#I doubt it. he popped out of a dead body and dug himself out of a grave

[wool-string]

[miss-nov]

Phic Phight 2025: The Hole

Prompt by @gamma-radio-dp: "Sudden unexplainable sinister hole in the ground."

AO3

“What the actual fuck,” Dash said as he peered over the edge.

The entire football team crowded around the hole. It laid dead center of the field.

“We can’t play with this here,” Kwan stated the obvious.

Dale scoffed and kicked some dirt into the hole. “Tell that to Coach.”

They gawked at it a bit longer until—speak of the devil—Coach Thompson stormed up to them.

“Boys! Why are we lollygagging? This behavior isn’t going to get us to Sta—what the hell!?” He halted.

“There’s a hole,” Dash supplied helpfully.

The other’s pointed at it in agreement. Coach smacked his forehead. He dragged his hand down his face.

“No shi—yeah, I see that.” Coach chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I’m going to get somebody to fill this. I want you guys to do passing drills on one half of the field. Avoid the hole and don’t break your damn ankles.”

…

The hole waited for them the next day. 

“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Coach took off his cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I watched him fill it yesterday.”

The boys shared a look amongst themselves.

“Run laps around the school while I get this figured out.”

The boys groaned a chorus of “but coach” and “oh c’mon.” He waved them off. One thing remained clear to him. Some shitter was behind this. The Fenton kid, maybe? Or the Manson girl as a form of protest? It didn’t really matter. The fucker would be caught tonight.

…

He hid behind the bleachers. The sun had hid itself behind the horizon a long while ago. Not how he thought he would spend his Tuesday night, but oh well. He heard the noise of disturbed dirt. He moved closer to the gap between the bleachers. His eyes darted around eagerly. There was…nobody? He licked his lips. More sounds of collapsing dirt.

He watched the pit form itself in the middle of the field. That’s it? He wasted a Tuesday night on a fucking sinkhole? How the hell were the boys gonna practice properly? God damn it. He crawled out from his hiding spot. Stupid fucking sinkhole. He stormed over to it.

“Stupid piece of shit…,” Coach Thompson stomped a piece of dirt into the pit.

One moment he stood on his two feet, the next he slid ass first into the hole. The muscle’s of his lower back twinged mercilessly. God, he was getting too old for shit like this. He leaned up to rub his back. The dirt walls grumbled.

“What—”

The hole buckled inwards. Thompson lunged into an unstable standing position. His upper body remained hunched over. He clawed desperately at the walls. The dirt didn’t allow him to climb. The space around him continued to shrink. Thompson’s fingers gripped around the mouth of the hole. As he went to pull himself up and out, teeth dug themself into his calf. He screamed.

His blood muddied the dirt. The hole clamped down around his waist. The teeth crawled higher. His fingers slipped and he screamed again. No one heard it.

The dirt settled. Sprouts of grass pushed up through the bald spot in the field. Soon, they covered the dirt. Like there never was a hole at all.

…

Kyle rested his head against the tree. He rubbed his scalp across the bark. Back and forth.

“Yo, Houston to Space Cadet. Do you copy?”

Bleary, pink eyes peeked from heavy lids. Jay stood in front of him. Kyle smiled.

“Huh?”

“Me and Tim”—Jay jerked his thumb behind him—“are gonna look for shrooms or whatever. Tim said saw some growin’ outta some cow patties.” Jay wrinkled his nose and twisted his lips.

As if sensing his doubt, Tim popped out from behind a rock. “I’m serious, dude! I saw it with my own eyes!”

Jay mumbled something that sounded a lot like this guy, man. This fuckin’ guy.

“Anyway, I’m gonna see it for myself. You good if we leave you here? You don’t look like you can stand, man.”

Kyle hummed and gave Jay a lazy thumbs up.

“Alright. We shouldn’t be gone too long. We’re just goin’ down to the troughs.”

The pair walked off. Kyle continued lulling his head against the tree. His lids stepped lower and lower down his eyes.

…

Kyle’s neck hurt. He unglued his eyes and righted himself from his awkward, cramped position. The sun hung low. How long did he sleep? Smacking his chapped lips, he licked around his cotton stuffed mouth. Where were Jay and Tim? He stood and dusted off his long shorts. Down by the troughs, right.

He stumbled up then down a large hill. The troughs were just that. A few troughs along a barbed wire fence that separated public from private. A farmer’s cows would roam free during the warmer months.

Kyle expertly avoided a sea of old and new cow patties. No sign of Jay and Tim. He twirled around slowly.

His hands cupped around his mouth. “JAAAAAAAYYYYY!!! TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMM!!!”

Only the birds and the wind answered him. He moved his hands to shield his eyes from the sun. Wait. There’s something over by the stump. He tip-toed over to it. Just a hole. Maybe he just missed them?

Kyle started his trek up the hill again. At the top, he doubled over and clutched his knees. The back of his neck prickled. Dirt clouded up with how fast he spun around. His hand clasped the back of his neck. Two or three yards out was a hole. The same exact one from the troughs. He knew this because he’d never seen a hole shaped like a perfect circle before.

His stomach squirmed. Sweat broke out on his brow. His hands and feet tingled. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run. He bolted through the trees.

His feet tripped and stumbled until he inevitably toppled down the hill. Dirt and leaves flooded his mouth. Gross. Shooting up, he looked behind him. No hole, just hill. Kyle laughed at himself. Jesus, weed made him so paranoid sometimes.

He took a step forward. His feet hit nothing but air. Wind brushed through his hair as his hat flew up and he dropped. He had fallen into a pit.

…

“You’ve got to help me, Fenton. Please,” Wes begged.

His eyes were puffy and his nose dripped. Everyone had heard about Kyle and his friends disappearing in the woods two weeks ago. All the police could find of them was Kyle’s bloody cap.

Danny sighed. “Look, I’m not gonna help you talk to your dead brother for multiple reasons. Firstly, he might not even—”

Wes shook his head. “He’s not a ghost. I can feel it. Even if he was, I don’t think I—”

He choked up. Taking a deep sigh through his stuffy nose, he pushed forward.

“It’s not what I would want. No, I need your help taking down the…the thing that murdered him.”

“Thing?” Danny raised a brow. “Not a person?”

“It’s not a person. It’s not a ghost either.” Wes scanned the area around them. Nobody in the hall paid them any mind. “You want to know what I think?”

Danny closed his locker door and leaned close.

“I think it’s that weird hole.”

“From the football field? It’s not even there anymore,” Danny replied skeptically.

“Exactly! The hole refuses to get filled in, but suddenly it’s gone? After Coach Thompson disappeared?”

“I thought he ran out on his wife.”

“Maybe he would to his wife, but not to the football team. Not this far in the season.”

Good point.

“But a hole that can move around and, what, kills people?” He’d laugh if Wes didn’t look so miserable.

Wes gave him a plain look. “Danny, we live in Amity Park. Not only that, but you”—his gaze grew pointed—“would know better than anyone else the kind of weird shit that goes on here.”

Another good point.

“Okay, I’ll help. Let me get Sam and Tucker.”

…

Someone followed her.

Paulina’s eye twitched. It wouldn’t be the first time a boy followed her home. She picked up the pace slightly.

‘Walk, don’t run. Walk, don’t run,’ She reminded herself. ‘Not yet.’

Trying for casual, she brushed her hair away from her face and glanced over her shoulder. The sidewalk behind her held no one. This was somehow worse.

Her lungs crumpled a bit more. Two inhales in through the nose. One exhale out the mouth. She risked another glance. No one still. Eyes dug into her skin. The only thing of note was the hole in front of Ms. Chachki’s house. Odd. Her lawn was her pride and joy.

The football field popped into her mind. This spurred her to run. Paulina didn’t understand it completely. Only that her body begged her. ‘Away, away, away.’ Quiet rumbling followed.

‘Don’t be a bimbo in a horror movie. Don’t be a bimbo in a horror movie. Don’t be—’

Paulina gave into the urge. The Hole remained behind her. She darted across the road. The Hole appeared in the yard in front of her. She halted at the curb. A lightbulb clicked on in her head. She moved to run down the center of the road. Predictably, it followed her. But didn’t get closer.

‘Couldn’t get closer,’ she corrected.

She riskily dodged oncoming cars, all of which honked at her. It didn’t matter. She’d rather get hit by a truck than suffer whatever that thing had in mind for her. Her body slammed its whole weight into her home’s front door.

“Mama! Mama! Mom, please,” she screamed desperately.

Tears poured over her lids. She didn’t need to look this time. The Hole waited in her yard.

Paulina collapsed forward as the door gave way. She took her mom to the floor with her.

“Close the door! Close it,” Paulina shrieked as she scrambled to do just that.

The door got closed and locked with the womens’ combined, frantic effort. Paulina’s mom scooped her into her embrace. She stroked her thick hair.

“Polly, baby, what’s wrong?”

Paulina bawled into the crook of her neck. Over her mother’s shoulder, she could see The Hole in the backyard.

…

“What do you mean you can’t leave your house?”

Danny glanced over to Dash who paced the parking lot. His hand clenched his phone tightly to his ear. School had let out for lunch a few minutes ago. Jazz and him were going to go to Nasty Burger to celebrate his once-in-a-blue-moon A he got on his math test. Jazz just needed to get a book from the library before they left. 

“It’s been three days, Paulina,” Dash argued. “Stay home long enough and you’ll get a truancy officer knocking on your door.”

A pause.

“What do you mean from the football field?”

Danny’s ears perked up.

“Then I’ll come over.”

Even from where he stood, he could hear Paulina’s frantic protest.

“Fine, fine! I won’t come over,” Dash assured. “But… keep us posted, okay? I don’t like the radio silence.”

They exchanged goodbyes with Dash looking dejected. Danny watched him go back inside the school. After a week of deadends, he could finally tell Wes something substantial. He just needs to talk to Paulina first.

…

Paulina curled herself tighter in her chair on top of her bed. Just like she had been for the last few days. 

‘Don’t touch the ground. Don’t touch the ground…’

A tap at the window. She moaned into her knees.

“No… no… no….”

“Paulina? Can I come in?”

She peeked up to see Ghost Boy. She nodded. Phantom slipped through her locked window. He settled into a seated float next to her.

“Hey, I’m here to help. I’m gonna need to ask you a few questions. Think you can answer them for me?”

She nodded again.

“So, this is gonna sound really stupid, but has a hole been—”

“Yes,” she interjected immediately.

Phantom blinked owlishly before tapping his chin with his fingers.

“Alright. Is there anything you can tell me about it?”

She played with a loose thread of her hot pink pajama pants. 

“It’s the same one from the football field.”

His silence prompted her further.

“Oh! It can’t get on. And—and it can’t come into the road. Only the grass and dirt.”

Phantom furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

“Thank you, Paulina.” He clasped her hands in his. “I’ll take care of it. I won’t let it hurt you.”

She lunged and pulled him into a vice of a hug.

“Thank you, thank you,” she bawled.

…

“So, it’s in her yard?” Wes pushed his bangs out of his eyes.

“Wes is convinced this isn’t ghost related. If that’s true, how are we going to get rid of it,” Sam asked.

“Where does something like that even come from?” Tucker chewed his thumbnail.

“It’s got to be at least a little sentient, right?” Jazz turned towards Danny. “It followed her after all.”

Danny waved his arms out in front of him. “Everybody slow your roll! I’ve told you everything I know.”

Wes clicked his pen over and over from where he sat perched at Danny’s desk. “We  need a closer look. We need… bait.”

“I’m not about to use Pauli—”

He waved Danny off. “No, not her. I was thinking me, actually.”

“We can’t do that to you,” Jazz said empathetically. “After what happened to your brother…”

“It’s because of my brother that I need to do this. Besides, Danny can just fly me above it.”

Danny sputtered. “I can’t—I’m not Phantom!”

Wes glared at him. “Are you serious right now? There’s not a chance in hell Paulina spilled her guts to Fenton. I’m putting exposing you on hold. This is more important and crazier than a living dead boy.”

Sam’s face glitched. “There’s no way that was an intentional reference.”

“Focus, people! Bloodthirsty hole in the ground, remember?” Tucker threw his hands up. “Danny floats Wes above this thing. What do we do?” 

“Draw it away from Paulina’s. Somewhere you guys can stand on concrete.” Danny scowled at Wes. “We don’t have to use anyone as bait.”

Jazz lit up. “Oh! We can just get some blood from the butcher’s to lure it out.”

Sam grumbled disdainfully.

“Would you rather use a living person or an already dead animal,” Tucker argued.

She rolled her eyes. “We have bait, but where do we go? And when should we?”

Danny tapped his chin. “Dusk, probably. We’ll be able to see it and less people will be around. As for where…”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a gas station by Paulina’s. It closes at five and has a decent sized parking lot,” Wes added. 

Tucker rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “That’s great and all, but how the hell do we stop a people-eating hole? They couldn’t just fill it.”

“I’ve got it!” Sam clapped her hands. “It’s likely not ghost related, right? It could be averse to ectoplasm. So, we fill it with an ectoplasm fertilizer!”

“If it needs blood to sustain itself then ectoplasm could be just the thing to stop it.” Jazz grinned.

Danny returned the smile. “Then it’s settled! Sam and Tuck, you’re on fertilizer. Jazz, you’re on blood duty. Me and Wes will iron out the route. Let’s do this!”

…

Wes had never been this high up before. Danny and him invisibly hovered six feet above The Hole. He could see the other three on the sidewalk with the blood ready. He clutched the fertilizer tighter to his chest. Paulina’s curtains shifted, but didn’t open.

Jazz experimentally tipped her bucket towards the grass, The movement was instantaneous. It disappeared in a blink and reappeared by the sidewalk. The three jumped further away from the grass. The game was on.

Danny kept him above The Hole just in case he needed to do an emergency deposit of the fertilizer. The trio did a great job of keeping a safe distance while alternating spilling blood. Of course when Wes began to feel confident, everything went to shit.

A few yards away from the parking lot, Tucker trips. His bucket spilled the rest of the blood into the grass and over the sidewalk. Maybe they don’t need it anymore? Sam experimentally moved forward. It followed. Perfect, right? Except for the fact it only followed so far before drifting further away to whatever poor sod it could sense on the grass. Or back to Paulina’s. Fuck!

Wes had deep down expected something like this to happen. He shifted the fertilizer to one arm and used his now-free hand to pull the small paring knife from his pocket. Before Danny could notice or stop him, he drew it shallowly across his shin. He heard somewhere that your shin bleeds a lot. Like a head wound. Blood ran rapidly down his leg. He curled his legs up so the blood wouldn’t be absorbed by his sock. 

“Wes! God damnit,” Danny shouted as Wes’ blood finally hit the ground.

That caught The Hole’s attention.

“Lower!” Wes wriggled. “C’mon, lower, Danny, lower!”

Danny huffed through his nose and compiled. The Hole was once again hot on their trail. Wes made a few more small cuts on his shin. Just a little further. The parking lot entered his sight! Wes prepped to spill the fertilizer into it.

BAM!

The world tilted. Wes shrieked as the ground engulfed his vision. His face hurt. His wrist felt funny where it was crushed under his body. Dirt filled his mouth. Dirt. Wes scrambled to sit and almost collapsed again as his wrist gave. Above him, Danny intensely battled against the one ghost in the mech suit. In front of him, The Hole approached.

“WES,” Jazz screamed.

The three of them bolted towards him. Not fast enough. Wes managed to crab-crawl his upper body onto the asphalt when The Hole swallowed his bleeding leg.

It felt like his leg had been stuffed into a blender. The scream that ripped through him shocked his skull. He clawed away the best he could. Hands and nails tore across riven rock. It meant nothing. It sucked him closer, eating up more of his leg.

Two hands on each arm tugged him. His shoulder sockets seared with pain. Jazz snatched up the fertilizer bag. Sweat dripped down her brow as she lurched to dump it in The Hole. As it got stuffed, its consumption slowed. Sam and Tucker finally pried him free. It had been filled and no more movement came from it.

Wes bawled as he looked down. His leg was a wet, mangled mess and he couldn’t see his foot at all. Things were getting cold.

Is this how Kyle felt? At the end? Did he think of Wes in his final moments? Like Wes was thinking of him?

The last thing he heard before it all went dark was Danny (?) telling him “sorry! This is going to hurt so fucking much.” Cold so intense it burned his skin. Then nothing.

…

Wes swallowed against the stale in his mouth. Light above pierced his still closed lids.

“Guys! I think he’s waking up!”

Wes lifted his cement head on his twiggy neck. The whole group stared back at him. They wouldn’t come closer. That much was obvious. Why?

“How much do you remember,” Danny asked nervously.

It hit him suddenly. His hands (one heavier and clumsier than the other) reached towards his leg. They landed on his stump. Right. Anxious gazes chafed against his skin. He couldn’t tell you what he was feeling. His body seemed airy and distant.

“Right,” he murmured.

Jazz braved the distance and pulled him into a hug.

“I’m so sorry. It’s over now, I promise.” Her fingers stroked his hair.

Wet heat slid down his face. He wept into her shoulder. Three more sets of arms encompassed him. He cried harder.

…

Wes used all his strength to propel himself further on his crutches.

“Ha! Even down a leg I’m faster than you!”

Tucker panted miserably behind him.

“You’re really going to do this to the guy carrying your books!?”

Wes cackled. He mercifully stopped at the front of the school where Sam and Danny waited on the stairs. They greeted each other. Tucker plopped down next to them. 

“I hated every fucking second of that,” Tucker wheezed.

“And I loved every second.” Wes carefully shifted himself into a seat.

Sam handed him a stack of notes. “Here’s everything you missed.”

“Thanks.”

This was… nice. Extremely nice. Danny wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Revenant!Jazz thoughts Pt.2

Continuing from this post

This time, I’m thinking about Vlad and his reaction to all this. In the show he doesn’t particularly seem to care about Jazz in any way, probably because of his hyper focus on Danny and Maddie. I doubt he’s registered Jazz as a threat of any kind, much less to him.

If Danny winds up Bat-dopted, Jason or classic “Bruce stole another one” and the news catches wind of the new Wayne, Vlad would be livid. Danny is supposed to be his son afterall, doesn’t matter that it was Maddie who severely wounded her own son.

In the midst of Rogues dropping like flies, Jazz sets a trap for Vlad by baiting him with Danny. Her brother is never in danger, not with her around and certainly not with the bat family lurking nearby, but Vlad cannot help himself- he tries to kidnap Danny by overshadowing the adoptive parent. Jazz allows it to happen only until Vlad takes Danny out of the public eye, then straight up punches Vlad out of the person he’s overshadowing, sucking him up into a thermos she stole from the GIW and throwing it into an abyss.

Wouldn’t someone recognize Jazz then?

Beyond the walking dead look that came free with reanimating, Jazz walks, talks and looks completely different then she was in life. Memories shape us and without most of hers Jazz wouldn’t be quite the same anymore. Where she once walked with a relaxed gait and a calm demeanor, as a Revenant Jazz masters the murder strut, because that’s pretty much the only thought going through her head on a constant loop….Other than ‘make Danny Safe’ of course.

Who killed Jazz? (Asked by @someonebored0100 )

Originally I was thinking it would be either the Fenton parents in the GAV or the GIW, but then a delicious angst idea popped into my head….

Batman chasing down Joker led to him slamming into Jazz’s car, which resulted in her death and a new son for him to care for….

Batman says nothing when he brings in Danny, marks down Jazz’s death as a murder and does not go out as Batman again for a week.

Was Jazz autopsied?

Thee death rate in Gotham must be higher than any other city in the world, so the coroners embody (pun not intended) the phrase “overworked and underpaid”.

So no, she wasn’t autopsied, but they did make record of the punctured artery and removed the shrapnel by request of Batman for testing.

What happened after Jazz’s body disappeared from the Crematorium?

Bruce Wayne paid for the cremation personally, so it’s understandable the mortician would be Panicking at the very likely notion that someone stole a dead body paid to be cremated and sealed into an urn by Bruce Fucking Wayne.

If the mortician cremates an unclaimed body and slaps the wrong name on it, we’ll, add it to the list of morally questionable things he’s done as a mortician in a Gotham.

Thoughts about Jason’s reaction to a true Revenant?

Her veiny visage, with the broken sclera and eyes that seem to absorb light and give none back, horrifies Jason to the bone. Did he look like that when he dug himself out of his grave? Did the Pits actually do him a favor? It makes him wanna puke just thinking about how accurate his zombie jokes could have been… then makes him swear to stop telling those same jokes because clearly he’s no longer one of the walking dead if he looks better than this dead woman who looks just… horrifying.

Though once Jazz kills the Joker in the same way the clown killed Jason, he seeks out the Revenant and after doing some digging… swears to do whatever he can for her.

If this is Dad!Jason, then he’s very upset for Danny and Jazz’s tragic history.

No hardcover pairing this time?

Maybe? Doubtful, but it could happen. I don’t think it should though.

Does Jazz have a vigilante persona in this one?

Hmm, not exactly. She’s not tying to hide anything, definitely not her less than living appearance. She wears boots, a canvas jacket, jeans and gun holsters with hair that looks like a drunk toddler attacked it with dull scissors.

She doesn’t save anyone, not directly, but ending the rogues that killed so many earns her the name “Reaper” and it sticks.

What’s Danny’s reaction to all this?

We all know about the dark timeline that resulted from The Ultimate Enemy, Dan.

The Fenton parents are still hunting him down, Sam and Tucker are trying to move to Gotham, he’s been adopted by a Kevlar-clad billionaire furry who acts like a himbo with way too much ease for it to be all an act. He’s got a home that’s not an active threat to his afterlife and the food is the farthest thing from radioactive.

(Alfred Pennyworth nearly had a heart attack at the mere thought of a child eating radioactive food and that a piece of toast on his plate was a punishment.)

But… Jazz is dead.

It’s true that they hadn’t had the best relationship for the last few years, especially after his accident, but Jazz had become his rock. Sam and Tucker were his best friends, but they had no real idea what it was like to grow up a Fenton. Sure they had some context clues (was the giant portal entrance with the on-button inside not a giant warning sign?), but Jazz had kept him alive even as a kid herself.

She worked herself to the bone to make sure he had food to eat, some hours to sleep at night, and a shoulder for him to put some of the burden on her as Phantom. In the end, she hurt their parents to get him out of the lab and away from them.

She had died trying to get him to safety.

He’d seen her car, the wreck, the blood, the still radioactive substance he called his blood… he sat in the driver’s seat and cried for his sister- he wanted Jazz to tease him and call him ‘little brother’ again.

Sure, he had Cass now and several brothers, but nothing could ever replace Jazz.

It’s the thought that Jazz would be upset with him that keeps Danny from turning by his grief into a ghostly wail, to wreck everything and everyone.

Then he meets the Reaper. And he knows.

“Little Brother.”

/////////////////////////

What about the ending for Jazz you talked about?

That’s gonna be in another post, this one was getting long enough as is.

[gotholdladywithadhd]

Not to pee in anyone's Cheerios here but I'm pretty sure most of these points have mundane explanations.

Those men were skinheads I doubt they were demons. The grave guards probably ended up somewhere else (who knows where but I don't think Crowley would have killed them, at least not on purpose) If they did die they might have gone to hell as damned souls but it's unlikely they were made into demons. If hell could transform damned souls into demons they wouldn't have a staffing problem. Crowley's over powered miracles make me wonder a bit though.

The no regerts tattoo was likely a joke like this

"The Grand Lodge of Antient Free and Accepted Masons of Scotland is the governing body of Scottish Freemasonry, founded in 1736, and headquartered in Edinburgh." from their website. So I would assume many Masons are buried in the local cemeteries.

It's a Scottish Cemetery so it would have a lot of Celtic crosses in it, I don't think this would make it stand out as odd.

It was guarded because grave robbing was a big business before the laws changed to allow medical schools to obtain bodies legally. I believe they were privately hired by those who could afford them. I reckon Elspeth risked going to a wealthier section of the cemetery (or a wealthier cemetery) because all of the poor had already been dug up and sold off. Many grave robbers also stole any jewellery off the bodies so that may have provided and extra incentive as well. One thing I always wondered was why Aziraphale and Crowley didn't use a miracle to disable the gun or miracle the shot out of it. Maybe they didn't think about it not realising Wee Morag would lose her shit at the sight of a dead body and panic. But still that does bother me. I'm like Aziraphale stop just looking at the damn thing and disable it already ffs!

I don't think demons would have any interest in guarding a cemetery. Nothing there for them, no souls to tempt, they are all ready sorted and sent up or down at this point.

The statue is interesting but I have a feeling Gabriel might have commissioned the damn thing himself, one wonders how much time he spent in Edinburgh prior to meeting up with Beelzebub.

I think the cross may have been an accident? But it may be something else I remain open minded.

It was important to Aziraphale as I imagine many places he spent time with Crowley were. But also I think he went there to see if he could get anymore clues about Gabriel bc of the statue and decided to call Crowley when he saw someone who might let him borrow his phone, (well were absolutely going to let him borrow the phone let's be honest.) because he was about to pop and needed to tell Crowley about what he found out.

I wouldn't want to stare at a statue all night if I could be sitting comfortably in a pub either. And could look at the real thing in comfort. Plus if my bf took me to a statue of himself and said he would come and spend hours looking at it, the ick factor would make me want to leave ASAP as well out of second hand embarrassment. 😏

The cemetery of Edinburgh

Just a thought I had while rewatching s2e3. It has been suggested before that the cemetery in Edinburgh is special, and I agree. Also I believe that because it's so special it's being watched. But not only in the present. It has been watched for years and maybe centuries.

In the minisode we see two guards showing up after the trip gun fires. These are sent somewhere very deep underground by Crowley. Maybe even as deep as Crowley goes himself after Hell has found out what he's done for Elspeth?

Next thing we see is Aziraphale meeting two men at exactly the same spot, and they seem to have appeared literally out of nowhere. Two very suspicious looking men with at least one obvious demon association ('no regerts'). What I think is they could be the same men from 1827. Were they demons then? Did they become demons when Crowley sent them to Hell? I've no idea.

I wish we knew more about the cemetery. Unfortunately most of what I have is speculation.

it's masonic

it has a lot of celtic crosses (popular in the XIX century)

it is guarded (?)

it is guarded by demons (?). I mean, who else would be lurking in a cemetery in a series written by Neil Gaiman? I'm sure they are demons.

it has the weirdest statue made by someone who seems to know what actual archangel Gabriel looks like.

and the cross of the statue appears not to be a constant feature

this place is important enough for Aziraphale to visit while in Edinburgh, and also important enough to call Crowley from.

during the 'date' with Gabriel Beelzebub seem to be eager to leave the cemetery asap

There is a line in Belle&Sebastian's song Act of the Apostle II that goes: Oh, if I could make sense of it all! - it has been playing in my head ever since I watched GO s2.

[inviciousx]

nuclear winter of our discontent

Fractured strips of moonlight shone down from the caving ceiling as Ryat started mixing several ingredients into a metal bowl he'd stolen from an old diner he'd passed on the way out here. Locals in the wastes called this the Old North Church. He called it a resurrection ground. His mind drifted as he added a bit of purified water into the mixture and pulled out his blade. Slashing it across his hand, he let a few drops of blood fall before he could feel it start healing. The demon couldn't help but replay the last twenty-four hours in his head. It had been more excitement than the last two centuries combined. Latin fell from his lips as his gaze moved over the pile of old bones laid over the debris in the floor. God he hoped he'd dug the right grave. As flesh began to form over bone, he began to hold even the tiniest bit of hope that be wouldn't be alone anymore.

She was waking. Not from a dream, but from darkness. Like Jesus saw daylight again on the third day, light was pouring in from behind her closed eyelids. She remembered, before her eyes ever opened: that awful flash, heat searing her skin, only time enough left to drop to her knees and cling to the soft grass one last time. She stirred, grunting softly, and blinked up into the sky. She inhaled softly. What she was was nothing like the fiery destruction that had knocked her out. It was silver and peaceful, quiet.

Caroline pushed an elbow under herself and began to rise, beginning to look around. The darkness surrounding her seemed to pop as her eyes adjusted from the moonlight pooling around her. There were shapes an figures, perhaps, but she could make out nothing specific. She sat up completely, wincing loudly and clutching her side in pain. Had she been knocked back into something in the blast? "Hello?" she called hoarsely. 

  Red eyes watched her from where Ryat sat in a dilapidating pew. It was one of few that was still being held together, probably by all the dirt and grime that covered it. Her resurrection had taken longer than most, but he supposed that had something to do with the fact that she'd been dead for 200 years. He really wasn't sure how he was going to explain that yet, but he knew he had to. She was going to be punished into a brand new world, a terrifying world... Just like he had been. It seemed like he had just traded one hell for another. At least now he had something other than his own thoughts, even before he had brought her back. Sitting there frozen, a captive to the body he had once enslaved hadn't done him any favors. "Morning sunshine. It's about time you woke the hell up," he muttered, finally getting back to his feet to move closer to her, stepping into the moonlight. "You're very.... Very late to the party." 

The light in the hunter’s eyes brightened with confused realization as the demon’s voice purred through the darkness and echoed subtly off the walls. A sharp creak of wood made her head swivel, and, through the light of the moon, she found two red eyes peered back at her. Her heart slammed in her chest. “Ryat. .” she breathed, but offered nothing else, shifting slightly in the pile of rubble. She watched dumb-struck as he emerged into the circle of light. There should have been a million thoughts running through her mind, but it was empty, save for watching his face looking down at hers. She could barely read his expression, but what else was new? His eyes were shadowed but the irises glowed. He looked different, somehow, but still very much the same. Her face winced as she tried to process what he meant. It all. . . felt like a dream. “What’s going on?” she asked softly

Stooping down next to her, he sat with her in the rubble. He was already dirty, grime and filth covering his clothes. Not to mention blood.... "What do you remember?" He questioned, choosing his words uncharacteristically carefully. "I mean the very last thing you remember, because I need to know where to start explaining, and I don't have much time." Being what he was, he was able to see through the veil of death. He knew the difference between when he was dead and when he was alive, and he knew what happened in between, but he doubted that she had that luxury. Or maybe it was a curse.... He wasn't sure. A while caused crimson hues to look back at the black dog that laid guarding the door. Another whimper had him getting to his feet. "Come on. We need to move. I'll explain, but we need to get to higher ground. He wouldn't take her all the way up to the steeple yet, but he would at least hide them in the stairwell for now. Sitting here felt like being a sitting duck. 

The hunter's eyes searched his face wildly for a hint of why he was asking such questions. The last thing she remembered? The last thing she remembered was everything, everything exploding and vanishing and then the sudden lack of everything. The emptiest nothing that she could conceive, and could still feel in her bones, as if she was hollow. Her hand seized on his arm like a snake."Ryat..." Caroline repeated, anxiety growing in her voice and heat swelling to her face. The urgency in his voice and the measured tone was making every hair on her body stick up like a pin prick. Ryat used her grip on him to hoist her up, but she collapsed to her knee, finding the legs underneath her shaking and uncoordinated. "Help me. Please." she asked of him, and braced herself around his middle. The black dog circled around them, but always stayed behind, unnaturally bright eyes glaring at the back of the building--if it could be called that. Half up the stairs, encased in near-darkness, and almost suffocating in dust, Caroline pushed against the demon and let herself sink to a stair. Her legs burned as if she'd been marooned in the desert. The hunter breathed heavily, dropping her hand from him to lean forward, taken by the vertigo in her brain. She looked up to what she could see in front of her face--shocking red eyes and a half-shadowed face looking down at her. "The last thing I remember. . ." Her face contorted at the memory, too painful for even tears. Her gaze searched for the words in the dust particles floating around them. "The last thing I remember is the. . ." The hunter blinked faster, as if the emotions that had been stopped where her memories ended were picking up as she remembered ten seconds over and over again in her mind. The more she remembered, the more the monstrous sounds came back to her. "Oh, God. Oh, God." she whispered. She looked back at Ryat, pleading, reaching out to a hand she couldn't see in the dark. "What's happening? Why am I here?” 

The fear and fragility coming from the normally quick witted hunter only added to the gravity of the situation. Even with his superior hearing, Ryat wasn't sure what was waiting for them outside. There were things in this hellacious landscape that put the creatures of nightmares to shame. The large Shepherd Dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, ears twitching with each sound, though he wasn't sounding an alarm again yet. He knew she remembered the end. Her reaction told him at least that much. "What you remember.... That's what a lot of people called the end of the world. As you can see that isn't exactly accurate...." He still picked and chose his words, knowing that the smallest thing could be like a detonator, and right now he didn't have the luxury of having the time to help stitch her back together. At least mentally. "It was damn close though....and that was 200 years ago. The world you knew, hell the world we both knew, is gone. There are things even you can't imagine. Whole damn world went to hell in a hand basket." The air here was too thick with dust and the smell of mold from the nuclear storms that passed settling into the interior of the building. Reaching into his pack once he slipped it off his shoulder, he found a stimpack. "I don't know how much this is gonna help, but it should do something," he stated evenly before injecting her with the medicine inside. 

Caroline lower lip trembled fiercely as he spoke, but he brows were set in desperate refusal. His words were gathering like a holy flood at the levies, and she bit her lip, shaking her head. The end of the world. The end of the world. The end of the world. Pictures flashed in her mind as rapidly as film ticking through a camera. Home. People. Friends. Life. Gone. . . “Please stop.” she said quietly, squeezing his hand as it released hers to shuffle inside some backpack. The pinch in her arm barely registered past the screaming her in own head. Voices, like a hundred-strong choir was screaming through their murder in her ears. “Stop!” she screamed through it, bracing her hands on the edge of the step and kicking out sharply at his leg. Something connected and she scrambled up and away, spilling onto the landing and throwing herself towards the next set of stairs. It only look another flight to reach the top, which spilled out into a windowed perch with half the wall broken out. Caroline gasped and looked around wildly. A thin layer of snow was coating the rooftops in her sights, but it all blurred together. Steps were right behind her as she made for the roof.

A hiss of pain left the demon's lips even if it wouldn't last long. "You God damn bitch!" He growled, moving after her with speed only a creature such as himself could possess. Maybe the stimpack had been a bad idea.... He'd thought it would do good to help her feel better and give her some mobility. The dog let out a bark at the sudden outburst and Ryat took off after her trying to ignore the pain in his shin. Snow glittered on the roof as it came into his view and his arm shot out, grabbing her ankle as she tried to scramble to the sloped, rotting roof. From his place on the stairs, he roughly tugged her back, not giving a single shit if he caused a few bruises on the way down. "What the fuck?" He grit, red eyes seeming to look through her as he appraised her. "I didn't spend the last twenty four hours gathering the shit to bring you back to let you toss yourself off a god damn steeple!" His grip on her ankle released only to grab her by the arm and pull her up to her feet, but this time he held her steady.

Caroline yelped and slammed to the ground hard as her feet were wrenched from beneath her. Her vision turned into a dropped snowglobe for a brief moment as he torso landed on the raised ledge were a wall should've been, half of body on the roof, half still inside the tower. All she could manage was a strangled grunt of resistance as she was pulled back over the threshold, icy flakes stinging her face. She lost herself in a flurry of kicks and palm-thrusts into Ryat's shoulders, but it was a charade for all the good it did. The young woman gasped as she was forced to stand, and, wrangled in his unquestionable grip, she looked at him wildly. His dark, hidden face from before now reflected so much silver light it was like he was glowing. His raven hair was tussled from the skirmish and blew slightly in the wind whistling through the broken windows around them. Caroline breathed hard, small fogs of hot breath crystalizing between them. Her eyes were stricken, but clearer, as if the truth was easier to see in the moonlight. "You brought me back?" She paused, forgetting to breathe. "I. . died?" The last word was barely a breath.

@a-beast-in-repose

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Alt Ending, Part 5

Hot take but finals kinda suck

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Tag: @solangelo252

You’d think her body would be grateful that she was finally giving it food, but no. She put it in her mouth and instantly felt nauseous. It didn’t even want to go down her throat, and keeping it there felt basically impossible.

But Tim had looked so happy when she had tried, so she forced it down.

(Well, she forced some of it down. If he noticed that a good amount of the food she brought to her mouth actually disappeared into the sleeves and folds of her dress he didn’t say anything.)

Tim started coming by three times a day with food after that. She didn’t complain despite her discomfort, she had really missed him.

Also, he looked stressed out and/or exhausted whenever she saw him. She worried about him. They both had a tendency to overwork themselves when they hit blocks, hell she’d sometimes joined him in his week-long deep dives into cases, but now that she was an outsider looking in… she was kind of shocked she’d ever let it get that far for either of them. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Taken proper time to clean himself, even? A while, she guessed from the deep bags under his eyes and the way his hair was frayed from running his fingers through it.

“Timmy,” she chirped.

He flashed her a tiny smile. “Hey,” he said, coming over and taking a seat beside her on the bed.

She took the bag from him and set it aside, much to his dismay, but then she reached over and dragged him into some cuddles and he suddenly had new concerns. He groaned into her shoulder.

“Bean, come on, I don’t want to sleep.”

She didn’t let go. “You need to.”

“Don’t have time.”

She rolled her eyes, bringing a hand up to start attempting to smooth out his hair. “You have to sleep eventually.”

“And I do!”

She didn’t answer, which he took to mean she didn’t believe him (a good assumption, she didn’t).

“I do! I get at least a few hours a week.”

“Wow, amazing. I take it back. You totally have a healthy sleep schedule.”

“Worry about yourself, first. You don’t sleep either,” he huffed, but he was starting to relax into her hold nonetheless.

“I’m also literally dead.”

“You used to say you’d sleep when you were dead.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, to be fair, I thought I’d actually die when I died.”

He gave a short laugh, and she opted not to acknowledge that it was a little forced.

She yawned and laid back with his face in her shoulder. “I’m surprised none of the others have drugged you to get you to sleep yet.”

“They’re too busy drugging B --.” He winced just slightly. “They’ve just got a lot on their plates is all, I’m the least of their worries.”

She didn’t say anything about his tiny slip up, just gave a light hum to say she understood.

She didn’t dare to move until she was completely sure he had nodded off. Even then, she only did so to pick up the food he’d brought for her.

Her nose scrunched a little at the prospect of eating, but when she opened it and saw it was fried rice she perked up a little. She nibbled at her food.

Honestly, she didn’t know if it was working. It seemed to be, but then again most of the things that got better could be attributed to other causes. Her skin was gaining color again, but the bleach may have just started to wear out. She was feeling more energized, but then again she was now getting a total of four cups of coffee a day thanks to Tim and Jason fueling her addiction. Exercise was getting easier and she was packing on muscle again, but she was also working out enough with Dick for it to be explainable that way…

She didn’t know if it was working. She didn’t even know if she WANTED it to work. The plan had been ‘kill Bruce and then quickly off yourself before the others can react’ and not having an instant out was kinda problematic when it came to finishing that plan.

Not that the first part of that plan was working out for her, either. Bruce still hadn’t come to see her. She doubted he ever would at this point.

She didn’t even have a way out, as the door was automated and presumably opened by someone outside.

No. The only way she would ever leave was if she managed to ‘fix’ herself, and that wasn’t happening because there was nothing to fix! She would know. Her entire thing as Ladybug was fixing things.

She looked down at Tim. When he slept all the little wrinkles in his forehead smoothed to make him look much younger. She smiled a little at the sight, pressing a kiss to where she knew the creases usually were.

At least, even if her situation couldn’t be helped, she could still help others.

~

She’d come to expect a routine of sorts, so the moment it was broken even slightly her brain short-circuited.

Duke stood in the doorway as usual, but when she glanced past him…

“Where’s Cass?”

His grin disappeared a little, but he pulled his back to his face with ease. “Wow, I’m really feeling the love here, Mari.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know Cass is the best person to ever exist.”

Duke nodded his agreement and came over to take a seat next to her. She cozied up to him as usual, curled under his arm as he pulled up their newest show on his laptop…

She had a lot of thoughts about Cass being missing.

On the one hand, she just missed her friend’s too-warm body pressed up against her and quiet complaints about how the actors were doing it all wrong.

On the other hand… Marinette was completely aware that they had Cass stopping by as much as she did to check on Marinette, to see if they were making any real progress with her. Cass was a human lie detector, able to detect when someone was going to be dishonest before they’d even realized it themselves, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage that. So, the fact that they were no longer making Cass drop in as often… either they thought she was doing better, or that she never would do better.

Marinette hoped it was the first. She knew it was the second.

She found it harder than usual to enjoy Duke’s snide comments about how dumb and cliche some of the characters were. She turned and pressed her face into his side. The glasses on the bridge of her nose dug into her skin.

Fuck. She was never getting out of there, was she?

She felt his free hand come up to run through her hair and she sighed.

“Duke…”

He pressed pause on the show.

“Tim told me you’re a meta, that you can control light. Can you do it for me?”

There was a beat.

“Why do you ask?”

She laughed a little. “Does it matter? Can’t I just be curious about why my favorite brother didn’t even bother to tell me that he has powers?”

“I thought you already knew. It’s common knowledge.”

She huffed. “Maybe I just prefer to be told things than meticulously look through every piece of information to figure it out.”

“What kind of bat are you?” He joked.

She winced and the hand in his shirt balled it just a fraction tighter. She didn’t respond.

There was a few seconds before he sighed and moved his hand from his hair to her chin, gently pulling her face out of where it was hidden in his side. She refused to meet his eyes.

It was silent again, neither of them sure what to say.

“Here,” he said after a moment, putting his free hand out and making light dance across his palm.

Her face lit up, literally and figuratively, at the sight of the tiny ball of light. She leaned a little closer.

“Aw, it looks like a tiny sun!”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I can also…”

There was a moment of silence as he concentrated and the tiny ball of light split into the colors of the rainbow. She giggled, reaching out to cup his hand in hers. It was the first non-artificial light she’d seen in months, the first rainbow she’d seen since… Paris, actually.

Well, even if she wouldn’t ever see the outside world again, at least she could still have this little fake sun. It was basically the same, just as good, she told herself. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks that were telling her otherwise.

~

She tossed the plastic spoon she’d stolen from one of her meals in the air idly.

The plan had been to turn it into Baby’s First Shank but that probably wasn’t going to work out. Pen to the throat was at about a .01% chance of working, attacking him with a spoon-knife needed a few more zeroes added to that already insanely small number. She gave it a .000000001% chance at best.

Then again, the other option was trying to strangle someone who had an insane height and weight advantage to death before someone else could interfere...

She sighed to herself and put the spoon in her teeth, starting to pull.

She didn’t get very far before she heard the metallic whoosh of the door opening and she barely glanced up to see Dick.

He stared at her from the doorway, his eyebrows slowly raising as he watched her attempt to bite an edge into a spoon of all things.

She pulled it from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I think your eyebrows are trying to escape,” she told him.

He blinked at her before rolling his eyes and walking inside fully. “Thanks for the assist. Would have lost them otherwise,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ve seen you lose your phone three minutes after putting it down, Dickie, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He gasped and rested a hand over her heart. “You think that low of me?”

“Lower. I was being nice.”

Dick pouted and walked over to the bed. She didn’t think much of it until he was diving onto her stomach. She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow, but it wasn’t enough to save her. She groaned in pain as his extremely hard head made contact with her not-so-hard stomach.

“FUCK. This is why your parents called you Dick, y’know!”

He only laughed at her.

Despite herself, she gave him a smile.

She rested her head back in the pillows for a moment (mostly just to catch all the breath she’d lost) before pushing him off. “Ready?”

He groaned into her comforter before rolling onto the floor. “‘Kay.”

Marinette grinned as she took a seat beside him, starting her usual stretches. He pushed himself up to sit with minimal groaning and started working on his shoulders.

It was quiet for a while as they stretched.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes on her foot when she spoke next: “Dick?”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“I… can I have some more stuff? Everything here is so boring. I just… I want new things to do. Or, at least, new things to look at.”

There was a long silence between them. Anxiety bubbled under her skin. She switched legs so she could gauge his expression through her bangs. His expression was carefully neutral.

She cringed.

“Obviously I’m not ungrateful! You guys have all been really nice and accommodating! I get food and a phone and, honestly, that’s fine --!”

“Mari!”

Her mouth snapped closed.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Anyone would be bored here. I can talk to them. It’ll probably depend on what you want.”

She finally looked at him properly, eyes wide. She really hadn’t been expecting that to work.

He slowly pulled his legs to him to sit criss-cross applesauce, head resting on his hand. “I can probably get some baking things, a sketchbook, just blunt objects in general. Deadly, but not before someone could get there.”

Marinette nodded her understanding, a smile making its way across her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You constantly say Duke and Cass are the best.”

She was torn between agreeing with herself and flattering him. Since she wanted something, she decided on flattery: “That was, like, a few hours ago. I’ve grown since then. You’re my favorite now, Dickie.”

“Can I get that as my ringtone?”

“Only if you only use it to mess with Jay.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

~

The door whoosed open and she barely moved her head to look at it.

She froze.

Bruce?

No. No way. There was no way in hell.

But was there? Cass HAD stopped coming. Maybe she had somehow convinced them that everything was working out and everything was fine.

Marinette hadn’t done anything differently, though, so that probably wasn’t it…

Oh. Oh shit.

Maybe she was actually going insane. Because there was no way the bats would have made that kind of mistake by letting Bruce in when she was still intent on murdering him. He had to be a hallucination, because nothing else really made sense. Kwami, Tim was going to be SO smug about this one.

Actually, no, he didn’t have to know.

Her gaze slipped away from Fake Bruce and back to the dots on her ceiling. Because, as everyone knows, that if you don’t acknowledge hallucinations they go away…

“Marinette,” Fake Bruce said, trying to trick her into outing herself as losing it.

“Marinette,” he tried again, starting his way over.

She did her best to ignore the footsteps and the way the bed shifted when he sat down. No wonder schizophrenics fell for this shit, this was all so real…

Except... weren’t schizophrenics not supposed to be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t? Wouldn’t her knowing (thinking?) he was fake be an indication that he was actually real? Or was that just her mind trying to justify believing it?

Marinette bit inside of her cheek and let herself look at Fake Bruce again.

He cracked a smile for her. A hand reached over and pushed some hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said.

She hesitated.

It would suck if this all was fake, the others would get confirmation and she really wouldn’t have a way out. But if it was real then this was her only shot. If it was real Cass would be watching the cameras to see what she was thinking and she would know for sure that Marinette was still intent on killing Bruce…

Fuck.

Marinette pushed herself into a sitting position and looked Maybe-Bruce up and down before grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling him into a hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes when he hugged her back.

“Fake.”

The man tensed underneath her and then sighed as he pulled back.

He gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She shook her head slightly and fell back. With a flick of her wrists the knife she’d created out of her plastic spoon was in her hands and she absently tossed it at the hallucination. Either it would make him disappear or it would look like it stabbed him and she could pretend that it actually happened.

But then it didn’t do either of those things.

Her eyebrows knit together when the spife shattered upon impact.

He looked unconcerned as he gently swept all the pieces into his hand and then put them in his pockets.

“The fuck?”

“Language,” he chided lightly.

She grinned. “You really need to work on your ‘Bruce’. Accepting a hug that quickly is one thing but chiding someone for language? In OUR family? I’m pretty sure he gave that up by Jason.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “I’m Superman.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times before shrugging to herself. “Okay. You look just like Bruce. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, trust me, we know. It’s pretty helpful, though. One time a person tried to assassinate Bruce and ended up fighting me. It wasn’t their day.”

She smiled a little, but it didn’t last very long. She fell back in her pillows and glared at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry this all happened to you. You’re just a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d long-since given up on denying that something had happened to her. Not because she no longer believed it, but because it wasn’t worth the effort. No one ever believed her when she said it.

(Could she blame them? No. She almost believed it herself just a few moments before. Still annoying, though.)

Instead of saying any of that, though, she brought a grin to her face.

“You and B should switch houses for April Fools. See if anyone notices anything.”

~

She really should have noticed something was up when her coffee didn’t energize her at all.

It had all been going fine. She was making Jason dispose of all the pieces of food she’d used sleight of hand to get away with not eating (she was still a little bitter about him stealing her pen and this was the most she could really do to get back at him, compromised as she was). They made idle conversation, mostly just about how Damian had got himself a new pet cat that he had named BatCat (though, apparently, they had heard him slip up and call him Charles a few times). They debated over how good that name was and the merit of Jason’s suggestion -- BatPussy, of course -- as she drank her third cup of coffee of the day.

It was about halfway through her drink that she began to notice that something was off. She squinted at Jason suspiciously.

“Decaf?” She asked, her voice worryingly sweet.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look unimpressed despite stepping back a good half-step. “Please, if it was decaf classical conditioning still would’ve made it work at least a little.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then realized he was right. Or, at least, she was pretty sure. She couldn't seem to think of anything against it.

She frowned, looking down at her drink again and swirling the contents around. She drank the rest of it, trying to figure out why exactly it wasn’t working.

Was she already at the point where caffeine had little effect on her again? She didn’t think she was that bad yet… hell, she probably couldn’t be because she was depending on others to give her her fix…

She shook her head slightly and then quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain stabbed through her skull and she stumbled into Jason. The plastic thermos slipped from her fingertips and went rolling across the floor. Her head crashed into his chest and arms were quick to wrap around her.

“You got shitty coffee, try a different place next time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, okay, kid. I’ll be sure to do that.”

She nodded as much as her headache would allow and felt the arms around her slip down to pick her up. She blinked her eyes open blearily and regretted it when the light attempted to murder her via knife to the head.

Heh. Little light particles with little knives.

Wait.

Did she get a concussion? Somehow? Without getting hit?

She buried her face in his shoulder and it was then, as he set her in bed and tucked her in, that she realized what had happened.

“Bitch,” she murmured above whatever drug they had put in her drink.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she could do little more than scrunch up her nose and vaguely wave him off. Her eyes fell closed again.

~

Marinette woke up a while later.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights were dimmer, something she didn’t have to open her eyes to see because her head wasn’t pounding as much.

Then she realized a person was with her. They had entwined themselves around her, tangled their limbs with hers. They needn’t have bothered, everything felt like lead. She wouldn’t be moving for quite some time.

… why was she being held down? Oh no. That was probably bad, huh?

Marinette made a sound in the back of her throat and started trying to shift away from the person pressed against her back. She needed to see who they were. They didn’t bother to tighten their hold on her, she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

In fact, a hand stopped holding her down. Instead, it came up to pet her hair.

Oh? This was nice.

A voice by her head told her it was all okay. After a moment she realized she recognized that voice. She smiled sleepily. Cass. She liked Cass. She pressed closer to her and was rewarded with a hand rubbing up and down one of her arms.

She nearly fell asleep again. Cass was safe, Marinette was safe… the warmth against her and the soothing touch… of course, it certainly helped that the drug was still in her system and she was exhausted...

But then her mind wandered back to her first question. Why WAS Cass holding her down? Why did they drug her in the first place?

She moved so her hair could block some of the light and then cautiously cracked her eyes open.

The batboys were all moving things inside almost silently. Jason was carrying an entire fridge on his own. Dick and Damian were arguing over the positioning of the table they had just brought in through angry hand motions. Tim and Duke were working together on… was that a gaming set?

And she was being held down because the door was wide open.

Marinette looked at the doorway for just a moment longer. She allowed herself to imagine getting out and swinging through the city with her lasso, allowed herself to pretend she could lay in the grass, allowed herself to believe that she could see the sun and the stars and just breathe fresh air again…

And then she closed her eyes and sunk into Cass’s grip.

What was the point in trying? Even if she could somehow beat out all six of the people in the room with her and get past whatever security Bruce had to have outside of the room all while drugged… then what? No money or idea where she was… and she’d be running from the bats of all people…

Yeah. Useless. She curled up and allowed sleep to take her again.

~

Quite a while later she woke up and blinked a few times when she realized she wasn’t the only person in bed. At first she thought it was just Cass or Tim, they were the most likely culprits, but then she realized everyone had managed to cram themselves onto the bed with her. Her and Cass had gotten brushed to the side of the bed to make space for Tim, Dick, and Damian. Jason had collapsed across the end of the bed -- presumably for space, but Duke was laying half on top of him so that obviously hadn’t worked out.

Marinette smiled faintly and buried her face back into the crook of Tim’s neck.

~

When she woke up again, most of the drug flushed from her system (somehow…?), she thought she was alone.

This was fine. She was able to stretch out and sit up.

She blinked when she saw Damian, who was sitting on her floor and playing a video game.

Huh? Video game?

She looked around her room confusedly. The bats had basically made her a one-room apartment, complete with kitchenette and a tiny study area. Of course, it was much higher quality than the apartment she’d had, with a high tech gaming system and a little dining area and holy shit that was a MINI LIBRARY?

Wild.

“You’re finally up.”

She hummed lightly as an agreement. She crawled over to the end of the bed and smiled when he handed her a twizzler. It was objectively one of the worst candies, but she liked having something to do. She twirled it in her hand idly.

“Do you think… do you think it’s working?”

She frowned confusedly and dropped off the bed to sit beside him on the second beanbag chair. She chanced a quick glance in his direction to gauge how he was feeling... his expression didn’t let anything on other than that he was thinking hard, though she was pretty sure that was about the game.

“Gonna elaborate on that?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you going to join the Undead Robins Club?”

She grinned at him. “I wasn’t a Robin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her smile disappeared a little and she trained her eyes on the game. “I don’t know.”

“You know we never will know for sure, right?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge it. They were the bats, they were never going to chance taking off her glasses because if they were wrong and she WASN’T better… well, it wasn’t the kind of mistake they could easily come back from.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a few moments.

“Do you care?”

“Doesn't really matter if I do. It won’t change anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not answering my question.”

She bit her cheek. “I… yes. I care. It still doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he just went back to playing the game.

“Damiiiiiiiii…” she whined and, when he gave a vague grunt to show he was paying attention, she continued with “... shouldn’t I get to play first? It’s mine.”

“You slept in too long,” he said without looking up.

She huffed. “Only ‘cause I was drugged!”

“Unfortunate.”

She got off the beanbag chair and whacked him over the head with it. He barely acknowledged it outside of an annoyed click of his tongue.

She huffed and pulled the chair back to herself to sit again. “Is it two player?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He clicked his tongue again.

She pouted for a little while longer before looking back at the screen with a smile. “... heard you got a cat named Charles. Wanna talk about him?”

Damian’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Only if you let me play.”

He looked pained. If he gave it to her then he’d be giving her something she’d want, which was a sibling no-no, but if he didn’t then she probably wouldn’t listen to him gush about his cat. A few moments went by before he reluctantly handed over the controller.

She beamed and scooted her chair over to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him stiffen underneath her but, when she didn’t move again outside of what was necessary to play the game, he relaxed again.

“I thought you were going to listen,” he chided lightly when she didn’t take a break between levels.

“I can listen and play.”

Damian sighed a little and shook his head.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want --.”

“I’m getting to it! So, he’s a black cat that apparently hadn’t been adopted because everyone thought he was evil so the pet store was going --.”

~

Marinette noticed something was up the minute the door opened.

First of all, it was Duke and Damian. That’s all that really needs to be said. Those two together… it’s never a good thing.

Secondly, they were there as Signal and Robin. Most of the time the others avoided even talking about their lives as vigilantes for fear of setting her off in one way or another, but here they were showing up in their suits? No, something weird was going on.

“Hey, Mari, can we skip a fight and you just put a bag over your head and let us pick you up?” Tried Duke.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You want to…? Huh?”

“We don’t really have much time to explain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Damian held up a potato sack and some twine, which really wasn’t all that encouraging.

She hesitated. “... what’s something only you two would know?”

“Really?” Said Damian with more than a little exasperation.

“Hey, we’re all bats here. I’m not moving until you prove you’re who you say you are.”

(Technically, if they were really Duke and Damian, they could fight her and do it anyways. She probably couldn't beat both of them at once. Still, that kind of fight would hurt all of them and she really didn’t want to have to do it at the moment.)

Duke hesitated before shrugging. “Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint. Which I don’t understand. Just brush your teeth if you like that taste so much.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alright, you’re who you say you are. Robin?”

“… early on I lied and said that Nightwing’s real hero name was actually BatNightwing to mess with you both.”

She frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re a dick.”

“No, Nightwing’s a Dick. He’s a Damian.”

Marinette was THIS CLOSE to fighting them anyways.

But she didn’t. She was kinda curious about where all this was going. So, she allowed them to bind her hands and slip a bag over her head. Arms wrapped around her -- she didn’t really care who it was -- and she was lifted off the ground. Then, they were walking.

Part of her wondered if this was some kind of test. They were checking to see how compliant she was or how likely she would be to run once outside. Maybe they had Superman on call in case she tried to escape.

She really couldn’t tell.

She didn’t think that they had any reason to take her out of the perfectly safe and well-stocked place they had put her in.

Maybe her location had been compromised and they were moving her to a backup? No, that didn’t make sense. Duke made sense for transport, Damian didn’t. Damian was one of the worst fighters in the family (he was in no way BAD at fighting, of course, it was just a byproduct of being in the game the shortest amount of time and not being a meta) and he was the second most likely person to end up fighting her after Jason. What the fuck?

Wait, Duke said he’d explain on the way.

“What’s going on?”

“New idea on how to bring you back,” said Duke simply.

Well, she guessed that was more information than she’d previously had. She’d take it for now.

She heard a quiet whooshing noise and frowned confusedly, only to feel herself get set down… somewhere. She felt carpeting underneath her, which meant she was in… a house? No. A car, she thought as she noticed the quiet hum of an engine. She’d been put in the fucking trunk. She kicked out as much as she could without knowing exactly where they were and gave a cry of protest, but then the lid was clicked over her head and she was thrown into uncomfortably complete silence.

She scowled to herself. She shouldn’t have thrown her spife at Superman, it would have been really useful right then. She tested the bindings against her hands and winced at how tight they were. Did they really use zip ties? Those were notoriously bad for circulation.

… oh. Yeah. She was dead. That actually wasn’t that bad, then.

Still annoying. Hard to get out of. Assholes. She wondered if it was worth dislocating her arms…

Yeah. Probably. If she could get out then she would be OUT.

She flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled her feet up to her arms and then started pushing back. Her body strained in protest and she bit down on the front of the bag over her head to stop herself from making any sounds.

And then she felt a pop in her left shoulder and a flare of pain and the makeshift gag wasn’t enough to hold back her sobs. Her arm throbbed and it was only made worse when they reached the city proper and the roads started getting choppy. Every little bump in the road sent a new wave of pain rolling through her and all she could do was ride it out.

They started hitting smoother roads what felt like hours later... it was kind of concerning because she had no clue where they could be, those were uncommon in Gotham, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to die every few seconds.

She took a few seconds to bring her breathing back to normal before she started slowly wiggling her arms out under her butt and legs and then they were in front of her. Great. She picked herself up as much as she could in the tiny space, checked her angle mentally, relaxed her muscles, and then dropped down on her shoulder to get it back in place.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt weird and still kind of hurt but at least it was mostly better.

She pulled the bag off of her head and relished in the slightly fresher air.

She looked down at the zip ties on her wrists and she sighed a little. Time to do that hack that looked stupid but actually worked if the kidnappers were stupid enough to leave you alone.

She brought her feet up, untied the laces of her shoes, and tied them back around the ties. Then she set to work trying to saw at the zip tie.

She paused when she heard the low rumbling of a plane. Were they near an airport? Oh. That was going to be a problem. She went faster.

Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t get very far before there was a click and the trunk opened.

She cried out in pain at the sudden light and squeezed her eyes shut, turning to press her face into the carpeted interior.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk. Before she could do much to look around so she could get her bearings and make herself a portal, the bag was forced over her head again and a strong grip on her arm (the good one, thankfully) kept her from pulling it off again. Then someone knelt in front of her and fixed her shoelaces.

“Really, NightMare?” Duke said, unimpressed.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

Damian scoffed.

Someone picked her up again and she sighed as they carried her along. They were definitely at an airport. She could hear people milling about. She was sure it was Gotham, too; she could feel a few stares, but most people seemed comfortable with the vigilantes among them.

Then came the normal airport stuff. Walking. Some arguing over whether she counted as luggage or if she could go through the metal detector with them. Sitting. A little chatting with civilians. More walking. More sitting. Very light chatter, just formalities and asking for drinks (Duke, who she figured out was the person carrying her, slipped a box of orange juice up her bag so she could have something). And then they were in the air.

After some time in the air the bag and zip ties were removed. She kept her eyes closed to let them adjust to light naturally and instead focused on rubbing feeling back into her hands.

One English alphabet later, she opened her eyes.

They were in a private plane (or was it a jet?), which explained why it was as quiet as it was. Damian was drinking a glass of water and reading something on his phone. Duke was nibbling at some complimentary pretzels and working a Rubix Cube. They both glanced in her direction from time to time, but they seemed pretty confident that she couldn’t do anything while they were in the air (which was true, but annoying).

She looked around a little more and found that there were no other bats.

“Um… where’re…?” She trailed off, unsure.

They stopped glancing in her direction, ignoring her and her question. The frown that had been on her face since pretty much when they’d first taken her from the room deepened.

“Do they… do they know what’s going on?”

The silence spoke volumes.

She rested her head in her hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than a juice box for this.”

Duke sighed but called a friendly looking woman inside to get her some wine. Marinette and Duke sipped at a glass each (Damian wasn’t allowed any, something Marinette took a little too much joy in). She scrutinized the two over the rim of her glass.

“Are you going to explain or let me guess? Because letting me guess is going to end up with me assuming you’re doing something way worse than you actually are.”

Damian sighed a little. “It’s hard to explain.”

“We’re in a plane. I’m going to guess we have time. Start talking.”

“We drugged them all -- except Orphan, she’s just out doing patrols and won’t know what’s going on for a good few hours -- and grabbed you.”

Duke gave Damian a pleading look to make him continue for them.

Damian, reluctantly, put down his phone to talk. “Signal and I have an idea on how to bring you back from the dead. The others won’t like it, especially not Red Hood, so we’re making the executive decision to not ask.”

Marinette didn’t know a lot about when Jason had been resurrected, it was a sensitive subject so it was avoided pretty much at all costs. All she’d gathered was that it was a rather messy experience for everyone involved.

She rested her head on her hand and then looked back down at her drink. She snatched the bottle from the table and, when Duke protested, set him a glare and started drinking directly from it. They were actually going to bring her back through probably shady means. She was NOT drunk enough for this shit.

~

She got stuffed in a suitcase when they left, which was extremely insulting (and a little embarrassing, if she were honest).

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase and listened to the dull thrum of people talking on the other side. She vaguely recognized the language, both Nino and Damian both spoke it when frustrated, but the words were all Greek to her.

Well, they were all Arabic, but you get the point.

~

She didn’t even realize she had been asleep until she was awoken. Rather abruptly. The zipper for the suitcase was opened and she tumbled out. Marinette cursed in French as she hit the ground and laid there, her entire body aching from not moving for so long. She hadn’t known her face could get pins and needles, she wished she could go back to her blissful ignorance.

“Are you sure about this? You want to save her?” A woman’s voice said above her, sounding a little skeptical.

Marinette forced herself to roll over so she could glare at whoever it was, she knew when she was being insulted, and then she blinked up at the new person.

A tall woman with dark skin and hair and a body to die for stood above her, hands on her hips.

“Holy shit, Dami. You got terrible genes. She’s gorgeous and you’re… you? What?”

Duke hid laughter behind his hand and Damian scoffed.

Amusement flickered behind Talia’s ‘I could kill you before you could even scream’ expression. “I’ve changed my mind. I like her.”

“Cool,” said Marinette as she quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her body wasn’t ready for that, but that was the least of her concerns. The pretty lady was ushering her along and Marinette wasn’t going to hold her up if she could help it.

“How did you die?” Talia said, which was an interesting choice for conversation.

Marinette shrugged, though, unconcerned. “I don’t know, really, there wasn’t this ‘oh, wow, I’m dead’ moment. My guess is I either drowned in acid or died of dehydration at some point. Does it change anything or…?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Good.”

“... do you not know why you’re here?” Asked Talia carefully after a moment’s contemplation.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, they’ve been avoiding telling me. I assume it’s painful.”

“... yes. Very.”

The four lapsed into silence after that.

Marinette felt weirdly on edge as they walked through the facility, her hands rubbing the goosebumps that were prickling along her arms. The further they walked, the more on edge she felt. They were approaching something unnatural, something so undeniably WRONG, and she needed to GO.

But Damian and Duke were behind her, probably sensing her unease, and running ahead would only get her there faster… so she walked.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to ground herself.

But, the moment they stepped into the room, she froze.

Green water. That apparently hurts.

Acid.

“FUCK.”

Duke was ready for her to run, apparently, stood in front of the only exit and ready for a fight before she could even get a full step away from the hell that awaited her.

“No no no no no no wait it’s fine I actually don’t mind being dead it’s fine guys please --.”

Damian grabbed her arms and she choked out a sob,

“Damian god damn it I was kidding about the mom thing you’re perfectly attractive or whatever I promise I really didn’t think it would hurt you that much we don’t need to do this let’s tALK IT OUT --!”

“It’s not about that --!”

Duke managed to get a hold on one of her legs and lifted and all she had to struggle against either of them was a foot and she was SO fucked --.

“PLEASE DUKE PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT I PROMISE I CAN BE BETTER YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO I’LL BE FINE WE CAN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT PLEASE --.”

Talia grabbed her last leg and she sobbed as she thrashed around uselessly. They started dragging her towards the acid. Nothing to do no way to run no help in sight no --.

“PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!”

And they did. They let her go and she fell into the acid.

[itmightbeneb]

Small post-prison Dream drabble

CW: (almost) panic attacks

If this gets a good enough reception, I may do more :)

It was raining, but Dream couldn't stop to appreciate it. Appreciating rain? Dream almost laughed at the idea, but after months of nothing but lava and obsidian, the cold and wet was a nice change of pace. There had been water in the prison, he supposed, but it was warm, heated by the lava all around him, warm and dirty after months of use. The cold was a nice change of pace. And this rain, this clean water, might actually do something to clean the blood of his skin. It was certainly soothing his burns and scars, burns and scars Quackity and Sam would have to pay for.

Dream needed more stuff, he needed diamonds then netherite, he needed enchantments and potions and farms, better food as well, he doubted he could handle another potato, he doubted he could handle much at all for the moment but that was a problem for later him. Bread would sustain him for now, although he did keep a few extra potatoes in his inventory just in case.

The problem was, he had nothing. Well that wasn't entirely true, he had some bread, a handful of potatoes and a freedom he hadn't had in months, but other than that, nothing. Not even a wooden pickaxe to his name and the entire server wanting him dead. Well then, better a wooden pickaxe than nothing, he thought. He had to start somewhere.

Breaking down a tree was more difficult than he remembered, or maybe he was just remembering what it was like with an efficiency V netherite axe. He might be weaker now, he might be more vulnerable, did the prison affect his muscles that much? He'd still managed to kill Tommy so he can't have wasted away too much, but then why was this stone taking so long to mine? He didn't have the weakness effect from the elder guardians anymore, but he wondered if the months of constant weakness had affected his muscles. Well that was just another thing on the to-do list, get stronger again. Maybe strength potions would work, but for that he'd have to go to the nether. He was a long way off being prepared for that.

After getting a stone pickaxe and axe, Dream wondered if caving or strip mining would be better. He didn't want to be in any cramped space if he could avoid it, but in order to get armour and weapons, in order to protect himself, he'd have to go in. Both had their benefits and downsides. Strip mining was more cramped, darker, closer to being like the prison he had only just escaped. But, if he was weaker after his stay there, it offered fewer mobs to deal with. Less chance to die right after he made it out. He couldn't die now, not after everything that had happened, not after he finally made it out. He had to get his revenge on Sam and Quackity, and that meant staying alive, getting gear, getting stronger. Punz as well, Punz had betrayed him. Went to Tommy and Tubbo and Sam to put him away. He'd cut ties with Punz though, he was on the list, just further down. No, it was Sam and Quackity that needed to pay the most. That meant going underground where there was no daylight and lava around any corner. So, strip mining it was then, less chance of dying was always a good decision. Plus, Dream thought, he couldn't let a stupid fear stop him from going where he pleased. He wasn't Tommy, getting scared whenever he was near a plains biome, he was Dream, a god, someone who had survived worse that a stupid obsidian box. And he was going to make them pay for putting him there.

He dug down to Y=11, finding some coal and iron on the way down. This was good, this was normal, he ignored the tightness in his chest. Although, it was eased by the chill air. He didn't know he could miss the cold, but here he was, feeling nostalgia over a temperature. A temperature, he quickly realised that he couldn't handle as well as he used to. Spending so much time next to a sea of lava, in the sweltering heat, had changed the way his body handled temperature, it seemed. He quickly made a torch and held it in his off hand. Fire would warm him up, enough that he didn't die at least. The furnaces smelting iron also helped warm him up. He made sure to note that wherever he ended up staying better be well insulated. He couldn't go for a desert though, the heat would be welcome but he wanted rain. Maybe a jungle? They were tricky to navigate which would help deter people from finding him. Warm, but not the heat of lava, wet, tricky to find. Perfect.

Enough iron had been smelted to make a pickaxe and a bucket. A good start. Strip mining had never been Dreams favourite, he got bored easily and, unless he managed to hyperfocus on the task, could never pay attention long enough to find anything. However today was different, while he did find himself getting bored and wanting to change tasks, he managed to force himself to continue mining, placing torches periodically to prevent spawns. The tightness in his chest eased a little at the moment.

Eventually he had enough iron for armour. It wouldn't be as strong as the netherite he was used to, the netherite he needed if he were to survive an encounter with another player, but it was better than nothing. Hadn't Technoblade beaten Quackity while only wearing iron armour? Although that was Quackity, Dream would need better armour to survive an encounter with a competent player.

Dream spotted diamonds, the last few he'd need for a full set of armour and tools. There was a problem though, they were across a large lava lake. He could already feel the heat, humid and heavy just like in the cell. The cell he'd only just escaped from. He could do this though, just bridge across the lava, grab the diamonds and head out. He'd need to deal with more lava in the nether anyway, this was nothing. This couldn't harm him. It just simply couldn't.

Dream shifted, edging across the lake. Slowly. He was usually so fast, it must have been the effects of the elder guardians, he told himself, his weakened muscles from the elder guardians, that must be it. Heat rose up to meet him, making him sweat under his heavy armour. His armour was so heavy, his muscles were weaker but were his bones as well? How long had it been since he had seen sunlight? There had been a small amount of time today, before he went mining, and it had been blinding. Too bright and yet not enough at the same time. He wanted to just lay in the sunshine with grass beneath his fingers forever. He had to bring his vitamin D levels up again. He wondered how many vitamins he was deficient in now, thanks to Sam. His body was wrecked and it was all Sam's fault, and Tommy's and Tubbo's as well.

The sound of the lava though, was what almost got him. It bubbled and popped rhythmically, always the same. In the cell there had been exactly three sounds: the elder guardians coming to weaken him, the constant ticking of the clock striking its way into his brain, and the bubble and pop of the lava preventing him from getting out. He knew every small sound lava could make, down to the smallest detail, and it was here again now. Except this time he had blocks and air above the lava. And, he realised while quickly unshifting and looking through his inventory, a water bucket. The hissing of obsidian being made was music to his ears, gone was the sound, almost. There was still a layer under the obsidian that was still quietly bubbling away, but the sound was obscured. Dream looked at the obsidian, that tightness in his chest was back. He ignored it, he had exclusively walked on obsidian for the last few months, he could do this again. He did. He walked, slowly, almost too slowly, over to the diamonds and mined them up. It was an eight vein, more than enough to complete everything. A couple diamonds to spare would always help anyway.

Next came enchantments, or the nether. He should probably check what he had in his ender chest, it had been so long he had almost forgotten anything that was in there, but the only ones he knew of were by where people lived (for obvious reasons) and he didn't exactly want to go there. So, he figured, off to the nether it was. Blaze powder and pearls were what he needed. Unenchanted diamond armour, he was prepared enough, he was over prepared if anything. Unless he found a player.Dream quickly found another lava pool, better to make a new portal than risk being found in a known one. The lava raised the same reaction as last time, but he needed it this time, he couldn't get rid of it. Well he could, he had a diamond pickaxe, but that was slow. Dream wasn't exactly known for being slow. He placed a block in the lava and the water next to it, steam came up to meet him as obsidian was formed. Breaking the block he placed caused more steam and more obsidian, but the base of the portal was complete. He made an upside down L shape with some cobble, placing water at the top. Now it was time to pick up the lava. Why couldn't he pick up the lava? He used to throw himself into lava for fun and how his stupid brain was saying he couldn't handle it through a bucket? Dream's breathing quickened, this was bad. He picked the water back up and made the rest of the lake into obsidian. The diamond pick would be useful after all. He told himself it was because he needed extra obsidian for an ender chest.

The purple spirals of the portal stared at Dream. He needed to go through. He needed to go through and find a fortress, not die, not have a panic attack, and get out. The first three points would be easy, the last? He had held it off so far, he could continue to do so. Until he was the most powerful person on the server again, he would not allow himself to rest enough for his brain to catch up on what happened. When he was safe, when he was feared, he could allow himself to examine his mental health, make it stronger again. He couldn't be seen as weak, they'd kill him, or put him back in the prison. He couldn't be weak. Dream stepped through the portal.

There were a few signs of life, but it didn't seem like he was in a well trafficked area. Not the best spawn, but he could work with it for now. He sneaked constantly, on the off chance someone else was around. The heat if the nether reminded him of the cell. At least there wasn't much obsidian around. He had spawned in a warped forest, so he quickly dug into the wall a little and stared at an enderman. He was too far for it to reach him, but he could reach it. It dropped a pearl. One half down, now he just needed to find a fortress. He added angry endermen to the list of sounds he wasn't sure why he missed, but did nonetheless.

The endermen reminded him of a certain hybrid waiting back in the overworld. He'd have to get into contact with Ranboo again.

He had never minded the heat of the nether before, but now it suffocated him. He longed for the wind, even the stale but cold air from caves, but he had to press on. He told himself the humidity, or the heat, was the reason he had difficulty breathing.

Eventually, Dream found a fortress. The blaze spawner was pretty easy to find as well. Finally, luck had decided to give him a break. The first blaze he killed didn't drop a rod, but the second one did. Blocking himself away, he pulled out a crafting table. The blaze rod got turned into power, then combined with the pearl to make an eye of ender. Finally, Dream surrounded the eye in obsidian, creating an ender chest.They have off a faint glow. Being boxed into the wall with netherack all around, the ender chest was Dream's only source of light. He had missed the darkness, the lava had always illuminated his cell, giving off a bright orange light that he couldn't escape. The chest was different though, softer, easier on the eyes.

Dream opened his ender chest. He found his spare set of netherite armour, not fully enchanted but he could make it work for now, he'd get books in a bit to make it stronger. He'd have to be stronger this time. This could never happen again. There was also a bunch of netherite, he'd upgrade his tools in a bit, once he was out of the nether. And, of course, there was his trident, his riptide III trident. Some small voice inside him hoped it was still raining when he got back to the surface.

He had God apples now. How appropriate, he thought, that the man who can bring back the dead, a walking god, get access again to his God apples.Dream ditched the diamond armour and tools, and pulled on the netherite. Nightmare. He still needed to train, get his strength back, brew potions. But he was back, and the people who threw him into the obsidian prison were going to pay.

He made his way back to the portal, back to the overworld. He had to admit to himself, however much he hated to do so, that he now hated the nether. It was too hot, too much lava, the bubble and pop sounding over and over and over just like in the prison, the stupid obsidian box. He'd use the overworld for travel when he could. But, he thought to himself, he couldn't show weakness to others, they couldn't know how they'd managed to infect his mind, he would travel via the nether when with others. If he ever was with others. Was there anyone left that didn't hate him? That hadn't left him? Dream pushed those thoughts aside, forced himself to climb back to the surface. The cold air of the caves was a relief from the nether, but it was the rain he was seeking.

Dream hopped onto the grass and just stood there for a few seconds, letting the cold soothing rain hit his face. He'd get too cold soon, he knew that his body's ability to regulate temperature was ruined by living next to lava for- how long was it? Dream didn't know, doubted he ever would for certain.He had a riptide trident, a water bucket, and feather falling netherite boots. Dream smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time in a long long while. Pulling out his trident, he pushed himself into the air. Wind and rain whipped his face, he didn't know he could miss this. Dream flew through the air, he was finally free.

Now time to grind, then hunt down Sam.

[mutilatedmadonna]

A Heart To Heart Conversation (Not Literally Jesus Christ Where Did You Even Get That)

YOOOOOO made it with one hour to spare but ya girl still has her submission for the @secret-shifters gift exchange! This is for the lovely and talented @hiddendreamer67 who I was so fucking excited to write for! Also side note, I started a fic before this one but it was taking too long for my taste so I popped out this sucker instead. That being said like............why waste a perfectly good fic.............why not finish it eventually...........and still gift it to her since it’s techinically her prompt lmaoooo

I will go back and edit this post to include the AO3 link when I publish it :3c

Anyways

Warnings: Mild depictions of gore, fearplay; obviously, it’s all I know how to write whoops

Some people are great talkers, others are fantastic listeners. Some listen so well, in fact, they’re willing to destroy a government lab for you.

“Stop, please, I don’t want to hurt you!”

As if Derrick stood a fucking chance against the massive creature that was currently inching closer to him, crouched low to fit within the compound’s hallways. The alarm ringing was making his head pound, an unfortunate addition to his dizziness he’d been overcome with as soon as he saw the first body. Well, bodies. It had wiped out nearly every scientist and researcher in that sector as soon as it was freed from its cage, growling and hissing all the while as it dug its teeth and nails into the panicking humans. How it escaped at all was still a mystery and probably forever would be. As soon as it clawed its way through the protective lockdown doors into gen pop, all hell really broke loose. Guards tried and failed to take it down, hoping to wound the monster at best so that it could be recontained, but even as more backup arrived with heavier artillery, they never stood a chance. It was fast, it was strong, it was pissed, and it seemed to have a taste for blood and bones.

He didn’t know if it had any sort of plan beyond escaping the observational cage it had been trapped in for years, seemingly going into halls and sectors at random to slaughter the hapless scientists seeking refuge. The only reason Derrick had survived this long was simply because he ran and he continued to run. There was no use trying to hide, it was too good at tracking, so instead he did his damnedest to stay ahead of it. It had been working pretty well until he was stopped by the door at the last hall, a dead end to safety potentially. The only problem being his fucking keycard wasn’t high enough clearance to open it. He could hear it getting closer, hear the screams and crunch of bodies and deep growls that echoed all around. His breathing became more ragged the louder the sounds grew, knowing it was just one final turn away from being at the far end of the hall with a straight shot right to Derrick. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die like this. Not at the hands of this beast, not at the hands of...shit, what he thought was almost his friend.

It was his job to observe the creature in its confinement at night and take excruciating notes about every sigh and twitch it might make. It was truly as boring as it sounded, especially when the creature was awake a majority of his shift but only laid on the floor, quiet and still. It looked depressed and Derrick didn’t blame it. It had long since been locked away before he had even started at the organization, subjected to trials and tests day in and day out for hours so that the scientists could jot down these amazing discoveries. He had no idea what they planned on doing with all this data they were collecting given that this whole place was top secret, the creature certainly never meant to see the light of day. Or rather, people were never meant to see the creature. It’d cause mass hysteria. So, one evening, a few hours into the terribly dull silence he started talking aloud. Not to anyone in particular and not about anything exciting, just idle chit chat with the wall, really. 

He never expected the creature to perk up at the sound of his voice, eyeing him curiously as he continued on. He certainly never expected to turn his head back towards the massive bay window to see it sitting much closer than before. Still watching him with wide, yellow eyes and tilting its head when he quickly shut his mouth. It had never moved so close before, hell it never even showed interest in him before beyond a few glances when he’d first enter the small overhanging room. At the same time, it didn’t appear aggressive or annoyed with his mindless ramblings. In fact, when he had stayed quiet for a minute during their staring contest, it chirped at him. Like it was...encouraging him to talk again. So he did, nervously at first before getting back into the flow of whatever random thought he had at the moment. And every time the creature would just sit and listen, its full attention on Derrick, with the occasional dozing off in the midst of his longer topics. He wasn’t sure how much it actually understood him. After all, it never listened to any directions it was given during another trial, but then again that could have just been out of spite and defiance. It didn’t speak English to his knowledge as it had never once given him a reply, but that didn’t mean it didn’t know it.

It never really responded, but there were quite a few times it would react to whatever he was saying. He theorized it was basing most of its assumptions off of whatever emotion he was portraying in his speeches. When he was visibly upset about some incident with Travis down in aquatics, it would whine. When he was excited about some great news he was dying to share with someone, it would chirp. When he was exhausted for one reason or another, unable to keep his eyes open or his stories coherent, it would purr. Almost as if it was trying to lull him to sleep, which it succeeded in every time with its soft white noise. If he were to be honest, he genuinely looked forward to his evening shift just about every day. Derrick could get so much shit out of his head and off his chest without having to worry about what the creature would think about him later. Maybe this was just a trick of the mind, but...it almost seemed just as happy to see him as soon as he would appear in that bay window, immediately twitching its ears up and moving closer.

Clearly, the mutual bond was not reciprocated.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, why the fuck would the creature like him? He was just another human that stared at him for science and soon enough he’d be just another human ground under its palm until his organs burst. Perhaps it just liked hearing the sound of his voice, anything being better than the silence it was constantly surrounded in, or maybe it had always been sizing him up for a snack. He had never written any of these emotional reactions down. He didn’t...well, it was hard to put in the right words, but he just didn’t want his superiors to have that knowledge that could understand feelings for the most part. That it appeared to like him. That it could be docile. Almost like he was trying to protect it from more severe and psychological tests they would surely run. He wondered if things would be different if he actually did report his findings, like if they could have prevented whatever triggered its rage strong enough to rip down doors and walls.

It was creeping closer now, claws clicking along the concrete floor. It was absolutely soaked in blood, especially around its mouth and hands. The way its tail jerked side to side reminded him of an irritated cat, which he didn’t take as a good sign. It wasn’t like Derrick actually had something to protect himself with like he so claimed. His bluff was called in an instant and it made a throaty rumble in response to his threat. It had been difficult to see at a distance with the flashing, red light acting almost as a cheap strobe, but now that it was only a few yards away, he could very clearly tell there was something hanging from its mouth. Something large and dripping and red and oh Christ it was a body. He hoped the poor bastard wasn’t alive anymore for mercy’s sake, firmly clamped between its jaws and impaled on its fangs. Was that a sign of things to come for him? He pressed as much as he could against the lock door in a vain attempt to somehow phase through to the other side and reach safety. With no such luck, he slid down to sit on the floor instead and covered his head with his arms curling in tightly on himself. He was shaking something terrible and tears still managed to find a way to escape his shut eyes. This was never how he imagined he’d meet his end, but either way he didn’t want to see it coming. Maybe if it did like him just a smidge, it would grant him a quick and painless death. He doubted it, though. It sounded like it enjoyed the struggles of its prey far too much.

Derrick could tell when it was hovering right above him. Its shadow engulfed him, blood dripped steadily into a puddle in front of him, spreading out across the floor until it actually touched his shoes. Fuck, he couldn’t help the sob that escaped him. He was scared. Strangely enough, it didn’t...do anything to him as seconds ticked by agonizingly slow. Staring at him, he presumed? Just how it would when there was a safety window between them. Something heavy landed in front of him with a disgusting squish, splattering more blood onto him. When the silence stretched on again, he hesitantly cracked open an eye to see what was supposedly laying at his feet and immediately wished he didn’t.

It was fucking Travis. Or what was left of him, anyways, torn to shreds and missing a few vital chunks from his body. Derrick wanted to throw up, but his throat was already choked up with more panicked cries. He looked away from the corpse, not wanting to take in anymore of the gory details and instead looked at the face of the creature. It didn’t look upset in the slightest, not like how angered it had been dismembering every other unlucky human in its path. Instead, it just stared back at him with those same wide, yellow eyes, tilting its head at Derrick’s lack of reaction. It leaned down to nudge the body closer to him with its nose, pushing it against his legs and rumbling curiously. No, no, no, get it off, get it off!

“S-stop! I don’t fucking w-want it!” He cried, kicking his legs out to shove the remains away from him. What was he supposed to do with it anyways!? Why was it showing off its latest kill, like it was seeking his approval, like it--

...like it did it for him.

The night before last, he and Travis got into it again in the break room. He was already pissed about being transferred to the division the creature was in and leaving his previous work behind. It could have been because Derrick happened to be the only one there or because he was one of the younger hires, the asshole decided to take his frustration out on him instead. Snide comments turned into full on insults and all Derrick wanted was some goddamn coffee before he clocked out. Waiting for the machine to finish brewing wasn’t worth it at this point, he could pick up a cup somewhere else on the way home. He tried to leave, but Travis blocked the doorway and he, not being in the fucking mood, tried to shoulder past him instead. It was very much not appreciated as the next thing he knew he was being pinned against the wall, the lapels of his coat clenched in his fist. He was absolutely ready to throw hands with this guy before he backed off suddenly, another coworker entering the break room with a cheery greeting and total obliviousness.

Maybe he should have told his superiors about the incident, but he chose instead to vent about it to the creature the next night. As soon as he mentioned when it got physical, its ears flatten back and it growled, though Derrick was too consumed by his own emotions to really care about its apparent threat display. After that was when it had clawed its way to freedom and started its rampage. That...that couldn’t have been what set it off though, right? There had to be other catalysts surely. However, it didn’t change the fact how eagerly it was presenting the mauled corpse of his aggressor, almost as if to say look! For you!

Did that mean...it really did understand him? It understood enough that Travis had tried to attack him and he was not his biggest fan right now. He had been really worked up during that little rant, too, probably making it sound worse than it actually was. Either way, it didn’t like that and took matters into its own hands. Or, mouth rather. This must be its interpretation of protecting him, killing the threat before it could strike again. Good thing he wasn’t one to usually bad mouth coworkers or the creature possibly could have had its massacre sparked by Derrick being mildly annoyed that Sarah always forgot to clean out the coffee filter when she was done.

The creature looked at the body as it was kicked back towards it, whining slightly. Was it upset that he didn’t accept its gracious tribute? That wouldn’t start another fit of anger, would it? He thought it just might when he scoot forward those remaining few injuries to press its face against Derrick’s trembling body. Its bloody mouth transferred an unfortunate amount of gore onto his clothing, but he had other things to worry about, like how close its fucking mouth full of fangs was to his more important organs. The nose buried into his chest rubbed gently, trailing up his neck and to the side of his head. Purrs rumbled with each quiet breath, taking care not to accidentally deafen him. He still cried out when the creature invaded his personal space, though he didn’t have much room to struggle as he was pinned between the door and the face. He whimpered regardless, trying to turn his head to avoid being nuzzled and ultimately failing.

If he thought the impromptu cuddling was bad, he was in for a worse shock when the creature pulled back just a hair, foolishly thinking that it finally had its fill of smelling him or scenting him or what the fuck ever. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, not when a black tongue darted out from smiling lips to lick him from his stomach to the crown of his head in one, quick swipe. Now that made him actually scream out some sort of pathetic, strangled sound, squirming about as he was lapped again and again and again.

“N-no, don’t, p-please!” He begged uselessly, “D-don’t kill m-me, please, p-please, don’t e-eat me!”

Much to his surprise, the creature actually pulled away from him after that last remark, tilting its head questioningly again. While Derrick was in the middle of his panic attack, doing his damnedest to keep his cries from becoming too harsh, it crossed its arms and rested its head on them, watching as he tried to collect himself to no avail. When it seemed like he was starting to slip deeper into his episode, it started to purr. Quiet and soft, a nice noise to help drown out that increasingly annoying siren. And the worst part was that he really was actually starting to calm down. Not that he liked being so scared he couldn’t breathe, but it was the sheer fact that it was the creature bringing him comfort when it was the one who terrified him in the first place. His sobs quieted down after a few minutes and when they were ragged breaths instead, it started to chitter. Little chirps and purrs and throaty noises he could only assume were directed at him since that’s where it was staring so intently, though the sounds meant nothing to him. Was that how it felt when he used to talk to it for hours on end?

Was it trying to talk to him to soothe him, because him talking to it made it feel relaxed?

He supposed their time together was a much needed break from being poked and prodded and tested and it started to associate Derrick with that mini luxury. The talking probably gave it a sense of company considering he had no fucking clue if and where other members of its species resided. Maybe this friendship wasn’t as one sided as he thought. Maybe it cared so much about the stupid little human that would blather his entire shift that it was willing to rip the facility inside out just to get rid of his bully. One by one his muscles started to uncoil their tension until he was sagging against the door. His breathing was still labored, but he could at least get a steady breath through his nose rather than his gasping mouth. A minute tremor in his hands was all that was left of his previous quivering and his headache was now replaced with a cloudy exhaustion. The creature was still making its imitation noises, only tapering off when Derrick managed to raise his head up and look at it.

“You won’t hurt me...will you?” His voice was so small and weak, it was a good thing the creature had fairly strong hearing.

It responded by bumping its nose into his chest again, smiling all the while. Affection. It liked him. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and gingerly placed it on the creature’s cheek, giving it a tiny pat.

“...you...you know we’re fucked when the army comes...right?” They were a last resort when all other failsafes went south and had yet to be deactivated. It wasn’t their job to find and help survivors, it was their job to make sure nothing about this event was leaked into the public. Be it the experiment itself or scientists who could potentially blackmail the directors.

It shifted to push itself back into a crouched position, lowering towards him with its mouth open. He flinched and turned away which seemed to be exactly what it wanted, clamping down on the back of his shirt and jacket and narrowly missing giving his back a nasty scrape. Derrick all but squeaked in surprise when he felt himself be lifted up, dangling a few dozen feet in the air. It was like he had the same POV as the creature, watching its hands paw at the locked door until claws were able to scratch through the metal in large gouges. Wiring and mechanics were exposed as a result and with a little more tearing and pulling, it opened the entry wide enough for it to slip through, Derrick in tow. Huh. Guess keycards we’re always a necessity. 

He hadn’t the faintest idea where they were headed, but it seemed like the creature had a general sense of direction and so far it was taking the correct route to the surface, to outside. For the moment, he didn’t have a single thing to say and simply let himself sway with the creature’s gait. Its intentions with him after they escaped into the world above were pretty vague at best, but he couldn’t really find the energy to care right now. As long as the military hadn’t beaten them to the exit, they’d be fine. 

They could talk later about their really unconventional future later.

[wonjaekook]

beneath the daylight moon

CHAPTER 3.

Read Chapter 2 here!

“Why do we sometimes see the moon, even during the daytime?”

Jaehyun didn’t know, nor did he care to notice that such a thing existed; it was a mystery to him, but you were a bigger enigma.

Jaehyun lowered his phone from his ear, nearly dropping it as he stared at the man opposite him. You and Jaehyun both spoke up at the same time, two voices raised in unison to ask the same thing. A name, which in this case served as a question of its own.

  “Johnny?”

It took Jaehyun a moment to process that you had just said his best friend’s name and he had to muster all the self-control that he could manage to not to turn and look at you in shock. Instead, he swallowed hard, continuing to stare at Johnny. He rose from the bench slowly, but quickly hurried over, a short laugh leaving his throat as he embraced him.

“When you asked for my address, I thought you were going to send me a package or something,” Jaehyun said through a grin, giving his friend a solid smack on the shoulder as they part, “not this.”

“Getting into the building was the hard part. I could’ve just gotten your address from Mark. Thankfully, your grandma was home to buzz me in. I think she loves me already.” Johnny’s familiar grin was like a piece of home. One would think that Jaehyun had gotten used to moving around, as he’d done so his entire life, but being in a new place was always somewhat strange. It was nice to see his friend again.

“Of course she does,” he said, unable to hide the happiness in his voice. “Are you here for business or for pleasure, then?”

“Why not both?” As Johnny started to talk more, Jaehyun remembered you. He did his best to resist looking over his shoulder at the place where he left you, but shifted on his feet impatiently as time went on. “...so, I hope your weekend is free so we can check the place out.”

Jaehyun nodded somewhat absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure, I’m free.”

“Since I’m here, do you want to do something now? Unless I interrupted you here?” Johnny’s eyes were warm, a soft caramel brown that shined with obliviousness.

“I can finish this up tomorrow afternoon.” He said it loudly enough that he hoped you heard. Though he didn’t leave off with much more to say to you, he felt like the conversation wasn’t even close to over. That’s how it always goes with you - something left unsaid, unfinished. One of the two of you always has to leave and, this time, it’s him. “I’ll make you something good for dinner as a welcome back meal.”

“I thought you’d never offer.” Johnny turned back towards the entrance to the roof, then stopped a moment later and faced outwards again, taking in the view. “By the way… it’s really nice up here.”

Jaehyun turned as well, following the general sweep of Johnny’s gaze, except really looking towards where he stood talking with you a few minutes ago. To his disappointment, but no great surprise, you were gone. “Thanks. I guess it is.”

In your room, you’re alone. After feeling Jaehyun’s touch, a warmth you were no longer accustomed to feeling, your contactless existence felt even more hollow. You’ll meet with him tomorrow, you decided, if not just to brush your hand against his once more. Also, because you have to talk about him. About visiting your body. And about Johnny.

Johnny... he’s back. He’s here. The notion terrified you and excited you at the same time. If your sister sees him…

You supposed you’re not the only ghost around these parts anymore.

After talking with you today and then having spent time with Johnny, one of the warmest presences in his life, Jaehyun lied in bed at the end of the night feeling far more relaxed than he had for quite a few days. That is, until he dug out the piece of paper your sister had given him. With his phone in one hand and the paper with her number scrawled on it in the other, he hesitated. The message was fully typed out, just a “Hey, this is Jaehyun from down the hall. Could you send me what hospital and room number Y/N is in?” but he couldn’t send it. He preoccupied himself with double-triple-quadruple checking that he typed her number in correctly, read his message over and over again for grammar and spelling mistakes, dwelled on other ways he could phrase it.

He thought about the look in your eyes on the rooftop. Though you had asked him to go, that lack of conviction on your face was what was making this message take fifteen minutes to send instead of just one. He usually thought of himself as an optimist, though now his mind was in a jumble, trying to figure what would really be the best thing to do. His thoughts spiralled in and out of doubt, wondering if you truly wanted him to do this, wondering if this will even work. Wondering, once again, if history was repeating itself.

Then, he remembered some wise words from his grandmother. ‘If you can try, you should. It may just be worth it.’ Though she probably hadn’t meant that saying for something like this, they were the last push he needed. He pressed send.

You watched from the hallway between your room and your sister’s as her phone lit up. Her hair was arranged in its usual nighttime style and she was just about to crawl under the covers of her bed when her eyes caught on the received text message. The small, pleasant smile that graced her worn face made you mirror her look. You could only hope that the news makes her sleep well tonight.

The text that Jaehyun was greeted with, about five minutes after he sent his own, was very straightforward. It contained the exact information he had asked for, including the address of the hospital, and ended with a ‘I don’t know how you know her, but thank you for caring.’

That night, his dreams were soundless, sightless, but filled with a kind of warmth that he couldn’t describe with words. It wasn’t at all a nightmare, but he still woke up with a heavy feeling in his chest.

This time around, Jaehyun didn’t avoid meeting you. If anything, he stretched the definition of ‘afternoon’ to be far earlier than most people think of it. He arrived on the roof at 11:30 in the morning and, at first, shuffled around the area, absentmindedly staring at different pots and gardening fixtures that he’d installed up here as he wished that time would move faster. After about fifteen minutes were spent unproductively, he decided that he might as well make use of his time. He spent another hour and a half heaving the bags of fertilizer that he brought up previously to where he needed them, packed it into the planters, and pulled weeds. The manual labor made him work up a sweat. Though he had gotten into the habit of bringing his own towel to wipe it away, a part of him still wished he had your handkerchief. His thoughts briefly wandered to you again - how you had handed him the item, what it means to you - and that seemed to be enough to summon you.

From the doorway to the stairs, you stood watching him for a moment. He wiped away sweat, shined in the sun, still glistened slightly despite the hat that he had started wearing, and crouched in front of a planter so that he could get a better look at the nothing that appeared to be growing in it. He didn’t notice you at first because your footsteps were soundless.

“That’s where you planted them, right? The Four O’clocks?” You saw his muscles tense in surprise, though that was the most reaction you got for sneaking up on him. Still, an apology left your mouth. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize, I just didn’t notice you until now.” His eyes shifted back to the planter in front of him. “And, yeah. They haven’t popped up yet for some reason, though. I’ll have to do more research.”

He stood, brushed his gloves against each other to get some of the extra dirt off, and removed them, stepping over towards where he had left some of his other stuff. As he walked, you trailed along next to him, watching the way a drop of sweat slid down from his hairline into his shirt. It had been a long time since you’d felt temperature - neither a cold breeze nor the sun’s warmth had touched your skin. You weren’t sure if you missed it or not. The only time you had really felt any heat were the times you touched-

The times you touched Jaehyun.

Something inside of you twinged with both pain and hope. If fate existed, he must be a sign of something good to come in your future, right? The key to all of this. Though just yesterday both of you realized that neither one of you had the answer to what was happening to you, you felt like all you could do was cling to even the smallest bit of feeling that he was returning to your life.

“I texted your sister.” He said, snapping you out of your thoughts. A small towel was in one of his hands, which he had clearly used to wipe away sweat while you were trapped in your thoughts. There was a small smile on his lips that you quickly mirrored.

“I know.” Slowly, you reached for his hands, taking one of them in your own, his palm gently held between yours. The warmth seemed to seep into your very being. You swore you could even feel the slight slick of sweat on his palms. “Jaehyun, thank you.”

He tilted his head and his smile became puzzled. “I haven’t even visited you yet.”

“Even just contacting my sister meant the world to her. And that means even more to me.” You tentatively released his hand, the feeling of aliveness quickly leaving your body. “When are you going to go?”

“I was thinking tomorrow.” The immediacy struck you. Tomorrow was so… soon. When you had forgotten your doubts for the last little while, they returned again.

“Tomorrow… tomorrow is good,” you forced yourself to say. The determination on his face told you more about him - once he’s set his mind on something, it’s hard to get him to diverge from that path. He was dead set on helping you.

Silence flowed between you for a moment, only the distant rushing of traffic from the small city below infiltrated the bubble of the rooftop. Jaehyun broke eye contact with you, his tongue flicking out as he nervously wetted his lips. “How do you know Johnny?”

You took a deep breath, like you would if you were trying to ease your nervousness when you were in your own body. “It’s not so much that I know him. It’s more my sister.” You stepped towards the railing at the edge of the building, looking out at the city and the blue sky above. It was far too early for a daytime moon, being a bit past noon. “They were a thing in high school. People really thought they would end up together forever, but college got in the way of that. Now, she’s with that… that piece of human trash that calls himself her boyfriend.” Though your tone had started off pleasant, wistful, remembering a softer past, it quickly turned bitter. Being stuck in the state you were in, you had spent more than enough time wandering aimlessly around your apartment, watching him do nothing all day, watching him waste time and resources. A part of you really believed that her current boyfriend was just a placeholder for the hole that Johnny left when he went away, but you didn’t tell Jaehyun that. It might be better just to leave your hypotheses to yourself for now.

Since you were staring out, speaking to the city air instead of facing Jaehyun, you couldn’t gauge his reaction. The more of your explanation he heard, the more surprise showed in his eyes. After you finished speaking, you took a moment, glared down at the city below, and then composed yourself and turned back around to look at him. He stepped forward, joining you against the railing. “That… explains a lot.” There was a strange smile on his face, like he was finally understanding something. “Johnny never really dated seriously in university. Always seemed kind of hung up on someone from the past. He never named her to me, in all the years I’ve known him.”

“You know him from college, then?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s my best friend. Small world, isn’t it?” You realized the particular irony of the statement to your situation, as you couldn’t leave this building, never mind the town, and let out a snort of laughter. “I guess that explains why he suggested we start the restaurant here.”

You stood in silence again, staring out at the rooftop garden instead of at the street below this time. Though some parts of the garden were still rough around the edges, it no longer looked like the roof was abandoned. The area teemed with new life, tiny splotches of green disrupting the brown of the soil and fertilizer as most everything that he’d planted had started growing by now. Everything except the Four O’clocks. “Jaehyun?” He looked towards you, humming in acknowledgment. “Even if visiting my body doesn’t help, I’m still glad that I met you.”

“If only it was under better circumstances,” he agrees. His eyes fell on the wall that led to where the mural was. “Hey, when you wake up, do you want to finish that mural? I think it would really tie this place together. I’ll even buy the paint for it.”

You looked in the same direction as him, the image of the unfinished painting clear in your head. Right now, you really had no desire to do anything with it, but you supposed that Jaehyun made a good point. “I guess. It would be nice to have a brush in my hand again.”

The sound of a car honking loudly from below shattered the tender moment, startling both of you. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, glancing at the incoming message from Johnny.

‘Where do you want to go for lunch?’

“Shit.” He pushed off of the railing, standing up straight. “I forgot that I’m meeting up with Johnny and Mark in an hour.” He started to gather his stuff from the top of the crate where he had left it before glancing over and catching your eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow? You won’t run away again?”

You shook your head. “See you tomorrow, Jaehyun.”

When he walked to the roof exit, he turned around to look at you again. You were seated on the old crate that he first saw you on, in those same dark denim overall shorts with the paint splashes and white tee. Like you could sense him staring at you, you turned slightly. As you did so, your image seemed to waver slightly, as if the sunlight was moving through your opaque being; a strange mirage in the afternoon air. He blinked and you appeared normal again, so he raised a hand in a final farewell for the day. After you returned the gesture, he disappeared into the stairwell.

For the rest of the day, he intermittently thought of you. Johnny and Mark largely kept him distracted, helping him plan some of the items he’ll have on the menu of his restaurant, what the interior could look like, what to name it. As they drove around after lunch, the conversation shifted.

“Dude,” Mark said, “I heard that Ten is also in town right now. You should visit him.”

“I haven’t seen him in years.” Johnny said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “It would be nice to catch up.”

Jaehyun chimed in at that. “Ten from high school?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of surprised that you remember me talking about him.”

“Do you still talk to anyone else from back then?” There was a slight insistence to Jaehyun’s voice that perplexed Johnny. Jaehyun knew he probably shouldn’t have been pushing this hard, especially since his best friend never opened up to him about it before, but he couldn’t help it. “There’s this girl who lives on my floor who seems about your age.”

“Are you trying to get me to hook you up with someone? It’s about time.”

“No,” Jaehyun said firmly, his eyebrows furrowed. “And you know I wouldn’t have a problem with that if I wanted to talk to a girl.”

“Tell that to your ex. If I hadn’t pushed you to talk to her-”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” There was a snap to Jaehyun’s tone that he usually didn’t use and it cut off the conversation quickly. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, checking his phone. Jaehyun almost decided to drop the topic entirely, but he felt like he owed it to you to ask. “The girl from my floor is named S/N L/N.”

The tapping of his fingers against the wheel stopped. Slowly, Johnny’s grip tightened. Normally, Johnny was in complete control of his emotions. Now, he didn’t seem angry, but it clearly evoked something in him when Jaehyun said your sister’s name. “Yeah. I know her.”

Mark nudged Jaehyun, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to communicate with him nonverbally. Jaehyun ignored the signal. “Were you close?”

Johnny shrugged, forcing himself to relax slightly as he drove. “You could say that.”

No one spoke for a while, until a familiar, nostalgic song played on the radio, reigniting the conversation. Jaehyun planned on leaving the conversation at that, inviting the two over for dinner. As afternoon turned to evening, they returned to his apartment complex. When he stepped out of the car, he couldn't resist looking up. The roof seemed like such a long way from here. He shook his head slightly to clear it and led his friends to his apartment. The elevator ride was short and empty of anyone but them, with Mark gushing about eating his food again. When the doors opened to his floor, he got out and nearly walked right past her. Johnny didn’t, though.

As soon as he exited the elevator, his friend saw her. Jaehyun stopped walking when he saw that Johnny wasn't with him and Mark. Johnny was having some sort of staredown with your sister. She had the same bag on her shoulder that she did the last time Jaehyun saw her, though the sunglasses were missing this time, leaving her expressions largely unguarded.

She seemed to swallow heavily, taken aback by this ghost from the past. “John.”

“S/N.” All Jaehyun and Mark could do was watch. They stared at each other for a moment longer before Johnny once again forced himself to relax a bit and offered her a small smile. “Jaehyun was telling me about how you live on the same floor.” “What are you doing back here?” She said, cutting right to the chase. She seemed far more outwardly unhappy to see him than he did to see her.

“Visiting. Probably going to move back soon, though.” He was watching, carefully assessing her reaction. He stood tall, his hands in his pockets, casual. She appeared much more stiff, weighed down more by life than he had been in the years since they’d seen each other.

“I thought you wanted to get out of this town?” There was a certain bitterness to her voice that was very personal. Almost resentful.

“You still remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

Jaehyun and Mark glanced at each other, wondering if they should do something. At those words, though, Johnny’s smile brightened slightly. “I’m glad I’m unforgettable.”

“This isn’t about you anymore.” Johnny’s face fell slightly at that, eliminating the slight cheer that he had just gained. “I have to go.” As she reached the elevator, she turned back to them, looking Jaehyun in the eyes. Her eyes were piercing, though they didn’t seem to hold any malice, only confusion. “You’re really strange, Jaehyun.”

It crossed Jaehyun’s mind that he might have started something far beyond his depth or control. After the elevator doors closed with her behind them, Johnny turned back towards him and Mark. “Dinner?”

As he cooked, Jaehyun watched the sun set outside the window adjacent to the kitchen section of the apartment. From here, he couldn’t see if the moon was out yet, but he thought about it and he thought about you. He wondered if you were thinking about him, too.

The way you thought about Jaehyun was with the sort of desperation someone who was hanging onto the edge of a cliff thought about a rope. Right now, he was your lifeline for more reasons than one. In your dark room, the emptiness felt suffocating. You lied sideways on your bed, staring at the ceiling, untaken by the sleep you no longer require. Back when you were alive, you might have taken the time to paint him, capture the way he had made you feel in the short time you’ve known him and the few conversations you’ve had with him. Then, you would have opened your sketchbook and flipped through the drawings from better days, ignored the darker sketches of more recent times.

You wondered if your sister had flipped through those drawings since it happened, seen the last picture you created. It was a self-portrait of sorts, though your eyes were filled with black and your limbs were strung up like a marionette. Out of control in your own life, close to being soulless. You didn’t know nor remember what had possessed you to draw it and you wished you had finished with something brighter. It didn’t matter anyways - the book was stuck on your shelf with some of your other things, out of reach of your touchless world. What did matter was what’s going to happen tomorrow.

The more you thought about it, the more the doubts bounced around in the transparent space of wherever you would call your mind now, the more Jaehyun visiting your body in the hospital seemed like a terrible idea. It has been a long time that you’ve been like this and it’ll probably be an even longer time if you somehow wake up. You weren’t sure you were ready to be exhausted like that again.

You thought about your sister and her hunched figure over the dimly lit coffee table at night, the bills piling up, each dollar that leaves her bank account only adding a single grain of sand to the hourglass of the life she’s built here. She never really talked finances with you, but you knew it was never easy. You covered rent, but she tried to keep all of her other bills away from you. You dreaded more than wondered what would happen should that hourglass finally become empty. How much time does this life have left?

It only took you a moment to leave your room and reach her. She was exactly where you pictured her, though she wasn’t staring at the bills, trying to crunch numbers anymore. Her gaze was on her lump of a boyfriend asleep on the couch. “S/N,” you couldn’t help but whisper, “just leave him. Go to bed.”

For a heartbeat, it almost seemed like she heard you, or was at least about to pay herself a courtesy, as she rose from her place at the table and walked the short distance to the hallway adjoining the living area to the bedrooms. Then, she stopped, stared at the ground, and turned slightly, laying a hand on his shoulder. He began to stir as she spoke. “Honey…” the word rang bitter in your ears, “come to bed.”

The look he gave her through bleary eyes showed a type of spiritual rotting that had its roots deep in his core. “Bitch, I was asleep. Can’t you leave me in peace for one night?”

“You’ll sleep better in bed than on the couch…” The meekness with which she spoke had you curling your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Both she and you knew that no matter what she did, she would always be wrong in his eyes. Always. If she hadn’t woken him, he would’ve gotten angry in the morning instead, bemoaning how she hadn’t woken him and gotten him to sleep on the bed instead. You’d seen that exact argument happen before. You couldn’t say how many times you’d seen this exact scene, too.

He grunted, slowly getting up. “Is that so?” He tilted his head, cracking his neck in something of a stretch. “You think you know better than me?”

“No,” she flinched as he raised a hand, “I’m sorry.”

The grin that filled his face wasn’t bright. It was crooked, sick, and it made you want to vomit when you knew you weren’t even capable of doing so. Back when they first started dating, he was much better at hiding the pleasure he takes in “besting” her, but now he didn’t even try. As he walked past her, he bumped her shoulder with his arm, making her draw herself in, attempting to minimize the space she took up. After he was gone, more safely away from her in their bedroom, she sank down onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her torso. She stared at the scattered bottles and trash on the small side table next to the soft. It took about a minute before she leaned forward, resting her face in her hands, slow tears falling down her cheeks. You couldn’t bear to look at her like this. Back when you were in your own body, you never knew she cried like this. When you couldn’t stand to watch the fighting without doing anything anymore, you would just lock yourself in your room and pray no one got hurt. Every bit of it, you regretted. You should’ve stood up to him more, stood by your sister, shared her pain. Regret was a bitter taste.

“Y/N,” you heard from her, a quiet plea into the night, “I’m sorry. Please come back.”

You’d heard her cry out for you before, but this time it hurt even more than usual. Your hands were still curled in fists and, after the feelings of regret and helplessness and pure rage boiled over, you lashed out, like you could hit one of the bottles on the table. The silence shattered as your hand made contact with the object, sending it clattering onto the wood surface of the side table, then rolling onto the floor. Your sister’s head snapped up, her eyes following the bottle. The last round of tears fell as she blinked rapidly and scrubbed at her eyes, trying to figure out what caused the bottle to move. She finally got up uneasily, now just dabbing gently at her eyes, before she picked up the bottle to dispose of it.

As she started to warily clean up the rest of the trash, you stared at your hands. There was no way…

It was late by the time your sister joined her boyfriend in bed and it was only slightly later when Jaehyun settled down to sleep. Johnny hadn’t spoken about Stella for the rest of the night and Jaehyun hadn’t asked. He agreed to meet him in two days to check out locations for the restaurant, and that was that. In some ways, he was grateful. The more he involved himself in this situation, the more he felt like everything was spiraling out of control. But, in the opposite way, he wished something more had changed. He just hoped that visiting your body will lead him to something better.

It took a little while, but he eventually fell asleep.

He didn’t remember arriving in the hospital, just opening the door to your room. Your hair was longer than it was when he saw you on the roof and you appeared almost skeletal, your cheekbones hollow and eye sockets sunken in deeper than they should be. Hadn’t the doctors been taking care of you?

When he leaned over, taking your hand, your eyes immediately flickered open, as if you’d been waiting for him. He blinked and you transformed, your skin glowing with life and hair full and luscious. “Jaehyun, you saved me.”

Your voice came out as a warble, confusing and bird-like. Not at all how you sounded when he talked to you before. He tried to speak, but you cut him off. “Y/N-” “You saved me, you saved me.” You repeated, the mantra becoming a sort of chant as you stared at him, unblinking. The fingers on the hand that he was still grasping began to turn into talons, sharp and digging into his skin. “You saved me, you saved me, you saved me.”

He awakened in a cold sweat and bolted into an upright sitting position. The city birds that hung out outside his window were chirping, faintly reminding him of the way your dream-self had sounded. He shivered and pressed his face into his hands. Why did he keep having nightmares about you?

The sunlight streaming through the window was a small comfort, reminding him that things were fine. He considered going back to sleep, but figured that if his body wanted him to get up, he might as well. From what he saw on the hospital website, visiting hours didn’t start for a little while, so he had time to get ready and do some work on the garden before he left. The physical labor took his mind off of things for a while, but the car ride to the hospital certainly didn’t. His car felt far too empty and quiet even with one of his favorite playlists on. He considered himself lucky that the drive was short, though most of the medical traffic for the more rural nearby towns flowed to this hospital because it’s the nearest city, small as it is. The parking garage felt miserable, drab and lifeless, and the inside of the hospital itself felt no different. Stark white, sterile except the dirt streaks on the tiles from visitors’ feet, walls largely undecorated save for large signs warning about various diseases.

The lady at the front desk didn’t ask too many questions when he signed in and said your name. She simply gave him a visitor pass and let him through, scrawling down his name in a sign-in book. Your room was on the fourth floor, so he made his way to the elevator, passing by a few people who appeared far more tired than he did. They’d clearly spent a lot of time here. Some had red eyes from crying, some were simply hunched over, staring at nothing. The elevator was empty and stayed that way for the entirety of his short ride. On the fourth floor, there were fewer people, these strangers milling and sitting about. One guy, maybe around his age, was seated on a bench, staring at an apple that Jaehyun assumed he had placed down next to him. He glanced at the strange boy but kept walking, eventually standing in front of the door that he had been directed to by both the check-in lady and your sister.

The doorknob turned easily, though the door creaked as he pushed it, showing signs of age that the hospital had tried to simply paint over. He let himself in and closed the door behind him, finally turning around and allowing himself to look at your body.

Thankfully, you weren’t as skeletal as he feared you would be. He almost laughed at how different the room arrangement was from his dream as well, the relief making him relax slightly. Your body looked to be in quite good shape despite the amount of time that you’d been in a coma. Patches of your hair were clearly shorter than the rest, where he assumed you had to have some sort of surgery, though signs of said operation were no longer quite visible. IVs were stuck in your skin, providing you with the fluids that you needed to stay alive. Whatever this version of alive was. Your skin didn’t have quite the same sheen to it that it did when he talked to you, but you looked largely the same, like you were asleep. It was almost strange for him to see you in different clothes than your usual paint-stained overalls and white tee, the blue and white hospital gown seeming unnatural. He had only ever seen you in the warm outside lighting of the rooftop, so seeing you under this white fluorescent lighting was almost a strain to his eyes. The thought crossed his mind that you looked far better surrounded by green and brown and blue than you did by all of this white.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said quietly, walking closer to your body. There was an empty vase at your bedside, so he opened his bag, revealing the flowers that he had purchased on the way here. It was a pretty standard arrangement of pink roses and baby’s breath, but it brightened the room immensely. “It’s kind of strange to see you here. I hope these help. I would have brought you flowers from the roof, but they aren’t ready yet. Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was looking for as he talked. Maybe a flicker of your eyelids, a twitch of your fingers. The air conditioning kicked on suddenly and the blast of chilly air made a few locks of your hair shift ever so slightly, almost tricking him into thinking that you moved on your own. After waiting for a moment, he finally reached for your hand. Your skin was colder here than it was when he touched you before. Your hand slotted into his nicely, but it was limp, unresponsive. A few minutes of nothing passed, time he spent just looking at you and repeating ‘please wake up’ in his head, before he quietly tucked your hand back under the covers of your bed.

“I hope you wake up soon,” he said, “so we can properly meet.”

As he exited the room, he kept his head down, mindlessly walking back to where he remembered the elevator being. The hallway was straight and long and, with his lack of attention, he ended up slamming into someone’s shoulder relatively hard. Both he and the other person staggered slightly, stopping in their tracks.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking,” he said quickly, glancing sideways at the boy he had run into. He was the same guy he had seen sitting on the bench before, staring at the apple next to him. The look on his face was an extreme reaction, pure shock covering his features. Jaehyun cringed to himself. “Hey, I really didn’t mean-”

“You can see me. You can touch me.” The guy interrupted him, raising a hand to point at him. “It’s been so long since anyone’s been able to do that!” Oh shit.

“Look,” Jaehyun said quickly, panic immediately filling him, “I’m not trying to become some sort of ghost-whisperer. I’m already trying to help someone and I can’t handle more and more of you.”

“No, listen-” As Jaehyun tried to turn around, pretend like this never happened, the boy grabbed his arm, his fingers sharp as they dug into his skin slightly. “I saw you go into that girl’s room. From the sounds of it, you didn’t get what you wanted. I can help you.”

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes at that. “If you can help me, why are you still like this?”

“I can help you. And her.” Jaehyun’s eyes shifted towards the door that he had just left behind, then back to the boy gripping his arm. “But I need your help first.”

[lexiepiper]

Reflection

Hey @danthectoman, I was your backup Truce gifter! I hope you enjoy this bitter(sweet) Dan thermos fic!

I know my blog’s formatting sucks, I haven’t been able to change it yet, but you can read it on Ao3 or ff if you’d prefer.

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There wasn’t much else to do but seethe.

His body, compressed down to mist, strained against the smooth metal walls. He pressed, and prodded, and tried again and again to pop the seal, but it held eternally firm, and he was left with nothing but thoughts in the darkness.

So he softly settled, like low-lying fog across fields, and sulked.

His anger pulsed at first, and every time he thought about things, his core would flare and he would pound himself against the lid once more. Still, it never budged, and he always ended up sinking back into simmering stillness before his thoughts caught up with him and his fury inevitably swelled again.

It was a dark, stagnant cycle, and he didn’t know how long it had been going on until a tiny thought wormed its way through the haze of agitation. Jazz would be disappointed.

It caught him off-guard, and he paused in yet another attempt to break the seal.

She would be, wouldn’t she?

The thought held a bite of anger, and he coiled in readiness to throw himself against the lid again, but before he could lose himself in his rage he managed to picture her. Time had worn her smooth, and she was little more than long red hair pulled away from her face with a teal headband, and fragments of smiles and hugs that always carried more love than he ever felt from anyone else. He pooled again at the bottom of the thermos, trying to fit the glimpses of memory back together. He couldn’t picture her fully, but the more he tried, the more she slid into place in his mind.

His parents followed quickly, and sorrow pricked his core when he realised that he couldn’t remember what his mother’s smile looked like, or the scent of the aftershave that his dad had worn. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to think about them, and now this tiny effort was far too late.

The deep, hollow ache in his core flared up, like an old wound that never really went away, and he curled in on himself. He wanted to stop thinking about them, to make the yawning emptiness fade into the background once again, but he just couldn’t stop himself… His family sprang back to the forefront, whose faces were blurred by time, and who had never known the truth about him. He wondered if things would have been different, had they known. He tried to picture it — ghost hunting with his parents, or making ectocookies, or trying to dodge Jazz when she ruffled his hair after he had easily caught The Box Ghost yet again.

The imagined scenes brought a fresh wave of pain. He’d never told them, and now they’d never know, because they were dead. They were dead, and it was his fault.

He had no physical body to cry with in the thermos, but he burned with the thick heat of grief, and Dan wrapped his misty form tighter around his core. He stayed there, pressed against the cold circular floor of his prison, while his core trembled and his mind dwelt on the little things that made up the people he’d lost. If he thought about it, he could almost smell Sam’s shampoo, or picture the shape and colour of Tucker’s glasses. He didn’t remember if Jazz’s shirt had been black or white that day, or if his parents had been holding hands when they walked into the meeting. He spared a small thought for Mr Lancer too, but then returned to trying to recall what his mother’s perfume smelled like.

He dug deeper into his memory, and every resurfacing detail felt like pulling out a splinter. It was painful in the moment, but once he stopped fighting the memory, and allowed the thoughts to linger, the pain was not so much that of continual hurt, but more akin to the ache of healing.

Sam’s shampoo had been a vegan one that smelled like roses, and Tucker’s glasses were large half-moons with black frames. Jazz’s shirt was also black, his mother smelled like orange blossoms, and right there at the end, they had been holding hands.

He missed them.

He missed them, and there, coiled as compressed ectoplasmic mist, he realised that he still loved them.

He had no mouth or throat, but Dan’s amorphous body clenched and spasmed in the closest thing to a cry, and he tried to remember as much as he could.

He reached for old memories, of the sound of screeching locker doors, and that his mother would always fold his socks so that the edges lined up perfectly, and how sand felt when it crunched and squeezed between his toes, and Dan realised that his family and friends weren’t the only people he missed.

He missed rain on his skin, and the taste of lime, and the way it felt to sleep in jeans after a long day, and a million other little things that made up the sum of life.

He missed Danny.

He missed himself.

He’d never thought that before, so swept up in the rage of abandonment, and then… then the rage of bloodlust. His core shivered, and he tried not to think about it. He tried to dredge up those nicer, softer memories, of picnics and sunsets and life, but every attempt was swept away by the sheer force of blood-drenched gloves and dying, screaming souls.

He’d started with himself, and then had never stopped… but now that he’d been stopped, and left in a soup can to rot? Now, he had time to think, and the more he thought, the more he remembered.

People had been so easy to kill. At the time, it gave him a rush of excitement, of winning the hunt… but now, if he’d had a stomach, it would have been rolling with bile. Unlike the hazy memories of happier times, he could picture every person he’d killed in crystal clear detail.

They rushed him, breaking through the mental walls that he tried to throw up, until all he could do was cower at the bottom of the thermos and face how each of them had looked in their final moments. Each terrified expression drove shards of revulsion deeper into his core, and these visions continued in an unrelenting wave until he had revisited every single victim, and felt the horror and guilt that had been so absent when their lives had ebbed away beneath his cruel fingers. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was over, all he could do was lie there and steep in the blood that stained his soul.

He wished he had never done it.

He would do anything to have never done it.

As soon as the thought presented itself, Dan felt a vibration stutter through his prison. The thermos shuddered, and then the compression was gone, and Dan burst out of the darkness into a light that burned his eyes with its sudden intensity after so long in the darkness. He curled in mid-air, pressing the heels of newly-formed palms against freshly-made eyes and hissing in discomfort.

When he finally came to himself, the first thing he noticed was a soft, repetitive ticking. It was strangely familiar but misplaced, like the wrong lyrics being sung to a familiar tune. Dan shuddered, dropping his hands and squinting in the light. His core fluttered with the strain of his unrelenting emotional storm, and if he were a weaker being he might have worried about it collapsing due to stress.

He glanced around, frowning at the sight of a ghost screwing the cap back onto the thermos.

“Who are you?”

The ghost regarded him with red eyes, one of which was struck through by an impressive scar. “You know who I am.”

Its voice rasped like sand shifting, and brought to mind the endless dunes of a desert, eternally changing with the ravages of time.

He did know. “Why now?” Dan snapped, but the snippiness was somewhat lost from his tone as his core heaved with fresh guilt. “When I first learned of your existence, and searched the Ghost Zone, I could never find you.”

The ghost didn’t respond, and Dan shook his head as anger finally began to trickle back into his core. It pushed the guilt aside in its demand to be felt. “You… you hid from me!” he shouted, flinging out an arm for emphasis. “You knew what I would do, but when I came to find you, to… to fix this,” he gestured to himself, “you left me on my own! What did that other Danny have that I wasn’t good enough for, Old Man?!”

The ghost of time rippled, and his form changed into a younger man. “Come,” he said, and floated through an open archway set in the wall.

Dan paused. The room he’d been released into was nothing more than a small alcove, with a pedestal that must have housed the thermos up until now. Frustration bloomed in him, but it was quickly overcome with a spark of disbelief.

He was free?

After so long, it felt impossible. He immediately yearned for open spaces, whether the expanse of the Zone or the wide blue sky of Earth, it didn’t matter. He just had to get out of here.

He could run, but if that strange cloaked ghost with the ticking clock in its chest really was who Dan suspected, then he doubted that he’d get very far. Besides, it’s not like he had anywhere that he could run to, anyway.

Loneliness ripped through him, and Dan clenched his teeth and flew through the archway before the crushing grief could come pouring back. “Hey!” he shouted, speeding to catch up with the figure that was floating leisurely down a long, narrow corridor lined with large clock faces that all displayed different times.

The other ghost reached a door recessed between two massive clock faces just as Dan caught up. “Come, Daniel.”

The simple address struck him like a blow, and Dan recoiled, his hand flying to his chest to clutch at the HAZMAT. “That’s not my name,” he choked. “I’m not… him.”

The time ghost paused with a hand on the ornate doorknob. “Maybe not the way you used to be,” he demurred, “but in many ways, Daniel, you’re still you.”

Dan’s core clenched, and the shadows behind the clocks deepened as his hair flared in an inferno of white flames. “Don’t you get it, Clockwork?” he shrieked, the slight tether of self-control crumbling away. “I killed people! Millions and millions of innocent people! I murdered children, and can still see their faces, and feel their blood dripping off my hands! I am not your precious Daniel!”

Clockwork’s hand dropped back to his side, and he turned so that they were facing each other. His gaze was soft and achingly sad, and the ticking of the clock inlaid in his chest sparked a pang of longing that Dan didn’t even know he could still feel.

He shoved it away. “Why didn’t you save me?” he choked, and his core felt like it would smother him. “You saved him, with your time travel and your second chances. What was so special about him, anyway? Why did he get them back, while I became his lesson?”

Clockwork folded his arms across his chest. The watches lining his wrists flashed in the brilliant light of Dan’s hair. “Saving comes in many ways, Daniel. If I wasn’t going to help you then you’d still be in that thermos.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.

Sad red eyes bored into his. “Don’t you wish that you could take it all back?”

The question pierced him to his soul, and Dan faltered, sinking so that his feet hit the tiles. His knees buckled and he sagged, leaning against the wall and grasping his chest as a half-forgotten sound squeezed where his ribs should have been and wormed its way up his throat and out through gritted teeth. It took a moment to recognise the sob for what it was, and by then, another one had broken out as well.

He tamped down on the emotion, blinking burning eyes and leaning heavily against the wall. “Yes,” he choked. “I… I want nothing more.”

The ancient ghost sighed, and it sounded like the faraway chime of a forgotten clock. “Come,” he said again, reaching for the handle once more and swinging the door open. “You are my ward, Daniel, no matter what form you take. I would fight all powers in the realms to give you peace.”

Dan blinked as an undeniable warmth wrapped itself around his core. “Oh,” he breathed, and for a moment, the pain melted away and he felt like Danny Fenton for the first time in what could have easily been a thousand years. It was nice, but overwhelming in its abruptness, and he sank to his knees. “But… but I’m still half Plasmius,” he managed to say past the swelling comfort that cocooned him like a blanket.

Clockwork shrank until he was in the form of a child, his eyes once again level with Dan’s kneeling form. “Without that half, you’re not stable,” he said, and laid a tiny hand on Dan’s shoulder. “You were stronger, and absorbed him. You have his powers, and his temper, but beneath that, you’re still Daniel Fenton.”

The comforting warmth continued to thicken around him, and Dan screwed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against Clockwork’s shoulder. “Are you adopting me?” he choked as he recognised the bonds forming between their cores.

He felt the other ghost nod. “Technically, you’ve been my ward for over a thousand years now. I just had to leave you in that thermos until you came to your senses.”

“What, you left me in time out for a thousand years?” Dan retorted, but the words lacked any bite.

Small fingers brushed through his flaming hair, and he forced down a shudder at how unexpectedly nice it felt.

“You needed to experience regret,” Clockwork explained, and gently pulled back from the hug. “You had to want to change the past so badly that you’d do anything. You weren’t going to change until you were ready to.”

Dan leaned against the wall again. He still felt wonderfully warm and cared for in a way that he never had, not even during his distant, fleeting time alive. “I do,” he said, and tried not to think about how cheesy this all was, “and I will.”

Clockwork smiled then, and the scar that slashed through his eye crinkled with the expression. He reached out a hand and Dan grasped it. “Come,” he said, shifting into the form of a young adult and pulling Dan off the floor with the change. “You have some time travelling to do.”

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Keeping Me Alive

Chapter 10: Get Out Alive

by @dracusfyre​

    Now

“Save who you can,” Tony said to himself as he splashed water on his face.

He blindly grabbed for a towel and dried off, meeting his eyes in the mirror for what felt like the first time in years. “Don’t look back.” He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, and went out into his bedroom. He picked up the photo that sat on his bedside table and took it out of the frame, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. Glancing around his bedroom, he nodded once, and went down to his workshop. He saluted the painting of Howard on the wall then dug out the photo of the Winter Soldier from his desk and set it on fire, dropping it to the concrete floor and watching it burn.

 “Ready, JARVIS?” he asked. He ground the last bit of embers into the concrete to put them out.

 “Are you ready, sir?”

 “Yep,” Tony lied. “Let’s rock and roll.”

“Let it Burn Protocol initiated.” As JARVIS spoke, Tony felt the first explosion rock the house, rumbling through his feet as he stepped into the matte black suit in the gantry in the middle of the room. The facemask closed over his face as cracks appeared in the walls of the lab, and as the ground fell away from his feet he was already in the air.

36 days ago

Once he was sure that Stane was gone for good, Tony went down to his work shop and said, “Wake up, JARVIS, we have work to do.”

Sitting down at his workstation, he opened up the master file with the suit schematics and eyed the hologram critically. The hardest part of the suit to master was going to be the flight system, so he isolated and magnified that part from the diagram, studying the repulsors built into the gauntlets and boots with stabilizers along the back. “Start machining the parts I’m going to need for these,” he said. “Circumstances have changed and we are going to need to hit the ground running, so to speak."

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, and the whirring of machinery became a low hum, punctuated by sharp bzzts as parts were cut and de-burred. Tony studied the prototype, exploding the diagram, moving it around, and after a while came up with a short list of non-critical design items he could spoon feed to Hydra to show his ‘enthusiastic’ cooperation. An hour later, the whirring stopped and the sudden quiet broke Tony out of his concentration. He sat up and stretched, wincing as his back popped. Standing, he went over to the coffee maker and started a new pot, then dug under the counter for his emergency stash of scotch, splashing a fingers worth in his mug while he waited for the coffee.

He had realized two very important things today. The first was that the Soldier needed saving even more than Tony did; the knowledge that the man was Hydra’s slave, kept ignorant and locked up until Hydra needed an attack dog, had shifted Tony’s world view like a kaleidoscope, shaking up everything he thought knew and making an entirely new pattern. The second was that he couldn't keep waiting around for a chance to escape, he was going to have to make one.

This suit, he knew, was the key to both of those realizations. But this half-baked, insane plan to rescue the Winter Soldier was going to kick the anthill big time and Tony also knew he needed to have some kind of plan for dealing with Hydra in the aftermath. This wasn’t going to be like Afghanistan, where he thought he was out and got pulled right back in again. The stakes were way too high this time.

With that thought in mind, when the coffee was done, he filled up his mug and went back to his desk. He pulled up the operating program for the suit and created a subroutine to overload the reactor, ignoring the flash red warning that said that this would result in a critical core breach and an uncontrolled chain reaction, and set the activation code as “Last Resort.”

One way or another, he thought as he sipped on his doctored coffee, this suit would be his way out.

  32 Days Ago

Tony stared tiredly at the news as he took a swallow of stone-cold coffee. The breaking report was about the assassination of an Iranian nuclear scientist. Iran was already blaming Israel, who was of course denying it, but in response Iran was threatening to pull out of the treaties against nuclear enrichment and swore they could split the atom within the year. Political and military analysts were seeing storm clouds on the horizon unless someone backed down and talking about how another war would tax America's already overstretched military. Tony, meanwhile, could tell that this assassination had Hydra's fingerprints all over it, and knew that this was almost certainly the work of the Soldier. "JARVIS," Tony said, muting the television. "I need you to break into Hydra’s servers and find everything you can on the Winter Soldier. Cross reference it with the name James Barnes.” There was a chance that Stane had made the name up, but it seemed unlikely – from what he could tell, the Soldier would have responded to anything, and ‘James Barnes’ was a lot more specific than a simple ‘John Smith’ or ‘Joe Blow.’ “Actually, while you’re at it,” Tony said, having a sudden thought, “I want all of Hydra’s files. Copy them to one of SI’s remote servers.”

Hours later, Tony was just finishing up the wiring assembly for the repulsor system when his computer dinged. Setting down the soldering gun, Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly and turned on his monitor to see what JARVIS had found. To his dismay, there were thousands of files on the Winter Soldier; as he scrolled down the list, he realized that they went back decades. “Fuck,” he said aloud as he looked at the dates and the file names, most of which were a string of letters and numbers that no doubt made sense to someone in Hydra but gave no clue as to what the file contained. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry at the enormity of the task in front of him. He was so tired that his eyes were blurry and his head was pounding, but every time he tried to close his eyes he kept seeing James’s body arching with pain and hearing his screams.

“Sir, it has been twelve hours and thirty-six minutes since you last ate,” JARVIS said. “And you’ve made four mistakes in the past fifteen minutes. You need to rest.”

“I have?” Tony pulled his magnifying glass back over to the circuit board and saw what JARVIS was talking about. “Shit. Alright, fine.” He pushed away from the desk and went to the bar sink next to the coffee pot and ran his head under cold water for a second. He came up and wiped his face and the back of his neck, shivering as water dripped from his hair down his back, and went upstairs to look for food. Leaving his work shop felt like he was crossing into hostile territory, like he could be attacked at any moment. And he could, he thought as he opened the refrigerator. Stane had made sure that he always had free access to Tony’s home, because a locked door meant secrets and the only secrets Hydra allowed were their own. He wished he could just walk away from this place, blow it up and find a place to live that Hydra had never stepped foot in, a place that would feel like it was his –

He froze with a jug of orange juice in his hand. He stood there, thoughts racing, for so long that the chiller on the refrigerator came on with a hum. Then Tony said “Huh” to the boxes of leftovers and absently shut the fridge door, OJ still in hand.

25 Days Ago

“JARVIS, this doesn’t make sense,” Tony said, rereading the file for the fifth time. “This thing is saying that the first Winter Soldier was James Barnes, but the current Winter Soldier is James Barnes.” It was hard to think that it was a clerical error, since the earliest files went back to the 1940s and consisted of paper files that had been scanned into a computer sometimes in the 80s. “Is it an alias? Are all Winter Soldiers called ‘James Barnes’ as a security precaution?”

“Facial pattern analysis indicates that it is the same James Barnes,” JARVIS said, and it flashed up an image that looked like a scanned-in polaroid; in it the man was unconscious on an operating table, face dirty and bloody and pale. Next to it JARVIS pulled up an image from Hydra’s own security footage of what the Soldier looked like without his goggles and mask on. There was a vague resemblance to Tony’s eyes, but as the facial recognition algorithm measured the features in each photograph, the conclusion was mathematically precise – there was a 99.7% chance that it was the same man in each photo.

Tony’s face went slack with shock. “How is that possible? He’d have to be almost 100 years old!”

“That part I don’t know, sir.”

“Holy shit.” Tony went back to the original file, reading it more carefully. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he read. “Born 1917. American POW.” He paused at that and sat back in his chair. “Why does that sound familiar?”

In response, JARVIS pulled up a Wikipedia page on Tony’s screen. As he read it, Tony was speechless; for a long moment, he flipped screens between the dead-eyed man from Hydra’s surveillance footage and the smiling man with his arm around Captain America, but this time he didn’t need JARVIS to tell him that it was the same man. The implications made his stomach turn, and as he stared at the screen he exhaled shakily and covered his mouth with his hands. 80 years. James Barnes had been in Hydra’s clutches for 80 years.

He stood suddenly, sending his chair rolling backwards. “We’re doing another flight test. Right now.” 80 years was already far too long, and Tony wasn't going to let it be one more day longer than it had to be.

19 Days Ago

“Tony!” Ms. Potts said with surprise. “I didn’t expect you in the office today.”

Probably because Tony had been dodging Stark Industries for a while now, only coming out of his lab long enough to get her to leave him alone before burying himself in work again. It had occurred to him as he got in his car to go to SI headquarters, blinking in the bright sunlight, that this was the first time he had been outside of the house since Stane’s forced excursion. “Yeah, I wanted to meet with you,” Tony said, shutting the door behind him.  He set a stack of papers in front of her as he sat down.

“What’s this?” She said, flipping through the papers. There was a line of confusion between her eyebrows which only deepened as she started reading them.

“I’m making you CEO of Stark Industries,” Tony said. “Effective two weeks from now. Should be an easy transition, you do most of my job anyway.” He grabbed a pin from her desk and clicked it, the sound loud in the sudden silence. “Sign on the highlighted line, please,” he added, holding the pen out to her, and despite everything he had to smile at the stunned look on her face.

  11 Days Ago

Tony put a hand on Rhodey’s arm and met his eyes, willing him to understand. “I’m saying that Afghanistan wasn’t a random attack,” he said urgently. “I think I was being targeted, and I think whoever did it might try again.” He palmed a thumb drive from his pocket and slid it across the table. In the Hydra files, JARVIS had found that a senator named Stern had been behind the Afghanistan attack, apparently trying to get Tony out of the way so that his good buddy Justin Hammer and his company Hammer Industries could take over SI's lucrative military contracts. There was all of that and more on here, just enough information that if Rhodey put all the threads together he would start getting the bigger picture. Pierce, the STRIKE teams, all of it. “If anything happens to me, I need you to finish what I’ve started.”

“Tony, if you are afraid for your life-“ Rhodey started, still looking dubious but starting to get alarmed.

“Not just me. You. Ms. Potts. Anyone I'm friends with. I can’t do anything to make these people suspicious,” Tony insisted. It was strange to feel like he was lying even though every word he’d said was true. “No unexplained bodyguards, no sudden trips, and absolutely no cops.”

“I don’t like this,” Rhodey said emphatically. “You’re asking me to sit back and wait to see if someone kills you!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tony said. That part was a lie. He had a plan in the broadest definition of the word; mostly he was making it up as he went along and praying he could handle the fallout. “I need you to trust me.” Rhodey’s mouth was a grim line and his jaw was tight, and Tony knew he wasn’t convinced so he pulled out his trump card. “I can’t do this unless I know you are safe,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “I won’t risk you.” It took a long minute, and Rhodey looked like he was swallowing something unpleasant, but he finally nodded and put the thumb drive in his pocket. Tony exhaled and sagged with relief. “Thank you."

“When this is over, you better have a good damn explanation,” Rhodey said threateningly, and Tony barked out a humorless laugh.

“You won’t even believe me when you hear it.”

  8 Days Ago

After Tony hit save on the final design of the suit, he stumbled over to the couch and landed on it face first, exhausted. He was laying on the couch, eyes drifting shut as he went over his plan for the hundredth time trying to figure out if he’d missed anything when the lab went dark. “What the hell, JARVIS?”

“Sir, it’s been 56 hours since you last slept,” JARVIS said. “I’m turning off your systems for a minimum of twelve hours.” The light in the stairwell going up to the main floor turned on, its glow just enough to let Tony get from the couch to the door without running into anything.

Tony stayed stubbornly on the couch. “We don’t have twelve hours to waste,” he said. “Turn my power back on.”

The lights stayed off. “Sir, you are a hazard to yourself and others.” Tony scowled and wondered if he had actually programmed JARVIS like this or if he was channeling the man himself. "Also, there's nothing for you to do while I assemble the suit."

“Fine. Ten hours.”

“Ten hours," JARVIS repeated. "I will be monitoring the situation while you sleep,” he added, and Tony knew that he meant not just monitoring Stane and James, but also Tony’s vital signs to make sure he actually slept.

“You’re insufferable,” Tony accused as he made his way up the stairs.

“Yes, sir.”

 2 Days Ago

“Sir, there’s something you should see.”

Tony looked up from the fine-tuning he was doing on the suit’s shoulder-fired weapons to look at the computer screen. JARVIS had maximized the window where he was constantly monitoring Pierce’s communications and highlighted a text that had just been sent. It was to an unknown number and all it said was lvl 10, CovJer10131973 nlt 200810162200Z. The first part was clearly a target identifier and Tony knew enough about the military to recognize the latter as a date time group, set for five days from now. “Bring up the camera feed,” Tony said, and sure enough when Tony looked at the video surveillance of the room where James was kept, he could see that the lights in the room were on and a technician was already in the room powering on computers. They’d found out a while ago that what Tony had taken for a hyperbaric chamber was in fact a cryostasis chamber, which partly explained why James was almost a hundred years old but looked younger than Tony.

“Shit." Tony exhaled long and low, feeling his heart rate spike with nervousness. "How long it takes to thaw him out? Was that in his files?”

JARVIS was silent for a moment. “Evidence suggests approximately 24 hours from the time the procedure is first initiated,” he said.

“Right,” Tony said grimly, turning back to his work with a new urgency. “Guess it’s time.”

 Now

Tony flew north along the coast as his house collapsed into the Pacific Ocean behind him, throwing billowing clouds of dust and smoke into the air as carefully placed explosives reduced it to a smoking ruin. It was thrilling and terrifying to know that for all intents and purposes Tony Stark was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He'd become a dead man after all, and now the only thing left was this suit and his mission: rescue the Winter Soldier then burn Hydra to the ground.

“Pull up James' video feed for me," Tony said as he flew. Since he was over water, he set the suit to autopilot and shifted his attention to the small window at the corner of his HUD.  James was out of the cryostasis chamber, sitting on a chair as a medical assistant appeared to be taking his vitals. Every now and then he shivered, still shirtless. Other technicians were milling around, tending to the computers, and standing guard were was two members of the STRIKE team, hands on their weapons as they kept an eye on him. His records had indicated that he was prone to ‘erratic violent outbursts,’ which Tony figured was code for “periodically tries to fight back.” Tony had actually been happy to read that, because it meant that Hydra hadn't managed to break him completely. Right now, though, James just seemed willing to numbly submit to whatever the technicians were doing, his long hair a curtain in front of his face as he stared at the floor.

“Sir, we are approaching the facility,” JARVIS said, and minimized the video. Tony flew lower to the water, navigating around the giant cargo ships at dock. Even for a twenty-four hour facility it was late, and there were only one or two ships that had people still unloading shipping containers. He landed close to the Hydra facility but out of the line of sight; he had managed to camouflage the suit to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t hide the bright lights of the repulsors so he made the rest of the approach on foot.

JARVIS’s scanners found four total guards around the building, patrolling in pairs. By sticking to the deep shadows cast by the stacked shipping containers and the orange-yellow glow of the sodium-vapor security lights, Tony got within hearing distance and hit them with a pulse of high-pitched wave frequency. They both stiffened and fell over, paralyzed, helmets bouncing off the pavement hard enough to knock them unconscious. Tony bound them with their own zip ties and hid them out of sight, then used his backdoor access to the security system to unlock the doors and set all the surveillance cameras on a one hour loop. As he strode through the door into the lab, all eyes turned to face him, and before anyone could even speak there was a brrrt noise and they fell to the floor, killed by the precision targeting system Tony had built into his suit.

When JARVIS confirmed they were all dead, Tony took off the helmet and looked down at one of the bodies; the one closest to him had been here a month ago, monitoring James’ vitals as they wiped his mind. This was the first time Tony had killed anyone and he expected to feel..something, sad or upset or even vindictive, but he didn’t really feel anything. It all felt too easy, and Tony knew it was because he had designed a suit that had made it that easy. All the more reason that Hydra couldn't be allowed to get their hands on it.

James was still sitting in the chair, watching Tony as he approached; he hadn’t even gone for cover as everyone around him had died. Tony wondered if it was out of surprise or indifference. “Do you know me?” He asked, coming to stand in front of him. James studied his features for a moment and shook his head. “My name is Tony Stark. You are James Buchanan Barnes, and I am here to rescue you.” Tony offered him a hand to get to his feet, but James didn’t move, he just stared at Tony with those glacier blue eyes. There wasn't blankness in them now, only a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “Come on,” Tony tried again. “We’re escaping. We have to hurry before more people show up.”

James didn’t move. “There is no escape from Hydra. The only way out is-”

“Death, I know.” Tony kept his hand out but gestured expressively around the room with the other. “But they never said whose death.”

James studied him again, then turned his gaze to the dead bodies. Finally, after a long moment, he took Tony’s hand and let him pull him to his feet.

[desparikon]

Murdoc/Mac fanfic misfire #8

Written for @pridewrite2021, pw alt15 Retelling

Since it aired back in March, I’ve been wanting to fix the ending to 5x10 a little, so Murdoc escapes.

(It’s one of the only season 5 episodes I watched, so apologies if things are slightly off.)

Murdoc shifted in the seat and dug his nails into the steering wheel, a particularly strong shudder shooting along his spine. Immediately followed by a second. He closed his eyes, wincing. Right on the edge between painful and pleasurable.

The day’s events were still fully sinking in, but his body was determined to run off the euphoria alone.

Angus definitely kissed him back.

Realizing Andrews’ endgame, his eyes pleaded Murdoc to save him. After everything they’d been through, for it to end like this? In this trashy, inelegant game, that wasn’t Murdoc’s design, nor allowed them to be alone? They needed each other, belonged to each other, shared their own wavelength. Angus was counting on him.

Even if his own plan to kill Andrews and escape with MacGyver wasn’t about to be revealed anyway, he would’ve happily obliged. Disappoint his beloved? Never.

He’d gotten caught up in the excitement: their fight to the “death”, finally getting to shoot Andrews, taunting Angus with his little blowtorch invention. An audience.

To that point, he’d regretted denying himself in Colombia. MacGyver had been seconds away from being pinned against the car window, and shown why the attempt was on Jill’s life instead. Stubborn Angus knew the answer, but continued turning a blind eye. Being alone, Angus could’ve conveniently forgotten if something had happened.

Not this time. His victory would have witnesses.

His brain saw an opportunity and committed, nearly short-circuiting. He hadn’t been all there, thanks to The Buzz. From his brain, down his spine, to his heart, and out to his limbs. Everywhere, even in his teeth. Had his shaking been visible? He’d merely been a passenger, watching someone else toss away the headset, kneel over Angus, confess in the most direct way he’d publicly allow himself,

“Better to have loved and murdered, than to never have…”

Sweet Angus flinched, closing his eyes and accepting his impending death. He still truly believed Murdoc wanted him dead? They were just playing, working off pent-up frustrations. Their previous meetings. Prolonged, forced, separation. The tired show they were forced to perform.

ENOUGH!!

No more restraint! No more ambiguity! Team This, Team That? Fuck no! Playtime’s over! Team Murdoc!

The spotlight was theirs. Rewrite the script. Create their own happy ending.

He’d barely touched his lips to Angus’, before Angus eagerly closed the gap, pressing their lips together. Such a contrast to their usual, the soft, nearly shy kisses.

Just enough to leave them both wanting. Kissing wasn’t really his thing, but it served the purpose of being highly symbolic. To everyone else.

And, judging by the wide-eyed stares, the audience couldn’t handle it. Desi’s lip curl. Riley’s nose crinkle. Their loss.

Murdoc’s legs nearly buckled when he got to his feet, some brand of feel-GOOD chemical coursing through his veins. His glove came off slick as he rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, inadvertently smearing Angus’ blood across his face. Nice touch.

Really added that extra pizzazz.

He stuck his tongue out through his jerky grin, struggling to contain his trembling. Had he mentioned he felt GREAT?? The Buzz was back.

Bringing Angus along had been his original intention, but with time quickly running out, and his current condition, plans had to change to ensure his own escape.

The slight fear in Angus’ eyes confirmed Murdoc had made his point, and planted the seeds of doubt, regarding his (their) future.

Murdoc sighed, leaning back, and slouching against the seat.

Sure hadn’t taken Angus long. Barely home from Phoenix HQ, and he was already at Riley’s apartment.

He’d expected the first stop to be Desi’s, to make amends for his ruined proposal. Maybe they’d already broken up on the way back from Mexico City.

Helped Angus dodge a bullet on that one (lol). It was painfully obvious—even in the few short months he’d been on their comms—they argued a lot, yet they worked well together otherwise.

Odd, how it reminded him of his own relationship with Amber. If they would’ve kept things strictly business, hadn’t spent so much time and effort pretending to be something they weren’t...

Youth and inexperience, he supposed, although Angus’ problem was more...denying himself the curiosity and freedom in his personal life, that he allowed everywhere else. The hero’s unfortunate burden: individual happiness taking lowest priority. A burden he intended to remove from Angus’ shoulders.

And Riley, where had that come from? Luckily, Wilt had tipped him off, because he wouldn’t have seen it coming. According to Phoenix’s records, she’d gone “rogue” with MacGyver a while back, but…? He didn’t have a clear timeline. Was it, like, a shared grief thing that’d recently rekindled these feelings?

So now he had two competitors, a chance Angus could pop Marriage Proposal 2, and much less information. If revealing the existence of a love triangle, and preying on jealousy, didn’t end both, then what? (What if Angus didn’t choose him, now that Riley was a shiny new, third option?)

All thanks to Andrews, he was woefully unprepared. Damn Codex revival plan.

Most unfortunate that murder wasn’t a solution. He actually liked his little Phoenix family. And honestly, he needed them because Angus needed them. He can’t keep Angus chained in his basement. The two of them could start a relationship, form their secret family, but Angus couldn’t be cut off. It was becoming increasingly clear, Angus also didn’t fit well into a traditional relationship.

Frustrating still, was that Angus was making them his competition. Just give him one night, and he’d make Angus see everything, make him see his true happiness lied with Murdoc.

He’d already offered Angus a chance for a new life, a way out. This time, it’d be a different path, in his current life. More palatable. More logical.

Angus would say yes.

Murdoc checked the time on his phone.

If Angus didn’t exit Riley’s apartment building in the next five minutes, he’d break up whatever this was.

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part II - Tales From the Crypt

Summary: In Sleepy Hollow, New York, Sam, Dean, and the reader begin their investigation. Warnings/Tags: A dead body, talk of bodily harm, language, alcohol consumption, and some flirting. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,103

“We were able to identify most of the bodies, but a few are still John or Jane Does.”

The coroner led us around a table where a cadaver lay covered by a thick white sheet. She continued talking as she drew the sheet to the corpse’s waist, but I heard little and less of what she said. I barely stifled a yawn before sipping from my thermos. Coffee scalded my tongue but I’d rather deal with that than pass out on my own two feet at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sam and Dean had insisted on driving through the night. Every time I had managed to fall asleep in the Impala, I had woken up sore and aching ten minutes later. So instead of risking another chiropractor bill, I had researched what I could of The Headless Horseman. Unfortunately, I had learned next to nothing besides boring variations on the same bullshit story from the urban legend.

Another yawn scattered my thoughts, and my vision finally focused on the exposed body before me. Headless as expected, no surprise there. Lacerations crisscrossed all over the torso and what remained of the neck, also expected. But something about those lacerations piqued my interest and so I leaned closer.

Thin black crusting outlined every cut, no matter how deep or superficial. The coroner and Dean were chatting amicably when I prodded Sam in the rib. He regarded me with a raised brow as I pointed at the lashes and said, “Look.”

Sam bowed in beside me, and the scent of his freshly washed hair filled my nose. So close, I eased into his warmth and leaned closer. “That,” I muttered as I pointed. “Aren’t those burns?”

He eyed me with a suspicious sideways glance before his smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Good catch, Y/N,” he started. “But the lashes alone are confusing. Since when does the Headles—”

“We’ll get back to you if we learn anything else,” Dean said loud enough to drown out Sam. “Thank you for your time, miss.”

Sam and I followed Dean’s lead and thanked the coroner for her time as well. She thanked us in return—flashing a warmer than casual smile at Dean, who blushed—and covered the cadaver as we headed for the door.

In the hallway, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Christ, she’s too smart.”

“What, did she reject you before you even asked?” Sam jested.

Dean tossed a tentative glance my way. “Nah, I got her number. But after that, she started asking about the decapitations and the lashes looking strange…” He trailed off as we stepped out into the cool fall breeze and pale October sun. “I don’t think she knows more, but I’ll have to be on my toes later.”

“And by later you mean after we finish this hunt, right?” I asked across Sam.

At the car, Dean popped the driver’s door open, then said, “She asked me out tonight.”

As they slid into the front seat, I eased into the back. “And you said what?”

He shot me a dark glare in the rearview mirror. “I asked her for a rain check until this weekend.”

Wow. “Okay, I’m impressed,” I replied.

“I’m… not surprised,” Sam replied. “Considering what’s going on.”

The Impala roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition. When he pulled away from the curb, I leaned over the backrest and asked, “What is going on?”

Sam shot a nervous look at Dean before he took a deep breath. “Can we solve the case first?”

When he turned to look at me, I glared back. Earnest. Honest, even. But I wasn’t about to let my feelings for him cloud my judgment. “No. I need to know what we’re up against and...” I paused, my attention snared by the houses we passed. Every yard displayed a scene from the urban legend that had put Sleepy Hollow on the map. Various iterations on The Headless Horseman stood in every yard, myriad pumpkins and overly detailed horses impressively crafted. But each and every rider had a jack-o-lantern for a head or held one aloft. Not a single display had armed him with a whip or a cannonball. “Seriously, those lashes were burned into that victim. Since when does he wield a whip? And what kind of whip can do that?”

“One made from the spinal bones of human corpses,” Dean strained under his breath.

I blinked several times before I responded. “Excuse me?”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dean started. The Impala followed his command as it lumbered over the driveway into a diner’s parking lot. “We’re gonna eat dinner here. But we can’t talk about work. Once we’re in there, we’re FBI agents, and on-going investigations are off-limits. Got it?”

Better than nothing. “Once we get back to the motel?”

Dean pulled into a spot and slid the shifter into park. “We’ll tell you everything.”

Everything. So foreboding. As if all of their skeletons had been buried in an urban legend. Both of them turned over the backrest when I remained quiet too long. Weighed and measured, their expectant glares demanded an answer.

So I agreed.

“Deal.”

“I haven’t had a pot roast sandwich like that in ages.”

Dean covered his mouth with his fist as he held back a deep belch. “The pecan pie was damn near the best I’ve ever had.”

“And that hot cider!” I added. “That was definitely homemade.”

“Uh, you’re damn right it was homemade. Everything there was homemade,” Dean replied. “Well, except for maybe Sam’s salad.” He turned to Sam and his face fell. “Sammy?”

I followed Dean’s concerned glare and found Sam near the motel room door, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. I knew that look. I’d felt it before, and I’d seen it on both of them too many times over the years. The severity of the situation sank in then, and reality returned in a rush. Forgotten was the pot roast, the pecan pie, and the hot cider. Abandoned was the lighthearted banter, and our carefree dinner.

Death stalked us in the shadows, no longer a friendly face.

“I think we should sit down,” Sam suggested as he crossed the room. When he slumped onto the bed, he said, “This story gets dark in a hurry.”

I shed my suit jacket and boots at the small table under the singular hanging lamp. “I get the feeling something pretty awful happened,” I said as I crossed the room and sat beside him.

Dean withdrew a bottle of scotch from his duffel bag. “Normally I’d save this for after we waste this asshole, but,” he paused as he popped the cork free of the bottle. “I have some doubts that’ll ever come to pass.” He pulled three short plastic cups from his bag then and poured two-finger pours into each. He handed a cup to Sam, who passed it on to me, and handed another to Sam before seating himself at the table with the third. A sip and a hum preceded his thoughts. “You got that picture handy, Y/N?”

I dug through my backpack at my feet and withdrew the article. “Right here. I saw The Headle—”

“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “He’s back there, in the field. Anything else jump out at you?”

Confused, my brow knotted as I focused on the article once more. “I mean, there’s this family standing in front of what is clearly the Sleepy Hollow museum. I recognized the building when we got into town,” I said. Another yawn reminded me I had not slept more than a couple of hours over the last twenty-four. "But I don't see anything else. No aberrations, no distortion, no orbs… other than Tits McGee up in the field there, I got nothing."

Sam pointed to the father. "Look a little closer here. You might recognize someone."

Recognize? The picture was thirty years old. Hell, I'd have been a kid back then. Probably just shy of seven years old.

Seven.

My focus snapped to the caption.

Thomas (7).

Something instinctual snapped my attention to Sam, and I saw it then. My jaw dropped as recognition crept along my spine. Boyish charm had grown ruggedly handsome, but the fear behind his wide stare had remained the same. I returned to the photograph, focusing on the older brother, and the truth settled in the pit of my stomach. A suave sense of confidence radiated from John (11). And he was the spitting image of his father, Richard Phillips (36).

He still is.

The image blurred as tears burned my eyes. I looked up to find Dean glassy-eyed and well into his cup. The start of so many thoughts stuttered on my clumsy tongue. How had I missed it back at the Bunker? Of course John Winchester would give an alias to a reporter. When I returned to the photograph one last time, I stared at their father, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Every few months, John grew out his beard," Dean started. "He had this laser-like focus on hunting down the thing that killed Mary, and a time or two every year, he'd get a wild hair up his ass so bad, he'd forget to shave."

"That year," Sam said as he pointed to the photograph, "the wild hair was Sleepy Hollow. He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would learn something important here."

Dean finished his pour of scotch and refreshed his glass. "He found nothing except for a bunch of busted pumpkins and a vengeful spirit."

I wiped at my eyes with the cuff of my shirtsleeve. When I turned to Sam, I asked, "How did he exorcise it?"

He shifted closer on the bed as he looked at the photograph. "We don't know. I was too young yet."

Dean grunted as he sat up in his seat and stood, caught his balance, then shuffled across the room to sit on the opposite bed. "Dad had just started filling me in on what he was doing about a year before we came here. But he did his best to ease me into it. Sam had hardly a clue until that day," he said as he pointed at the photograph.

"What happened?" I asked as I turned back to Sam.

A deep breath allowed him space to stall, but that same fear in his eyes returned. "I saw something." His stare glazed as it drifted off into the middle distance once more. "Bodies. Headless bodies," he stuttered. "A headless rider on a dark horse." He continued through a stream of consciousness, as though he were somewhere else. Sometime else. "Cannonballs and a whip of human spinal bones engulfed in flames."

My heart railed against my ribs as if to escape. Numb with dread, my fingers and toes burned, and fresh tears blurred my vision. "You were so young. That must have been terrifying."

He nodded and sipped from his drink. "At the time, yeah. I had nightmares for months. Over the years, I must have forgotten about it or blocked it out. But then you found this case. However you ended up with that article, it was no coincidence."

I looked to Dean then, and he clarified. "Something wanted us to come back. I think. To actually finish the job Dad didn't."

Something about that statement sparked a thought I had not yet considered. "How do you know this isn't something leftover from Chuck?"

A thoughtful look twisted his face. "We took care of Chuck and his mess. It's definitely a hunch but, I'd wager this isn't related. No, I think Dad just got this one wrong. He thought he did the job and we skipped town. But he screwed up and now The Headless Hessian is back again."

Hessian.

"What did you just call him?" I asked.

Dean regarded Sam, and they shared an equally confused look. "The Headless Hessian."

"I thought Hessians were German soldiers that fought for the Brits in the Revolution," I said.

When Sam nodded in agreement, he said, "You would be correct. And that was the original story until more retellings of the urban legend were printed."

Retellings. Talk about wild hairs. I dove for my backpack then and tore out my tablet. As it booted, I said, "I tried doing some research on The Headless Horseman on our way out here, but all I found was bullshit about the urban legend. Pumpkins and horses and heads and Ichabod Crane and crap like that. Nothing about cannonballs and whips made out of human spinal columns."

Sam propped one leg up on the bed as he turned to face me. "Regardless of what I saw as a kid, that story sounds familiar, too. I know the Hessian angle but I know I've also heard a version with a whip and a cannonball."

"Those," I started, then paused to type furiously, "I never knew. I always thought the myth was Ichabod Crane. But yesterday when I was searching for information, I think I found a website that mentioned a Hessian soldier as a part of the myth." Once I had found what I searched for, I turned the tablet to face them. "I thought it was a mistake. I know way too much about American history and its bullshit colonialism, so I wrote it off as a discrepancy. But when Dean referred to him as the Headless Hessian, it clicked."

The image on the tablet flipped through several iterations of a headless rider. The first carried a jack-o-lantern high over his head, then a headless horse with a headless rider appeared on the screen. Next, a rider carrying his own head, followed by a headless rider brandishing a sword. Then another hefting a muzzleloader, and finally a headless rider wielding a vicious whip made out of bone.

"Wait, which legend is that one?" Sam asked as he pointed.

The image of a man carrying his head under his arm while astride a horse froze on the page. "According to the website, that appears to be the dulachan. Irish folklore. The whip is a part of that legend, too."

"But our guy doesn't have his dome on him at all," Dean clarified.

"Exactly," I said, "Which was why I basically wrote this website off. Came to the same conclusion."

Sam pointed to the screen as the image changed to a giant man astride his horse brandishing his own head high above his shoulders. "That's the Gawain myth. Gawain beheaded the Green Knight."

Excitement flooded my senses as I exclaimed, "Yes! The Green Knight returns to challenge Gawain to a duel every year." The image changed again to that of a headless rider and horse. "And that's the Scottish story of the would-be chieftain, Ewen, who was decapitated at the battle at Glen Cainnir."

"And the headless man on a carriage?" Dean asked as the image changed once more.

"The Coiste Bodhar. Sometimes referred to as the gan ceann," I explained. “Damn, this website has everything…”

"But what does it all mean?" Sam asked.

I opened my mouth to reply but found I had nothing to say. A sudden silence filled the tiny motel room, all the wind sucked from our sails. It had to mean something. So many stories with their variations. Then again, they all shared a singular consistency.

“Maybe they’re all correct,” Dean mumbled.

Confusion scattered my rambling thoughts, and my focus snapped to Dean. “What are you saying?”

“Every story has the same headless dude in it, right?” he asked, echoing my idea. “Even the Hessian myth isn’t the original story. Irish, Scottish, English. They all have their own versions that are way older than the American story.”

“But a lot of Americans are the Irish, Scots, and English,” Sam added.

“Son of a bitch, we are English. I bet our forefathers fought in the Revolution,” Dean concluded and Sam agreed with a confident nod.

With the pattern weaving before my mind’s eye, I found a thread, a singular frayed end, and tugged on it. “So it’s not surprising at all that the stories are so similar. Immigrants made up the Headless Hessian based on their own urban legends from the motherland.”

“Exactly!” Dean declared.

Elation filled me for a brief moment before Sam ruined it again. “But then what is it?! A fae? A spirit? A curse? It could be anything with that theory!”

“You’re a real party pooper, you know that?” I said as I flopped back on the bed. “We were so close to something, I know it!”

Dean stood in a rush, then quickly returned to the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of the hooch,” he said as he crushed his empty cup and tossed it into the bin. “Let’s pick something and go after it. We’re never going to figure out what it actually is in a reasonable amount of time.”

“That’s a terrible plan!” Sam barked. “We’ll waste more time just trying random shit.”

Both of them fell quiet at that. My brain, on the other hand, was anything but. We had everything to handle a fairy, a vengeful spirit, even a curse. But how? How could we blindly choose? I agreed with Dean; we needed to do something and fast. And yet, Sam had a very valid point. I gritted my teeth against the frustration that supplanted my hope. What kind of spirit manifested once a year to kill a bunch of people? How, if all the stories are true, could we put down a fae-curse-spirit?

Then it dawned on me.

I bolted upright on the bed and blurted, “It’s all three.”

“What?”

Between Sam and Dean’s incredulous faces, I forced myself to grasp the last shred of confidence before it fled. “It’s all three. A spirit cursed by the fae.”

They regarded one another again, then turned away, silently considering my theory. Even I struggled to believe it. But then Dean snapped his fingers and said, “If it’s ultimately just a cursed spirit, all we need to do is roast his bones.” He pointed at the tablet as he jumped to his feet, steady as a rock. “The Headless Hessian was buried in an unmarked grave of the Old Dutch Church!”

I turned to Sam then, tense as a drawn bowstring. When his crooked, knowing grin spread across his lips, my stomach jumped into my throat. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like a century. And when he spoke, my heart nearly burst with relief.

“Looks like we’re doing some digging tonight.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE AWESOME. IF YOU WANT IN ON THE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM!

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[creepy-carrion]

Wrath | Eyeless Jack

Not a reader insert for once. I guess you could insert yourself into a particular character here but,, yeah. Idk what this is, more of a character study that turned weird.

cw; heavy gore + organ consumption, kidnapping

taglist; @just-a-creep-babe​ (sorry if ur just on this for reader inserts fjdfdgf)

They were all just cattle. The unsuspecting, brainless lifeforms roaming this city, each one of them more disposable than the next. The pungent smells coming from the cities they lived in made Jack’s lip curl up in disgust. He’d never understood how his former self had allowed himself to live in these horrible conditions. Then again, the human mind ran about as deep as a puddle after a summer shower. How could he have known better?

Even with so many people around, the demonic being had no trouble staying hidden as their voices drowned out any sound he made. Though their loudness pierced his ears, it was probably one of their most convenient inconveniences. Save for a few times, Jack had never been caught during one of his hunts.

Speaking of which. Hunts. The only reason Jack bothered to drag his lifeless body to urban areas anymore. It had been so long since his previous one, he could already feel the saliva gathering in his mouth at the thought of human flesh. Of course, there was a particular organ he hungered for the most, but he was not protesting thought of liver or even just a meaty leg either.

His tongue lapped at his yellowed teeth, his excitement managing to dampen the disgust he felt for his environment. Now for the interesting part… Jack gripped his dark blue mask between his fingers, lifting it off his face. The demon drank in the scents, the sounds, the movements, anything to locate whoever was bound to meet their fate tonight.

Pretty soon, a particularly interesting scent drifted his way, catching his interest. It almost had a hint of sweetness to it, but not to the extent that it was sickening, like most of the superficial women that wandered around at this hour. This one would do.

Jack started moving, following the scent until he reached a window. The lights were off, save for one small nightlight and the lamps in the hallway. Perfect. And foolishly, the windows had been left open to escape some of that summer heat that had accumulated in the room. Humans truly did not like to make things challenging, did they?

His hands were trembling as he yanked the window open, with a roughness he hadn’t expected from himself. His hunger was overtaking his sense of reason. Jack suppressed an impatient growl, slipping into the room quietly. His ears perked up, listening for any signs of the victim waking from their slumber, but he could not hear any.

Jack was a careful demon, usually performing his kills in a cleanly matter unlike most of his little friends. But tonight, he knew he would not have the patience for that. With a swift movement the mask was ripped off his face, revealing his shark-like teeth and empty, oozing sockets. The girl in front of him stirred in her bed at the clattering noise, before opening her eyes. But it did not matter. By the time you see the train coming, it’s too late to move out of the way.

Her mouth opened, but the icy screams that were supposed to come out where replaced by the sounds of gurgling as blood started filling her throat. Before the poor girl had even had time to process someone was in her room, the demon’s sharp claws had ripped clean through her artery, windpipe and vocal cords.

As she was still hanging onto whatever little threads of life she had left, Jack had already started feeding. His claw dragged across her belly like a scalpel, bright red blood oozing from the wound as her organs lay bare. Her last breaths left her mouth as the eyeless demon dug his teeth into her intestines. 

As soon as the warm juices filled his mouth, a sense of relief coursed through his body, causing his muscles to relax. It was a kind of relief only those who have suffered from demonic hunger pains could really understand. The pains he’d felt as his stomach begged for nourishment subsided, his uncontrollable salivating was finally put to good use, and most importantly, the rich, metallic flavors were addictive. It was probably the closest Jack would ever get to a serotonin rush, and he knew it. 

His feverish feeding session was not peaceful for long. It could not have been more than a few minutes when the vibrations of someone running up the stairs and the sound of the door slamming open snapped him out of his bliss. A growl erupted from his throat. He had no time for such disturbances.

Jack did not even have time to decide on what to do when the ear-piercing war cry suddenly echoed through the room. Before he could process what had happened, a kitchen knife had plunged its way into his cold, unbeating heart. The demon tilted his head, his eyeless sockets meeting her gaze. He did not need a sense of vision to feel the vigorous spark in her eyes.

There were no tears. Just screams, cries of anger, and the aggressive stabbing motions as the girl rammed the blade into his body, over and over and over. Meanwhile Jack just waited, taking in her presence. That sweet scent had not been from the girl he had just killed. It came from this one. He could almost taste it, the scent of her adrenaline mixed with the sweet scent her body naturally gave off. 

The phenomenon intrigued him. He had been attacked before. But the wrath radiating from this girl... he had not seen anything like it before. She could not have been older than 25, he mused, as he felt the knife tear the flesh of his stomach. Was this a family member he had killed? A friend? ... Girlfriend?

It mattered not. Anger had overtaken her, and she did not seem to realize it took more than a kitchen knife to kill a demonic entity. He let rip into his flesh like tissue paper for a bit longer, before roughly grabbing her wrist midair.

She tried to rip away from him, but his grip tightened, making her growl in frustration and pain. She should count herself lucky. If it had been anyone more... disposable, Jack would have crunched the fragile bones just with his tightening grip.

The girl did not have time to protest further. Jack gripped her hair with his other hand roughly, forcing her to reveal the fragile skin of her neck to him. No seconds were wasted as Jack plunged forwards, digging his sharp canines into the flesh.

He could feel her body freeze beneath his as she just gripped his shoulder tightly, sharp breaths leaving her nose. Clever girl. His fangs were mere inches away from scraping her carotid artery. A wrong move, and she would be the cause of her own death.

The taste was so sweet. So satisfying. Part of Jack just wanted to rip into her and indulge in her tastes all night long. But hesitance gnawed at the back of his mind, keeping him from ripping her throat out.

His life had been so... eventless, as of late. The days went by at a slow rate, and all Jack could do was wait for them to pass. And although his patience was saintly, the lack of interest and excitement even got to him, at some point.

Usually the humans of this town provided him nothing but nourishment, a good meal, his only solace in his cursed, uneventful existence. But this girl... she truly was an interesting specimen. The fighting spirit of a lioness, no fear of him or the death he brought with him, her intellect and awareness despite the wrath coursing through her veins.

It would be a waste to kill her.

Slowly, his fangs popped off her neck, and he heard the girl suck in a breath of air. She rubbed her throat, gaze spitting fire as she looked at him, no doubt calculating in her mind on how to kill him. Jack’s lips, gray skin stained red, curled into a wide smile, displaying the sharp rows of teeth behind them. The girl merely spat in his face. She truly was something, hm?

His hand was wrapped around her neck before she could react. The sounds of her gasping for air, desperate to fill her lungs... it was all delicious to the demon. Slowly, he felt her kicks and punches weaken, until her body was limp in his grip. Not dead, of course, but no doubt purple in the face and passed out.

Yet again, Jack thought back on her wrath, as he slung her limp body over his shoulder. Those screams of anger, the force with which she tried to kill him... truly fascinating. He wanted to see more of it. Needed to taste it at its fullest. Watch as it fought against the restraints he’d put her in. Face the isolation he’d put her through. Watch as her spirit slowly faded, breaking into a million pieces.

Jack, for one, could not wait to destroy it and watch it die a miserable death.

[i-growl-growl-growl]

The ‘Happy Virus Killings’

                         Theme: serial killer x hostage

Warning: mentions of death, murder, blood/gore, hostage situation, slight yandere-ish themes, If you are triggered by any of these then DON’T READ.

                                   Word count: 3025

Author note: I’m not really pleased with the beginning, it’s a portion that wasn’t particularly meant to go with the rest of the scenario so be warned that it may seem as though you’re reading two disjointed scenarios in one. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. and, again DO NOT READ f you are triggered by any of the themes in the warning above.        ~Savie

The dark stains could be seen soaking through the thick fabric even with the lack of light to show it. It’s a shame really, that he couldn’t keep the body out to watch it bleed before placing it in the bag but he couldn’t risk the chance of some strange loner coming around and finding him next to a dead body. Luckily enough, there was a freshly dug hole in the ground that he had found earlier, no doubt made to lower a coffin into after a funeral the next day however, now it would serve a different purpose… well… more like it now has a different body to encase into its’ earthy grounds.  

Choosing not to waste another second, the figure above grabs the lone shovel shamelessly left next to the pile of dirt that’d fill the grave and begins to fill the massive hole with the earthy substance. ‘Such a shame, such a shame’ the voices inside the man’s head chant ‘all that blood gone to waste. All that blood receiving no praise or glory for its beautiful shine. Such a shame, such a shame’. It would take him a few hours to fill the grave but he pays no heed to that, all that’s important is getting the deed done so that he can return home and relax. ‘Such a shame’ the voices continue on ‘a kill without proper respects available to pay. such a shame, such a shame’.

With the voice never ending, the man digs faster, listening to the dirt hit the ground six feet below, watching as the body in the bag is slowly covered up, watching as the hole becomes halfway filled. He watches and he listens, watches and listens. The itch in his mind won’t go away until the body is gone, it won’t go away until the grave has been filled. Even though this kill wasn’t an official target, the itch-the voices- they won’t cease until the man has finished the job and cleared him of an chance of being found. He, himself, is irritated at not being able to fulfill the voices urges to watch the color drain from the body as it bleeds out, the urge isn’t alone in that respect but, unlike the urge, he knows better than to take any more risks. “shk shhk shk’ goes the shovel as it digs into the soft dirt ‘thunk thunk thunk’ goes the dirt as it fills the grave. He must listen and watch until the deed is done or the voice will drive him crazy (although he typically doesn’t mind), as he listens he himself thinks ‘Such a shame, such a shame’.

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Seonghwa slumped into the worn-out couch that was set in front of the large flat screen that he had stolen from an old woman long ago………….

He had been on a leisurely stroll that day, not particularly feeling the urge to murder that day (a rare occurrence that always left him confused and slightly agitated) but the lady had been too easy of a target for him to pass up killing. Despite it being midday, and in a usually busy neighborhood, when he saw the chance, he took it- the neighborhood was unnaturally quiet and clear of people who could witness the murder. Pretending to be a helpful passerby, he swooped into her driveway as she seemed to be struggling to get a large object from her truck. “May I help you?” he asked. Seonghwa recalls how the elder jumped, gasping in surprise as her old body turned in his direction as quickly as it could. “Oh, oh my! You gave me a fright young man…oh” Seonghwa only smiled down at her, looking down at the hand that rested on her chest, placed directly over her beating heart. ‘How much faster could that brittle organ beat?’ his mind wondered ‘How long would it take for her to bleed out?’. “Here” he offered, grabbing the end of the object from her, “I can handle this.” The old lady only smiled and moved away as he dragged the new tv out of the truck, “My, so strong, just like a young man like you should be”… Seonghwa couldn’t tell if she was just thinking out loud or if she was pressing for a response from him, he only smiled in return although he could feel that sweet darkness within him returning, “would you mind bringing it into the house?” “no, not at all”. Perfect! She couldn’t possibly make things any easier for him now, now he definitely had to take the chance… Seonghwa carried the object into the house, placing it on the floor gently where she directed him to put it. “would you like some money for helping?” she asked, that obnoxious smile still on her saggy face... Seonghwa remembers how, at that moment, all he wanted was to wipe it clear off of her. “oh no, it’s perfectly fine” he replied with a wave of his hand “it was nothing really”. The old lady had refused to take no for an answer, only causing his darkness to rear its ugly head even faster than usual. Once she had turned around to find the small coin purse she had put down early, Seonghwa took his chance. He walked up to her, drawing the pocket knife from his sweater pocket, flipping it open then… the deed was done. Just as fast as she had jump in fright earlier, he had ended her life. Seonghwa smiles at the memory of the look she gave him as he walked in front of her to see his handywork. Her throat had been Sliced deeply, blood splattering the floor and her clothes, she wasn’t dead immediately though, she lasted long enough to see him hold up the knife- a gurgled scream making poor attempts to escape her mouth, which turned dark with blood as excess made its way up into her mouth. The gurgled screams continued for mere seconds until the life finally left her eyes, her body slumping to the floor. How pleasurable, but what a shame that the brand new tv would go unused…. Or would it?…….

Upon completing the memory in his mind, Seonghwa grabbed the remote to the device and switched the TV on to watch the daily news. As he looked at the screen a familiar face popped up, a picture of a man with the headlines reading as "search still ongoing for missing man in Seoul" appearing below the photo. "What a lovely photo of him" he remarked as he took in the features of the man that he confirmed to be the very person he had as a hostage in his basement. The reporter on the screen was going on about what people knew about Hongjoong: when they had last seen him, what he was wearing, how old he was, what company he worked for.

"Kim Hongjoong was last seen heading home from work early in the evening two weeks ago to get ready for a special company celebration later that night, it's been reported that he never returned home since he was released from work that day and no one has heard from him since.” A wicked smile formed on Seonghwa’s face, ‘no one has heard from him and no one ever will’. He thought about how, at first, he had had the usual urge to just kill the man when he first saw Hongjoong but…… something had seemed different as he tracked the man to wherever he was going (he assumed his new victim was heading home since he left an official building with a nice suit and brief case in tow late at night… While following him, something suddenly intrigued Seonghwa to want to know more about him; not just how he’d look with blood staining his body, how his eyes would look without the light within them, how he’d sound as he’d plead to be left alive… no something within Seonghwa wanted to know more, he wanted to know his name, he wanted to hear his voice (not just screams), something within him wanted to know what it’d be like to know him, feel him, ‘have him’. With those invasive new thoughts, Seonghwa had had no option but to semi-begrudgingly keep Hongjoong alive, but not free.

“There are five search parties still looking around the city of Seoul for any signs of Kim Hongjoong and will continue to do so until he is found.” The voice of the newscaster brought Seonghwa back to reality. “Hongjoong was last seen wearing a light blue button up shirt with black work pants and a pair of black work shoes. If anyone has any information about this man, please contact the police or our news station immediately." With that the headlines and the photo went away and a bunch of reporters were shown sitting at a half circle desk talking about the man from the headlines before another major headline appeared while a male reporter began talking about it.

"It has now been over a month since the largest serial killer of South Korea escaped from prison. Park Seonghwa the serial killer well known for the "Happy Virus killings" was reported missing from his jail cell by one of the several police guards during a night check of the cells in block C of Suncheon Prison. It was said that the serial killer’s murders had received their nicknames due to the way he'd leave his victims mutilated by cutting smiles into his victims’ mouths before slitting their throats. After that Park Seonghwa would cut his victims’ bodies in half with and hack their body part to shreds, sometimes leaving the internal organs in suitcases that would be left in public areas like parks for pedestrians to find.” Seonghwa smiled as he continued to listen, he enjoyed hearing of his own dirty deeds, but he especially got a kick out of seeing everyone’s disgusted faces as his work would be discussed. He couldn’t get enough of that sight just as much as he couldn’t get rid of the urge to kill. “Some believe that the missing man of Seoul is his next victim, but all are hoping for the best in his safe return home and for Seonghwa to be captured soon and put back behind bars."

With that said Seonghwa pressed the button on the remote to turn the TV off, he was no longer interested in watching the rest of the news. As he watched a blight flash pan across the screen before going completely black he couldn't help but smile, ‘So they want my little minion to return home safely huh? They want me to go back to prison eh? How lovely of them to have so much affection for the both of us’ he smiled wickedly, ‘Oh don't worry, that little puppy is home and he is safe’ He chuckled sadistically, pushing himself off the couch before walking out of the living room and into a hall, looking at the specific door he was about to open that would lead to his favorite room of the house, the room with his favorite possession held inside, ‘He is home, and he is safe’.

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Hongjoong shook his head fearfully, his eyes wide and his breath short-growing shorter as the seconds pass by- he had no idea how many people Seonghwa has killed and he'd like to keep it that way, all he knew was that he was the most feared serial killer of all of Korea and that he was in his hands, the next person to be added to the list of people he's murdered unless someone comes to save him. "Oh my dear boy," Seonghwa shakes his head, trying to act upset as he looks down at the other male with a fake pout, "well do you at least know how I kill my victims?" Hongjoong has no choice but to shake his head again but, this time, in a different matter, how could anyone possibly not know about the ‘Happy Virus killings’? "Oh good, so you know how you're going to die then?" Seonghwa smirks.

Hongjoong's breath hitches as he hears what the serial killer before him has just said, ‘no no!!! Please don't let me die, please god, I haven't done anything wrong!! Please god, please get me out of here! Please let me go, let me go home alive, please let me live’ he prays as he squinted his eyes shut in a- making a poor attempt to hold back frightened tears-, He thought he had cried too much the past couple of days to be able to shed a single tear yet tears still threatened to blur his vision as his nose began sniffling automatically. "What's wrong little puppy? Is my little plaything scared? Don't worry everything will be fine, you'll be OK" Seonghwa fake mocks as he leans down and caresses Hongjoong's cheek with his hand. "Don't cry my sweet, beautiful toy, you're not going to die just yet, I still haven't finished having fun with my favorite little minion yet."

Seonghwa grasps Hongjoong's chin, holding his head in place as he leans towards the man's ear and whispers "I've killed over sixty-seven people but that's just the total of my 'victims' alone, that doesn't count the people I've killed for no reason like the old woman I killed for the flat screen TV upstairs or the wheel chaired kid that was in my way as I was taking a leisurely stroll through downtown Seoul at night a couple days before I was sent to jail or any of the rest of those people. If I were to count them that'd mean that I've killed hmmmmm....” he ponders as he adds up his murders “that’d make about a hundred and sixteen people. OH!" he exclaims in mock surprise "and that doesn't count animals either, I kill animals too, especially dogs!" he began to laugh.

Hongjoong was sobbing as he heard about the amount of people Seonghwa has killed. He couldn't control himself from sobbing as he heard about him killing all of those innocent people and the poor animals, especially the dogs, "I love the way they yelp when I slice my knives through their necks and stomachs” Seonghwa joyfully snarls, bringing his face inches from Hongjoong’s in a threatening manner “and I love the way the blood soaks into their fur. I also leave smiley faces on them too." Hongjoong couldn't take it, he fought for his head to escape from Seonghwa's grasp, he didn't want to hear anything else that the psychopath had to say. He didn't want to hear about how he killed everything just for fun. "MMMMMM" he muffled out a cry in discomfort as the grasp on his chin only tightened as he shook his head from side to side, "MMMHHHMMMM." The other male smiled at his actions, he loved how he still fought to escape even though he must of had some clue by now that there is no escape, most victims would just try to plea for their lives after exhausting themselves at this point but not Hongjoong, no Hongjoong was special, he seemed to never lose his hope to get free and always fight, even though he never wins in the end. Seonghwa loves that, and he LOVES the way his little victim sounds behind the muffling cloth that fills his mouth.

"Hey ‘pretty’, would you like me to show you how I kill dogs!?" Seonghwa spontaneously asks with excitement "It's been a while since I've killed a dog, and it would be much more exciting having someone besides myself be there to watch." Hongjoong's eyes shoot open. He looks up to the other man in disbelief, had he really just asked him if he wants to watch a dog being killed?

Hongjoong angrily screams at the psycho, thrashing in his bindings on the bed violently, there was no way in hell he'd watch that psychopath kill any animal, not a dog, a horse, a cat, bird, frog, nothing! not even a tiny mouse. "Whoa, whoa now" the killer mockingly tries to calm him down with chuckle, amused at the sudden reaction from the other male. "Alright calm down, I won't kill a dog then." There was a pause, everything stopping after those words are spoken. Hongjoong knew that this isn't a good sign , something was up, Seonghwa is planning something, "But in return" he hears his captor speak "I get to cut off both of your legs or arms."

The look of terror that fills Hongjoong's eyes is amusing to the murderer standing beside him. It is interesting how that got the smaller man to suddenly become paralyzed and silent as he stares up at him completely horrified. "Is that a yes or a no?" he asked the man interestedly with a tilt of his head. Hongjoong couldn't reply, he doesn't want to watch a dog die but he sure as fucking hell doesn't want to be left without legs to run away with if he gets the chance nor does he want to be left without arms to fight back with if he ever manages to free himself from the cuffs and gag that kept him silenced and chained to the bed. Raising an eyebrow, Seonghwa looks to the side where he keeps all of his favorite weapons to use on his victims before looking back at Hongjoong. "Fine, since you won't answer me yourself, I'll take that as a yes."

Seonghwa scan through the plethora choices of weapons to use as he walks to the wall holding the larger weapons on it. He indecisive of what to use, nothing particularly catching his fancy at the moment. He takes a moment to pause and listen to his captive scream and thrash around violently on the bed, it’s music to his ears and he wants to hear more of it. As the dark urges surge through him, Seonghwa picks a weapon off the wall before turning back to face the younger man. He then begins walking back towards the other man’s side.

[maple-writes]

[Image ID: Banner image reading: The City of Eventide, Chapter 31, Maple-writes. End ID]

I can’t think of anything to say here so hope your day’s going well :)

###

Time blurred like a train derailed, cars all folding and crumpling in on each other. Waking up just to fall asleep again, and again, and trying to talk to Ginger and trying to keep up with what she was saying, and trying to kill her, and crying, and screaming, and I didn’t know what day it was anymore. How many days since I got there. How long I’d been there. Ginger said she’d been keeping Striker updated but I hadn’t been able to stay awake enough to talk to him myself yet. Not yet.

           Days passed, weeks passed maybe. Ginger never left my side for more than a moment, watching, waiting just in case something went wrong. Just in case I couldn’t, didn’t notice my thoughts spiraling.

           I drew blood once, teeth and claws sinking into Ginger’s shoulder from behind, snarling, snarling, swearing to kill her where she stood. To kill her and shred her body into dozens of mutilated pieces. She’d had to pin me to the ground, pin me and talk me into straightening out, slowing down my thoughts all with cold red seeping through the yarn of her sweater.

           I drew blood again, a scratch down her back and another across her cheek. Again, swiped across her leg before she could jump back out of the way. Again, probably, probably again even if I couldn’t tell if it was real or only something I’d thought about.

           Every time Ginger never faltered. She’d confront me with a firm tone and commanding stature, step by step telling me what to do. Easing myself back to where I had to be. Talking to me, working with me for sometimes hours and hours. She’d coax me, carry me if she had to, back somewhere soft, somewhere comfortable and I’d sleep. I’d sleep again and again and again.

           Charlotte would come, every now and then. Ginger told me she came once a week, once a week with groceries and to check on us. I suspected she was checking on Ginger. Checking on her to make sure I hadn’t killed her and escaped.

           One time she brought me a little cake for my birthday at Striker’s request. Lemon with vanilla icing with a card wishing me well and promising we’d do something fun next year.

           Ginger put on movies for me and helped with everything when I could barely keep my eyes open, and she somehow managed to still have something gentle to say. Even when I lay on the floor, crying and shaking and begging her to give up, to give up on me and kill me already, kill me instead of trying and trying in vain to help me.

“I’m not going to do that,” She’d said, taking her hands off my shoulders where she’d held me down. “Not again.”

I choked on my own tears, lungs sore with every breath and body leaden. My head ached, my muscles ached, I could barely raise my own head. “Why?” My voice, my pathetic voice, it came out as a whine. “I can’t, I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s, there’s…” Cirrus should have let me die. He should have left me there, left me in the rain and the wind on the soaked dead grass. It’d been days. Days. Days and days and weeks and I… I…

Ginger eased her arms under mine, lifting me off the floor damp with my own sweat, my own tears and saliva and blood. My head lolled forward and I didn’t have the strength to try and fight her. Not anymore. Not again and again and again. I barely kept my eyes open all the way, lids drooping and breath coming shallow. She laid me down on the couch and did her best to wipe some of the grime from my face with a spare tissue.

“Please, just, just,” I cried, struggling between gasps. “I can’t, I, I don’t, I don’t want to, to hurt anyone.” I clenched my jaw and shut my eyes as my face twisted, wrenching. My lungs burned, sharp, painful, painful dead center. “Kill me. Just kill me.”

How many times? How many times had I hurt her? Tried to kill her, tried to tear her apart since Cirrus dropped me off. How many more, more times would I try before one time, before I succeeded just that one time. It only took once. Once. Once. Would it ever be safe? Ever be safe for me to leave here, to be on my own? No. No, not when I was, not when I was this. This. There was nothing. Nothing anyone could do. Nothing Ginger could do to help me. So why keep me alive? Why not put me down like the violent animal I was?

Ginger eased herself to sit on the end of the couch, nudging my legs out of the way. “It’s hard, Asher, I know it is.” She leaned back and rested against the back of the couch with rounded shoulders. “About fifty years ago, I woke up in a ditch by some middle of nowhere road with knife in my back and no idea who I was or how I got there. Do you know what I did after that?”

I only watched her, eyes burning and nothing moving the way it should inside my head. Nothing working the way it should inside my lungs. Nothing worked anymore.

“I found a house where a young couple lived, and I killed them both for their blood. They had an infant that I left for dead.” She kept her voice low, private, and her eyes lower. “Then I did it again, and again, until I was killing when I wasn’t even hungry. I killed, I tortured innocents, drawing out their deaths for nothing more than my own satisfaction.” Ginger paused, letting her eyes close a little longer before going on. “I was only caught when I fell for a trap laid out by police and local exorcists hired to stop me. No one knew what to do with me, there hadn’t been a vampire anywhere near the area for almost a century and I would hurt anyone who got close enough. I didn’t know why I did it, but I did.” She paused again, glancing down at me, as if checking to see I was still even awake. “An exorcist, the one who’d just founded Eventide College a couple years earlier, he heard about my case. He took me to Eventide, and kept me there, working with me, for years. It took years for him to help me figure myself out but he never gave up on me, even when I failed and hurt him, or even his daughter Cynthia.”

The couch creaked, woody and soft as she stood again and reached for the blanket folded up on the backrest. The most I could do was turn my head, weakly watching as she opened it up with a gentle shake to unfurl the fabric. She draped it over me, tucking me in warm and snug.

“So I know, it’s hard. It’s hard.” Ginger spoke soft, loose strands of hair falling in front of her face as she hovered over mine. “But I’m not going to give up on you again now that we have this second chance Asher.”

She brushed still-sticky, still sweat-damped hair back from my face with time-worn gloves before standing up straight again. I didn’t know what to say, couldn’t push the words out even if I knew.

“Get some rest, tomorrow’s a new day.”

#

More time, more days, more weeks, and maybe she was right. I slept less, staying awake long enough to finish the old movies Ginger dug out from Charlotte’s collection. I needed her help less and less and the days stopped blending quite as much by the time fall mushrooms popped up around the tree trunks outside.

           The days wavered colder one day then warm the next in the fickle way that fall always seemed to proceed. Rain tatted against the roof, tapping against the windows more often than not with sunny days growing scarcer and scarcer.

           The sun shone warm through the trees, probably one of the last few days like this before the seasons changed in full. Sitting on the porch, the air was still cool and fresh and damp where the warm sunrays hid behind tree’s shade.

           Ginger slid the door open and stepped out beside me, offering a mug of warm tea. She smiled when I took it with a quiet thanks, settling herself down on one of the other wooden chairs with her laptop in hand. Lately she’d been able to get more work done now that I was starting to feel a little better, could keep myself together a little more.

           The wind shifted and I raised my head from my drink. Faint wingbeats drifted through the trees, larger than any of the little songbirds and jays that flitted between the branches. They grew louder, stirring the surface of the lake before Cirrus dropped into sight. Sunlight reflected bright off the white feathers of his head as he shook himself out, folding gull’s wings snug against his sides.

           He ducked under some overhanging branches, slipping towards us under the dappled shade. I set my cup on the little table and braced against the chair to push myself up to my feet. With Ginger’s nod I stumbled down the few steps from the porch to the springy ground and met Cirrus with my arms draped around his neck. I buried my face in his feathers and bit back unexpected tears. How long had it been? How long?

           Cirrus laughed, deep and rumbling where I pressed against him. “Look who can walk all by himself now.” He purred, eyes closed and content. “How are you feeling?”

           I drew back from his side with a sigh. “I’m… Better than before.” That was honest enough.

           “No shit.” Cirrus nudged me back towards the cabin.

           He led the way back to the porch and tentatively stepped up onto the wood, testing it under his weight. It creaked a little on the stairs but it held and he settled down against the side of the cabin. I grabbed my tea and sat with him, leaning back against his side. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. We glanced at each other as the quiet stretched on, filled by the gentle breeze in the trees.

           Cirrus stretched out his legs and I stole a look at what was left of his wound. Still red and fresh, it snaked along the side where his forearm would have been. No doubt it would end up scaring. I sighed, dropping my shoulders and staring down into my drink.

           “Hey,” I swallowed against the guilt rising under my ribs. “I’m sorry for, for everything.”

           His tail thumped against the wood in cat-like twitches, thought glazing over his eyes. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” He lifted his head, blinking. “You know, I think this might be the longest we’ve been apart.”

           Was it? I took a long drink of my tea, already halfway cold. It was wasn’t it? I’d hardly noticed, too wrapped up in trying to get through one day after another. I wonder if he felt the same. It must be strange, to be back at home all the sudden.

           I smiled, tired and weak. “How are you settling back in?”

           Cirrus rolled his eyes with an overdramatic sigh, resting his head on his crossed wrists. “My sister, you remember her? With the dark feathers?” He waited for my nod, even though she still didn’t seem real, like I’d only met her in a dream. “She’s taken my place as eldest child since I’d been gone. More than likely I’ll be no more than a prince the rest of my life.” He grumbled, but his expression said otherwise. “Probably for the best. Oh, and everyone wants to talk to me all the time about the same damn things. My sisters, relatives, advisors, even someone visiting from another kingdom. It’s tiring.” He huffed. “Then there’s history to catch up on, new faces to learn…”

           He kept going, droning on and on about his sisters, his mother, court drama, and more and more that started to go over my head. I just listened, nestled against his feathers and squinting in the sunlight. Eventually I let my eyes slide closed, lulled to sleep by the warmth and the chatter. If he noticed that I’d stopped paying attention he didn’t act on it, his voice fading into the background of sleep.

           He must have left before I woke up, opening my eyes to Gingers careful nudge as the sun retired behind the trees.

#

Cirrus visited a few more times before the weather turned, him being the only one Ginger considered resistant enough against any influence I might try and extend. Rain started to constantly, turning to snow on a few lucky days. The air grew cold and damp and Charlotte brought warmer clothes and blankets on one of her visits. Each day was shorter than the last, the sun setting earlier and earlier and giving way to heavy dark outside.

On clear nights Ginger sometimes took me outside to lay on the lake shore and watch the stars. She’d point out constellations she knew, telling me what she’d heard of the stories behind each until I got too cold.

           Frost grew every morning on windowsills and fallen logs, cold and delicate. The lake froze over and Ginger convinced me to try skating on it once it was thick enough, but it didn’t last long before I was sore with bruises from falling a few too many times.

           I stayed awake all day now, long enough to start getting bored. Ginger got Charlotte to bring some books for me to study from and started working me more on ways to keep myself safe. To notice when I needed to withdraw for a while, to help myself stay focused when everything started to go wrong. Gradually it got easier, more manageable, more doable. I could stay awake long enough to talk to Striker and Ember and Kyra on the phone and through Ginger’s laptop, though I never really had anything new to tell them. Nothing new really happened stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

           As the holidays drew near Striker said he was almost cleared to go back to work, and he and Kyra spent more and more time together. He’d even talked Ember into studying to get her GED and taking classes online. It wasn’t the same though, not being home with them as December came and went. Ginger did her best but even then I couldn’t help but feel lonely. It was only the two of us after all, and as much as I was starting to enjoy watching movies and playing games with her, I’d never been away from home nearly this long before.

           The new year brought colder weather yet in the forest outside, but inside stayed warm and dry by the cabin’s wood-burning fireplace. It had been weeks now, maybe more like a month since I’d last tried to hurt her, gradually starting to catch myself feeling off before anything happened. Before it was too late and she had to talk me down. It’d been weeks since she last had to do that for me.

           Some days a seagull would land on the windowsill just long enough to tap the glass with his beak and leave a trinket. Sometimes a seashell, sometimes a worn glass fragment, once a little mitten I could only hope wasn’t stolen from some helpless child.

           Other days passed slowly, stuck inside when it was cold and raining. Ginger would put on movies and we would half watch them as she showed me how to knit, how to embroider, laughing at me whenever I stabbed myself in the hand with the needle. As much as I couldn’t see myself keeping up with either, it was nice to have something to do and an uneven scarf to show for it.

           Only once bright green buds grew on bushes and shrubs did Ginger start talking about letting me go home. She spoke to Striker without me, saying she wanted to judge how ready he was to have me back, how much better he was really feeling. A week later, she said we could go in a few days and she helped me pack up whatever I wanted to take back home.

#

Charlotte picked us up on a sunny day in March, taking in the sunshine sparkling off the lake as we loaded into her car. The two of them took the front and I settled into the back. Nerves prickled up and down my skin, tight around my ribs as the trees passed by outside. It had been months now, all of fall and winter since I’d been home. Months. I swallowed, looking down and wringing my hands together in my lap. A lot could happen in that long. What was I going to say? To Striker? Ember? Kyra? Anyone? I leaned back, sinking into the cushion of Charlotte’s car. Would, would they really be happy to see me again in person after the last time?

           Ginger and Charlotte spoke quietly with each other at the front, discussing something to do with an upcoming project at the college. The radio played low, soft under their voices and the rumble of the tires on the worn forest road. It should have been normal, it should have been comfortable, but I couldn’t shake the stiffness from my back or the tension in my stomach. It only got worse as the firs thinned out, giving way to the scattered houses, then buildings, then streets and shops and Eventide.

           We turned down my street and I had to remind myself to keep breathing as my lungs cinched. The house still stood as if nothing had happened, as if I was just coming back from a day away instead of months in the woods.

           Charlotte parked the car and cut the engine, plunging us into silence as nobody moved. No one made any move to open the doors, to drag me out onto the sidewalk, nothing. Ginger just turned around in her seat with a little smile and a nod of her head.

           “Do you need a minute?” I nodded, and she turned back around. “Take a sec then, and I’ll go in with you.”

           I couldn’t look away from the house out the window, heart hammering against the feeble wall of my chest. Striker knew I was coming. I’d overheard Ginger tell him that much. But, but… I shuddered, the ghost of wet skin in my hands, of wind whipping through my hair, of holding Striker out, of hurting Kyra, of the words I said to him, to all of them.

           “You know,” Ginger gently broke my thinking. “He’s probably just as jittery as you are.”

           Maybe. Maybe she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

           She smiled again, reaching for her door handle. “I think we should get out there now, before you can get to imagining worst-case scenarios.”

           I sighed, but didn’t argue as she got out of the car. I followed her out, pushing the door open with a shaky arm and closing it too lightly. She led the way up to the front door, waiting for me to catch up. My legs trembled and I could barely hear anything besides my own heartbeat drumming against my inner ears, hammering fearful against my chest. The last time Striker saw me, last time he saw me in person I was covered in blood with a hand around his throat and cruelty on my lips. Was that how he remembered me now? No different than Vena?

Ginger set a gloved hand on my shoulder, gently taking back my attention. She waited until I gave a tiny nod before knocking on the front door. The sound rang wooden and solid between us. I swallowed, soft footsteps growing nearer. They paused on the other side of the door. One second, another, another, another, until the handle clicked and the door swung open.

Striker. He stood in the doorway, frozen, unmoving, staring. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, like he didn’t know whether or not to believe I was really here. My throat closed. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to tell him? Was there anything I could? His outline blurred as tears welled up, but they didn’t get the chance to fall before Striker pulled me close and wrapped his arms tight around my shoulders.

He all but crushed my ribs as I cried into his shirt. It was so warm, so, so familiar. So real. He was really here, really alive. I could feel his breath faulter, shallow and shaky and deliberate and alive.

“I,” I mumbled the word, muffled by Striker’s clothes. “I’m so sorry, I, I, I’m sorry.” I hurt him, I hurt him and scared him and tried to kill him and he was still here, still holding me like nothing happened. Like he still loved me.

Striker ran a hand through my hair, soft and gentle. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He took a breath, sharp and shaking. “You’re safe. I, I…” His words caught in his throat and when he pulled away he drew the back of his sleeve over his eyes.

I couldn’t think of anything to say, standing, staring in the doorway as his outline blurred again. Tears ran warm and wet down my cheeks. Striker didn’t seem to know either, watching me as he tried in vain not to cry.

It was Ginger who finally broke the silence. “How about we go inside? Is that alright?”

Striker nodded and stepped away from the door to let us in. For a second, I didn’t move, frozen in the doorframe until I felt Ginger’s gentle hand on my back. I shuffled in, almost tripping over my own shaking legs as I kicked off my shoes. It didn’t feel real, didn’t feel right, taking them off like I was supposed to be here, like I was going to stay here any longer than a moment but I was. I was home.

The floor creaked and the clock in the hall tick-toked softly as I drifted into the house, brought to the living room by Striker’s quiet guidance. Throat tight and aching, I didn’t know what to say, even when he asked if I wanted anything, a snack, some water, some tea… Ginger ended up answering for me, suggesting something warm, and Striker slipped away to the kitchen.

I sat on one of the couches, sinking deep into the familiar cushions. Ginger did the same on the opposite armchair. She caught my eye and gave me an encouraging smile.

“Nervous still?” She paused as I nodded. “That’s understandable. You’re doing well though Asher. I wouldn’t have brought you here if didn’t think you were okay.” She crossed one leg over the other and set her purse on the floor beside the chair. “I’ve asked for your sister and any friends to give you some space for the first little while, as to not be too overwhelming all at once.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders eased, and I leaned back just a little. “Thanks.” After seeing no one but her and occasionally Cirrus in the woods, I didn’t think I could handle coming face to face with everyone at once.

Striker came back with a warm mug and almost cautiously handed it to me, hesitating just a little, as if he wasn’t sure he was supposed to, wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I took it just as careful, holding it between my hands and melting with the warmth against my palms. The tea bag still half-floated in the hot water, deep colour staining the hot water a deep gold. He sat down beside me on the couch and neither of us said anything. Neither of us knew what to say.

So Ginger broke the silence for us yet again. “If it’s alright with the both of you, I’d like to stay here with you a few days. I’m confident everything will be fine but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. I’ll try and stay out of your way as much as I can.”

Striker nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Sure, that’s, that’s fine. It might be good in case—” His eyes flicked to me and he cut himself off.

I ducked my head, shame and guilt burning deep and heavy in my chest. Was he scared? Scared of me? He had every right to be after all.

“Wonderful.” Ginger smiled. “I have some work to do on my computer, so I may end up spending most of my time tucked away but I’ll be here.” She uncrossed her legs just to cross them the other way, watching the both of us as thoughts seemed to gather behind her eyes. “I suppose now is as good a time as any. Striker, it’s alright if you’re not as comfortable as you’d like to be yet. If Asher does anything that makes you nervous, or scared, or anything you can tell him to give you space, alright? It might not be easy, but try and look after yourself too.”

Striker nodded along, dropping his eyes to the floor. Was this what he and Ginger had talked about when she called, requesting I wait out of earshot?

Ginger seemed satisfied, flashing a gentle smile. “Good. Take it easy, both of you.” She pushed out of the chair and leaned over to grab her purse from the floor. “I’ll give you guys some time to catch up.”

She slipped out of the room into the hall, footsteps fading as she disappeared. Quiet replaced her presence, thick and unfamiliar. I gripped my mug in my hands and stared down at my reflection in the darkened tea. It broke wherever the tea bag bobbed to the surface, drifting slowly up and down. Was Striker scared of me right now? Was he thinking about the last time we were this close to each other, close enough for me to hurt him?

Striker pushed his hair back and turned to look my way. “How are you feeling?”

Good question. “I don’t know.” I mumbled. “I’m alright. I mean, I don’t know what to say.”

He cracked a smile, tired and real. “Me too.” He paused, watching me, just watching, just like I remembered. “To be honest, I’m not sure what to do now.”

Slowly, I found myself matching his smile, nerves thawing a little more with each passing moment. Neither of us spoke as I took my first sip of tea. It ran warm down my throat, helping to melt the rest of the tension from deep inside.

“Ember’s staying with Kyra for a bit.” Striker said. “For a few days anyway.”  

I nodded. Probably for the best to stay separated until I’d settled in a little bit more. A while longer, and we settled back into quiet. What was there to say anyway? I drank my tea and Striker turned on the TV to some fluff channel, soft enough to barely count as audible. Eventually the tea was gone and I leaned forward to set the empty mug on the coffee table with a gentle clunk.

I paused, glancing back at Striker as I sat hunched over in front of the table. He did the same and I thought I noticed hints of tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Come here,” he opened his arms, just enough to invite.

My vision swam and I nestled myself up against his side. He leaned against me, curling his arm around me, holding me snug. Snug and safe and warm. I rested my head against his sleeve, breath shaking as I tried not to cry again. This was Striker, he was here, he was right here. Real and solid and familiar…

“I missed you.” Striker mumbled, low and rumbling and comfortable. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

I swallowed, blinking out tears that ran quiet down my face. He was alive. I was just glad he was alive. Alive and here and safe and sound. I thought I’d killed him. I opened my mouth to tell him but stopped myself short. He didn’t need that, didn’t need to be reminded of what he probably remembered all too well already. Striker didn’t say anything more, only held me tighter. Neither of us paid much attention to whatever show was on as we just sat quietly, snuggled up on the couch as afternoon slipped to evening and it started to feel more like I was really home. At least for now. At least if everything went right.