I’m literally forced to sit down in a lawn chair. Everyone's still in the Fourth of July spirit because we're all wearing star-spangled swim attire. It’s how I imagined a party with the BAU would look. Hotch and Rossi watching everyone like concerned dads. Morgan and Garcia having a drinking session. Prentiss and JJ sunbathing. And of course Spencer telling me all about a new topic. Today’s is the danger of sun rays.

“Exposure to sun increases melanin, which causes darker skin. Thus creating a sun tan. Too much sun exposure is an easy cause for melanoma. Everyone should wear sunscreen regardless of skin color.” He picks up my tube of sunscreen and examines the contents. Then- And then pats up my arm.

“Wh-What are you doing?” We both notice my arm tense up.

“Seeing if you rubbed it in thoroughly,” Reid explains. “Then it won’t wash off in the pool.”

Hm. I know he’s not exactly the most touch-friendly person in the world. So this must be a thoughtful gesture for his standards.

“Thanks, Spencer. I appreciate it.”

It’s no secret to the team that I consider Spencer more than a friend. But the key secret they don’t know is that a month ago we both finally broke down and went on what some would call an interview. We call it a date. It went very smoothly and we both agreed to begin a reasonable courtship without massive commitment. I guess that’s transitioned to worrying about my skin care.

“Is this what young people do?” I ask out loud, looking out at the team. “Hang out with other young people on sporadic occasions?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I think I skipped that part.” Spencer laughs and I nudge his shoulder. “Hey! You have an excuse. You were graduating college when I was graduating high school! My lame excuse is that I like hanging out at home too much.”

“Speaking of which, when should we discuss meeting arrangements?” Spencer asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do we hang out only at your place, my place, both places? We could maybe do a colored chart or specific weekly pattern-”

“Let me pause you right there.” I hold up a hand. “Spencer, your organization skills are next to perfect. But we don’t have to have everything planned by the book. Feel free to stop by whenever you like.”

His chocolate eyes have never looked so bright. “Oh, thanks! I was worried our relationship might be too sporadic, with my job taking me all over the country, and didn’t think-”

“Hey guys!” Morgan waves from across the yard. “Get over here!”

A smile spreads onto Reid’s face and he grabs my hand. “This is the best part.”

I’m pulled to the other side of the pool and there’s a lounge chair set up for me.

“What’s this for?”

“Just wait!” Penelope giggles and refills my glass.

What on Earth? “Wait. Where’s Hotch-?”

Kaboom! Weeee! Boom!

A palette of colors explodes across the darkening sky. Sparklers, firecrackers, fountains, roman candles!

“Oh my goodness!” I gawk at the magnificent patriotic display.

“We’re part of the FBI!” Rossi shouts over the noise.

“Of course we can find ways to obtain fireworks!” Hotch adds.

I turn around and the BAU leader steps out from behind the fence.

“Happy Independence Day!” Prentiss and JJ cheer.

Reid squeezes my hand and I’m still staring at the awe-inspiring explosions in the sky.

“You did this for me?”

“Everyone deserves to celebrate being an American,” Morgan inputs. “She’s our employer! And what better way than to legally blow stuff up?”

“Thank you all so much!” I gush. “This is amazing!”

Spencer leans in and whispers: “What do you say to watching The Patriot with commentary at your place afterwards?”

All disappointment from last weekend is obliterated. “It’s a date!”

Hotch disappears again and another round of fireworks lights up the sky.

Boom! Wizzz! Ka-bang!

"And I'm proud to be an American...!" Morgan begins to belt loudly.

God bless this country!

32 notes · View notes