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itskatastrophe-x · 4 years ago

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Far Off Places (CH 4)

Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5

Word Count : 3,919

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When you walk back into the den, Ranboo is writing viscously. You want to ask what he’s writing about or if you could read anything, but decide against it and instead head to the kitchen to make something to eat. The analog clock on your wall reads 12:48. Too late for breakfast, so you pull out some fish, carrots, and broth to make some soup. You hoped that Ranboo would be ok with whatever you made so that maybe he might join you for lunch. You started preparing the fish first and then brought the broth to simmer. Just as you were going to check on Ranboo, he came through the door and he let off a soft grunt as you bumped into him. You gasp in shock and look up at him and laugh. He looks around at the half prepared meal and smiles. “Do you need any help?” He looks back down at you and you shrug. “It’s honestly almost done. All that needs to happen is to dice the carrots and put everything in the broth to boil.” He nods and makes his way to the counter where the carrots are drying and begins to cut them up. You thank him quietly as you dump the fish into the bubbling pot and he hums a happy response back.

You both sit down to eat and chat idly through mouthfuls of warm stew. He talks more about his life living with Phil and Techno, as well as his platonic husband and adopted child. He talks more about the latter, smiling all the while, and you could feel the love and enthusiasm practically radiating off of him with every word he spoke. He told you stories of his kids first moments that he could recall, the journey to the house, and even flipped to a page in a journal where he had hastily drawn a doodle of him in the margin. Michael and Tubbo. The three of them sounded the most trustworthy out of any of them here, and you came to find out that they were some of the youngest people living here.

After lunch was finished, you took to the kitchen to clean and offered to let Ranboo stay for as long as he liked, which he respectfully declined, saying he had things to take care of in Snowchester. You said goodbye from your place at the sink and he turned and left your house, only to come back minutes later to knock on your door and let himself in again. “Did you want to go with me?” You looked at him with a puzzled expression as you set the last dry dish in the cupboard. “What, to Snowchester?” He nodded, an air of caution surrounding him. “If you trust me enough to, I would love to. I haven’t seen anything outside of this house and the surrounding land. It would be good to get out.” He nodded happily and patiently waited as you went to your room to pack a light bag and attach your weapons and fresh armor. When you came back downstairs he was idly messing with the strap of his own bag, completely spaced out.

“So,” you started quietly, snapping him back to reality. “What will I say to anyone we see along the way? No one knows who I am and I doubt they’ll accept a stranger so willingly.” He smiles at you and looks at the clock, as well as flips to a page in his book. “Well, most people will be out doing their own things today at this time. The trip should only take us a little while and not many people live in Snowchester. Foolish has been working on our mansion there but he’s really sweet and accepting. Other than that, we just have to avoid Bad and Ant. They’re with The Egg and we don’t need any of that kind of interaction.” You nod and fasten a buckle on your boots and follow him out the door, turning to lock it, then back to catch up to Ranboo. Curse his long legs.

You both didn’t say much on the journey there. You were mainly amazed by all the sights and buildings. You had to travel through the nether at one point, which he gave you a gold helmet so as not to be attacked. He fought off any of the mobs that neared you so you didn’t make them angry, and also since he had the best armor and weapons. The cobble highway was a sight to behold, you thought. They told you about it the previous day, but you were not expecting this much cobble and obsidian. From the portal you came out of, it looked like a maze with paths leading in all directions. Off in the distance you could see a large structure, to which Ranboo said was the main portal that led directly to DreamSMP. You weren’t sure what kind of name that was for the land but he said it had been that way since before he even arrived. When you went through the portal, you were in shock by your surroundings as they blurred in and out. The teleportation affects made you dizzy and nauseous, something you were sure you would never get used to.

Ranboo took you past what he called the community house. He said it was one of the first buildings to ever exist on this land. He quickly gave you a summary of George and who he was, but said it would be rare to ever see him, seeing as he was almost always sleeping. You travelled on, only passing one person on the way. They didn’t say anything, but waved from their spot under a small dirt covering. You smiled and waved back and turned to Ranboo. “Who is that?” Ranboo hummed and turned to where you mentioned but gave you a confused look. You turned back to where someone had previously been just seconds before, only to find the small space completely empty. “I swear someone was just there,” you muttered. Ranboo only shrugged and turned on his heels to continue on, you following closely behind.

You both neared a long tunnel full of water, gates holding it back from spilling out. Ranboo stopped a few feet away, rolled up his sleeve, and tapped a small gem on his arm that would have gone completely unnoticed if he hadn’t brought attention to it, seeing as it was so small. A virtual screen popped up and you gasped in shock. He looked at you as you stared at the screen and tried to tap it, your hand phasing through it completely. “What is it?” He dropped his arm and the screen disappeared. “Don’t you have one?” You stood there in shock and looked down at your own arm, nervous to pull back your sleeve. Eventually you did, but saw nothing. Ranboo extended his hands, asking permission to touch your arm, and you held it out for him as he inspected it closely. He asked to see your other arm, so you rolled back the sleeve and he looked at that one as well. He smiled up at you and took your other hand, extending your pointer finger, and tapped a spot on your wrist just under your thumb. You felt a small bump there and rubbed gently as Ranboo took back his hands. A screen popped from where the bump was and you put your free hand to your mouth.

“What is it,” you ask again, staring at the translucent, light grey panels in front of you. “How did I never notice this before?” He chuckles at you and brings his back up. You put yours next to his, noticing that his boxes were full of little icons. “We call it the inventory. We don’t really know how it works, but it stores extra items you can’t carry in a normal bag.” He taps one of his icons and the screen fades away as a box fizzles into reality and drops into his open hands. He sets it down in front of him, purple sparkles dancing around it in a flurry. He opens it and scans another screen until he finds what he wants, clicks it, and a trident appears in front of him. He grabs it and hands it to you, clicks on another one to make it appear, then grabs the box and opens his inventory to put it away. It blurs out of vision and you watch as the little icon reappears on the box it was previously on. “These tridents have what’s called ‘riptide’. We’re going to go into this water and activate them to cross to the other side as fast as possible.” You looked down at the heavy weapon in your hand and stood it up next to you. It was tall and cold and gave off an iridescent glow, signifying that it was in fact enchanted.

Ranboo opened the gates, took a big breath, and stepped into the water. The trident in his hands caused the water to pulsate around it, casting a dim glow on the liquid around him. He motioned for you to get in as well, and you did. You shut the gate and watched as he activated the enchantment. He looked at you and motioned with his free hand to follow him, and just like that, he was gone. The jolt caused the water to rush around you violently and you had to put your hand against the glass to steady yourself. You looked at the trident and imagined what he had just done, and the trident reacted, lighting up the water and causing your hand to tingle. You positioned it in front of you the way Ranboo had done himself, and it flung you forward at an alarming speed. You used your opposite arm to shield your eyes, and when you slowed down and uncovered them, you were at the end of the tunnel. You swam the short distance to the exit and let out your breath, gasping in oxygen and hunching over. Ranboo closed the gates behind you as you shook out your hair and leaned your weight against the trident that acted as a staff.

When you finally caught your breath you looked up to see Ranboo covering his mouth, trying to hold back his laughter. “What?” That sent him, and he burst into full laughter. It was contagious and you couldn’t help but also laugh, though you were still unsure what had caused the fit in the first place. Ranboo calmed himself and smiled at you. “The look on your face was priceless,” he said in between gasps. “It’s always funny to watch people’s reactions the first time they use the loop. Just wait until we go back. It’s even faster that way!” You stare at him in shock, and he giggles more. “Come on,” he says as he turns and waves at you, his tail swishing side to side as he walks with a pep in his step.

You walk the rest of the short distance in comfortable silence until you hear a small rumbling and the sound of wood being put in place. It didn’t take very long until your eyes landed on possibly the biggest mansion you had ever seen. The largest building you had seen was your castle and this mansion in front of you had to easily be almost as big as it. Ranboo called out to someone out of sight and you followed him forward and into the mansion. There was a glass chandelier high above your heads and a grand staircase in front of you, the railing carved with excruciating detail. “How long has this been going on?” Ranboo ran his hand along the railing and smiled. “Three weeks almost. I think he might take a break here soon, though.” Ranboo called out again and finally got a response. An excited sounding voice called back to him from somewhere farther back. You followed Ranboo through the main hall behind the staircase to a door in the back, a strange statue displayed through the open doorway. You saw a shimmer of gold that looked like it was almost moving, and as you got closer you noticed that it was in fact moving. You came through the door and squinted, your hand coming up to protect your eyes from the harsh midday sun. Your jaw dropped and you stood there in awe.

There, standing next to a very tall, poorly depicted Ranboo, was a man. A man dressed in gold robes and chains, rubies glinting in the sun from a large necklace, and what looked to be a shark helmet over his head. He looked down at you both and you couldn’t help but gasp at his shining emerald eyes. “Ranboo,” he boomed, a large smile spreading across his face. He turned to face you fully now, his jewelry and chains jingling as he took a step and squatted in front of you both. “Ranboo you didn’t tell me we would be having guests! I would’ve gotten out the fancy silverware!” He laughs at his own joke and you can’t help but to giggle.

Right before your eyes, you watch as he shrinks in size slowly, until he’s roughly the same height as Ranboo. He looks very much more human now than he did before and he extends his hand out to you. He beams at you as you place your hand in his and he tugs and pulls you into a short hug, then releases you again. “My name is Foolish! Well, it isn’t really, but that’s what everyone calls me! Sorry if I gave you any kind of spook. I’m part demi-god. Part totem of undying, part shark god. So I guess I would just be a regular god. Anyway,” he cuts himself off with a wave of his hand and walks past you. You turn on your heel and jog to catch up to his fast pace. He hums a happy tune as he leads you through some empty halls then up the stairs all the way to the top floor balcony that overlooked Snowchester. He smiles at the sight before the three of you, then turns to look at you.

“What do you think of it? Pretty neat, huh? I think this is the biggest build I’ve done for anyone other than myself.” You leaned over the railing slightly to look down at the walls of the structure then looked back at him, eagerly waiting and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s really impressive! I’ve never seen anything like it. Ranboo told me how long you’ve been working on it and that in itself is just amazing.” He was visibly pleased with your response and let out a yell in excitement, bouncing around in circles. He stopped mid circle and pointed a finger to the sky. “I think it’s celebration time. Would you two like to accompany me in some arson?” Ranboo laughed heartily and you looked at him in confusion. “Arson? Will you be burning the mansion down?” Foolish chuckled as he lead you back through the halls and out the back door to the statue. “No, this! I make a ‘muppet’ statue of people and then on big events I do a sort of ritual to burn it down!” He got out his flint and steel and opened his inventory, bringing out a jukebox and a disc. “I made this disc special for these moments,” he said, looking back at you before placing the disc in.

Low drums sounded from the box and he began the ritual. To what and for who he was doing this for? No clue. But he seemed to be having fun dancing around the statue to the music. He lit one of the feet on fire, then another, then reached up to about mid level to get the front and the back. The smell of burning wood and wool hit your nose and it made you anxious. Thoughts of your kingdom came back to you and you had to turn and leave. Ranboo took notice and followed you away, catching up to you in a few swift steps. He put a hand on your shoulder to turn you and past him you could see the smoke. He spoke in a careful tone as he asked you if you were ok. “Honestly, I don’t know,” you replied quietly.

You watched over his shoulder as the statue of him was falling apart, raining fire down as Foolish stood in front of it, looking up in awe. “Could… Could Foolish have…” You cut yourself off, hoping Ranboo would catch on. Ranboo looked back at Foolish and was quiet for a minute. “I’m not sure why he would. We’re nowhere near you, according to your details of your trip. He does love arson, but he’s a pacifist. He’s never even killed.” He looks at you in a soft way and you relax slightly, almost comforted by his reassurance. You were still wary, but for now you trusted what Ranboo had to say.

Foolish looked back at you and waved happily, the fire dying down behind him as he jogged his way inside. “Wasn’t that fun,” he sighed happily. “Why’d you come back inside?” You looked away and Ranboo cleared his throat. “They were just a little tired is all. They had a long day and wanted to just relax for a minute.” You internally thanked him for not telling the truth, but you knew one day he would have to know. They both talked for a while about the mansion and the layout, so you sat on the stairs, lost in thought as their voices echoed through the halls. They walked up the stairs and down some halls and soon their voices were barely a whisper to you. You leaned against the pole for the railing and shut your eyes, not focusing on any thought in particular, but letting things pop out. Soon enough, you were drifting to sleep without even meaning to. Your body slumped farther and eventually you shifted to lay on the stairs next to you instead of the pole.

The sun was blaring hot. Your legs kept giving out on you and your vision was black. It took you a minute to squint in the sun to get a good look at where you were. There were trees everywhere, not a building in sight. Just you in the woods, completely alone. You looked down at yourself and took note of your clothes. Tattered and torn. Your bow and arrows were missing but your axe was next to you leaning against a tree. The smell of flowers and citrus filled your nose as you grabbed your weapon and began walking. Honeysuckle was growing nearby so you grabbed a couple flowers to suck some of the nectar out to try to hydrate yourself slightly. Your arms were sore and your head was pounding. Your vision blurred at the corners and you had to catch yourself from falling over, using your axe as a crutch.

Then you saw it. The same green as before. Adrenaline kicked in and your senses came back to you as you yelled out. The person stopped, back facing you, then started to sprint. You readied yourself and held onto your axe tightly as you took off after the person. They were fast, but you knew how to use your terrain to your advantage. The person turned quickly and shot an arrow at you and you dodged it by a hair, hearing it whistle past your ear. You dipped behind a tree and caught your breath momentarily and listened to the person's footsteps as they slowed, then came to a stop. You took this time to attach your axe to your hip and reach up to a branch, bringing yourself quietly up into the trees. You peeked out and watched as the person cautiously made their way closer. Their hood was pulled up and the angle from where you were perched made it impossible to see their face.

When they were almost under the branch you were on, you silently brought out your axe and prepared to jump. The fall wasn’t far but the wind from it felt nice on your heated skin. You landed directly in front of them, the shock causing them to stop and stagger backwards. You used this opening to grab the handle of your axe with both hands and shove it against the person’s torso and push them to the ground. Their hands came up next to yours as you both fell. Your left knee landed next to them, your right foot on the opposite side, and the bar of your axe pushed against their throat. The only thing from keeping this stranger from choking was their own two hands pushing back.

“Who are you,” you practically yelled. You looked down at them as they chuckled roughly through gasps of air. They wore a mask with a simple smile etched into it, a crack going down the right side. “Who’s asking.” By their voice, you now identified them as male. “I am,” you state. “You aren’t supposed to be able to interact with me. Now answer me. Who. Are. You.” You pushed harder and he squirmed, trying to get a better grasp on your weapon. He coughed and took in a breath before speaking again. “I go by Dream,” he says quietly. “And why should I trust you, Dream? I was told you were put into prison for murder, arson, and a whole list of other things.” He let out a laugh. “So you met them. That’s what they told you? And you believed them without a second though?” He brought a knee up and pushed against you as hard as he could. The sweat from your palms loosened your grip and he broke free, taking your axe with him as he stood and backed up, readying said weapon in front of him. “You know, I saw your kingdom,” he started. “You should know then that you should always listen to the other side before coming to a decision. You listened to those people and took their word for everything without even hearing what I had to say.” You breathed heavily from your spot on the ground.

Dream lowered the axe and threw it behind him as he extended a hand towards you to help you up. You stared at him for a moment while you calmed your nerves and decided to take his hand. Pulling you up seemed effortless and you wondered if he had held back at all and allowed himself to get captured. “You wanted to tell me your side, and yet both times I ran after you, you ignored me. Why?” He shrugged and laughed a breathy laugh. “I’m bored,” he said nonchalantly. “I’ve been stuck in a prison cell for months with only a couple visitors. I reached out to see if I could do anything else and found that I could hop into dreams. But only yours. So I thought maybe you would be the one that would be able to help me.” You stared at him, partially confused. Your body shook and you fell to your knees. “God damn it,” you whispered. “I guess I’ll see you in another dream,” he said as he turned and ran off.

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.

chapter six: starving limbs

word count: 9.4k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: body horror, hallucinations (?), joseph spends .000000003 seconds about to go demon but manages to rein it in. uhhhhh LOTS of uncomfortably awkward dialogue. and allusions to past ~steaminess~. that should be it!

notes: this chapter is a tiny bit of an interlude! we get some new players introduced (please note the tags), some ssssssssslooooooooow development with john and elliot too, and just a bit more intrigue. sorry in advance that i can't write anything that doesn't have both body horror and horror-humor in it.

thank you to my beloved @starcrier and @shallow-gravy for putting their eyeballs on this for me, and @vasiktomis for listening to me wax and wane poetic about my agonies; i would be nothing, no-one, without you, and i love you all so dearly!

“Who was that?”

Tall, short-cropped blonde hair. Lots of dark layers. A bolt-action rifle with a scope on it.

“Jacob.”

Not one of ours, he thought, turning the truck onto the highway. Not one of ours. Thought the fuckers were all dead or gone. Where the fuck did she come from?

“Why aren’t we going back to the compound?”

Did she set Fall’s End on fire?

“Jacob?”

“Holy shit.” He exhaled the words out of his mouth, billowing out of his chest in a sigh that only barely scratched the surface of his frustration at listening to Isolde pester him nonstop. Without looking at the brunette next to him, Jacob said, “You must be where John learned how not to shut the fuck up.”

He could feel Isolde’s eyes narrow more than he saw it happen. “I think that’s a Seed trait.”

“If I knew who that was,” Jacob continued, glossing over her little barb, “don’t you think I would have said?”

“Oh, please. You seem the type to get off on being withholding,” Sol snipped pointedly. He shot her a look.

“Don’t throw a tantrum, Isolde.”

“So why aren’t we going back to the compound?” She pressed, and Jacob’s mouth twisted into a grimace. It was a fair enough question—more fair than the initial one she’d posed, anyway—but even now, to a woman that was arguably close enough to a sister-in-law one way or another, he found himself reluctant to elaborate.

It had been over a year of refusing to expand upon questions his brothers posed, absences from family gatherings or an unwillingness to pursue people who had shown a clear romantic interest in him. There were some things that—well, that he had selfishly wanted to keep for himself.

“Gotta pick someone up,” is what he said after a moment, turning down the highway toward the Whitetails.

Isolde turned the heater up, and glanced behind them, as though their little guest might have taken to following them. “And who, pray tell, are we picking up?”

He exhaled out of his nose. “Stop asking questions.”

“Well, you Seed boys have a habit of leaving crucial information out!” Isolde snapped. “For example: John led me to believe that this encroaching cult was well and done, taken care of, extinguished, eliminated, exorcised—”

“You’re on a tangent.”

“There wasn’t supposed to be anymore,” she said after a moment. “Hunting. Killing. It was—you lot were supposed to be all done, now that you’ve run the folk out of their own home.”

Jacob glanced over at Isolde. Bundled up in thick fabrics, but still blushed from the cold, she looked quite small; for a woman clocking in at five-foot-eleven, he thought he’d never seen Isolde so swallowed-up, wallowing, despondent.

“You got an opinion on that?” Jacob asked dryly.

“You know that I don’t,” she muttered. “Just wish you’d have left the bloody fucking mess behind before I got here, is all.”

“I know it might offend those delicate sensibilities—”

“I’m tired of talking now, Jacob, if you’d like to let me lament the loss of my tranquility in peace.”

It took a lot of self-control to not bite out a response. Naturally, talking and conversation were only convenient when Isolde herself had something to say. It seemed she really hadn’t changed all that much, had she? Maybe it was good that she was here, after all. When John had first mentioned over the phone that she was coming down, he’d pictured that she’d mostly be a hindrance—unnecessary drama, despite the fact that he knew she had every capacity to act professionally—but as of late, Joseph had been...

Well. Out of sorts. Perhaps a slap of a reality check would be good for him.

They drove deep into the Whitetails, far enough out that the radio reception crackled and disappeared, leaving them in silence. The clouds were swollen and gray with unshed snow; threatening, looming with the potential to dump, but not quite there yet. All the snow as of late had been a bit heavier than what he would have anticipated, even for Montana.

“So are you going to tell me who our mystery guest is?” Isolde asked after a while, once he was turning up the long, familiar drive to a house that didn’t belong to him.

He flicked the lights of the truck on as the tree-cover turned the dim, overcast light darker. “Name’s Arden.”

“Very helpful.”

“‘S a vet,” he continued. “Worked in Fall’s End. Couple of years.”

“Like the animal kind?” Isolde pressed.

“Mhm.”

“Very fitting for your brood.”

“Ha-ha.”

Another stretch of silence, another turn up the drive, and then: “So?”

Jacob exhaled through his nose. It was either now, or later, and to be honest, he thought he might prefer delaying the inevitable over listening to Isolde complain, but he knew that he needed to just rip the bandaid off.

“She’s...” He searched for the word, shifting in the driver’s seat. “My...Partner.”

Isolde was silent for a moment, but he could feel her eyes on him—insistent. Impatient. Incredulous. A variety of other i-words that properly encapsulated whatever flurry of emotion she was feeling at that moment.

“As in—” Isolde stopped. “Romantic?”

“I guess,” he said.

“You guess?” She scoffed, but her voice was a bit lighter now, lifted by the curiosity. “Is she cute?”

Jacob stared ahead. That detail felt like it went without saying.

“Smart?” Sol prompted. “Funny? Makes you smile? Inspires in you the desire to procreate?”

“We have dogs,” he replied, “together.”

“Oh, if that’s all.”

He muttered, “This is worse,” under his breath, drawing her eyes back to him—as though she had ever stopped trying to pick him apart while this excruciating piece of conversation dragged on—and she cocked her head to the side.

“Worse than what?”

“You complaining,” Jacob said plainly. “You can go back to that, if you want.”

Isolde purred, “No, I think I’ll stick with interrogation.”

He shot her a dry side-glance, lips pressing into a thin line. This wasn’t supposed to be how this went—this whole...Interaction. Introduction. He certainly never pictured that Isolde would have been the first person to meet Arden as his partner, and not Hope County’s veterinarian, but. Well.

Nothing to be done about it now.

He put the truck in park as soon as they’d pulled in front of a small, tidy cabin, far enough out that you’d have to know where to go to find it—it wasn’t something that would just be stumbled across. By now, the late afternoon had started to turn murky; what little overcast light had been making it through the boughs was nearly strangled now by the approaching nightfall.

“Stay,” Jacob said, leaving the keys in.

“Do not speak to me like a dog, Jacob.”

He turned his head to look at her, expression pulling tight. She sniffed.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

He got out of the truck, slamming the driver’s side door and trudging through the snow—only half-shoveled—up to the front door. Through the window and the curtains, he saw the cut of amber light from the reading lamp he knew was by the door, the tangle of warm limbs barely kept under a knit throw blanket. It was a bit too comfortable, in there; too easy to remember the times he’d come to this house just like this, skim his hands under the blanket as he sank into that couch. The last few months had been a bit more demanding than he’d anticipated.

Just as he reached for the door, it swung open with a happy creak, and he was greeted by a familiar face. Just not the one he wanted.

“Well, if it isn’t the big man himself!” the dark-haired man greeted, chirping happily. “Good evening, captain. We were anticipating your arrival.”

“Santiago,” Jacob replied flatly. He gestured with one hand, an indication he was ready to come inside. Santiago flashed a charming grin and made a sweeping motion as he stepped to one side. It had been two months of having John’s favorite lapdog watching after Arden, and two months of hearing the Faithful’s infuriating voice over the radio every time he tried to touch base.

It was all easily forgotten, even as Santiago chattered in the background, saying something elaborate and useless as he made his way into the living room and spotted her; just like he’d glimpsed through the window, Arden was curled up on the couch, book in hand, reading lamp on and dogs asleep on the floor.

The beasts—glossy, long-haired Belgian Shepherds named Castor and Pollux—lifted their heads almost simultaneously, regarded Jacob, and then wagged tufted tails against the floor. They only looked at him for a second before their pointed snouts turned expectantly toward Arden.

She said something, quick and soft and foreign, and they leaped to their feet immediately to crowd him, large enough that their heads tilted to gaze at him reached past his hip bones even while they obediently remained on all-fours.

“Boys are sleeping on the job,” Jacob said gruffly as he gave them each two quick pets, lifting his gaze from the dogs to Arden. The corners of her mouth ticked upward, amused.

“They’re on break. State-mandated.” Her head tilted, loose curls framing her face where they’d fallen out of her bun. “Santi and I heard some chatter on the radio. Fifteen, huh?”

He grimaced, just for a second. His hands itched—to card through her hair, to tilt her face up—but he stayed where he was and instead watched as she came to a stand, tossing her book onto the couch. There were a lot of things that he thought about saying; questions beyond what their brief conversations had been, things that had been sitting on his mind.

Are you happy? Are you happy with this world I’m preparing us for?

“I’m taking you to the compound,” is what he said instead.

Arden laughed, reaching up to cup his jaw. “I figured you wouldn’t be rolling up to my house near-dark after two months of forcing me to cohabitate with Santiago just for fun.”

“In preparation,” Santiago intoned dutifully from the kitchen, sounding like his mouth was full, “for our rapidly impending marriage, cariña.”

“Enough,” Jacob interjected, “out of you, Vidal. Arden, is your stuff ready?”

“Yes, I packed.” She moved to the window, hoisting a bag off of the ground and glancing out through the glass. “Who’d you bring?”

Jacob took in a breath. Too much was going on, and not enough was happening in the way that he wanted it to. The stranger with a precise shot was still hungering in the back of his mind for his attention. When he’d dropped John’s little attack dog here two months ago, he’d intended his next stop-by to be taking Arden to the bunker. Elliot’s killing spree had only made that time longer, and then the Family had rolled into town, and now—

Well, now he was tired of looking for reasons to delay bringing her home, and just needed the one to do so.

As Santiago began gathering his things—decidedly less ready than Arden was—he crossed the room to where she was, turning her face from the window and back toward him.

“Oh,” she said, pleasantly. “Hello.”

“You get whatever you want,” he murmured, “for putting up with that incessant chatter.”

“One thing? Or many things?”

“Negotiable.” He grimaced. “Depending.”

She flashed a smile, tilted her head, and kissed the palm of his hand. “Hm. Brave of you.”

“Dr. Hale,” he rumbled, voice pitching low, watching the way her lashes fluttered prettily and her chin tilted. Expectant. But not yet, Jacob thinks. Not yet. “Are you plotting to extort me?”

Arden’s chin tilted out of his grasp, and she squirmed out from between him and the window, slick as can be despite her height. The woman was all wiry muscle, quick and precise movements, nothing wasted and nothing tossed aside. “Perhaps,” she replied over her shoulder, “but it wouldn’t be plotting if I told you, now would it?”

“What’s the word for ‘here’?” Santi asked from the hallway. “You know, for the hounds?”

Arden’s attention turned back to the brunette, and she patted his shoulder. “If I told you what it was,” she said, “they wouldn’t be very effective protection dogs, would they?”

“I think you mean attack dogs.”

“Interchangeable,” she acquiesced. “Are you packed, Santi?”

He grinned, glancing at Jacob. “Is just stuff, no? I am not interested in the material.”

Her gaze flickered to Jacob, a look of, oh, is that so? before she told Santiago, “Well, out into the truck with you, then. Dogs.”

She didn’t say the command, but whistled, sending them racing out the door excitedly around Santiago. When he’d followed suit and Arden had turned the lights off in the house, making her own way to the front door, Jacob reached for her and snagged her hand to turn her back around.

A second passed. She waited expectantly.

“I haven’t told them,” Jacob said after a minute. Arden’s wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand.

“About the fifteen dead men?” she asked. “Don’t you think that’s important?”

His eyes flickered over the shape of her face; in the dark, he could still pick out the planes of her cheekbones, the dip of her nose, the cupid’s bow of her lips. He’d traced just those things with his hands and mouth plenty of times before. “About you.”

Arden said, “Oh.”

Jacob waited for a second longer, but when he couldn’t pick out any emotion besides, perhaps, confusion on her face, he prompted, “Oh?”

“Well, I just don’t see how that’s pertinent right now,” Arden replied plainly. “People are getting killed.”

Per usual, even after over a year of being together, she somehow managed to completely unseat him. Trying not to sound frustrated, he elaborated, “I just thought you should know, Joseph and John and Faith don’t...”

Jacob felt his voice trail off; Arden tilted her head inquisitively, like she didn’t quite see the point in the conversation being dragged on. He never felt like he was dragging on a conversation, except with her—the woman trimmed the fat out of every interaction down to the barebones, if she could.

“They don’t know,” he finished. “Also, Isolde’s in the car. John’s old business partner.”

“Damage control,” Arden said.

“Damage control,” Jacob agreed.

The blonde gave his hand a quick squeeze, tugging him forward and, as though they hadn’t been apart for two months, as though he had not admitted to keeping her his very own special secret for this long, she kissed him. It was quick—a brush of their lips, fast and easy and not at all wanting, as though he’d never been gone at all—before she turned away and stepped out the door, waving in the headlights.

Jacob locked the door behind him, out of habit rather than necessity. As Arden loaded the dogs into the back and then her bag as well, he opened the back door of the truck to where Santiago had already climbed in.

“Hurry in, guapa, you’ll catch cold,” the brunette said, beckoning Arden in as though she weren’t in the process of climbing in already.

She smiled wryly, puffing the air out as she hoisted herself inside and kicked the snow off of her boots. “Thank you, Santi, for your concern.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, closing the door behind Arden and then settling himself back into the driver’s seat. There were about forty-five seconds of blissful silence as he navigated back down the driver before Santiago cleared his throat.

“So, Jacob, who is your friend?” he asked. His voice was sly, but Jacob stifled the urge to tell him to shut up. He’d probably go whining to John that he’d done Jacob a favor only to get bullied for it.

“This is Isolde,” Jacob said, gesturing at the woman in the passenger seat. “John’s mommy.”

Santi let out a low, little whistle, and said wistfully, “Ah, I have always wanted to meet the woman who raised our John.”

Isolde’s expression twisted something vicious. “I’d kill myself if I had to bear that fucker in my womb.”

“You took care of him while he was in Atlanta,” Jacob pointed out. “Cleaned up his messes in the courtroom. Set him on the straight and narrow. Sounds like a mother to me.”

“Ugh,” was her reply. He knew the kinds of things that John had been up to in Atlanta—post-grad, the youngest brother had been in poor shape. Looking for fulfillment in all the wrong places. If Isolde hadn’t nipped that shit in the bud, who knew where John would have been when they’d rounded him up? He’d never heard John say anything more than he’d said “I have to ask Isolde...” back when they’d been going to school and working together, but he imagined that once they had opened the firm together, spending weekends high out of his fucking mind wasn’t much of an option anymore.

Not, at least, for someone who was going to be doing business with Isolde’s name attached. She was a tidy little control freak like that.

“Oh,” Arden said, her face lighting up with curiosity, “you’re Joseph’s Isolde too?”

“Ugh.”

Jacob flashed Arden a grin through the rearview mirror, carefully turning the truck back onto a road that was more....Well, road than what they had been going on, not quite to the highway yet but close. He’d just have to get back to the compound. Get back to the compound, get Arden and Isolde settled in, and then he could go on the hunt.

It was becoming, unfortunately, more and more of a chore to keep things under control as time went on. Joseph wasn’t helping, and while John’s energy was not typically the “calm and efficient” kind, he at least had been propelled to take action. Of course, that action had ended up being more trouble than it was worth, and—

His brain was turning in circles, over and over again, a snake latched on to its own tail. It was almost deafening, to try and listen to Arden asking Isolde questions—what Joseph was like “back then”, about what it was like to work with John, how was her flight from Georgia—was she liking Montana? You know, aside from the killing and whatnot?—while his brain replayed the same loop. Would be easier if John was here, it said, would be easier if John was here to cause more problems and then try to clean them up. At least someone would be doing something, right?

Get back to the compound. Get everyone settled. Then he could make a plan.

And boy, was he going to fucking need one.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they had gotten back to the compound, Isolde felt like she was in a pretty good mood. Pretty good, at least, for getting shot at and realizing you’d been duped by someone who shouldn’t have had the audacity to try and dupe you at all.

The fact of the matter was that John knew better—he knew better than to lie by omission to her, because she was always going to find out that he’d done it one way or another, and yet he’d done it anyway. Their time apart had made John bold in his disrespect of her, and that was something that just was going to have to get immediately remedied.

Well, as immediate as possible, given that she was in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere-Montana with only a lick of cell service.

“It’s been really fun,” Isolde announced, climbing out of the truck’s passenger side as everyone else disembarked. Santiago had swung around the back to let the dogs out and haul Arden’s bag out. “I’m going to go sit in my rudimentary shack and pretend like today didn’t happen.”

Santi flashed her a wide, toothy smile. “I have an alcoholic beverage that may assist in forgetting.”

“I bet that you do.”

“Sol,” Jacob said, drawing her attention to him; he tilted his head, indicating the chapel where she knew Joseph was likely waiting to hear back about the things they’d seen. She felt her shoulders shag.

“Don’t become my least favorite Seed.”

“He’ll want to know,” the redhead cautioned. “See for himself you’re fine.”

“I’m not,” she snapped, “fine, and if I’m being honest—”

“You always are, in my experience.”

“—the last person I want to be making feel good is your brother.”

Jacob said, “I’m the one that’s going to suffer for it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. The eldest Seed shrugged his shoulders and started heading toward the chapel, nudging Arden ahead of him in a gesture that was both affectionate and protective; that was nearly the strangest thing to come out of the day. Aside from their newcomer trying to make their own live-action version of The Most Dangerous Game.

“Fine!” Isolde relented at last, trudging after them. “I must be fucking insane, to keep helping you lot.” And then, as though to comfort herself: “You’d probably muck up the details, anyway.”

Jacob flashed her a smile over his shoulder. “Practically family at this point.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

The inside of the chapel was degrees warmer—so much so that Isolde hadn’t realized how cold she actually was until she was within range of the space heater rattling laboriously, the sound bouncing between the wood paneling of the walls and ceiling. Joseph was sitting on one of the benches a few rows back from the front, head bowed and cradled against the fold of his hands. A young blonde woman sat beside him, but rather than bent at the waist, her face was lifted, like she was drinking in whatever light and warmth she could get.

Suffused in the amber glow of candlelight from different little pockets around the chapel, he did strike a Renaissance-esque silhouette. Faithful In Repose, or something like that.

It wasn’t until Jacob said, a few feet away, “We’re back,” that Joseph’s head lifted and he came to a stand. His expression looked mutedly relieved—like perhaps he was trying to not appear too relieved.

“I was worried,” he sighed, reaching up to plant his hands on Jacob’s shoulders, “when I heard your radio call. We both were. Fifteen of ours, you say?”

“I think so, anyway,” Jacob replied, not moving to return the physical gesture but not brushing it off, either. “I’m going to go back out after I get Arden settled and get an actual headcount. Hopefully track down the person we saw.”

“Good,” Joseph murmured, and then paused, his gaze flickering to the honeyed blonde standing just behind Jacob. “Arden?”

“Hi,” she greeted, reaching around and offering her hand to Joseph. “Arden Hale.”

His gaze looked inquisitively to Jacob. It was excruciating for Isolde to watch it, the confusion on his face as he took Arden’s hand in his and said, “I remember you, from before, don’t I?”

“Probably,” she agreed with a little smile. “But only in passing. I ran the vet clinic.”

“That’s right!” the younger blonde exclaimed, her face lighting up. “I remember you for sure.” She paused. “I was Rachel, back when we met.”

“I remember you too, Faith.” Arden’s smile was light and friendly, despite the fact that she referred to what had been her livelihood in the past tense rather than present tense. It was a painful reminder that they had run the other people with livelihoods out of Hope County—and that it didn’t seem to bother or unsettle Arden at all was enough to make Isolde wonder.

“And you—?” Joseph paused, clearly trying to keep some kind of cool, calm, and collect as he muddled through a thing that his brother was offering no explanation on. “Jacob just, ah...Picked you up?”

“Yes,” Arden replied politely.

Joseph’s gaze darted back to Jacob. He waited a heartbeat for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he said, “I see.”

“Do you?” Isolde prompted, because maybe she was gleaning a bit of enjoyment out of seeing Joseph on the brink of squirming. She knew him well enough to tell he was furiously stuffing down a mounting frustration—Arden, quick and to the point and unwilling to waste time on elaborating something she probably thought wasn’t important, and Jacob, tight-lipped and ready to leave.

Now she knew why Jacob hadn’t wanted to say anything. He’d been keeping Arden for himself, and now this stranger on the hunt had forced his hand.

“So,” Jacob said after a moment, “I’m going to get Arden settled. Sol, bunk with you?”

“Sure,” she replied, only managing to barely contain her delight at having figured out a dynamic in which Joseph was at a disadvantage. “I’d welcome the company of someone other than a Seed.”

“I’ll help,” the girl, who Arden had referred to as Faith, offered. “I could use a good stretch, and I can’t wait to catch up, Arden.”

Jacob made a low noise, something like uh-huh but more displeased, before he turned on his heel and started marching resolutely back to the door, Faith chatting excitedly with Arden as they followed.

Before he could reach the door, Joseph said, “Jacob?”

The redhead paused, turning to look back at them.

“When you have a minute,” he continued, “I’d like a word.”

Jacob’s mouth set into a firm line. He didn’t respond, but gave one short nod before he stepped outside and ushered Faith and Arden out ahead of him.

Isolde watched them go for one heartbeat before she began, “It’s refreshing to see you squirm, Joseph.”

“You always were a little spiteful,” Joseph agreed, his voice mild despite the barb in the words. Isolde’s gaze snapped back to him, head tilted in defiance.

“Don’t deny me my pleasures.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Another moment of silence passed, one where Joseph’s gaze took a leisurely journey over her—too leisurely to have been anything less than admiring—before he said, “I was worried, you know.”

“Well,” Sol replied tartly, “we were getting shot at.”

“You shouldn’t be leaving the compound,” he continued, his voice a bit firmer now, “not while we’re not sure that the Family isn’t still around. Jacob is capable...” Isolde waited for him to finish his thought, to tack on the contingency, but all he said was, “Enough, for himself.”

“I don’t think you have any grounds to be telling me to do anything.”

The words left her mouth coiled tight and unforgiving. Joseph had always been in the bad habit of that—telling her, rather than asking her or suggesting to her; as though his suggestions should be taken as gospel and phrased them as such. Even back then—

I want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife, Soli.

—it had been a demand, not an ask. Not a request—but something that was almost enough to be a command.

The man let out a small, short breath, looking at her for a moment in a way that was almost wary. Good, she thought, you should be wary of me.

“I know,” he began, “that we didn’t leave things on the best of terms...”

His voice trailed off, like he intended to let her interrupt him. Isolde crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.

“But I meant what I said.” Joseph fixed her with his eyes—infuriatingly blue, disgustingly blue. “That I’m happy you’re here.”

“And I meant what I said,” she replied tightly, “that you should be.”

Joseph sighed, “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Then I don’t know why you opened your mouth in the first place—”

“Isolde,” and now he finally sounded a little frustrated, the tone bleeding into his voice. “We have to be on the same side, if you’re going to be here.”

She knew what that meant. She knew that what he was saying was, if you’re going to fight me at every turn, then there’s no reason for you to be here. But he was wrong about that; it was all the more reason for her to be there, to keep him in check, because clearly, nobody else was. Even Jacob, who should have had every reason to want to share this apparent relationship he’d been having, had kept it a secret from Joseph. And what did that say about him? What did that say about the person he’d become?

“I thought of you often,” he continued, his voice pitching a little lower now, taking a step forward. “And the mistakes that I made. That we both—” Joseph paused, his eyes flickering down to her mouth for a split second before lifting back to meet her gaze. “—made.”

Don’t fucking do it, she thought, watching him lift his hand to sweep the hair away from her shoulder in the affectionate gesture he had done so many times before then. If she let him, maybe he would follow up the way he had done so many times before all of this; he would have dragged his fingers along the pillar of her throat, pressed his mouth to the hollow under her jaw, sweet girl, my Soli, so gorgeous, and—

“Well, I didn’t,” Isolde replied, stepping away from him before his hand could make contact, before he could try and suck her back into the world that he’d had her in before. They were different now—she had known a Joseph before Eden’s Gate, and he had known an Isolde before Eden’s Gate, and all that had happened between was well and buried and done away with. “Think of you. At all.”

She focused on the door waiting for her, to take her out of the chapel and out of the romantic amber glow drenching the handsome features of Joseph’s face, to take her away from the cloying words. It couldn’t feel genuine coming from him, not right now. Not anymore.

“I don’t believe you,” is what he said, called after her just as she slammed the door behind her. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.”

The things I’ve done for you, he said. Fucker.

More like the things he’d done for himself.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The house was quiet when they returned. Scarlet must have retired early this evening; those nights that he’d spent sleeping in his car just down the street, he’d seen the light on in the downstairs living room well into the night, but the clock was only barely cresting eleven.

As they walked inside, Boomer lifted his head from where he’d been sleeping on the floor, stretched out in front of the couch. The Heeler’s tail thumped against the floor a few times, and then a low growl pitched out of him upon first seeing John come through the door again—only to have it waved away and quieted by a gesture of Elliot’s hand.

“Elliot,” he started, closing and locking the front door behind him, “are you sure you don’t—”

“I really—” Elliot’s voice tightened, wobbling sharp and tense. “—really need you to shut the fuck up.”

John had become familiar with the way that she said things; the difference between a casual shut the fuck up and the cadence of this, I need you to, so close to the thing he wanted her to say the most but only available to him now if he dredged it up from his memories. So he did as she asked and closed his mouth, instead contenting himself with replaying that parsed little clip of her words over again in his head.

I need you. He could fool himself, trick his brain into thinking as she hung the jacket up, the dips of her face shadowed by what little amber light was glowing from the one lamp left on in the living room. Just like she’d done it before—that night, before the scar. Before her lie. John, I want you so badly, I need you, I need you John, saying it against his mouth in a kiss and driving her nails into him like she wanted to leave a mark that wouldn’t fade, like she wanted him to think of her, always.

I do, he thought absently, jostled out of his near-daydream when she brushed past him to head for the stairs, the hound trailing at her feet protectively. Think of you, always.

“Could sleep in my bed,” he suggested, following a foot or two behind in case she decided to swing. “If you’re feeling out of sorts.”

“Is that what you think I’m feeling, John?” Elliot’s voice carried with it an idle kind of venom, the words barely above a whisper and tossed over her shoulder. It was a loaded question, of course. There was no right answer. In fact, it was more of a threat than anything. “I’m just dying to get some insight from the person who has clearly never read me wrong.”

He didn’t stop when she did; instead, he carried himself all the way to the landing that she paused at until there was hardly any space left between them, where he could still smell the wild winter blushing her cheeks and chilling her skin.

“I just remember,” he tried again, remaining casual, “you always seemed to sleep much better with a body next to you.” And then, pointedly: “A live one. Human and not dog-shaped.”

“Frankly, I don’t think you know a fucking thing about me,” the redhead snipped out.

“Well, we both know that isn’t true.” His eyes flickered over her; the urge to reach up and card his fingers through her hair, glide the pad of his thumb from her chin down into the hollow of her throat stung hard and bright in his chest, flowering with want. “I think we know each other quite intimately, you and I.”

“Fucking,” she hissed, “does not equate intimacy.”

“But it did.” John felt his mouth tick up at the corner. “For you. For us.”

Something vicious twisted her mouth. I know you, he wanted to say, but knew that he shouldn’t because it would only incense her further—he was having to straddle a very thin line. I know you, Elliot Honeysett, and I know we were fucking made for each other and you’re going to see it, too. One way or another.

“I only,” he continued, reaching up slowly and waiting for her to balk, “wanted to offer it.”

She didn’t jerk away from his touch, but before he could tuck the coppery strand behind her ear she had leaned away from him, shrugging off the affection. For a moment, her lashes fluttered, her expression changing into something he almost didn’t recognize. It took him a second to realize that she was considering, that it wasn’t blatant rejection just vibrating under her skin but something else. The times that Elliot had wanted him the most had always been when she was looking for comfort, and the gentle tremor in her hands that she tried to bury into her crossed arms, the way she was making a concerted effort to keep her breathing steady—she wanted him, as she had before.

It was a tiny, tiny little thrill, only a degree closer to what he wanted, but it was there nonetheless.

“No,” she said finally, doing that infuriating thing she did when she turned her eyes away from him—like she wanted to deprive him of her attention, her hand brushing his out of immediate reach of her. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed.”

“Alright,” he replied agreeably, even as every bone in his body disagreed with her decision. He stepped around her, heading up the stairs to the hallway that led to the guest bedroom. “But if you have a bad dream and want someone to hold you—”

“I won’t.”

“—you know where to find me,” John added playfully over his shoulder. Her footsteps drifted after him against the thick carpet, swallowed up by the high ceilings of the house.

“I hate you,” she bit out, her voice still soft so as not to rouse her mother.

John tried very hard not to smile. “I’ve told you once before, you need a catchphrase you can sound like you actually believe,” he told her. “That one just doesn’t hit the same anymore.”

She shot him a stormy, murderous look before brushing past him to reach the end of the hall where her bedroom was. Boomer darted ahead of her, eager to be in bed; John said, “Goodnight, Ell,” from the distance that kept them separated.

Elliot was halfway through the door to her bedroom when she said, “Eat shit, John.”

He shut the bedroom door behind him just enough to leave it cracked—Elliot still hadn’t come clean about the sleepwalking, but he still knew, and that meant he couldn’t have his wife and his unborn child traipsing around in the snow and potentially getting hypothermia while he was asleep.

It wasn’t until he’d undressed into more comfortable clothing that he crawled into the bed and realized how exhausted he really was; the adrenaline that had flooded his system at Elliot’s apparent panic had died out now, leaving him feeling hollowed out and a little empty.

John couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Weyfield wasn’t as good for Elliot as she had wanted, and though that meant she would suffer for now, it would make their return to Hope County all the better; for him, and for her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He tossed and turned for a few hours, and found himself dredged out of his state of half-asleep by the jarring sound of his phone going off. John glanced over at the nightstand where it was vibrating, dull and insistent, against the wood. With no numbers saved as contacts in his phone, it was almost impossible to tell who it was, which always made it a bit of an uneasy endeavor when it came to picking up an unknown call.

Sitting up in bed blearily, he reached over and hesitated for just a minute before he hit the accept call button, bringing it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Johnny.” It was Isolde. Her voice sounded tight, uncomfortable. “How’s Georgia? Hm? Everything good?”

He hesitated again, but for a different reason this time; Sol’s voice was heavily implying something was wrong, and John was not privy just yet to what it was that had put her on edge. “It’s good,” he said, climbing out of bed and wandering to glance out the window. The night outside was peaceful—or as peaceful as it could look, with the dark treeline looming in his vision and the swollen clouds threatening another downpouring of snow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s...progressing,” he ventured, still half-asleep and clearing his throat. “Slowly, but I think I—”

“That’s good. That’s really, really good, honey. Hey, John? By the way, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah. So she was mad.

John opened his mouth to respond when Isolde plunged on, her voice pitching in a reckless kind of vibration, “I told you not to fucking lie to me. That means by omission.”

“Well, now—”

“I came out here out of the kindness of my fucking heart, you asshole. I fucking—they should be calling me Mother Fucking Theresa for the shit I’ve done for you, and you have the audacity to not only neglect to tell me that you didn’t know for sure the cult was done with but that your wife doesn’t want you? You’re hunting this girl across states and she fucking turned you in to the goddamn government?”

John grimaced. He was going to have to chat with Jacob and Joseph about how much information they were deciding to divulge with people. People, like Isolde, who didn’t need to know that his and Elliot’s relationship had ended on more than just “bad terms” and that the gap to heal it was actually much, much larger than perhaps he had implied.

“Also, can’t ignore the fact that you were in government custody at one point but your fucking cockroaches killed government officials to get you out—”

He started, “Sol—”

“No no no, do not fucking ‘Sol’ me, baby—I almost got fucking shot today. I watched someone hunt your fucking homeless population for sport and then make a very clear threat to do the same for me. And the worst part of it is that I’m not even that mad about that bloody bit, but—”

The sound of a door dragging against the carpet wobbled through the air, half-masked by his own closed door and the gentle whirr of the heater kicking on. He glanced blearily a the clock on the nightstand. It blinked 3:27 AM at him, and as he walked to the door and peeked out into the hallway, he saw that Elliot was wandering down the stairs.

Sol chattered viciously in his ear, but he wasn’t hearing it anymore; Ell moved leisurely, a pace that was unhurried, swaying on her feet a little as she came to a stop at the front door of the house and wandering in pajama shorts and an over-sized sweatshirt.

“Hold on,” John said, interrupting Sol’s tirade. “Something’s—can you hold on a second? Something’s wrong.”

“Oh? Yeah? Really? Something’s wrong? You fucking idiot—”

In her haze, Elliot tried to pull the door open. Her hand fumbled tiredly, clumsily with the lock, but the coordination needed to undo it just wasn’t there.

“I gotta go,” he murmured into the phone. “Listen, Sol, I’ll call you back in the morning—bye.”

Isolde’s indignation did not go unnoticed, but it did go unanswered as he hit the end call button and put the phone volume on mute, tossing it onto the bed as he made his way down the stairs. Elliot seemed to have given up trying to unlock the door and now tugged absently against the handle, staring out through the glass front; from the stairs, he could hear that she was whispering something, but not what it was.

“Ell?” John whispered, coming closer. He wasn’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker, right? Gently, he reached up to try and disengage her hand from the curved door handle. Her voice was still so soft that he almost couldn’t hear what was she whispering, but —

“...can’t,” Elliot was saying, to the glass—to the door—to someone or something on the other side of it. “Can’t let you in.”

“Baby,” he said, uncurling her fingers from around the curve of cool metal, “come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Her head snapped, mechanical and machine-like, to fix her gaze on him; the movement almost made him jump it was so precise, like she had just only realized he was there beside her. Though her eyes were open, they were glassy and drifted absently, never once staying in one spot for very long but never straying very far from his face.

“She keeps asking,” Ell told him, letting him take her hand away from the door and blinking, her brows pinching together at the center of her forehead. “She keeps asking me to let her in. She misses me.”

“Who?” He didn’t know that he really wanted to know the answer to the question, but it came out of him anyway—maybe the morbid curiosity of wanting to know what it was she saw in her dreams when she did this sort of thing, and maybe because he’d never been the type of person who could leave a door unopened.

As he guided her carefully to the stairs, their progress halting and uneasy, Elliot said pleasantly, “I told Joey I can’t let her in.”

He felt his skin prickle, dread crawling up his spine. He knew it. He knew he didn’t want to know the answer and he’d asked anyway, and now John would have to go to sleep with the knowledge that at least in her dreams, Elliot was seeing her dead best friend. Outside of her house.

“But I don’t want to,” the redhead continued. “She keeps asking me, but I don’t want to. She doesn’t have a face.”

His stomach churned violently. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, helping her up the stairs and to the guest room, pulling the blankets aside. His phone blinked with several missed calls from the same number—likely Isolde, raging mad he’d hung up on her. “Easy now, Ell.”

“She’s waiting for me,” Elliot whispered, like she was sharing a secret with him, her voice bridging mournful and gutted. “Joey’s waiting for me. She’s waiting outside. I have to let her in, or she won’t let me sleep.”

He pulled the blankets aside, trying to brush off the dread that really hit him the second he heard Elliot say she won’t let me sleep. Once she was laying down in the bed, her lashes fluttered unsteadily, her hand gripping John’s loosely.

Out from the hallway, he heard a low whine. Boomer had stirred at the sound of their hushed voices and now stood in the doorway of the bedroom; when John turned and looked at him, the Heeler let out a low growl, threatening.

“Well, come on,” John whispered impatiently at the dog, “if you’re going to come in.”

Boomer turned his head. It was the most effective side-eye he’d seen a dog perform in a long time.

“I have to,” Elliot whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears now. “I’m so tired, and she won’t let me sleep.”

“It’s okay,” he told her, even though his stomach wrenched a little at her words again, this eerie mantra that insisted on coming out of her now. “You can sleep.”

A little paranoid, he glanced towards the window—but it was empty, devoid of looming corpses or monsters peeking furred faces in through the panes. Don’t be stupid, he thought to himself, moving to the window and reaching for the curtains. Nothing out there. Just Elliot having bad dreams.

He gave the forest, bathed in cold moonlight diffused and filtered through the cloud cover, a final glance over. And for one split second, he was sure he saw something move, scrambling up a tree and shaking the pine boughs in a flash of pale limbs and bony protrusions and—

The dread returned. Cold, trickling down his spine like an IV drip. Just an animal, he told himself, as though the movement did not look like some two-legged humanoid monster scaling the side of a tree with the ease of a spider. Just an animal.

“Come on, beastie, we haven’t got all night,” he said, drawing the curtains closed firmly and waving at Boomer. The dog seemed appeased by this and came in, immediately hopping up to curl roll-shaped in the crook of Elliot’s knees. With the bedroom door shut and the curtains drawn, and Elliot having drifted back to sleep, the room finally felt quiet again.

John slid into bed pulling the blanket up and exhaling a breath.

She doesn’t have a face.

She’s waiting for me.

She won’t let me sleep.

Troubling, that she was seeing these things in her sleep. That she was seeing dogs with human faces. That she was seeing anything at all. It was almost the same as when she’d been drugged up to the gills by the Family and their weird earthy drug—not unlike Bliss, but with some more uncomfortable properties to it.

It wasn’t possible that she was still being affected by it, was it? This far away from Hope County, this long after she’d been experiencing the actual active effects of the drug they’d been plying her with?

Beside him, Elliot stirred, shifting until she’d rolled over to face him. Beneath her eyelids, in the dark, he could see her eyes move restlessly; still dreaming, even now, even after all of that.

What’s going on in that brain of yours? He thought absently, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from her face as she slept.

What aren’t you telling me?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Elliot awoke the next morning, it was in a foreign bed.

She didn’t realize it, not right away; the first thing that struck her as odd was that a familiar smell washed over her, one that broke through the haze of slumber just a little, just enough to make her stir. It was like a memory—was she dreaming? Was she in a dream?

Stop squirming, breathed against the nape of her neck, the comfortable weight of an arm over her, locking her in place. I’m trying to sleep.

“Wh—?” Elliot felt the noise, garbled with a sudden surge of panic, muddle in her mouth viciously as she lurched into a sitting position. Her head swam; her stomach rolled with unspent nausea (yet one more reminder of her poor decision-making); but when she moved, so too did Boomer, leaping off of the bed and instantly alert.

And so did another body next to her.

She swung blindly at first, a knee-jerk reaction, and only barely registered that it was John in the bed with her, having caught her wrist and stopped her from clotheslining him straight in the trachea.

“Easy, Elliot!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demanded, yanking her hand out of his grip. “How did—when did I—”

“Take a breath,” John cautioned, and instantly that hyper-awareness and panic was laser-focused, pin-pointed on the one thing that managed to be a tangible bane of her existence.

“Fuck you?” she said, incredulously. “Explain to me how I ended up in your fucking—”

“Elliot, you were sleepwalking,” he snipped. “I caught you trying to walk outside.”

She blinked at him, trying to process his words through a haze of blood rushing through her head and alarm bells sounding off rapidly. It was getting, she thought somewhere in the back of her mind, harder and harder to turn them off—to convince her brain that she wasn’t in immediate danger anymore, when she had identified a situation properly.

John is a threat? her muddled brain tried to parse through as she took in the scars and tattoos she had traced before—

(with her fingers with her mouth, while he knotted his fingers in her hair and sighed, please Ell please I’ll give you anything I’ll do anything)

—committed to memory.

Not a threat, she affirmed after a moment, lifting her eyes to his. Not a threat in the least.

“Okay?” he asked her, brows lifted. “Are we okay?”

“Why didn’t you just put me back in my bed?” she gritted out. “If you caught me sleepwalking.”

“And risk the beast ripping my hands off for coming into his territory? No, thanks.”

“Seems fine now.”

“Well,” John relented, “I invited him in.”

She rolled her eyes. Pushing the blankets off of her legs, Elliot passed her hands over her face, willing the alarm bells off. Red alert! Red alert! they screamed, over and over; we’re in danger, dig your heels in and sink your teeth in and tear tear tear—

The sound of the sheets rustling forced its way through the warning bells behind her just before John said, “You were talking too, last night.”

Elliot stopped, turning to look at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I suppose I said something like, ‘oh, John, I take it all back, please let me love you, I promise I’ll be the perfect cult wife’—”

The brunette lifted his hands in defense. “As ideal as that would have been, that was not the case.”

And then he didn’t say anything. John Seed, who could not possibly have learned how to shut the fuck up overnight, was regarding her very carefully—gauging her, getting a feel for what was going on in her brain. She felt her molars grind.

“Well, spit it out, then.”

John’s mouth twisted for a moment. “You told me you were trying to let Joey in,” he said finally. “That she kept asking you to let her in, but you couldn’t. And—”

A new wave of nausea washed over her. She didn’t think that was true. She didn’t that she had been dreaming about Joey. Had she? No, she would remember if—

(Joey, dirt packed under her nails and the flower blooms spilling out of the cavern of her chest, shaking the door, shaking it shaking it she won’t stop and she’s screaming even though she doesn’t have a mouth, even though her eyes and nose are smoothed out from her face, begging, begging to be let in, please let me in let me in letmeinletme—)

“—said she didn’t have a face,” he continued,

(LETMEIN)

“—and she wouldn’t let you sleep—”

(L E T M E I N)

“Um,” Elliot said, feeling faint as her brain dutifully trudged up the nightmarish dream sequence once again. “I don’t—um, I don’t think—”

John’s hand went to her shoulder, squeezing there at the junction between her shoulder and neck; instinctively, her hand flew up, gripping his wrist on a mechanical instinct to dig her nails in and rip his hand off of her.

He stayed firm—watching her, watching her reaction, brows furrowing. We like this, a part of her said, when his fingers splayed warm and calloused against the side of her neck, when her pulse jumped under the touch and the fog cleared a little. We remember this, and we like it.

“You said you were sleeping fine, Ell,” he murmured, his voice low as though not to spook her.

I know, she thought, feeling her lashes flutter as the urge to puke reared its head. I know what I said, I know what I fucking said, I know what I did, I’m not sleeping fine, I can’t remember when I slept fine, I can’t fucking sleep—

“I told you before.” The pad of his thumb swept down the front of her throat, close to the hollow just there; any lower and he’d be touching his handiwork. It was almost comforting, that he knew, that he was intimately familiar. “I’ll give you anything you want. Especially if it means helping you sleep at night.”

She knew that he meant it.

“I want,” she breathed, watching John’s eyes light up, “to punch you in the face so fucking bad.”

John sucked his teeth and regarded her ruefully. “Had me for a minute,” he told her. “Thought you were going to stop being so obtuse.”

“Disappointed?”

“A little, admittedly.”

“It’s good for you. Builds character.”

“You can’t be sleepwalking out of the house, barefoot, in the winter and pregnant,” he said, more firmly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, Elliot.”

“No fucking shit? You’re sooo smart, John. Think maybe later, if you have time, you could explain to me how day and night works?” And now she did push his hand off of her—enough familiarity for one morning—and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I have to shower and get ready.”

A frown planted itself on his face. “Ready for what?”

“Going to the stables,” she replied, opening the door and letting Boomer out into the hallway.

“I’ll come, too.”

Elliot stopped, blinking at him. “Sorry?”

“I said,” John began, having gotten out of bed and begun pulling his jeans on, “I’ll come too.”

“As much as I love the idea of you getting the shit kicked out of you by a horse—”

She cut herself off. The brunette raised a brow inquisitively—frustratingly distracting shirtless and standing there like he wasn’t the World’s Worst—and she shut her mouth promptly.

Taking John to the stables meant putting him out of his element. It also meant putting him directly in Sylvia’s path—and if there was someone who seemed almost as unimpressed with John as her mother, it was her new friend. She'd never seen him squirm as much as she had when Sylvia had clapped him on the back and said, jury's still out, but don't worry, bud! Like he'd never before had a woman not fall over herself for his attention.

“You know what?” She felt a smile tick the corner of her mouth. Even amidst the morning sickness riling in her stomach and the exhaustion from feeling like she hadn’t slept a wink, it still felt a little good. “Sure. You can come to the stables with me.”

Now it was his turn to narrow his eyes. He had one arm into a button-up when he stopped moving. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Elliot replied pleasantly. “But you’ve gotta do something. You can’t stand in the way. Be useful.”

“I can be useful,” he ventured. “It’s—what? Horses?”

“Yes, John, it is horses.”

“Great. Love them. Love horses. Very cool.”

“Uh-huh.” She eyed him, taking two steps out of the bedroom and then turning around. “And John?”

He let out puff of air, head tilting as he looked at her, having shrugged the other half of the shirt on. “Yes, Elliot?”

Elliot gave him a once-over, grimacing.

“Maybe don’t wear the Versace to the barn.”

#my writing #fic: witching hour #fc5 fic #far cry 5 fic #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: john seed #ch: arden hale #ch: joseph seed #ch: jacob seed #ch: faith seed #ch: santiago vidal #lmaooooooooooOOOO the character tagging is OFF THE CHARTS in this one #my bad #john seed x female deputy #anyway uhhhhh #thank you everyone who reads!#i love u all!

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writing-the-end · 4 years ago

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LoL Chapter 35- Pinnacles of Darkness

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Following their discovery, the hermits descend into the Evernight forest in search of more answers, but are only guided deeper into Dolios’s dark web.

_____________________________________

The evernight forest was exactly that- ever and always night. The canopy is so dense, no light can escape to the forest floor. But, as Scar, Doc, and Zed know, the forest is not complete darkness. What the sun cannot provide, nature does.

“The legends say the evernight forest was a place for the god of life and goddess of the dead to meet. Limal created the forest to be dark and comfortable like Natasiel’s underworld.” Xisuma’s voice is the only noise cutting through the air, apart from the brushing of leaves and ferns from the march of the hermits. Everyone came along- they need every last person. “And she created the bioluminescent moss and fungi to brighten the life with Limal.”

“It feels like we’re sinking into the abyssal plain of the ocean.” xB notes, jumping as a distant roar permeates the massive forest. Was that a cockatrice, or a dragon? He’s not sure which is worse, or which he’d rather have to meet in the darkness of the forest. The darkness is inescapable, and the surface is long gone. “Of course Dolios would put whatever those crystals are for in here. No one in their right mind would wander this deep into the Evernight.”

“Scar, how’re we doing on the groundcover?” Cub peeks over his friend’s shoulder, eyes squinting in the darkness. Scar’s the only one who can track the leylines, though both Ren and Joe are working on creating a spell that can follow the dark magic as well.

“It seems to be getting worse, and look- I can see more leyline tracks coming in. We have to be close.” As soon as the words pass across Scar’s lips, he runs headlong into a solid mass. In the darkness of the forest, with only glowing mushrooms and ferns to light their way, no one notices the towering monstrosity nestled between trees. But as Scar bounces off the sheer, smooth surface, sigils illuminate across the material.

Glowing white, as bright as the sun, an eerie and disarming sight in the depths of the Evernight forest. The hermits turn away from the ebbing light, until the world around them is bathed in the soft glow of bioluminescence once more. Tango looks at the tower. “I think we found it.”

“Question is, what is it?” BDubs circumambulates the pillar, fingers running across the ebony material, dancing over the sigils. It reminds them of the day they found their first corrupted crystal, what feels like so long ago. How naive they were, believing that the Magistrate was going to give them everything he said. That he wasn’t tricking them.

But this time is different. They know how to break Dolios’s magic, they know how to handle corruption. It towers over the hermits, disappearing into the dense foliage far above them. Xisuma steps forward. “It’s not crystal. I- I don’t know what this is. And I don’t know what these symbols are.”

“They look ancient.” Grian blinks, feeling a pull towards the written sigils. He knows angel magic has existed since the time of the ancient ones, are these sigils from that era long gone as well? Grian steps forward, his curiosity getting the better of him, until both Iskall and Mumbo grab him by an arm, pulling him back. White bandages still peek out from beneath his robes, and Mumbo can’t help but notice the scar running across his friend’s throat. Its been a week or so since their last run in with dark magic, but the moment still haunts Mumbo.

“Whatever it is, we have to destroy it. Without this, whatever those crystals are for can’t keep helping that mega-douche Dolios.” Iskall snaps his fingers, bright fluorescent green appearing as his magic scrawls outward. At the crack of Iskall’s radioactive lightning, Impulse jumps in and bombs the ground beneath the obelisk.

It doesn’t break. They try again, with more magic thrown against the obelisk, but the pinnacle of darkness only absorbs the magic. Scar jumps to the side, watching with shock and horror as the very magic that his friends have thrown against the obelisk goes shooting from beneath his feet. Another leyline. This time a massive highway of dark, corrupted power.

Behind Scar, Beef’s horns scrape against the blackstone, meeting with TFC’s cautious hand on the rock and bouncing off effortlessly. “It’s immune to all magic. It’s just taking the power and sucking it in.”

“What the hell does Dolios have a need for this, though?” Mumbo shakes his head. What could a dark mage need from a giant obelisk, taking the magic stolen by the crystals? Are they reservoirs? Implants? Some sort of weird flex?

“They’re just junctions.” Scar whispers. He grabs at Ren, pulling the imagination mage over by the tail. “Do some kinda spell that’ll show the leylines.”

“That’s one tall order, but…” Ren cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck, making a display of his stretching. The motions of summoning his magic are more fluid, wagging his arms and clawing his fingers, and the detailed circle appears before him. Ren has to focus on this magic, imaging a whole spell from nothing. He imagines the ground lighting up beneath them, turning a bright red- his favorite color. Like staining the leylines with dye, he draws up a picture in his head.

When Ren peeks through his eyes, the ground beneath his feet is awash in the color of sunset. In every direction, thin leylines radiate out from the obelisk, straight lines like spokes of a wheel. So many crystals, stealing life and power all over Lairyon. And this is only one of the three hotspots. Are they all like this? Siphoning power from the crystals, and… and doing what with them, exactly? To what purpose does this obelisk have?

One leyline is brighter and larger than other spokes. While the crystal paths are as thin as a Qilin trail, this one could be wide enough for a whole grootslang to meander down. Ren kneels in the dry, crusted ground that this leyline highway runs through. “Can I have the map, brother?”

TFC passes the scroll to Ren, who rolls it out onto the glowing floor. The dark ink and charcoal appear as shadows against the watercolor map, illuminated from beneath by the red magic radiating from the eerie black obelisk. Ren scoots across the forest floor, until north in real life matches north on the paper, and he begins to draw a line that follows the tangential highway.

He keeps running the line, following through the Evernight forest, across the plains and marshes of central Lairyon. Over rivers, past Milliara and a dozen other small towns. Right into the heart of the magical kingdom. Where is this leading him? Where is all this power going? Whatever this leads to has to be hidden, much like this obelisk.

Ren’s pencil stops when light green turns dark, the paint so deep and inky it nearly blots out the light. Over his shoulder, the other hermits groan and gasp. The one place in all of Lairyon, the most dangerous, most powerful, most secretive part in the entire kingdom. Long before recorded history there was this place. Was it always a part of the landscape, a knot of magic that no man nor creature can begin to understand? Was it created by the gods as some sort of hidden land, forbidden for all but the bravest? Or maybe it’s a dumping ground, something that the ancient ones left behind, cursed to protect or keep other people away. No one has ever mapped this place before- no one is stupid enough to go in there. It makes the mysterious dangers of the Ashioll sea look like a cakewalk.

But if there was anywhere Dolios would hide something, put whatever this power is supplying to, it would be where no one- not even a hermit- would dare go under any circumstance. Somewhere dense and protected by magic, shrouded by secrets and torturous, arcane curses. Somewhere as old as the ancient ones, as mysterious as the long lost civilization that called Lairyon home.

“The Forest of Memories.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #light of lairyon #lol #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard xisuma #wizard iskall #wizard ren #wizard scar #xisuma #iskall85 #rendog #gtwscar

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absconditum-imaginaerum · 5 years ago

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Desert Twilight | Juyeon

Juyeon | Desert Twilight Words | 3,539 Notes | Camping!AU; Big fluffy desert stargazing. That’s it. It’s a standalone fic, but makes references to Ablaze, my first Juyeon camping fic! They do go together, but don’t need to be read together. Enjoy!

When he called you and asked you to get just a small bag of clothes and essentials ready, a smile broke onto your face while you gripped the phone a little tighter, holding it closer to your ear as you listened to his sweet voice through the phone. Whenever he called you with something impromptu like this, you knew he had been thinking for a while, and it was bound to be one of the best times of your life.

It was about three in the afternoon, he said that there would be some driving to do and a plan to spend the night so to bring your favorite fluffy blanket. You quickly threw a bag together with just a few things he asked you to bring including clothes, toiletries, and a refillable water bottle. He mentioned he’d be by to pick you up pretty quickly, so you anticipated the knock at your door.

You pulled it open with a smile on your face that seeped up into your eyes, a glittery gaze you looked at him with as he stood in front of you with a smile of his own. He eyed the fluffy blanket in your arms before leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips, a greeting in and of itself.

“Ready?” he asked you.

An eager nod was your reply. He backed up slowly, coaxing you out of the house but patiently waited for you to lock the door behind yourself and he helped you with your bag and blanket. You eyed the 90s pickup he was leading you towards, a baby blue colored Chevy that had obviously had some refurbishing work done, but you were smitten nonetheless. Ideas flew through your head about what this impromptu getaway would entail; you caught him looking at you when you smiled over at him.

“Where are we going?” you asked him.

“You know I won’t tell you exactly,” he replied, reaching for your hand to lace your fingers just long enough to kiss the back of your hand before tugging open the back door of the crew-cab vehicle to toss your bag in the back seat before opening the passenger’s side door for you, helping you into the lifted vehicle. “But I know it’s been something on your bucket list for a while.”

Just the thought made you giddy. The squeak and subsequent slam of the door didn’t even jar you before you watched him cross in front of the truck. The inside was nicely detailed with beige leathering, dash chrome polished and shiny. You wanted to ask him what strings he had to pull to find it, but it seemed less important when he got into the truck next to you.

“It’s a drive, so if you fall asleep, I won’t be offended,” he told you with that look in his eyes that made your knees weak, a small smile on his face that you begged to kiss off his lips. He seemed to be able to tell, because he didn’t wait for you to find the right words to reply—instead, he leaned in, teasing your chin with his soft fingers just enough to tilt your jaw up to mesh his lips with yours, a little more lingering this time.

He must have known you pretty well, because it wasn’t long after he got on the highway out of the city that you were getting heavy-eyed. You were always the same on road-trips. Something about driving made you sleepy. It never stopped the way he’d occasionally look over at you, a shy grin on his lips that he occasionally entertained with his teeth while his hand smoothed over your knee. The aviators that sat loosely against his nose and the way the blasting air conditioner swept his hair back made him look like a regular in a desert west movie.

The sun against your face and the skin of your arms was as warm as the late spring in the desert and it lit up your smile like a hundred diamonds as he looked back towards the road, removing his hand from your knee to reach behind the seat you were sitting in.

“Do you know how hot you look driving an older pickup the way you do, all swaggered out?” you asked him, eliciting a laugh that lit your heart on fire.

“Please,” he laughed, “Do you always have to say things like that when I can’t even lean over to kiss you?” he teased back, looking back over at you for a second over the frame of those glasses, giving you a look that had your heart almost skipping a beat.

“Only if it frustrates you a little bit,” you teased back, taking his hand from behind the headrest of your seat to kiss against the back of his hand, watching the way his teeth captured his bottom lip again. “Sometimes I like to rile my man a tad when he can’t do anything about it,” you uttered just loud enough for him to hear as you turned your attention out the window—it was obvious now that you were intending to leave civilization.

The exaggerated purr he gave you in response sent a shiver through your spine as you resettled his large and warm hand against your bare thigh, causing you to teeth at your own bottom lip as you tried to keep your gaze out the window. Despite Juyeon’s warm touch and your easy conversations, you still fell unconscious against the door, but not without lacing your fingers over the top of Juyeon’s hand against your leg.

As much as he wanted to talk with you, or just sit silently with you, he adored the sight of your sleeping just a tad more—any instance in which you were completely serene lit his heart ablaze. The destination was coming up fast, and the moment you hit unpaved road, you were jolting awake. You stirred a bit, trying to configure what was going on before realizing you were on a dirt road. Then it all hit you—he brought you out to the middle of the desert and suddenly you knew what bucket list item he was talking about. The giddy grin returned to your face, too excited to form a coherent sentence—you had dreamed of disappearing deep into the desert even if just for one night for a bonfire and some stargazing, totally uninterrupted by city lights, in the warm and dry air, surrounded by creatures different from grassy hilltops amongst wildflowers and rock formations, fine sand under your feet.

The truck’s suspension made almost no noise against the uneven terrain, despite your jostling bodies. You watched the landscape pass, the wildflowers you’d dreamed of, colored rocks reflecting in the setting sun, the beauties that came with a high desert climate.

Another few turns onto other roads, but more paths less traveled until the car stopped, thrown into park and Juyeon was turning to look at you with orange sunset hues against his russet tinged skin.

“Is this my desert stargazing date?” you asked him, although it was more rhetorical. The look on your face put tingles in his stomach.

“It gets so much better,” he told you, barely a whisper before he pulled the keys from the ignition and hopped out of the truck, opening the back door to pull some things out before you even had a chance to collect yourself. When you finally got out, you noticed a circle of rocks in a dugout pit that you were sure he would have hit and you were surprised you didn’t see him drive over it; perhaps you were paying too close attention to him.

“Babe, will you help me with this box?” he called from the other side of the truck. You hurried around, helping him lug a box of wood from the back of the truck—a true desert fire-pit was in your future and the way your eyes glittered, Juyeon could see, as you helped him with the box was more than he could ever imagine. He handed the box over to you while he reached deeper into the truck to pull out a small cooler to follow you around the bed to the fire-pit, next to which you set the box of chopped wood and other fire supplies.

Juyeon set the cooler down by that box and touched against your waist, just enough to put your eyes on his while his hand slipped away as he approached the tailgate of the truck, pulling it down to reveal the plush mattress that fit perfectly in the bed, covered with pillows and blankets strapped down with a bug net you weren’t quite sure how he was going to finesse up, but you were sure it was already planned. You could see small fairy lights lining the perimeter of the bed and your heart all but melted in your chest.

He looked over his handy work, pleased already with the way things were turning out, but he could feel your eyes in his back, nothing but looks of complete adoration as you looked at, you swore, the love of your life. He tugged open a small door towards the tail of the truck, a few plugs on the inside that he plugged the lights into, twinkling as the desert sky around you started settling into dusk before he looked over his shoulder.

Enamored; that was the only word you could use to describe the way you looked at him. You could feel the knot in your throat, but you didn’t mind it one bit when he finally captured your gaze, turning fully towards you and took one step to grab your hips and turn you to lift you onto the tailgate.

“Did you plan all this all by yourself?” you asked him; it really was too good to be true.

He took a moment to reply, reveling your warm hands cupping his cheeks and carding through his hair, eyes fluttering a little bit as he mustered a small nod. “For you, my love,” he told you, “consider it an early anniversary gift. We’ll have a fire and roast s’mores and watch the stars and fall asleep under the charming desert sky littered with all beautiful hues of oranges, pinks, and purples—”

Your warm lips slanted against his as you leaned over, silencing him for just a moment so you could wrap your head around it. Gentle fingertips against the curve of his jaw had him shuffling more squarely between your legs, tugging at your hips with broad hands as a sigh exhaled from his nose, that turned a little more vocal when you pulled back too early for his liking. Your hands caressed down his cheeks, tugging against his lip with your thumb as you smiled down at him, nipping at your own bottom lip as you watched him.

“I can’t tell what’s more charming, you or the desert sunset,” you teased him; you both knew it was he who charmed you the most.

“I think the desert’s got me beat,” he teased back, and tugged you off the back of the tailgate to swing you around, listening to your playful squeals and giggles that made it all worthwhile to him before finally setting your feet back in the sand. “Help me build this fire? Since you’re the best at it.”

You remembered all the times you went camping with him and the boys before you became official, and how good of a fire-maker you’d become over all those years and camping trips. You scoffed, but it didn’t hide your sly grin as you stepped around him towards the box and the circle of rocks.

“Watch and learn,” you teased. There was a bit of dry fibers in there that you placed in the center of the dug-out pit and tilted some kindling twigs against it. You pushed passed the lighter fluid in the box—all the wood was as dry as the desert and would light in a second—for the matchbox, striking once and lighting the dry fibers underneath which were quickly eaten up by the flame. Gently, you continued to lay small twigs, getting progressively bigger until the fire was strong enough to start crossing logs.

“Fire’s a lot easier to build out of dry logs rather than gathered driftwood,” you reminded him as you finally stood to your feet, brushing your hands off after moving the box away from the flame so the supplies and other flammables wouldn’t catch.

“I know, it’s just really sexy watching you make fire,” he told you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you against him so he could sway with you for a moment. You rolled your eyes at him, but your hands slid up against his chest nonetheless despite the look he was giving you.

The sun was going down, and the high desert tended to get a little chilly in the evening and nights. Juyeon had put out two camping chairs for you and kicked open the cooler for some food. You couldn’t help but lean your head against his shoulder, the evening going by so peacefully, the desert wildlife out in full force, chirping and howling as twilight began to set in. It reminded you of all the times you’d roasted marshmallows with Juyeon in the past, under scrutinizing and suspicious gazes. It had been a couple of years since you finally decided to break the news not only to each other, but to everyone else as well.

You were so caught up in your thoughts about that night that you hadn’t even realized the half-s’mores between Juyeon’s fingers extended to you. You startled a bit, and took it from him—he’d become a much better marshmallow roaster under your guidance and always made them perfect.

“You’re awfully far away for being right here next to me,” he whispered to you, reaching over to clean the chocolate up from the side of your mouth with his thumb.

“I was just thinking about how much better you’ve gotten about roasting marshmallows since two years ago,” you told him. Instantly the memories of that camp came back to his mind. He smiled at you, perhaps too gently, as the thoughts all came rushing back and he couldn’t help but lean down and refresh his memory of the first kiss you shared in the washing tide of the water against your feet. “And a better kisser,” you breathed against his mouth with a smile when you finally found it in you to push him back a bit before he was capturing your lips again, but you had one last thing to say. “And, you always give me the last marshmallow, now,” you reminded him.

Juyeon’s warm breath against your mouth welled butterflies in your stomach and a shiver up your spine as you held his jaw. His eyes sparkled like the universe condensed as he looked at you, and you could almost read what was going on in his mind.

“You better let me watch the stars, Juyeon, I swear I’ll fight,” you warned him, drawing out the purr that was begging to rip from his throat. He kissed you again, chastely, and finished up roasting marshmallows with you. You were left to put out the fire and clean packages and things up while he made final preparations, erecting some poles here and there while the truck bed squeaked underneath his movements. You stowed the cooler back in the cab of the car and tugged your big blanket from the seat on the other side, all but tossing it onto him before you climbed into the bed of the truck, tugging the tailgate closed.

The fairy lights flickered across your face as you looked up at your man; the sun had gone down deep against the horizon and the purple hues were fading to darker blues. So, when he finally got the bug net situated and looked down at you, his jaw almost dropped.

“You,” he started, finishing affixing the net to its proper hooks before plopping down on the mattress in front of you, “are perhaps the most ethereal being on this planet.”

“You’re really trying to out-charm the desert, aren’t you?” you teased, trying to stave the blush threatening your cheeks. He gave you a shy smile, finally looking away from you before taking handfuls of blankets to move them around, to properly spread them across the mattress over the two of you while you turned to fix the pillows—too many for two human beings—across the top against the cab. You couldn’t count how many blankets were across you, but they felt heavy, which you knew you would need with no heater out in the wilderness where there was little around to trap the heat—even the sand did a poor job most nights.

Juyeon slithered down on his back, deep under the blankets and helped you follow suit to tuck an arm under your head, laying you half against his left shoulder enough so that when he tilted his head, it leaned against yours. He killed the lantern light and the fairy lights to leave you in next to complete darkness, bringing the stars out like fireflies in a field.

He could barely make out the noise of complete awe that escaped from your lips, one that would have fallen from his, too, as you both looked up to the speckled sky, milky waves casting paths across the vast darkness—it was easily the greatest amount of stars visible to the human eye. With no lights for miles, constellations became even more vivid, stars could be picked out without squinting too hard or guessing and trying to follow other dim stars; no, these stars were bright, these stars were nothing short of absolutely breathtaking.

Neither of you were star experts, by any stretch of the imagination. Constellations were hit or miss depending on the day, but Juyeon prepared to wow you. He pointed up to the sky occasionally, explaining where the beginning of a certain constellation was until you were able to find it, tracing the constellation with a long finger pointed to the sky as he told you the name and any random facts he could remember about said constellation. It was the quietest and most serene you had ever heard his voice, and the fact that he learned them for you filled your heart to the brim.

You swore you could watch the stars for hours, especially huddled up next to his warm body, legs somewhat tangled under the blankets, fingers playing with each other when he finally stopped telling you things about them and occupied more of his time kissing against those fingers. The desert was less than quiet, but it was filled with soothing sounds of nature, of all kinds of bugs you’d never hear in the city, wildlife you’d never see in the city.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, interrupting your gaze to turn your head up as far as you could in an attempt to look at his face. “Thank you for planning this, for driving all the way out here, for making this absolutely the most perfect date I could ever ask for.”

“You’re going to make me soft if you don’t stop,” he told you, turning his mouth against your temple to place a couple of kisses against it. He didn’t hate when you got like this with him, in fact, it melted his heart more than he could explain, but it wasn’t something he could ever get used to.

“Maybe I like it when you’re soft,” you teased him.

“Aren’t you watching the stars?” he asked.

“Right now, baby, my attention’s all on you,” you whispered back, turning enough that you could barely snag a kiss against his jaw. You could feel his shoulder shift under your head, his arm rolling you into him a little tighter.

“I will tickle you until you cry,” he threatened.

“You only ever say that when I’m pushing buttons just right,” you replied with a grin and a soft laugh as you reached up with your right hand to touch soft fingers against his jaw.

“Maybe because you are,” he all but growled back, moving you ever so softly so he could pull his shoulder out from under your head, resettling it into the vast amount of pillows cushioning you from the cab of the truck before he was slithering between your legs, shoveling his arms under your shoulders to hover over you on his elbows. He could see you almost clearly in the light emanating from the millions of stars and the moon that seem to cast at the perfect angle.

He nuzzled his nose against yours softly and had your eyes fluttering, arching into him in a way that drove him crazy before his mouth slanted against yours for a few soft and short kisses.

“You know I love to monopolize your time and attention, even in the face of the stars.”

The desert was charming, but Juyeon had the upper hand.

#juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #juyeon oneshot #juyeon fluff #tbz scenarios #tbz imagines #tbz oneshot #tbz fluff #juyeon #lee juyeon #tbz #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #literally what's a girl gotta do to get her shit to show up in the tags #who knows

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takethehighwaytoheaven · 4 years ago

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The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

#john steinbeck #Thecrysanthemums #i really enjoyed this #Hope you liked it too lol

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years ago

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When Gray wakes up one night with a voice in his head, the last thing he expects is to suddenly be sharing a body with a demon. Natsu is nothing like Gray expected, though. He's surprisingly charming, and more concerned about getting Gray to eat vegetables than he is with taking over the world. Since Gray can't push him away like he does with everyone else, he begrudgingly accepts Natsu's place in his life - for now. But when Natsu ends up needing Gray's help, what started out as an inconvenience turns into a road trip - and a friendship - that changes Gray's life.

Chapter Summary: Gray and Natsu start their road trip to find Natsu's body.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster Characters: Gray Fullbuster, Natsu Dragneel, Lyon Vastia, Mard Geer Tartarus Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Humor, Adventure, Demonic Possession, but the good kind, demon Natsu, References to Depression, Depressed Gray, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sort Of, Road Trips, Falling In Love, Natsu's not an evil demon, he really just wants to take care of Gray, Gray sucks at feelings

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“I’m bored.”

Gray looked up at the rearview mirror to see Natsu’s reflection in the back seat of the car. He gave Gray a pathetic look as he leaned his head against the window.

“It’s only been an hour,” Gray said, rolling his eyes. “How are you going to manage for three days?”

Natsu groaned, tipping his head back against the seat dramatically. The late afternoon sun reflected off his scales, giving his dark skin a reddish glow.

“Weren’t you the one that said three days wasn’t a long time?” Gray looked back at the road, continuing to sneak peeks in the mirror when he could. Natsu swallowed, and the tattoos on his neck shifted with his skin. Gray traced the lines where they dipped under Natsu’s shirt, and he wondered absently where they ended.

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“My stomach,” Natsu said. Gray frowned, then remembered that Natsu could read his mind. He ducked his head, trying to hide his burning cheeks. “And they’re not tattoos,” Natsu said, seemingly unperturbed by Gray’s embarrassment. “They’re markings.”

“What’s the difference?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“They’re magic,” Natsu explained. His image disappeared from the rearview mirror, reappearing in the passenger window as if he were sitting in the seat next to Gray. “It’s how I use my powers.”

“So... you got them in hell?”

“The hells.”

“Why?”

Natsu hesitated. “’cause, uh... I was bored.”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “You got magic tattoos—”

“Markings.”

“—markings because you were bored?”

Gray could feel Natsu’s indignance when he answered, “Yes.” He sighed. “The hells are seriously the worst. Everyone’s mean. All they wanna talk about is torturing people and vengeance and shit, and it’s boring.”

Gray was pretty sure that torture and vengeance didn’t usually fall under the umbrella of ‘boring conversation,’ but he didn’t argue.

“So... what kind of magic can you do?” he asked instead.

“Fire, mostly,” Natsu said. Something flickered in the reflection, and when Gray turned to look, he could see a small flame sitting in Natsu’s palm.

“Please don’t burn my car down.”

Natsu laughed, turning his hand palm-down and running the flame across his knuckles like a magician would with a coin. “Don’t worry,” he reassured Gray, “I can only use my magic up here when I’m inside you.” Gray made a choked sound, and Natsu’s eyes widened as he quickly added, “Shit, not like—not in you like that, I mean like using your body. To magic. Not for... other stuff.”

He quickly looked away, and Gray could swear there was an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “Oh,” was all Gray could manage as he desperately tried to push the sudden mental image of Natsu inside him out of his head. The soft, warm presence of Natsu in the back of his mind sparked and sputtered like a candle near an open window.

“What do you do?” Natsu asked quickly. His voice was tight, and he turned away from Gray, staring out the window at the fields of canola.

“Do?” Gray rubbed his face, trying to compose himself.

“For work? School? Whatever.”

“Ah.” He exhaled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and focusing on the highway. “I don’t.” He felt the question in the back of his mind and sighed. “I was working,” he said reluctantly, “before I moved here. And I’m not anymore. Not right now, anyway.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want to—” Gray stopped himself, realizing that the question wasn’t irritating him like he expected it to. Natsu seemed genuinely concerned and curious – there was no pity or judgement coming from him.

“I’m on stress leave,” Gray explained. “I was working at an office before I moved here, and there was someone...” He hesitated, running his thumbs along the worn weather of the steering wheel. “Someone who made my life hell,” he said eventually.

Natsu’s reflection shifted in the window as he appeared to settle into the seat with his knees tucked up against his chest. “Is that who I saw?” he asked. “In your head?” He looked embarrassed.

Gray didn’t answer. Instead, he exhaled, and let the memories come to the surface of his mind, drifting there for Natsu to see. “It’s okay,” he said when he felt Natsu’s hesitation. “It’s easier than talking about it.”

There was a soft tug at the back of his mind, but instead of pushing back, Gray relaxed. He watched the trees and fields fly by through the window as Natsu drifted through his memories. The low thrum of anxiety in Gray’s chest was tempered by Natsu’s soft, comforting warmth.

“What a bitch,” Natsu said eventually. Gray snorted, glancing over at the passenger window. Natsu’s reflection looked pissed at first, then slowly relaxed into regret once he realized Gray was watching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Gray said quietly. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “People didn’t listen to me – she didn’t listen to me. And it just felt like I was saying no over and over, and it didn’t matter.” He rubbed his forearm self-consciously. “She started showing up at my apartment or following me to the grocery store and eventually I kinda… lost it.”

“What the actual fuck?” Natsu’s expression shifted back to angry.

Gray felt himself start to smile at Natsu’s indignance. Nobody had ever listened to him or stood up for him like this before. Lyon had been sympathetic, of course, but had never been as angry as Natsu was. It felt…

“Validating?” Natsu suggested. Gray groaned as he realized Natsu had been listening to his internal monologue again.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I haven’t really talked about it with anyone. Not since I moved.”

“We could scare the shit out of her,” Natsu suggested. “Like with Lyon – glowing eyes, fire, all that.”

Gray laughed and shook his head. “As hilarious as that would be, I never want to see her again.” A soft sense of understanding radiated from Natsu, warm and comforting. Gray let himself lean into the feeling, breathing deeply as he let some of his anger dissolve.

“Are we hungry?” Natsu asked, pulling Gray out of his feelings. “I think I am. Are you?” Natsu pointed straight ahead to a sign on the side of the road. It was faded and peeling, but the washed-out letters read Ice Cream – 99 Flavors!

“Sure,” Gray said, smiling at the excited expression on Natsu’s face. “I could go for ice cream.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon driving, and by the time the sun started to sink over the horizon, Gray was exhausted. He pulled into a parking lot with a neon sign flashing cheap rooms and free wifi! and yawned.

“What’s wifi?” Natsu, who had been quiet for the last couple hours of the trip, frowned at the sign.

“Internet.”

“What’s internet?”

Gray rolled his eyes as he got out of the car and stretched. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the only sounds were the low rumble of the highway and a sharp buzz from the fluorescent lights overhead.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing his backpack from the back seat and heading toward the office. “I’ll show you.”

Their room was small and smelled like every motel Gray had ever been in. He tossed his bag on the ground and kicked off his shoes.

“It’s weird that you’re not like… here,” he said as he pulled out his phone and caught Natsu’s reflection in the screen. “Physically, I mean,” Gray added when Natsu raised an eyebrow.

“Move the mirror,” Natsu suggested, gesturing to the cracked plastic mirror that hung on the far wall. It came off its single nail easily, and Gray propped it up against the TV so it was across from the headboard. Then he flopped down on the bed and grumbled at the squeak of the springs. When he looked up at his reflection, Natsu was next to him, legs crossed in front of the pillows.

Even though Natsu wasn’t there physically, Gray could feel heat creeping into his cheeks at the idea of them both being in the same bed. Sure, he was technically alone, but the mirror showed a different story. Gray’s brain drifted back to their awkward conversation in the car, and to the blush he’d seen on Natsu’s cheeks.

“Internet?” Natsu said hopefully, pulling Gray out of his embarrassment.

“Oh,” Gray said, “Yeah, hang on a sec.” He grabbed his laptop from his backpack and opened it, connecting the wifi and opening the internet browser. “Okay, ask me a question.”

Natsu frowned. “Any question?”

“Yep. Well, not a personal question. Something you want to know about the world.”

“Hm. What’s the spiciest food ever?”

Gray quickly typed world’s spiciest food in the search bar. “Phaal curry.” He pointed to the picture. “It’s got, uh… ten of the world’s hottest peppers in it.”

Natsu’s face lit up. “Can we eat that?”

“Absolutely not.” Gray shuddered. “I hate spicy food. Plus, we’re probably not gonna find an Indian restaurant all the way out here.” Natsu pouted and Gray laughed.

“Wait,” Natsu said, frowning at the computer. “Your… machine knows that?”

“Laptop. And no, not the laptop. We’re connected to the internet.”

“And the internet knows about spicy food.”

“The internet knows pretty much everything. Try another question.”

“Uh… what’s the biggest volcano?”

“Ojos de Salado. On the border of Argentina and Chile.”

Natsu stared at the picture, eyes wide. “How does it know? How does it work?”

“That’s… a great question,” Gray said, shrugging. “I actually have no idea.”

“Ask it!”

Gray spent the next five minutes reading about the internet from a technical website, but Natsu quickly grew bored with the explanation.

“Sounds like magic,” he said, waving his hands in a vaguely mystical gesture. “Is that how you found my body?”

Gray nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He opened the map and pointed to the marked location that said Belle River, British Columbia.

Natsu was silent for a minute. Gray looked at his reflection in the mirror. Natsu seemed lost in thought, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the phone.

“What’s up?” Gray asked. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Natsu said. He pulled his knees up to his chest and Gray’s attention drifted as he tried to figure out exactly how the reflection worked. Was Natsu really there, in some other dimension? Was he tangible? Was there a way that he could touch Natsu? Or was his physical form just Gray’s imagination?

“No,” Natsu answered, and Gray blinked in surprise, then sighed as Natsu laughed at him. “Sorry. You think really loud. And no, you’re not imagining me. I am.”

“I… what?”

Natsu tipped his head to look at Gray and gestured to his face. “I was like… eight when I lost my body. So I looked a little different.” He closed his eyes and exhaled, and the reflection in the mirror started to shift. The pink in Natsu’s hair faded to a light brown and grew out until it was tied back in a short ponytail. His features softened, the dark marks on his arms receded, and his tight t-shirt and jeans were replaced by a too-large shirt and ripped pants. The now-young Natsu looked at Gray in the mirror and gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“You were so little,” Gray said softly. Natsu’s face looked thin and pale, and there were bright fever-spots on both his cheeks. Before Gray could say anything else, Natsu quickly shifted back to his older self.

“Yeah. So this is kinda… what I think I’d look like if I was around now.” He glanced back at Gray’s phone, then added, “I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

“That’ll be weird, hey?”

“Mm.” Natsu shrugged, but his expression was uncomfortable. “Thinking about it…” He trailed off, but his emotions intensified, leaving Gray with an unsettled sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asked quickly, trying his best to push the feelings away. They were too close to what he’d felt when he’d first moved away from everything and had spent most of his time curled up in his room, staring blankly at the walls.

“A movie?”

“Yeah.” Gray grabbed the laptop again and opened Netflix. “Moving pictures?” He frowned at Natsu. “You’re weird. You don’t know what the internet is, but you didn’t seem weirded out by my cell phone, or cars, or… lattes.”

“I pay attention to the human world sometimes,” Natsu said, almost defensively. “I know what a phone is! They were around last time I was topside; they were just a lot different. Same with cars. And I know what moving pictures are – the last person I possessed went to one. It was on a big screen, though, not—” He gestured at Gray’s laptop “—this.”

“Well, movies stream through the internet now,” Gray explained as he flipped through his ‘to watch’ list. It was mostly documentaries, which he didn’t think Natsu would find too exciting. He finally settled on ‘Max Max: Fury Road.’

As the screen lit up with the opening credits, Gray leaned back against the pillows. Natsu followed suit, and in their reflection, it almost looked like they were cuddling. The space beside Gray was empty, though, and he tried his best not to think about the disappointing lack of warmth.

“Who’s that?” Natsu asked, pointing to the man on screen. “Is that real? Who’s he talking to?”

“Natsu,” Gray said, rolling his eyes and turning up the volume. “I’ll explain how movies work later. Right now, just shut up and watch.”

#fairy tail #gratsu #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #ft fanfic #fairy tail fanfiction #update #new chapter #my fic #highway to hell

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alpaca-writes · 4 years ago

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Mystics, Chapter 6

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics, by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as good as it seems….

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: aggressive religiosity, deadname use, police questioning, hospital setting,

CHAPTER SIX: THUNDER AND PRAYER

Arch awoke upside down in the passenger’s seat of the blue truck. The midnight storm was still sweeping through the ranches and into the city and they were alone there. The man who had thrown them against a brick wall and threatened them into their vehicle had disappeared.

The seatbelt dug into the side of their neck and injured shoulder. The moment it was released, Arch would fall headfirst into the top of the cab. They tried the clip as best they could with their left arm. It tingled, threatening to combust in a fury of pain if it weren’t for the rush of adrenaline fighting the broken glass and seatbelt. It was stuck. The clip wouldn’t release. They could be here for hours, for ages... all alone.

Flashing lights came from above them- or was it ahead of them? And the shouts of a man and a woman could be heard overhead. Some kids were also talking and yelling.

“Call 911, Janey!” The man shouted. The passenger-side door was forced open with a crow-bar.

Arch cried with relief as he pulled them out, supporting their head as they dropped down. The wife was speaking to someone over the phone as she helped Arch lay down flat on their back in the over-grown wet grass. A blanket was placed rolled up under their head. The comforting cloth mixed with a strong sense of relief. If they had the energy, Arch might have started crying, but doing something even that simple was just too exhausting. Raindrops splattered against their face until the recognizable sound of an opening umbrella prevented any more from dropping down. The family spoke amongst themselves but the words were jumbled now and nearly incoherent for Arch to pay attention too. A little boy was holding the umbrella. He couldn’t have been more than eight. Arch managed the tiniest smile for him as they floated in and out of consciousness.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “My mom’s a nurse. She’ll fix you up.”

His raincoat was dotted with little red and blue dinosaurs. Arch counted them. There were six red tyrannosauruses, eight blue triceratops’ and then-

There was a beep... And another... And another. Their throat was dry as a brick. Arch opened their eyes first. Glowing light of day from a veiled window to their right drowned everything around them in white. They blinked, becoming accustomed to the brightness.

In the corner of the small room was a chair reserved for visitors. Alarm bells sounded in their mind as Arch narrowed their gaze and spied on the person sitting there, still yet unaware that they had awoken.

He was reading a book; a used and reused copy of Meditations. Lyrem licked his thumb, and turned the page. The alarm bells calmed. Arch chalked it up to being beaten to a pulp and then waking up in a strange new place; a hospital bed.

“Save some for me, will you?” Arch spoke dryly, literally, as well as figuratively. They managed a crooked smile as Lyrem looked up from his book of yellowed pages and kindly smiled back.

In a fit of dry coughs, Arch tried and failed to lean up. They found the tubes leading to an IV out their arm and a blood-oxygen measure clipped onto one of their index fingers. Lyrem put his book down on a small side table and stood. He pressed a button on the side of the bed, and Arch was lifted to a more comfortable sitting position. He brought them a clear cup of water with a straw. Arch tried lifting their arm to accept it, but Lyrem shook his head at them and pushed it back down gently. He brought the straw up to their lips. Arch nearly drained the cup before finally nodding it away.

Lyrem leaned against the windowsill and watched them carefully. Their whole body had been battered. Whether it was entirely from the crash or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

Arch looked back at them curiously, and puzzled. Then they looked around the rest of the small room. The door to the hall was open and filtered through white noise from doctors and nurses all around.

“What are you doing here?” They asked, “where’s my mom?”

“She… was here. She called the store. She left to run a couple errands and said that she would return soon.” Lyrem grimaced as he answered. “I’m not sure what could have been more important than being by your side, but alas, I remain. I closed the store for the day.”

“What? Why?” Arch coughed lightly. “You make the most dough on Saturdays. You should keep it open.”

“I’d much rather not.”

Lyrem left his response hanging there. Without more to say on the matter Arch shifted in their bed uncomfortably. Relieved, they were, they were also troubled. Angry, even, but for what reason, Arch couldn’t say.

“There were officers waiting by the door for you to wake. Should I let them in for you? Tell them it’s an alright time?”

“Officers?”

“Well, nobody knows what happened to you or how you ended up on a rural highway flipped over in a truck”- Lyrem stopped himself. Becoming too passionate, he sensed.

“Huh. Right.” Arch nodded. Thinking back to the night before was causing a pain in the back of their eyes- like they were being pulled into the back of their head.

“What if you told me what happened first, then I’ll let the officers in and you can repeat it back to them. It might be easier for you,” Lyrem helpfully suggested.

“No, no, I can speak to them now.” Arch insisted. “I’d rather speak to them now.”

Lyrem nodded, and then stepped to the door, finding the two officers chatting down the hall. One blue uniformed woman with a tight, blonde pony-tail glanced in his direction over a steaming Styrofoam cup. He motioned for them to come in with a wave of his hand. The other, a tall, younger man with a thin chin pulled out a small notebook as he entered. Their name tags read Parsons and Grenn, respectively.

Detective Parsons began by explaining that the police were unable to find the driver of the blue Ford. The truck was both unregistered, and uninsured, so there was no trail to follow to know who it had belonged to. The last known owner died in 2003 and afterwards there was no trace of it anywhere in the system. The plates on the vehicle had been stolen, and if the driver was careful enough, its stolen plates would have gone unnoticed for as long as the registration would last on it.

“At the moment, we have no leads on finding this individual”-

“My attacker, you mean. They attacked me.” Arch spit out. “Labels are important, you know.”

“I know it can’t be a comforting thought. And I am sorry, but you must understand that we are doing everything we can to find the person who attacked you.” Parsons implored. Never once had her professional demeanor faltered under the scrutiny of the rightfully furious teenager.

“He was a man.” Arch started. “He was quite a bit taller than me too. Probably six feet at least… White. It was dark but I could tell he- he had dark hair. Kind of shaggy-like”-

Grenn had written it all down, and Lyrem stared at Arch in interest as they described the man. Parsons stopped Arch from continuing to describe him as she placed her cup down on the side table beside Lyrem.

“We’ll send this to the sketch artist. They will be flying in over the next couple days. With the disappearances of your classmates as well, we are pulling out everything in our arsenal to get a detailed picture of who attacked you. We will be calling you in a couple days and you’ll be coming into the police station to speak with them.” Parsons explained emphatically. “For now, we need a timeline- where did they find you? What time was it when they attacked?”

“Oh…” Arch felt rather silly for some reason. “I… I was pulled into the alley by the flower-shop...”

“Which flower shop?”

“Bloom Treasury, downtown. Half a block from Mystics.”

Lyrem looked concerned, or possibly angry… with the thickness of his brows and the wrinkle in his forehead, Arch couldn’t be quite sure what he was thinking.

“Mystics?”

“It’s just a store, where I work.”

“Were you working last night?”

Their heartrate started to increase. Arch carefully measured their breaths by seconds.

“No... No, I wasn’t, I was just walking.”

“What time were you walking?”

“I..” Arch had the strangest sensation of being back in the passenger’s seat of the blue Ford. The voice of the man rang in their head in an echo of a memory. Missing time? He had said. “I.. I think I’m confused.” Arch finished.

“It’s understandable. I know its very hard to think back to the incident, but for the sake of finding this man and bringing him to justice, we have to know what time it was when it happened.”

“It was after sundown.”

“Can you be more specific?”

It wasn’t long after dinner that Arch had left, and sundown wouldn’t have been until after ten. It only took a half hour to reach the downtown core from their house so where was the missing time? There was an hour, maybe even longer that was completely unaccounted for.

“I think it was just after ten,” they said finally.

Grenn made his notes again.

“What kinds of things did he say to you?” Parsons inquired. “Anything you can remember will be helpful.”

Lyrem gazed across the room steadily at Arch who met his eyes. It was hypnotically comforting to know he was still there, watching over them and keeping them safe.

“He was… kind of strange.” Arch said, almost in a mutter. “Though, he mentioned the other kids. He knew that the others were taken: Jess, Kyle, and … Marcus.”

“Did he tell you they were still alive?”

Arch shook their head slightly and winced.

“He said he killed one of them already. He couldn’t be sure when the other two would die- if they already were… y’know, dead.”

Parsons paused and turned to Lyrem who was laid back in the armchair deep in thought. She had noticed an odd connection. Arch had been darting their eyes to the corner each time they responded. Seeking approval, she surmised quietly.

“How did you escape?” Parsons asked turning back to them again.

Arch thought for a moment.

“I stabbed him… in the leg... with his own knife. That’s when he lost control of the truck.”

Grenn looked up from his notes briefly, with brown eyebrows raised.

“What kind of knife?”

Parsons looked at officer Grenn; surprised by the question.

Arch switched their gaze to them. “A hunting knife… the big kind with a dip at the end.”

“How does a guy walk away from a car crash with a Bowie knife in his leg?” Grenn asked allowed.

The question caused Arch a visible discomfort. They turned away from everyone and remained quiet.

“I believe that is everything for now.” Parsons gathered herself and straightened her uniform, “Thank you for your time, -----. We may have more questions for you when you come into the station for the sketch artist. You’ll soon be contacted with a date and time.”

Parsons handed over her card to the bedridden teen who was unable to lift an arm, much less retrieve it from the detective’s hand. Parsons placed in on the table beside Arch instead and then followed Grenn out the door, leaving her Styrofoam cup behind.

Arch took a long breath of relief as they left. For the first time, they stared down at themselves. Fresh cuts littered up and down their left arm, while their right was also cut up, but supported by a sling. Beneath the blankets, Arch could feel the light stinging of several more wounds against their legs. Their neck ached with every miniscule turn of their head and their back…

They wiggled their toes, thankful for the movement, but regretted it all as they tried mightily to bend one of their knees. The middle of their back screamed of pulled muscles and bruises that were carved into them. Arch seethed as they let their leg down gently.

“Don’t try to move.” Lyrem advised, picking up his copy of Meditations once again. “You can press the button next to you if you want more pain medication.”

“I don’t want more medication; I want to go home.”

“And you’ll get to your house of horrors again soon, but for now, just close your eyes, and get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. He knew my name, Lyrem. How am I supposed to rest if he’s still out there?”

Lyrem looked up from his book, becoming impatient, but in his eyes, it was clear that he tried to be supportive. He steeled his gaze on Arch and opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted by Arch’s mother, who peered in with a bouquet of pink lilies in one hand.

“Is she awake? Oh, thank the Lord.” She crossed herself as she entered and put herself directly next to the bedside. Letting the flowers down, she planted a hard kiss on Arch’s forehead that was too close to the rest of the injuries already planted there.

Lyrem rolled his eyes to the ceiling and stood up.

“Well, now that your mother is here, I suppose I should get going; leave you both in peace”-

“Oh no, you should stay,” Arch’s mother turned on her heels to Lyrem and ushered someone else through the door: a short balding man, recognizable to Arch as a family friend with a plain white collar around his neck. “I invited Father Ferley to lead us in prayer. Won’t you stay, Lyrem? The more hands we have lifting to the Lord, the better.”

So that was the errand, Arch realized.

Lyrem stared at the woman and managed a facetious grin. There was a bit of levity to the situation after all. Arch nearly burst out in laughter as he stood there, unsure of himself or what to say to the invitation.

The presence of the priest in the room was clearly putting him off. It wasn’t that Lyrem was nervous or humbled by the man, as much as it was like he had just drank a glass of spoiled milk and was desperate to get the lingering vile taste off his tongue.

“I’d prefer not to,” he stated simply.

“Ah, you read Aurelius?”

The priest lifted his thinly rimmed glasses, pushing them higher up the bridge of his nose. He inquired Lyrem innocently and continued.

“Quite possibly one of the wisest Emperors of Rome. ‘Live a good life,’ he said. ‘for if the gods are just, then they will not care for your devotion, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by,” the priest smiled to him warmly.

Lyrem regarded him with suspicion, but played along.

“You quote his Meditations like Corinthians,” Lyrem observed. The annoyance slowly drained from his face and he stood taller, squaring himself. “Tell me then, the next line of that heavenly wisdom. Do you recall what it is?”

Lyrem waited for a beat and met Father Ferley’s gaze with a coldness he usually reserved for the most wretched of people. He finished the verse himself.

“If the gods are unjust, then you should not want to worship them.”

“What the hell are you weirdos talking about?” Arch spouted rudely. “Can we please just pray and get it over with, if that’s what we want to do?”

“Yes, lets.” Arch’s mother pulled the two men by their elbows into a half circle around the bed. Lyrem stood at the foot of it, unhappily supporting himself on the bars of plastic and metal.

Father Ferley led the small group in prayer. The details of the prayer itself were unimportant, except for the fact that Arch heard their name being correctly used. That was a nice change. The other detail that was noticed by Arch before the ‘amens’ commenced, was Lyrem, white-knuckling the edge of the bed as he suffered through the words spoken.

The man didn’t offer an ‘amen’. He turned around as it ended, and picked up the Styrofoam cup that was mistakenly left behind by Detective Parsons. He bid the three farewell, and finally escaped them.

--------------------

“I see it too,” Father Ferley fiddled with the edge of his glasses, as Arch’s mother breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s not uncommon for many older gentlemen to be wary of the promises of God. But I sense that there is a negative energy towards the Lord, and that Arch may be picking up on that.”

“Her name isn’t Arch- It’s”-

“Their name is Arch, Charlotte,” Father Ferley continued. “Your child has spent many years honouring you. Perhaps it is time that you also honour them. It may be this very thing that is driving Arch away from you and towards figures of authority that respect them. People like Lyrem. It is what drives them out of their home and onto the streets where they encounter devils like the one from last night.”

Charlotte buried her face into her hands although there was little energy to stop the tears from flowing. The hospital halls were still bustling with activity though they had left Arch in their room to continue resting for the night. She sniffed, and finally lifted her head. Then she nodded. Clutching the small gold crucifix around her neck, she lifted it to her lips and breathed a deep sigh- thankful that her child was safe from harm.

“What happened was not your fault, but if you want to repair this relationship with your child, you must accept them for who they are. If I were you, I would try to get to know this ‘Arch’. You might even like them better than who they were before.” Father Ferley smiled lightly.

With her spirits lifted, Charlotte followed Father Ferley out of the hospital. She was already planning her words carefully to her child for the next time they’d meet.

#whump #whump writing #creative writing #writing #whumpblr #mystics by Alpaca #mystics #caretaker Lyrem #caretaker #recovery arc

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iamtaran · 5 years ago

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Dialogue Prompt 30

SO I’m a dingus and answered @partyhardwoohoo’s dialogue prompt (30: “You don’t see me.”) privately bc the button is the bigger of the two and I! Am! Easily! Swayed! By! Button! Size! Anyway, thanks so much again for the prompt and, uh, sorry for the fic now living in your inbox! *

“You don’t see me,” Jaskier pants from behind his chair.

And, really, of all the ways Geralt had foreseen this night turning out, this was not outside the realm of possibility. Rather than say anything, Geralt picks up his goblet and, sighing heavily, drains it.

He hadn’t known Jaskier would be at this celebration. Scratching that, he hadn’t even known Jaskier was in this kingdom. Last they had parted in some muddy marsh in Redania, Jaskier had been awaited in Cidaris to perform in some political wedding between two major noble houses. At the time, the last glimpse Geralt had caught of him had been: huddled in his cloak, made small from the last chill day of spring; caked in mud up to his knee-high boots, yet rosy cheeked and grinning with victory as he waved the witcher on with the parting farewell, “‘Til summer, then! I’ll just catch on with that caravan coming over the horizon. Looks like they’re very well to do-- exactly the type to enjoy a traveling bard’s charm and warmth on such a drab trek, don’t you think?” And then, when Geralt was nearly out of (human) earshot, he had called, “Don’t let anything get its claws into you whilst I’m not there, Wolf!”

In a month and a half, Jaskier seems to have come into some good fortune (the fine, soft linen of his flatteringly draped trousers, the kidskin of his soft boots) only to immediately lose it again. The last bit, of course, is only supposition. Based on the fact that he crouches behind Geralt’s seat, sleeveless tunic completely unbuttoned over his airy organza chemise where it gapes open at the collar.

Geralt had caught only a glance of his flushed face, but he knows what his friend looks like when he’s been at the drink. He also knows from their time together exactly how recent debauchery shows on his skin and neck. He doesn’t need to turn and look to see it for himself. He can smell it. Instead, he reaches for the pitcher of wine.

“Jaskier,” he sighs. It is all he says.

Jaskier, of course, takes immediate offense.

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” he hisses from the shadows. Geralt hums, refilling his goblet. The wine isn’t bad-- not to a witcher used to the road.

“Or anyone?” he rumbles. Jaskier scoffs behind his ear. The main doors open; a harried guard and a fluttering servant stride up the middle of the hall between the two tables, headed for their host.

“Is there no respect for the choices of a grown man or woman in this backward kingdom?” he complains. “You’d think I’d killed someone by the way they carry on.”

“Jaskier,” he growls. Jaskier huffs an overblown sigh.

“How am I to know who is engaged and who is not if they won’t tell me? Really, Geralt.”

The seneschal at Geralt’s elbow sends him a condoling look and passes the bread. Geralt happily takes another roll with thanks. This baron keeps the best baker in the state, and he is never one to turn away such a luxury. The road has only ever lined his gut with venison and crispbread, and recently the road has been long and his purse light. Even so, he is even more thankful that his other neighbor has yet to take any notice of their whispered conversation.

A hand snakes into view for just a moment. Petulantly, Geralt jerks the roll away and nudges it back with his elbow.

“And besides,” Jaskier continues, apparently unbothered by the fracas growing in volume at the front of the hall. He is lucky indeed that Geralt had been positioned in somewhat obscurity to the back of the hall. He doubts he would have been able to hide half as effectively where they any nearer to the windows and candles closer to the nobility. “It’s not a love match. No one has exchanged anything like a vow or even a half-hearted promise at this point.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt scolds. Fingers pinch his side.

“Not a word.”

“I thought traveling bards were meant to keep up on such news,” Geralt says into his food, which is many words. Jaskier exacts revenge by stealing the pickled cucumber from his plate. His hand retreats back behind his seat.

“News, yes,” Jaskier huffs. “Gossip, as well. But only a fool believes it.”

“I believe,” Geralt murmurs, “that you are about to face a cadre of very unhappy kinsmen if you continue to linger here.” Jaskier makes an agreeing sort of noise as he crunches his stolen goods. “Why haven’t you ridden for the border yet? Or left the castle, even, you dolt.”

“Lost my horse in a bet,” Jaskier grouses. Geralt snorts and pretends it was to spit into his napkin when it draws attention. The woman across from him glares her disapproval briefly. “Not a word, I said!” Jaskier hisses. “I was actually quite attached to- ah--”

“Marigold,” Geralt supplies.

“-yes, Marigold.”

“Triss would curse you if she knew.”

Jaskier sniffs. “It was a tribute, meant only in the highest respect.”

“Was it respect when you bet her on-”

“-a case of Toussaint red.”

“-on a case of wine?”

“Let me take Roach,” Jaskier says rather than answer. Teeth-deep in a bite of roast lamb, Geralt frowns.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, please,” Jaskier wheedles. For a man hiding from very unhappy kinsmen to his latest lover, he is quite chatty. Geralt remembers his flushed cheeks and reconsiders, ah, yes. Must have been wine. I thought he lost the bet? “It will just be until I’m outside the kingdom borders. I’ll take the highway and stop in the first clearing so you’ll know exactly where to find me. I’ll even oil your tack as compensation for what would otherwise be an unselfish show of friendship and trust.”

“No.”

“Geralt,” he begins. Geralt doesn’t get to hear what other argument he has up his sleeve, however. The seneschal picking at his salad on Geralt’s left clears his throat delicately.

Immediately, he realizes what is wrong: the noise from the front of the hall has ceased. From the corner of his eye, he becomes aware of a half dozen armed guards led by two men he recognizes at the baron’s oldest sons striding down the length of the hall.

Jaskier must notice, too. Rather than turn tail and make for the door-- or even, knowing him as Geralt does, standing to talk his way out of whatever trouble he has drawn-- rather than doing either of those, he crouches further, hisses at Geralt, “Move your thigh,” and with a shove to his side wriggles under the table.

“Don’t!” Geralt whispers, too late.

It is a tight squeeze. The table is long but not terribly wide, and seated on both sides with every member of the household staff. Geralt hears Jaskier mutter a curse to himself and nearly jumps when two hands land on his thighs, pressing them apart to make room for Jaskier to squeeze between. The seneschal clears his throat once more, radiating judgement. Geralt resists the urge to clamp a hand over his eyes, barely. As if it would make the current situation disappear.

The company of guards and sons moves past and out of the hall.

“Don’t get excited,” Jaskier whispers, and pats him far enough up his leg that Geralt does jump. Jaskier chuckles. “Merciful goddess, that was close.”

“And what,” Geralt grinds out, “do you plan to do down there?”

The scandalized seneschal coughs into his fist. Roughly, Geralt grabs the pitcher of wine nearly out of the questing hand of the Housekeeper across of him and slams it down at the seneschal’s elbow. The seneschal, steadfastly ignoring him as he unashamedly eavesdrops, jumps like a man prodded.

“For your throat,” Geralt glowers.

It is, admittedly, an effective glower. He watches just long enough to see the pale-faced man nod quickly and fumbling pour himself a glass that goes more on his plate than in his cup, then returns to his predicament.

“Well, funny you should ask,” Jaskier hums, unawares, “because, you see, um, I haven’t quite, well, planned past this point-”

Geralt really does lower his eyes into his hand. All he can do is prop that elbow on the table and hope he merely looks tired to any who should glance his way. Tired, and not like he is having a conversation with the man crouched between his legs.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls at his lap as quietly as he can. “If you pull me into this fucking farce you’ve orchestrated before I’ve even been fucking paid for this job that took me two fucking weeks-”

“I haven’t!” Jaskier whispers back fiercely.

Geralt pins him with a look. “If it looks like they are going to find you here, I will drag you out from under there, march you to the Baron’s table, and offer to thrash your bare arse like a snot-nosed brat myself. I’ll do it in front of the whole fucking court if it means I will still get paid. Do you understand me?”

Wide eyed, Jaskier opens his mouth to protest. They are interrupted by one of the sons returning. Geralt doesn’t even hear him come up, so focused is he, until the man speaks.

“Sir Witcher?”

Jaskier shifts against his legs. Almost before he is aware of it, Geralt buries his hand in his hair and makes a hard fist. Jaskier, mid way to crawling-- back out, or away-- freezes. Casually, Geralt turns to face the second oldest son whilst his free hand reaches for his goblet with not a care in the world.

“Trouble, my lord?” He grunts, and takes a sip of wine. Jaskier’s boots shuffle under the table. Geralt tightens his hold and pins him to his leg. Jaskier stills, breathing sharply against his thigh where his cheek is pressed.

The son smiles grimly. “Purely human in nature, serah. Please don’t let me interrupt your dinner beyond the necessary.”

A distracting hand wraps around his ankle. Geralt distinctly does not twitch.

“My thanks,” Geralt says dryly.

“My father has asked that I offer you room for the night, should you require.”

“Your father is uncommonly generous to offer,” Geralt notes. He can feel Jaskier’s rabbiting heartbeat thrumming where his knee has pressed into his chest. “No, I require nothing but the agreed upon price. I have a room booked at the inn for another night yet.”

The lordling smiles. “Very well. I’m afraid I can’t see you to our steward myself at the moment. But I will have my father informed to expect you in the antechamber after the meal has ended. He will see to your payment.”

It is unspeakably rude that he has not risen, Geralt knows. He also knows that he can get away with it. Witchers have always held a strange position in society. Outside of its rules and structures. It is a pleasant surprise, however, when rather than being offended as is his born right, the young lord merely offers his hand like a lowbornsman and with a short farewell leaves to catch up with his guard.

Under the table, Jaskier pants out an insult against his trouser leg. Geralt smirks and holds him there just long enough to make his point. It’s when Jaskier’s hands start fumbling up his legs looking for weaknesses and one finds the back of a knee that he lets go and goes back to his meal. Jaskier pinches him anyway and tells him exactly what he thinks.

“Neither of us know my father, and such a configuration seems unlikely,” Geralt replies mildly.

“Even more likely to be true, then,” Jaskier shoots back, craning his head as if to peer around Geralt’s chair for any other visitors.

From this angle, Geralt can see what he hadn’t before. A handful of deep maroon suck-marks spot the side of his neck and just behind the hinge of his jaw. His lips are still red from kissing whatever noble he should not have. (Judging by the stubble burn on his neck, it was the future husband.) He smells like wine, and sex, and cedar and bergamot perfume. His hair is mussed where Geralt had grabbed him. He doesn’t know what it had looked like before. He knows what it looks like now, however.

Suddenly, supremely aware of what the assumption will be if they are discovered, Geralt straightens. A passing servant pauses, takes up an empty plate to his left, and moves on without noticing anything amiss. Jaskier’s sigh of relief skitters hot and far too close across leather. It raises all the hair along Geralt’s arms. He freezes.

“In my belt purse,” he blurts. Blue eyes flash up at him. He tries to keep his face still and fails. He lifts his cup to hide it. “I still have a room at the local inn for the next two nights. Take the key from my purse and go there. And don’t get caught, or I’ll say you stole it.”

“And Roach?”

Geralt gives him a flat look. “Leaving on horseback is conspicuous. Or have you forgotten you’re sneaking out a fugitive?”

Jaskier pouts. “Point made,” he says, before ducking back enough to give himself room to work. Geralt tears his eyes away to look about the room nonchalantly. It is only the wood of the table creaking under his grip that makes him realize how tense he has become. Breathing in and out deeply, he forces himself to relax.

Fingers grope at his belt for an excruciatingly long moment. Geralt takes up his forgotten roll and rips a bite off with perhaps too much gusto.

“Got it,” Jaskier whispers. He leans forward just enough to wink up at Geralt one last time, grinning impishly. “Well, this has certainly been one of the more interesting nights I’ve spent on my knees-”

“Leave,” Geralt groans, and really does curl a defeated hand over his eyes as he feels Jaskier wriggle out from under the table. He doesn’t even watch him go.

Only after he is sure he’s gone does Geralt slide a coin to the seneschal.

“This stays between us.”

#taran writes #fanfic #the witcher #geraskier #dialogue prompts #having to reformat this in tumblr's terrible website a second goddamn time has made me want to day drink #also i might have made up a word in here idk

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rubyspearsmegamanproject · 4 years ago

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30. Danger In The Desert

The episode begins with some strange robots approaching a town in the middle of a desert. They are at the outskirts of the town. They then put their pipe-like arms into the ground, and begin sucking up water. All over the town, people are noticing that the water supply is disappearing. They check the pipes to see what is causing the water to suddenly be drained. Dr. Wily's robots approach the townsfolk and tell them that if they want their water back, they need to pay a rather large sum of money. The townsfolk look at each other with concern and worry. They tell them that they don't think that they can pay the ransom. The evil robots tell them that that's too bad, and so they will have to take the town. The townsfolk hold each other and whimper in fear.

On the other side of the country, Mega Man, Roll, and Rush are at a gas station on the side of a highway. Mega Man and Rush are waiting at their car for Roll to be done at the gas station's store. Mega Man is drinking a bottled drink, and Rush is drinking from a portable dog bowl. Roll comes out of the store with a drink of her own and a bag of some stuff. They all get in their car. On their way back to their home, Dr. Light calls them up on the car's videophone. He tells them that Dr. Wily has drained a town in the southwestern part of the country of its water, and that he is holding their water supply for ransom. Roll pulls over the car so that Mega Man and Rush can get out and fly over to the town.

When Mega Man and Rush arrive at the town, they find that it is being guarded by some Wily Bots. Mega Man destroys some of them with his plasma cannon. Some more Wily Bots come towards Mega Man. "Wanna try me?" Mega Man yells out to them. The Wily Bots fire at him. Mega Man cries out "Guess so!", and destroys them also with his plasma cannon. Mega Man then says to Rush, "Come on Rush, let's drive 'em out!" They then run into the town. In the town, Dr. Wily's robots are taking apart the pipes that carry water to the town. Guts Man reaches into the ground and tears out a large section of pipe. "Here's some more!" Guts Man cries out to the other bad robots. Proto Man praises Guts Man and turns to Cut Man digging out the pipes with the cutters on his head and says so that Cut Man can hear, "If only some robots were more efficient at ripping up pipes!" Cut Man yells back at Proto Man, "I'm trying my best, okay!?" He gets back to digging up some pipes. He manages to get one out and is carrying it to the pile of pipes. He sees Mega Man and Rush heading towards them. He cries out "Mega Man!" Mega Man responds with, "That's my name don't wear it out!" Proto Man runs up to Mega Man aims his cannon at him. Proto Man yells out "I'm going to wear you out, little bro!" He then fires some shots at Mega Man.

Mega Man avoids the shots and fires back at Proto Man. Somewhere in the town, Pump Man hears the conflict and runs over to assist Proto Man and the others. Pump Man yells at the water-draining robots to continue their work. Meanwhile, Guts Man grabs one of the pipes and yells "Pipe down, blue dweeb!" at Mega Man and throws the pipe at him. The pipe hits Mega Man and pins him down onto the ground. Mega Man tries to lift the pipe off of himself. Guts Man stomps onto the pipe and pins Mega Man down with his foot. "Sorry, Mega Dweeb!" Guts Man tells him as he is struggling to get free, "But I've gotta put my foot down! Ha ha ha ha ha!" Guts Man pushes his foot harder on Mega Man. The pressure causes the pipe to crack. Mega Man charges up his plasma cannon and fires a fully charged blast at Guts Man's head. The blast shoots his head off. Gut's Man remaining body steps off of the pipe and goes of to retrieve the head. Guts Man's head lands into a trash can. Guts Man's body is aimlessly running around. His head yells out "Hey! Over here!" His body gets nearer to thetrash can. The body feels around in a recycling bin nearby. "No! Over here you idiot!" Guts Man's head cries out, the trash can making his voice echo. His body finally comes over to the trash can his head is in. The body reaches in and grabs the head. "Careful!" Guts Man's head yells out. The body puts his head back on. Meanwhile, Mega Man manages to lift the pipe off of himself. He gets up and sees that there is a large crack over his pectoral plate. "That's going to need some stitches!" Mega Man says to himself. Proto Man charges up his cannon and aims it at Mega Man. He says to Mega Man "Last warning, bro! Leave or be destroyed!" Cut Man also aims his weapon cannon at Mega Man and says "Yes, Mega Man! Beat it!" Pump Man and the water-draining robots aim their respective cannons at Mega Man as well. Mega Man sees that he is outnumbered, and walks away. An evil smile appears on Proto Man's face. "Ready...aim..." he slowly says. Mega Man turns his head around and sees that they are all preparing to fire at him at once. Guts Man manages to pull a huge chunk of rock out of the ground and prepares to throw it at Mega Man. Mega Man tries to run away from them as fast as his robotic legs can. "Fire!" Proto Man cries out with great power. They all fire their cannons at once. Guts Man throws his reasonably sized boulder. Mega Man manages to avoid some of the shots, but is hit by the rest of them. The boulder hits him on the back of his head. He gets knocked out and falls to the ground. Rush sees that Mega Man has been hurt, and runs up to him to get him out of danger's way. He places him on his back, turns into his Jet Mode, and flies away. Dr. Wily's robots watch them fly off. Proto Man yells out "Yeah, that's right! Fly away! Fly very far away!"

Back at Dr. Light's lab, Mega Man is getting his pectoral plate fixed. As he is getting repaired, Mega Man is telling Dr. Light about the current situation at the desert town. "That's terrible!" Dr. Light says. Mega Man replies "Yeah, the whole entire town has been deprived of water!" Roll comes into the main lab and suggests secretly giving the townsfolk water while Mega Man sorts Dr. Wily out. Dr. Light tells Roll that Dr. Wily and his robots might do even worse to the town as they know that Mega Man is assisting them. Mega Man tells Dr. Light that that is still a good idea in order to keep the townsfolk alive and well. Dr. Light is now done with repairing Mega Man. Mega Man still has a scuff on the back of his helmet from where he was hit on the back of the head with Gut's Man thrown boulder. "We'll worry about that cosmetic defect later." Dr. Light tells Mega Man. Just then, a call comes up on the big screen. Dr. Light goes up to it. A few people show up on the screen. They quietly tell Dr. Light that their town has been taken over and deprived of water. Dr. Light tells them "You're going to have to speak up, I can barely hear you." Against the others' protests, one of them speaks up louder and tells Dr. Light "Some robots have taken our water supply! They're ripping the water pipes out of the ground and-" A disturbingly familiar voice cuts the person off. "They've gone over here!" the voice yells out. The people look over and see Guts Man and Cut Man walking down towards them. Dr. Light gasps and fears that they will be harmed for giving out information about the current state of their town. "We're cutting your little forbidden call short!" Cut Man yells out. He throws the cutters on his head at the screen. The screen blacks out. Dr. Light immediately goes over to Mega Man. Mega Man is still lying on the table, and has gotten comfortable and is sleeping. "Mega Man!" Dr. Light cries out. Mega Man suddenly wakes and cries out "What is it, Dr. Light?" Dr. Light says to him, "Dr. Wily's claimed another town in the desert, and it looks like his robots are going after the inhabitants there! You must get there immediately!" Mega Man gets up off of the table and says to Dr. Light "I'll be there in two shakes of a robot lamb's tail!" He calls out for Rush. "Rush! Come on! We have some humans to save!" Mega Man cries out. Rush runs over to Mega Man and immediately turns into his Jet Mode. Mega Man jumps on him and they both fly out of the main lab and off to

the desert. Dr. Light has Roll get some water tanks. He has her fill them up with water and pack them onto the Air Raider. "You can count on Roll's water delivery company!" Roll says to Dr. Light as she boards the Air Raider. The Air Raider flies off.

Back at the desert town, Guts Man is carrying the last of the townsfolk towards a makeshift cage. Aqua Man opens up the cage door, and Guts Man throws them in with the rest of the people. "You've been naughty!" Guts Man yells at them as they quiver in fear of the large robot "You brats need a time out! Ha ha ha ha ha!" He slams the door of the cage shut. Pipe Man walks over to Guts Man with some of the water-draining robots. He tells him that they need Cut Man and Proto Man to look out for Mega Man, as it is very likely that he has heard of the townsfolk's plight. "You should be on the lookout too!" Pump Man tells him. Guts Man protests "But da fleshy rats might es-" Pump Man cuts him off and says "Don't worry, Guts Man, they'll be fine!" Guts Man groans "Oh, alright! I'll go look fer da blue dweeb!" Guts Man walks away, as does Pump Man and the water-draining robots. The sun begins to beat down on the cage. Elsewhere, Proto Man is looking up at the sky for Mega Man. Up in the sky, Mega Man is flying towards the town. He spots Proto Man and tries to fly past him as quickly as

Rush can. Proto Man spots them and yells out "Hey! I thought we told you to not come back to these parts!" Mega Man yells down to Proto Man "It's a free country, Proto Man! Me and Rush can go wherever we please!" Rush barks in agreement. He then says "And I can do this as well!" Mega Man fires at Proto Man. Proto Man shoots back and hits one of Rush's jets. Rush cannot stabilize himself and ends up leaning. Mega Man nearly falls off and holds on to Rush. "Down Boy!" Proto Man says as he fires another shot at the other jet. Both of Rush's jets have now been destroyed. He plummets to the desert terrain. Mega Man is thrown off of Rush and lands hard onto the ground. The sun is brightly shining, making the ground rather hot. Rush turns back into his original form, and scoots his butt on the desert in order to stop the flames. Mega Man gets up off of the scorching ground and fires again at Proto Man. Proto Man calls up the robot masters and tells them that he needs reinforcements. Mega Man hears Rush yelp and looks over to see that Guts Man has gotten ahold of him. Mega Man aims his cannon at Guts Man and yells out to him "Let him go, Lug Head!" Guts Man says "Sure thing, Mega Dweeb!" He slams Rush down onto the ground, smashing him into parts. Mega Man angrily fires a fully charged blast at Guts Man. Guts Man is knocked down. Mega Man thinks that he has been knocked out and goes over to pick up Rush's parts. To his surprise, Guts Man gets up and swings at him, launching him across the area. "Surprise, Mega Dummy!" Guts Man yells out as Mega Man skids across the burning desert ground.

Mega Man tries to get up, but he has been a bit damaged. "Hurry! While he's down!" Proto Man cries out to the other evil robots. Cut Man, Aqua Man, Dive Man, and Guts Man each grab one of Mega Man's limbs. They tie him down onto the ground and leave him to be overheated by the sun. "Don't forget your sunscreen! Ha ha ha ha!" Proto Man says as he and the robot masters walk away. Mega Man looks up and sees that the sun is making him hot. Rush comes to and sees Mega Man bound to the ground. He tries to put himself together, but mixes up his body. Rush tries to hop over to Mega Man, but falls apart. Mega Man looks over

to Rush and tells him "It's okay, boy, you tried..." Rush whimpers and can only watch as the sun gets brighter and Mega Man's race getting redder from the intense heat of the desert sun. Mega Man looks up at the sun and closes his eyes. "So this is how I'm going to check out...fried like a motherboard..." Mega Man says to himself. He closes his eyes very tightly. He braces himself for his coming solar demise.

Proto Man and the other robot masters watch the whole situation from a distance. Cut Man says to Proto Man "Maybe we should turn him over so he's evenly cooked on both sides! Ahe he he he!" "No," Proto Man says to Cut Man "Just let him roast, real good! Ha ha ha ha ha!" He looks back at the other bad robots and says "Come on! We have another town to suck dry!" They walk away, leaving Mega man to slowly overheat. Mega Man closes his eyes tightly and begins to pant from the intense heat. He slowly says "Dr. Light...I'm sorry...I'm sorry that I failed...I should have just..." He suddenly feels a cold splash of water on his face. He opens his eyes and looks up. Roll is standing over him with a now empty bucket of water, the remaining drops dripping onto his nose. Roll laughs and says "You looked like you could use some cooling off!" Mega Man looks at his restraints and back up at Roll and says "Uhhh....I could use some more than just a quick, cold shower..." Roll smiles and says "Rush has got it covered!" and points over to Rush, who has been put back together by her. Mega Man's

face lights up as Rush runs over and rips off his restraints with his mouth. Mega Man gets up and hugs both of them. "I can always count on you guys to save my blue skin!" he says to them. Rush barks at them and points with his snout in the direction that Dr. Wily's robot ran off. "Good boy, Rush!" Mega Man says to him "Let's go round them up!" All three of them run off, but as they are about to get there, Mega Man begins to short circuit. He falls down. "Mega!" Roll cries out. Mega Man tells Roll "Guess my circuits were sizzled!" and tries to get up, but falls back down. Rush's rear end begins to smoke again. "Not you too, Rush?" Roll says to him as he rubs his butt on the ground to put out the smoke. Roll calls up Dr. Light on her arm and tells him that Mega Man and Rush need repairs. Dr. Light tells her that he will be right there in his Mobile Lab. Mega Man and Rush sit down on the ground and wait. Rush lays his head on Mega Man's lap. Roll tells Mega Man "Why don't you two wait in the Air Raider, where it's much cooler!" Rush barks and runs up to the Air Raider. Mega Man slowly walks to the air vehicle, twitching a bit along the way.

Inside the Air Raider, Mega Man and Rush are relaxing. Mega Man has his feet up on the dashboard. The videophone suddenly comes on, startling Mega Man. Mega Man nearly falls off of the chair. He then presses a button and answers the call. Dr. Light comes up on the screen. He tells him that he is calling them from his Mobile Lab. He informs Mega Man that Dr. Wily has claimed a few other towns. The other towns have also been drained of their water. Mega Man and Roll are shocked by this. Rush hears something and gets out of the Air Raider. "Rush! Where are you going?" Mega Man yells out. Rush yells out "People! Trouble!" Mega Man and Roll follow Rush in the Air Raider.

Elsewhere in the town, Rush finds the cage with the townsfolk inside and barks out to the Air Raider. The Air Raider lands and Mega Man gets out. He goes over to the cage to see the townsfolk. They are red and covered in sweat. "Mega Man!" one of them says "Thank goodness you're here!" Mega Man yells over to Roll "Roll! Give these humans some water! They really need it!" Mega Man blasts open the cage and frees them. Mega Man asks them about how the water had been taken from their town. As the townsfolk explain to Mega Man how Dr. Wily stole their water, Guts Man sees that Mega Man freed them. He jumps down from one of the rooftops with a thud so powerful that it breaks up the earth. Mega Man and his allies are nearly knocked to the ground by the earth-shattering force of Guts Man's jump onto the desert ground. Guts Man stomps over to them, smashing his footprints into the ground. "What do ya think yer doin'!?" he roars out. Mega Man aims his cannon at Guts Man and yells out "Don't even think about it, Guts Man!" Guts Man sees that Roll is quickly giving the very thirsty townsfolk some water. "Now yer in fer it!" he yells out at Roll. He runs over to her, getting ready to strike her. He tries to smash his way past Mega Man. Mega Man

sees that Guts Man is about to attack his sister. "Oh no you don't, Guts Lug!" Mega Man yells out in anger. He bends backwards, grabs Guts Man by his sides, and suplexes him forward. Guts Man is smashed into the ground with astonishing force. The force breaks up the ground around Guts Man. Guts Man's lower body and legs are sticking out of the ground. Mega Man wipes the sand and dirt off of his hands. Roll finishes up giving the townsfolk water and loads them up into the Air Raider. Proto Man and Cut Man hear and feel the commotion and run over to where the noise was coming from. They are too late, Mega Man and the others have flown away in the Air Raider. Proto Man sees Guts Man's legs flailing around and laughs at the spectacle before him. "What are you doing there?" Proto Man asks Guts Man, still laughing, "Trying to do a handstand?" Guts Man growls in anger, his growls muffled by the earth he is buried in. He yells out "Don't just stand there and gawk, help me out!" Proto Man replies "Why can't you get yourself out? I though you were the strongest robot in the world..." Guts Man becomes very frustrated and roars out "Fine! I'll get myself out!" The ground splits into large cracks as Guts Man frees himself. He pops out of the ground and falls right on his butt. Proto Man is surprised. The force of Mega Man's suplex has split

Guts Man's helmet completely in half, its halves remaining in the ground. Guts Man senses that he doesn't have his helmet on. He feels the top of his head and feels his buzzcut blonde hair. "Aw! Dat blue dweeb owes me a new helmet!" Guts Man yells out. Cut Man yells out "Proto Man! Over here!" Proto Man runs over to where the cage is. Cut Man points to some puddles on the ground. "So..." Proto Man says "They've been watering them under our noses..." He looks up at Cut Man and tells him "They must be hauling some water around and giving it to our towns. We need to put an end to their charity work!"

Back at the Mobile Lab, Dr. Light and the other townsfolk have set up camp. Dr. Light tells Mega Man and Roll to deliver water tanks to the townsfolk to keep them clean and hydrated until Dr. Wily can be sorted out. In the meantime, Dr. Light will create a large robot that will reinstall the water pipes. He tells Mega Man to attack Dr. Wily's robots if he must. Mega Man says "I sure hope they don't have any dirty little tricks up their metal sleeves..."

At Skull Fortress, Dr. Wily's robots are training in the "gym" room. Proto Man is using some rather heavy barbells. He hears Guts Man grunting loudly. Proto Man looks over and sees that Guts Man is lifting up a barbell with two tanks at each end. Proto Man snickers and says "Don't burst a wire, Guts Man!" Guts Man looks over and says "Aww, shut up, Proto Pipsqueak!" Guts Man looses his balance and falls backwards with the barbell landing on his neck. Cut Man is lifting a barbell with the cutters on his head. The p.a. system comes

on and makes a loud screech. Cut Man covers his ears. The barbell falls down and takes his cutter along with it. Dr. Wily comes on and tells his robots to report to the main lab for their next mission. "Finally, some action!" Proto Man yells out with excitement. Guts Man manages to lift the barbell off of himself and runs off along with the other bad robots. All three of them enter the main lab. "What's up, Doc?" Proto Man says to Dr. Wily. Dr. Wily groans at Proto Man's jokey greeting and turns around. He tells his robotic minions that he has a way to put an end to Mega Man and his allies bringing water to the townsfolk in the conquered towns in the desert. "You three are going to play 'spies' for me." Dr. Wily tells them. He tells them that when they find the water tanks, they will destroy them. There is a metal box on the table in the middle of the main lab. Dr. Wily goes over to it and says "I made you gentlebots some friends to assist you on your spy mission..." Dr. Wily opens up the metal box. Inside the box, are some strange-looking Batontons. They are basically large, metallic white eyes with grey irises and black wings with purple webbing. "Interesting Batontons, Doc..." Proto Man says as he gets in closer to see them. He then says "Are these Bantontons any different from the garden variety bat bots?" "Very different!" Dr. Wily says to Proto Man. He takes one out of the box and shows Proto Man how it works. He tells him that it is a spying robot. He explains to him that when he puts his information into it via touching it, its iris will change color to match his eye color. He can now close one eye in order to see through the Batonton's eye and use it to spy on wherever the Batonton flies to. "Cool!" Proto Man exclaims. "Yes, Proto Man," Dr. Wily says, "Very, very cool." "We are going to spy on Mega Man with these!" Dr. Wily tells his evil robots. Dr. Wily then says to them "There will be many eyes watching him, there will be nowhere for him to hide!" Cut Man is excited to use them. He reaches out a hand to touch one of them. Dr. Wily closes the lid of the metal box right on Cut Man's fingers. "Ow!" Cut Man yells out in pain. He looks at his hand and sees that four of his fingers have been crushed. Dr. Wily tells his robots that when they arrive back at the town, that each one of them should touch an Eye Batonton and use it to track down Mega Man and his allies. He hands the chest to Proto Man, who takes it with open arms. "Oh, and one more thing.." Dr. Wily says to Proto Man. "...and what's that?" Proto Man asks him with a bit of sass. Dr. Wily looks him straight in the eyes and says sternly "Do not fail me!" Proto Man frowns and simply turns and walks away. Guts Man and Cut Man just stand there with some fear in their expressions. Dr. Wily points in Proto Man's direction and yells at them, "Follow him!" Guts Man and Cut Man salute him and run off after Proto Man.

At one of the desert towns, Mega Man and Rush are hauling a tankard of water off to the next row of houses. "I wonder how Roll's doing..." Mega Man says to Rush. Proto Man sneaks onto a rooftop and sees them. He then jumps off of the building and runs off. Rush sniffs the air and growls. "Are Wily's bots around here?" Mega Man asks Rush. Rush nods and continues growling. Mega Man chuckles and says "Wily's robots stink, don't they?" They continue on with distributing water to the town's houses. Proto Man goes back over to Guts Man and Cut Man. Guts Man is holding the metal box. He places it on the ground and opens it up. Proto Man claps his hands and says "Alright, each of you get a Spy Batonton!" All three of them grab a Spy Bantonton. "Now place your hand on them," Proto Man continues "like this..." Proto Man places his hand on the Spy Batonton. The Spy Batonton copies his head plan and its iris turns red to match his eye color. Guts Man and Cut Man place their hands on their respective Spy Batontons. They too copy their head plans. Guts Man's Spy Batonton's iris turns sky blue, and Cut Man's Spy Batonton's iris turns completely black. Proto Man yells out "Now unleash them!" All three of them throw the Spy Baontons up in the air. The Spy Batontons fly off in search of Mega Man.

Elsewhere, Mega Man is delivering water to a two-story house. "Thank you so much, Mega Man!" the woman living there says. She then asks him about the pipes being reinstalled. Mega Man tells her about Dr. Light building a large robot that will replace the pipes. Proto Man's Spy Batonton flies over behind Mega Man and Rush. Through the Spy Batonton's eye, Proto Man sees and hears that Dr. Light is going to build a robot to replace the pipes. "Bingo!" he says to himself. Proto Man calls up Cut Man on his arm cannon and says "Got the scoop on Roll yet, Cut Man?" Cut Man is in the town's plaza, siting on a bench. Cut Man answers Proto Man's call and says "I've still got my eye on her, if you know what I mean." One of his eyes is closed. Proto Man next calls up Guts Man. "Yo, Guts Man!" Proto Man says "Are you seeing anything good?" Guts Man is walking through one of the town's districts. As with Cut Man, one of his eyes is closed. Through the Spy Batonton, he comes across a huge vehicle. Dr. Light walks out of the vehicle. The mayors of the conquered towns ask Dr. Light about the progress of the robot. Dr. Light tells them that he is almost done constructing it. Guts Man chuckles evilly and says to Proto Man "A little Spy Batonton told me dat Dr. Light's gonna have a large robot replace dose pipes we ripped out." Proto Man laughs evilly and says "Dr. Wily's gonna love that!" Proto Man is distracted by Guts Man's revealing information, and doesn't notice that Rush has alerted Mega Man to the Spy Batonton behind them. "Sizzling Circuits! A spying batonton!" Mega Man yells out, grabbing Proto Man's attention. Proto Man tries to get the Spy Batonton to fly away, but it is too late, Mega Man quickly destroys it.

Proto Man shakes his head. Guts Man calls up Proto Man and tells him that Dr. Light has spotted his Spy Batonton. Proto Man calls up Cut Man and tells him to be careful, as their adversaries have found out that they are being spied on. Cut Man doesn't pay attention to him, he is using his Spy Batonton to watch some robot girls. "Cut Man! Cut Man?" Proto Man calls to him. Cut Man laughs in a perverted way as he is watching them. Proto Man, in anger, yells out "Cut Man!" Cut Man is startled by Proto Man's angry yelling and cries out "What? What? What is it?" Proto Man groans and tells him "Keep an eye out! Literally! The good guys know they're being watched!" Cut Man replies "Don't worry Proto Man, my eye is peeled! Ahe ahe ahe!"

Meanwhile, Mega Man and Rush are running around, looking for the remaining Spy Batontons. "We need to keep our eyes out for those eyes!" Mega Man tells Rush. Mega Man calls up Roll on his arm cannon and tells her that there are some Spy Batontons flying around gathering intelligence for Dr. Wily and his robots. Roll tells him that she is almost done with bringing water to the townsfolk. Just then, something catches her eye. She looks up and is frightened by the sight of a Spy Batonton flying right in front of her. She runs away from it, but her means of escape is blocked by the other Spy Batonton. She switches to her ice pick attatchment and aims it at the flying robotic eye. She yells out "Get any closer and I'll poke your eyes out!" She aims her ice pick at both of the Spy Batontons. She hears Guts Man roar out "There she is!" She looks over to see Guts Man, Cut Man, and Proto Man looking down at her from the roof of a large general store. Proto Man tells Roll "There's a no water rule around here!" Cut Man throws the cutters on his head at the water tanks. To Cut Man's shock, Roll deflects the cutter with her ice pick. The cutter ends up slicing through the posts holding the general store up. The building falls down. Proto Man and Cut Man manage to jump off of the building before it crumbles down, but Guts Man is unable to get off before the building collapse. Cut Man and Proto Man cannot see Roll due to the dust cloud that has formed from the building collapsing. Cut Man tells Proto Man "Let me use my Spy Batonton!"

Through the Spy Batonton, Cut Man cannot find Roll anywhere. "She must have used the dust cloud to make an escape!" Proto Man tells Cut Man. He then says to him "Let's get her!" Cut Man asks Proto Man "What about Guts Man?" Proto Man replies "Don't worry about him, Cut Man, he can get himself out!" They run after Roll with Cut Man's Spy Batonton following them. The dust cloud settles, revealing that Guts Man is buried under the wooden planks of the general store. Mega Man and Rush run over to where the general store now lays in a heap of broken wood and glass. Guts Man's Spy Batonton turns around and spots them. Guts Man bursts out of the wreckage and yells out "Those dorky bots are mine!" He has his Spy Batonton go off after them. He runs off after them.

In the next town over, Pump Man, Aqua Man, and the water-draining robots are walking over to the Skullker. The Skullker is at another town. Dr. Wily gets out of the Skullker, looks at the town, and says "Another town, another trophy..." He then commands Pump Man and Aqua Man "Pump Man! Aqua Man! Suck them dry of their precious water! Mwa ha ha ha ha!" Pump Man responds "With great pleasure, Dr. Wily!" Aqua Man signals the water-draining robots to follow him into the town. "We'll drain them dry! Bone dry!" Aqua Man gloats with malice. They all walk towards the town. Back at the desert town, Roll is running away from Proto Man and Cut Man, with Cut Man's Spy Batonton flying behind them. Cut Man says "Let me get a better view of her! Ahe ahe ahe!" He has the Spy Batonton fly up closer to her.

Meanwhile, Mega Man and Rush manage to locate Roll. They see that she is being pursued. "Let's get down there and rescue Roll!" Mega Man says to Rush. They are about to jump down from the roof that they are on, but they are stopped by Guts Man's Spy Batonton flying

up right in front of them. Mega Man and Rush are startled and jump back. They hear Guts Man behind them yell out "There you are, ya rotten robots!" Guts Man climbs up onto the roof. On his way up, Guts Man yells out "I'm going to squash ya and turn ya into a Mega

Pancake!" Guts Man gets up onto the roof and uses his Super Arm to rip out a huge chunk of the roof. Guts Man throws the chunk at Mega Man and Rush. They both casually step aside to avoid the chunk. The chunk ends up hitting Guts Man's Spy Batonton and destroys it.

Mega Man smirks and says "Looks like your little toy got broken!" Guts Man stomps his foot and growls in anger. Smoke comes out of his 'ears' and his face turns red. He charges at Mega Man and attempts to hit him with his arm. The roof of the building gives way. Guts Man falls through the roof and lands with a loud, shaking thud. Mega Man and Rush look down the large hole in the roof and see that Guts Man has landed into a large crate of watermelons. Mega Man yells down to Guts Man "Drop by again next fall, Gutsy!" Mega Man and Rush then jump off of the roof of the building. Guts Man falls out of the watermelon crate, and tries to get up. But, he slips on the watermelon juice on the floor and lands into a large crate of tomatoes. He kicks his feet and lets out an enraged roar. Meanwhile, Roll is trying to shake of Proto Man and Cut Man. Cut Man's Spy Batonton flies in front of her. This gives her an idea. Cut Man says to Roll "I see you're cornered! Ahe ahe ahe!" Roll suddenly grabs the Spy Batonton and throws it at Cut Man. The Spy Batonton smashes into Cut Man's chest, knocking him down. "Strike One!" Roll yells out. Proto man says to her "Pretty sneaky, sis!" He gets ready to aim at Roll, but Dr. Wily calls him up on his arm cannon. Proto Man groans and says "I never get to have any fun!" Mega Man and Rush find Roll and walk up to her. "Are you alright, Roll?" Mega Man asks her, a little bit out of breath. "Of course I am, Mega!" Roll tells him. She looks down at a knocked out Cut Man and says "Too bad the same can't be said about Cut Man!" Dr. Light comes up on Mega Man's arm cannon and tells him that the pipe-placing robot is ready and that he needs him to serve as its "bodyguard". He tells Roll that she should continue in giving the townsfolk in the occupied towns water. Roll is a little upset that she can't assist Mega Man in guarding the large pipe-laying robot. Mega Man tells her that her assignment is much more valuable then his. Roll thanks him for the complement. Mega Man, Rush, and Roll go their separate ways. Mega Man and Rush fly off to where Dr. Light's Mobile Lab is parked, Roll runs over to the Air Raider.

Unbeknowst to them, Cut Man was feigning being knocked out. He gets up and throws the destroyed Spy Batonton off of himself. He stands up and hears Guts Man throwing a fit. "Guts Man?" Cut Man cries out. He can hear Guts Man from a few hundred feet away. He runs over to the source of Guts Man's yelling. As he gets closer, he can make out Guts Man yelling out "That blue dweeb and his dumb dog are going to pay for my ruined armor! Raaaaah!" Cut Man finds him getting out of the crate of tomatoes. Cut Man yells to Guts Man "Guts Man! This is not the time for a snack!" Guts Man finally gets up on his feet and yells out "It's the blue dork's fault! He's the one who made me-" "Never mind the blue dweeb!" Cut Man interrupts. He then says "We got to stop his ditzy sister from giving our hostages water!" Guts Man yells out "Well what are we waiting for!? Let's get her water delivery business all wet!" Guts Man runs out of the building. Cut Man sighs and follows him. Back at the Mobile Lab, Mega Man and Rush arrive at the wheeled lab. Dr. Light shows them the large pipe-laying robot. "Awesome!" Mega Man says. Dr. Wily's robots see that the robot is a lot bigger than they thought. Proto Man calls up Dr. Wily on his arm cannon and tells him "We're going to need the others, Doc. The pipe layer looks like it's one tough hombre!" Dr. Wily tells him that Pump Man and Aqua Man are busy and that they will have to take care of the robot themselves. Proto Man protests and says "But Mega Man and his dumb robo dog are going to be its bodyguards while it reinstalls the pipes..." Dr. Wily groans and says "If you say so...." Proto Man smiles, pleased that this time Dr. Wily actually listened to him, and says "In the meantime, me and the robo boys will give the good guys a very hard time!" Proto Man snickers evilly and presses a button on his arm cannon to hang up the call. He then says to Guts Man and Cut Man "Let's get them while they're gearing up! They'll be at their weakest!" All three of them run down towards the good guys. Rush hears them and barks out to Mega Man. "What is it, Rush?" Mega Man asks him. Rush turns to where the evil robots are and growls at them. Roll and Mega Man look up and see Dr. Wily's robots charging towards them. Proto Man and Cut Man fire at them. Mega Man has Roll and Rush guide the pipe-laying robot while he defends them from attack. "We're putting an end to your humanitarian endeavor!" Proto Man yells out as he fires at Mega Man. Mega Man replies "I didn't

know you knew big words!" Proto Man responds "That's right, Little Brother! Big words and big blasts!" He then fires a fully charged shot at Mega Man. Mega Man loses most of his power and falls down onto the ground. Proto Man turns to Cut Man and says "Execute him!" Cut Man laughs evilly in his unique way and says "Of course, Proto Man! Ahe ahe ahe!" Cut Man takes off the cutters on his head and prepares to throw them at a downed Mega Man. Dr. Light quickly gets back in the Mobile Lab and Eddie comes out. Roll switches to her vacuum attatchment and gets ready for Cut Man to throw his cutters at them. Cut Man remembers then previous times she's done that and says "Oh no! I'm not falling for that again!" He stops himself from throwing the cutters on his head. Guts Man yells out "Let me at 'em!" Mega Man has Roll go ahead and protect the pipe-laying robot. Eddie gives Mega Man some energy cans quickly. Mega Man drinks them and has his energy restored. He gets back up. He yells out to Guts Man "Ready for round 2, Gutsy?" Mega Man puts his fists up and prepares to fight Guts Man. Guts Man tries to punch him, but Mega Man keeps dodging his punches. Proto Man yells out to Guts Man "Quit playing with him, Guts Man, and just put his lights out!" Proto Man looks at Cut Man and says "Looks like he needs some tag partners!" They run over and fire at Mega Man. Mega Man fires back at them. Dr. Light comes out of the Mobile Lab and has the pipe-laying robot get on top of it. Mega Man charges up his cannon and fires a fully charged shot at Dr. Wily's robots. All three of the evil robots are knocked into a cactus patch. The Mobile Lab drives away with the pipe-laying robot on top of it.

Proto Man crawls out of the cactus patch. He picks off the spines that are stuck in his yellow scarf. He calls up Dr. Wily on his arm cannon and tells him that Dr. Light and the pipe-laying robot are heading towards one of the conquered desert towns. Dr. Wily yells out "What!?"

The calls hangs up much to Proto Man's surprise. As Guts Man and Cut Man are picking spines out of their armor, the Skullker lands in front of them. Cut Man finds that a large cactus spine has found its way in one of his ears. He pulls it out and flicks it to the ground. He sees the Skullker and says "Wily got here quick!" Guts Man spits out needles that were in his mouth. Dr. Wily yells out "Get in here now!" The evil robots quickly board the Skullker. The Skullker flies off in pursuit of the Mobile Lab.

At the town, the Mobile Lab parks in the town's plaza. The pipe-laying robot gets off of the Mobile Lab. Dr. Light and his robots get out of the lab on wheels. Pump Man, Aqua Man, and Dr. Wily's water pipe robots approach the plaza. "It's an ambush!" Mega Man cries out. Aqua Man tells them "We're going to dampen your pathetic attempt at saving our towns!" Pump Man sees the giant pipe-laying robot and says "Nice robot, Doc! It would be such a shame if something were to happen to it...like this!" He uses his weapon on the large pipe-laying robot. "Mega Man!" Dr. Light cries out "Defend the robot!" Mega Man nods at Dr. Light and fires at Pipe Man. Pipe Man and Aqua Man combine their weapons and fire a strong burst of high pressure water at Mega Man and Rush. The blast knocks Mega Man's helmet off. Mega Man is pushed against the Mobile Lab. He appears to have been knocked out, but he gets up, grabs his helmet, pours the water out of it, and places it back on his head. "Alright you washed-up robots!" He yells out, still dripping, "I'm ending this water fight!" He fires at Pump Man. Aqua Man order the water-draining robots to attack Mega Man. The water-draining robots charge at Mega Man. Mega Man fires a plasma shot into one of their tubes, causing it to explode. "This is a blast!" Mega Man comments. The other water-draining robots swing their tube-like arms at him. Mega Man grabs one of the robots by its arm and swings it into the other robot. Another one swings at Mega Man, who jumps above its arms and delivers a martial arts kick to its head. The robot comes crashing down. Pump Man sees that the water-draining robots are being destroyed one by one. He yells out "Let's give them a hand!" and runs out into the plaza. Aqua Man just stands there, a little bit confused. Pump Man runs up to Aqua Man and says "Come on, Aqua Brain!" The two water robot masters run out into the plaza. They fire their weapons at Mega Man. Mega Man grabs one of the water-draining robots, lifts it above his head, and throws it at Aqua Man. The water tank on top of Aqua Man's head breaks open as he falls down to the ground. He lays there, short-circuiting. Mega Man walks up to him and says "Ha ha ha! Looks like you've tanked, Aqua Man!" He bends down and copies his weapon, but before he can finish copying his weapon, he is hit by Pump Man's weapon. He is slightly damaged, but is still okay. He shouts out "I was in the middle of something, Pump Head!" Pump Man replies "Well sorry to interrupt your little copycat trick, Mega Man, but you're through this time!" He is about to fire his weapon at Mega Man again, but Mega Man says "I'm afraid you're the one who's through, Pump Man!" and fires a fully-charged shot right into the pipe in his chest. "Oh no!" Pump Man cries out before he explodes. He then explodes into parts. Mega Man goes over to one of his arms and says "And now to do my copycat trick!" He copies Pump Man's weapon and then goes over to Aqua Man and copies his weapon as well. He then goes over to stop the other evil robots, but sees that Rush is the only one in the plaza. He looks around and asks Rush "Where did everyone go, Rush?" Rush whimpers and points with one of his paws over to one of the streets. Mega Man sees that the Mobile Lab has left a trail. Mega Man tells Rush "We gotta chase Wily down and stop his pursuit of the Mobile Lab! That large robot is vital to saving the towns!" Rush barks and turns into his Jet Mode. Mega Man gets on them and they both fly off in the direction that the Mobile Lab went.

Meanwhile, the Skullker is pursuing the Mobile Lab. Inside the Mobile Lab, Dr. Light tells Roll that he doesn't know if the Mobile Lab has enough fuel to keep going. Roll says to him "Well, me and Eddie will stop the Skullker, right Eddie?" Eddie shakes his head vigorously, clearly not wanting to risk his life. Mega Man and Rush finally catch up to the Skullker. Mega Man says out loud "I'm sabotaging this hunt, Wily!" and fires at the Skullker. Inside the Skullker, an alarm sounds. The Skullker is suffering some significant damage. Dr. Wily turns to Proto Man and says "Proto Man, go out the back door and fire away!" Proto Man smiles widely and opens up the back door. "Hello there, Little Brother!" Proto Man sarcastically says to Mega Man. "Hello yourself!" Mega Man replies. He fires some shots at Proto Man. Proto Man gets hit by one of the shots and falls back into the Skullker. He bumps into Cut Man as he falls backwards, knocking him to the ground. "Proto Man, you klutz bot!" Cut Man yells at Proto Man. Proto Man gets up and says, "Hey, it's not my fault Mega Man has such great accuracy! Maybe next time, don't get in the way!" Cut Man tries to snap back at him "And you, you, you..." Dr. Wily yells at them "Quit fighting, you two, and do your jobs for once in your miserable mechanical lives!"

Just then, Mega Man manages to get into the Skullker. "Your town rustlin' days are over, Dr. Wily!" Mega Man yells at the mad robot scientist. Dr. Wily prepares to press a button on the cockpit's control panel. Mega Man aims his cannon at Dr. Wily and says "Don't you dare!" Dr. Wily laughs evilly and says "I will dare!" He presses the button. The Skullker charges up its laser cannon. Mega Man sees that it is going to fire at the large pipe-laying robot. "Just try to stop it!" Dr. Wily says to Mega Man. Mega Man runs over to the cockpit, but Guts Man grabs him and holds him tightly in his arms and laughs. "I need a hug! Ha ha ha ha!" Guts Man says to Mega Man as he writhes in his arms. He then says "And don't even think about giving me a 'hot foot'!" Mega Man bends his head down and jerks it back up, smashing his helmet into Guts Man's large mandible. Guts Man's mandible flies off of his face. Guts Man drops Mega Man, who then runs over to the cockpit. Dr. Wily shouts out "Stop him! He's going to power it down!" Cut Man throws the cutters on his head at Mega Man. Mega Man grabs the cutters and throws them back at Cut Man. Cut Man is cut in half horizontally. Cut Man tries to fire his weapon at Mega Man, but Mega Man shoots him and knocks him out.

Meanwhile, Dr. Light sees on one of the screens in his Mobile lab that the Skullker is going to fire its laser cannon at them. "Evasive maneuver, Roll!" Dr. Light yells out to Roll, who is at the lab's dashboard. "Right!" Roll says. She steers the Mobile Lab. The Mobile Lab turns right and makes a u-turn. The Skullker's laser cannon fires, but the Mobile Lab has avoided the blast. The blast instead hits the desert ground, kicking up a large cloud of sand and dust. Dr. Wily yells out in anger. He yells out to his remaining robots "Throw that blue piece of junk out of here!" Before Mega Man can react, Guts Man, who now has no lower jaw, grabs him. Before he throws him out, he tries to say something to Mega Man, but because he has no jaw, he basically mumbles. "You too, Mumble Mouth!" Mega Man yells to him. Guts Man hurls him out of the Skullker. Mega Man lands onto a large rock. One of his legs is broken from the fall. "That's gonna leave a mark!" Mega Man says to himself. He lets out a whistle. Rush comes flying over to him and sees that one of his legs has been damaged. Rush whimpers and says "Mega...." Mega Man tells him "Don't worry, Rush, I can still fight!" He crawls up on Rush, and they fly off in pursuit of the Skullker. The Skullker spots them and almost rams right into them. Mega Man sees that the Skullker is preparing to fire at the Mobile Lab again. "Not this time, Wily!" he shouts out. He fires Pump Man's weapon at the Skullker. One of the water-filled bubbles covers up the laser cannon. It backfires and ends up badly damaging the Skullker. Dr. Wily tries to fly it, but it is too damaged to do so. Dr. Wily can only watch as the good guys speed away with the pipe-laying robot. Guts Man mumbles something. "I have no idea!" Dr. Wily screams out. Proto Man says to Dr. Wily "We need to get you out of here before it falls-" The Skullker begins to fall apart all around them. Dr. Wily quickly gets into his Wily Capsule. Guts Man picks up his lower jaw and Cut Man's two halves. Proto Man and Guts Man hang onto the Wily Capsule as it launches out of the Skullker. The Skullker falls to pieces. The pieces scatter all over the ground. As the Wily Capsule flies off, Dr. Wily laments "My towns, I've lost my towns! My towns have been-" Proto Man cuts him off and says "Yeah, we get it, Wily! You've lost your precious desert towns!" The Wily Capsule flies off into the desert sky.

Back at one of the reclaimed desert towns, Mega Man is using Aqua Man's weapon to fill up a water tank. The large pipe-laying robot is reinstalling the water pipes. Roll comes over to Mega Man and tells him that another thing needs to be filled up. Mega Man follows her. She points to a kiddie pool. "Are you serious!?" Mega Man asks her. Roll tells him "But they really need the water!" The children in the kiddie pool plead to Mega Man. Mega Man rolls his eyes and says "Alright!" He walks over to the pool and refills it. The children thank him and begin splashing in the pool. Rush sees the pool, and runs over and jumps in it. Mega Man tells the children "Just make sure you share it with others!" and laughs. The episode ends with Rush splashing in the pool and playing with the children.

#ruby spears mega man #ruby spears #mega man cartoon #danger in the desert

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thewnchstrs · 5 years ago

Text

Broken Halos: Chapter 2

Pairing: JensenXDanneel, JaredXGen

Summary: after being released from the hospital, Y/N begins to try to deal with her trauma on her own

Disclaimers: mentions of car accident, mentions of death, mentions of near-death, nightmares, memory loss, fluff, tears

Word Count: 3.2K

S E R I E S M A S T E R L I S T

buy me a coffee?

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I sat at the edge of the hospital bed, my feet dangling over the edge as I watched Jensen pack his things amongst the flurry of nurses who came in and out, checking my vitals and unhooking me from machines.

“The cast can come off in six weeks, until then, take it easy, use your crutches,” my doctor said as he tore off a prescription for me, handing it to Danneel. “This is for the pain, take two every six hours as needed, alright?” Danneel quickly jotted the instructions down on a notepad, nodding along. “The neck brace will have to stay on at all times, no showers, only baths. Your neck injury was minor, so that’ll come off in about six weeks, too.”

“Baths, got it,” Danneel said as she furiously scribbled. “Anything else?”

“That should cover it,” he said. “If you need anything, give us a call, alright?”

I nodded, thankful for Danneel because otherwise I wouldn’t have caught any of what he’d told me. Jensen zipped up a backpack, looking to me, “You ready to go?”

“You have no idea,” I said, supporting myself up on my crutches. Danneel buttoned the coat I was wearing that she’d lent to me until I could get my own clothes from home. I was lucky Danneel and I were the same size, after the accident they cut everything off me, the only surviving item being my phone aside from its shattered screen.

“Lets get you home,” Danneel said as we slowly made our way down the maze of hallways.

I shielded my eyes from the bright snow as we stepped outside. Danneel and I watched as Jensen ran across the parking lot to bring the car to the curb.

“I could’ve walked,” I said to Danneel who wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“He knows that, he’s just worried about you. He’s a worrier, that’s what he does,” she smiled softly. “You know, after I had JJ and the twins, he wouldn’t let me lift a finger for a week.”

“Oh, God,” I said, making Danneel laugh as Jensen whipped the car around the corner, coming from the front seat and jogging to the back, his breath coming out in a smoke.

I stared at Jensen and Danneel’s car, my hands tightening around the crutches. Jensen pulled the backdoor open for me, watching me as I hesitated to get in. Jensen clenched his jaw, resting a hand on my back, “We don’t have to leave right now.”

I shook my head. I’d have to face a car again at some point. “I’m okay.”

“Take all the time you need-”

“I said I’m okay,” I snapped. I looked to Jensen apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, kiddo.”

I slowly climbed into the backseat, Jensen handing my crutches to me after I buckled myself in. He gently closed the door, jogging back to the driver’s side as Danneel turned to look at me, smiling. She took my hand in hers, squeezing it lightly.

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The drive back to Jensen and Danneel’s home should’ve taken no more than ten minutes, but with how slow Jensen was driving, it took us nearly half an hour. It was something I probably would’ve made fun of him for in the past but at this point, I didn’t complain.

Jensen grabbed his backpack from the trunk, leading us into the house as he constrained the dogs.

“Hey,” I smiled down at Oscar and Icarus who wagged their tails wildly around my feet.

“We set you up in the guest bedroom,” Danneel said as she led me down the hall. “We figured it’d be the easiest since it’s on the first floor.”

Danneel pushed the door open with the flat of her hand, flicking the light on in the room. Jensen came in behind us, setting what little I had onto the chair in the corner. A neat stack of clothes sat on the end of the bed. I turned to Danneel in confusion.

“They’re just a couple of things that I figured you could wear for the time being until we can pick up some of your own things,” she said.

I nodded, “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you laid down, take a nap,” Jensen said as he began to fluff the pillows.

“I’ve been laying down and taking naps for the past week,” I said, making Jensen turn to look at me over his shoulder. “I could use some walking around.”

I turned back out onto the hallway, slowly making my way to the living room that I knew so well, but now it seemed strange for some reason. “Where are the kids?”

“Jared and Gen have them for the night,” Danneel said. “We didn’t want moving in to be too overwhelming for you.”

I was slowly beginning to feel more and more like me moving in here would be a hassle. The kids having to stay somewhere else, moving into the guest room, wearing Danneel’s clothes. I looked around the open living room, feeling at home but so out of place at the same time.

I turned to Jensen and Danneel who watched me closely as if if I moved too quickly, I’d disappear. I walked past them, “I think I’ll go for that nap, now.”

I felt Danneel and Jensen’s eyes on me as I turned into the guest room and closed the door behind me. I stood in front of the door, my eyes scanning the room. I laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hands resting on my stomach.

It didn’t take long for me to realize how quickly my mind began to wander. I pulled my phone up over my face, praying for the day I’d be able to get this neck brace off to come soon.

I squinted through the cracked screen, scrolling through the music in my phone, watching the titles go by before my thumb stopped at one. My eyes danced over Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty, a short memory popping into my head.

“Yeah, I’m free! Free fallin’!” We sang. I pulled my knitted hat off of my head as the car heater began to warm up the back seat. Dad cranked the music up louder as we plowed down the highway, the snow flying past us.

I swallowed roughly, quickly locking my phone and throwing it to the bed next to me, my heart pounding unsteadily.

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The bed by my legs dipped slightly, a small hand resting on my shoulder. I batted my eyes, squinting against the bright lamp next to me. Her touch was feather soft, her face almost glowing as she looked down at me.

“Mom,” I whispered.

“Sorry I was late for dinner,” she said. “Office hours ran late today.”

I looked at her pantsuit she was wearing, her nametag pinned to her chest, the pearls around her neck shining at me. She ran a soothing hand up and down my back. “I missed you.”

“I’m here now, baby,” she said. “Get some sleep, love.”

Mom leaned down, pushing my hair back as she kissed my forehead. My eyelids fluttered closed, sleep’s arms reaching out for me but I forced them back open, not wanting to miss a second with her. She held my hand, switching off the lamp next to me when bright headlights suddenly filled the room, the impact creating a crash so loud it sounded like an explosion. The feeling of glass raining over us-

I startled awake, my eyes flying open as I panted, grasping at my chest. I quickly looked around the room, reminding myself of where I was. I gripped the blankets beneath me, anchoring myself to the bed I was in, sunlight pouring in through the windows.

I checked the clock on the table next to me, realizing I’d slept straight through all of yesterday and into the next morning. I willed my heart rate to slow down, holding my head in my hands.

“It was a dream,” I told myself. “Just a dream.” After composing myself, I grabbed the crutches that’d been leaned up against the wall, struggling to my feet.

“She’s vertical!” Jensen said as I came from the guest room, hobbling toward the kitchen. I plopped down at the kitchen table, setting the crutches on the floor next to me. He stood at the stove, flipping bacon. “Want some breakfast?”

“I’ll take coffee,” I said. Jensen set a warm cup in front of me, pushing the cream and sugar toward me from the middle of the table.

I shook my head, drinking the coffee straight. Jensen raised his eyebrows, “Since when do you drink your coffee black?”

“Since now.”

Jensen shrugged, flipping the spatula in his hand as he returned to the stove, cracking another egg into the pan, “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” I lied, trying to push my nightmare from my mind. The smile on my mom’s face as she stared down at me, how quickly it was swiped away as the loud sound of a truck horn filled the room. I swallowed roughly, fighting off a bout of nausea.

Jensen nodded, not seeming to notice, “Hey, De and I were thinking maybe we could rent a movie? We could get some of that crap candy you like that’ll rot your teeth out. How does that sound?”

I looked down at the coffee swirling inside my cup. “Not today.”

I felt Jensen’s eyes on me momentarily, “Okay, that’s alright. We’ll do it another day.”

We sat in silence as Jensen continued to cook. I listened to his movements as he shuffled around the kitchen, grabbing a plate, a glass, pouring something into the glass, his footsteps coming closer and closer.

My eyes travelled up to where he sat across from me, his breakfast in front of him. Jensen’s eyes met mine, his movements stopping. “You know if you need to talk to someone, about anything, you know where to find me.”

I nodded slowly, looking back down into my coffee. I knew Jensen wanted me to open up, but I could hardly bring myself to think about what’d happened let alone talk about it.

“Jared and Gen are going to come over for dinner tonight,” he said after a while. “They wanted to see you. If you’re up for it, of course, if not we can move it to another night-”

“I’d like that,” I said, nodding. I knew what I needed right now was a distraction.

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After nearly hours of more lying in bed, I finally stood in front of the bathroom mirror, smoothing down my unruly hair. I itched at the neck brace, sighing, the gauze covering my left arm catching my eye. I slowly pulled the tape back as I stared at the burn, my skin a dark red.

For a split second, I felt the pain of hot oil pouring onto my skin, a flash of a memory coming across my eyes. Being suspended upside down, my seatbelt keeping me from falling face first into the roof of the car, watching the hot oil from the truck that’d plowed into us creating a steady stream onto my arm. I quickly taped it back up, holding my other hand over it.

The sound of the front door opening along with six sets of tiny feet running across the floor pulled me from my thoughts. I raked my eyes over my face in the mirror before pulling the bathroom door open.

“Y/N!” Arrow and Zeppelin yelled as I came into the kitchen where Jared, Gen, Jensen and Danneel were standing at the counter.

“Hey!” Jensen called to them, making their tiny bodies stop mid-run and turn to him. “Remember what we talked about?”

Arrow nodded, “Walking feet.”

I sat down in a chair in the connecting living room, all of the kids crowding around me as they examined my arms, hands, legs and face.

“Mama and daddy said we have to be gentle,” Shep said as he hugged my side lightly. I smiled, hugging him close to me.

“What’s this?” JJ asked, lightly touching the brace around my neck.

“It’s called a neck brace,” I said, taking her hand and putting it over the metal to show her it didn’t hurt. “Does it make me look silly?”

JJ tried to hide her laugh, “Kind of!”

“Look, Y/N! My knee is a different color too!” Tom said, pointing to the bruise on his knee and then to the one on my cheek. I laughed, tickling his knee, making him pull backwards in laughter.

“Owie?” Odette asked as her and the twins examined the cast on my leg.

I nodded, “Pretty big owie, huh?”

“Alright, kiddos, lets give Y/N some air,” Jensen said as he picked the twins up, throwing one over each shoulder, their laughs echoing as the rest of the kids chased Jensen toward their playroom upstairs.

I made my way into the kitchen, giving Jared a side hug as he kissed my forehead followed by Gen who wrapped her arms around my neck. I held onto her, gripping her before she pulled away, trying her best to smile.

“We made your favorite,” she said, gesturing to the plethora of food they’d brought over with Danneel standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

I chuckled lightly, “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Of course we did,” Jared said, bringing me in again and resting his chin on my head. He gripped my shoulders. “We brought your friend home.”

I looked up to him in confusion as he nodded toward the back porch where Rocco and Oscar were playing out in the snow, jumping around as they tugged on a toy.

I smiled as I followed Jared to the door as he let the dogs in, Rocco running circles around me but not jumping up like he normally would. I scratched his ears, kissing his forehead right between his eyes. His mouth opened widely, almost as if he were smiling up at me.

“He hasn’t done that the past few days,” Gen said as she looked over the couch, running a hand down the back of my hair. “He missed you.”

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Hours after Jared and Gen had gone home for the night, I settled against the bed after having forced myself to eat at least some of what Jared and Gen had brought even though I had less than an appetite these days.

“Knock knock,” Jensen said from the doorway of the guest room, leaning up against the door frame. “How’re you doing?”

“Jensen, if you ask me that again you’re going to be the one with a broken leg,” I said, not looking up from my phone before closing my eyes and sighing. I shook my head as I set it aside, looking to him now. “I’m sorry, I don’t…I’m never like this.”

Jensen sat down at the end of the bed, “I don’t take it personally.” I sat up straighter, looking at my hands in my lap.

“Jensen…can we talk about it?” I asked.

Jensen nodded immediately, “What do you want to talk about?”

I hesitated, pulling at a loose thread in the blanket beneath us. “What happened?”

I could tell it wasn’t exactly what he hoped I’d want to talk about. He watched me momentarily before he averted his gaze slightly, “How much do you remember?”

I didn’t even want to think about it, all of the things I know led up to whatever happened. There was a gap in my memory, one I wasn’t sure I should be thankful for or not. “I kissed Rocco before leaving the house…it was snowing, right?” Jensen nodded. “I- I got in the car with mom and dad and- and we were singing together. And then I…I don’t remember.” I bit the inside of my cheek. “I just feel like if maybe I knew the full story, if I can remember what happened then…then maybe it’ll be easier to move on.”

“It won’t be that simple,” he said. “It’s gonna take time.”

“I need to know, Jensen,” I said. “I hate that everyone knows what happened to them except for me, and I can’t…” I felt my throat thicken and took an unsteady breath. “I need for you to help me remember.”

Jensen’s face softened as he nodded again, taking a moment to think before he spoke, “You were on your way to set. You guys were driving, and…it was a semi, Y/N. A semi on the other side of the road hit a patch of black ice they think, and the driver lost control, ran right over the median. The police said it was the worst accident they’d seen in years. They said it was a miracle you lived.”

I watched him, unsure whether to believe what he was telling me since I couldn’t remember a second of it. Something like that you think would be engraved in someone’s head but for me, it was that last missing puzzle piece I couldn’t seem to find. But it fit. The memory of the oil, the truck, it made sense.

“You know, every time I think about it, I just keep asking myself why,” I said, searching his face as if there were an answer there. “Why did they have to…” I paused, not able to say the words. “Why wasn’t it me? Why did I live and not them?”

“I was there,” he said, shaking his head. “I saw that car with my own two eyes, Y/N. It looked like an accordion, and I remember thinking to myself that there was no way anybody could still be in there alive.” Jensen clenched his jaw, tears pricking his eyes as he looked to me for the first time. “I watched them pull you out of that car, and I thought you were dead. I don’t know why it had to be you, I don’t know why or even how you made it out alive, but I know it was for a reason, Y/N. There is a reason you are still here.”

“At first I thought that, too,” I said, biting back tears. “But it’s getting harder and harder to see the reason.”

“We’re your reason,” Jensen said, his eyes not breaking from mine. “Mine and Jared’s and Danneel’s and Gen’s and those kids. We’re your reason. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come out of this alive, Y/N. I don’t know what I would’ve told the kids…” He paused. “You’re here for a reason, and don’t ever, not for a second, think that you’re not.”

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fragilevixenfic · 5 years ago

Text

She Walks at Night

Title: She Walks at Night

Rating: M

Category: RST, canon-divergent/AUish, a little bit of UST (leading to that RST), humor/Mini-casefile/Some smutty goodness

Summary: (Post Agua Mala) Mulder’s knack for getting himself and Scully into sticky situations leads them to the heart of NOLA at the tail end of Hurricane season after barely surviving a Floridian storm—to investigate a rumor of a notable Voodoo Queen and missing girls trying to bring her back.

“Voodoo girl, but she knows she has a curse on her, a curse she cannot win. For if someone gets too close to her, the pins stick further in.” –Tim Burton

“The moon has awoken, with the sleep of the sun, the light has been broken; the spell has begun.” -Midgard Morningstar

Note: Hurricane Mitch really didn’t flash toward the coast of Louisiana until it was a tropical depression, near the 4th of November. I’ve moved the date up and made it just a touch more intense than it actually was.

Bouzen = Bitch

@starbuck09256, I truly hope that you are ok with the stretch on your prompt. I wanted you to really adore this without going too far outside of your constructs or, worse, grossing you out.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Spooky_2019/works/21118628

Tagging @monikafilefan @suitablyaggrieved @peacenik0 @rationalcashew @gaycrouton @xfilesfanficexchange @today-in-fic @piecesofscully @poolsidescientist @kyouryokusenshi for the fic lovers

The world is full of

Monsters with friendly faces

And angels with scars.

-Heather Brewer

Thursday, October 29, 1998, 7:15 PM

St. Louis Cemetery No. 1

French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

It had been drizzling all night within the stained, cracked walls of a legacy that had stood the test of time in the French Quarter. The high tombs and altars curved, saturated, and marked by generations of memories down to the nearest doused candlestick. The wind howled through the trees and whipped the rain against marble, the thick tapping nearly drowning out the soft, scattered taps of footsteps as they weaved through the gravel and dirt. Three palm guarded candles under darkened hoods lit the faces of their individual holders—their features highlighted by red lips, white, black, and deep red dot and line pattern around the eyes and down their cheeks. They were spiritually awake, open…ready.

“Did you bring it?” The tallest, in the center, with a thick, Haitian Creole accent kept her eyes forward, wincing as the wind nearly dragged her protective wear off of her head.

To her left, the shortest, less inclined to listen and weaker of the two, nodded in spite of the lack of light around them, her voice bursting through like nails on a chalkboard. “You concentrate on not falling on your face, I’ll worry about the incantation, Madeleine.”

“Bouzen,” Madeleine wanted to knock her over as the Creole slang slipped off her tongue, while they passed a line of high ossuaries with various angels and oddly shaped gargoyles.

“I’ll do this without you both if you don’t stay quiet,” Their third, the quietest, with an equally thick Creole accent snapped her fingers and nearly blew out both of their candles, her deep, mahogany and green eyes burning as she stood in front of them. “We got work to do.”

The hostile night sky was brewing another storm as a flash of lightning streaked across the rolling black clouds, momentarily illuminating the expanse of the multi-century old cemetery in a blanket of hot, blue and white light before returning to the dim. With All Hallows’ Eve just days away; the energy was already rising and the pathway was already well worn with white petals to that had been offered to their lady. It wasn’t simply to remember a fallen hero or heroine but to seek the favor of a Queen. Not just any Queen but the Voodoo Queen that lay beneath the stone and marble, with the etchings and typeface on the exterior wall of her sepulcher. Most would assume the gravesite was being defaced and degraded but every mark was left by those that came before—to ask for good fortune, be granted a wish, or favors of their lady.

As they always say, however, every request comes with a sacrifice.

“Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen, Mother to two daughters of the same name, in this, your resting place, we bring you offerings of light,” Madeleine enunciated carefully as the three knelt at her marker, at her plain yet remarkable altar, guiding their candles against the side of the stone away from the pelting rain as the wind seemed to change in their favor.

“Our priestess, we bring you wound tobacco, three gold coins, and the mark of Papa Legba wrapped in silk and lace to conjure your strength,” The second, Ayanna, gathered a small satchel, arranging it carefully in front of their candles, creating a little circular offering platform for their items.

Finally, the third, Kya, pulled a needle from a cushion, jabbing her own finger as she stared at the plaque with the inscription about Marie’s legacy, her voice strong as she revealed her hair and face to the air. “I offer a sacrifice, mother of conjurers, daughter of spirits, to summon your form—to walk among us once more.”

Each pinprick was marked with an X on the wall, in blood, to seal their gift to her, asking for only her presence, even in death. As if finalizing the request, the thunderclap reverberated above them and shook the hallowed ground beneath their feet. They knelt and tilted their candles with synchronized movements, spilling the black, melted wax across the stone in a singular circle while chanting ‘it is done’ to properly seal their unique, unusual even, plea to the revered Marie Laveau. It might’ve appeared as an oddity but this was a commonality as they stood and brought hands to the sky, drenching fingers in the falling rain as another streak of lightning danced across the sky.

It illuminated the top of the fence—and the visage of shadows that couldn’t possibly have existed.

“How do you know if it worked?” Kya held the front of her cloak shut, concealing the pretty dress beneath it as the rain took aim, soaking her braids.

Madeleine turned toward her, sneering at her as though she could bear witness to the expression, but all Kya could see were the dots subtly moving as her face contorted. “The Voodoo Queen will make her presence known.”

They didn’t wait to find out if their imperfect conjuring had made an impact as the wind bellowed through the willows, dragging the branches across angels with their heads bent in eternal devotion while they moved toward the front gate. Their diminishing silhouettes, in the gloomy maze of the dead, groped their way toward an exit; absent of steady light as the skies opened in another downpour. The wind ripped through the consecrated grounds and the rain battered the formerly white stone, embellishing each Mary’s tears until they were real. The lines of purple and pure, electric snow angled across the clouds, mimicking a Voodoo ritual dance, illuminating the tomb of Marie Laveau once more.

As the light faded and the thunder rolled, the soft, halo lined contour of a woman in white manifested against the backdrop of the candles still burning at her feet. She stood, motionless; her hair wrapped high, eyes piercing in the gloom, hands folded carefully in front of her with a charm hanging freely between her palms. As quickly as she appeared, she vanished with the dampening of the thunderous booms overhead…leaving the three candles extinguished, their smoke hovering in the air in a circular motion toward the skies.

Friday, October 30th 1998, 5:30 PM

New Orleans International Airport, Rental Parking

New Orleans, Louisiana

“I know you want to say it, Scully, and I think, if you want me to keep this Lumina on the road, you’d better choose your words wisely,” Mulder was already soaked from the walk to the car from the rental counter and the umbrella was inside out in the backseat, tossed haphazardly after catching a gust of wind from the wrong angle.

Scully, hair already dampened from the precipitation, watched the wipers stutter and drag across the windshield, the squeak just loud enough to be evident as they did next to nothing to get rid of the collecting droplets. “I was only going to ask where we’re staying and if you know where we’re going?”

“I don’t even need to turn my head to know you’re full of it,” Mulder was already miffed that he accidentally took the wrong road as he took the entrance onto interstate ten and merged, narrowly avoiding a big rig who didn’t want to give him space. “We’re staying down at one of the few places with a vacancy in the French Quarter that I could find with such short notice…that wasn’t crawling with college students looking to do kegs stands.”

“What? Didn’t feel like living it up in the middle of an incoming hurricane?” Scully tilted her head toward him as the blackened skies swirled, pouring down around the cars and trucks on the highway while the headwinds gathered and rocked against the driver’s side. “We left one storm for another storm and Hurricane Mitch has already been doing damage all over Central America…why are we here, Mulder?”

“A file came across my desk this morning with a newspaper clipping and a missing person’s report on a teenager from the French Quarter. Her parents are questioning the circumstances surrounding her disappearance, pushing for an investigation of an underground trafficking situation…but her connections in the community are a little more…odd,” Mulder hovered over the word ‘odd’ as he approached their exit, veering toward the right lane to merge.

Scully had a look on her face as he explained the situation, her eyes rolling and lips parting as the air escaped in a puff that conveyed every bit of her mood. Mulder knew that expression all too well and felt the deep, slow blink that preceded her piercing stare through the side of his face as he swallowed hard, refusing to look. This is what he had meant about choosing words wisely—but he should’ve aimed the comment at himself rather than at his enigmatic partner in the passenger seat, who was close to informing him how ridiculous he was. Sometimes, one does not need to hear the words you’re a moron before getting to check into the motel and that was exactly where Mulder’s thoughts were residing as he came to a red light with his blinker on.

“Define odd and try not to glitter it up with words you think I can’t understand because they are heavily rooted in something extraterrestrial,” Scully raised her eyebrows and nearly coaxed a nervous laugh from him, the old world hidden beneath palm trees and yellowing greenery.

“Do you remember our brief stint at the INS processing compound in North Carolina?” Mulder was circling the reality of what resided in the newspaper clipping, in the information regarding the teenaged Haitian.

“Haitian Voodoo?” Scully smirked and leaned her head back against the seat, reveling in his discomfort as she heard him grunt before fidgeting in the driver’s seat. “Did Skinner laugh at all when you brought this proposal to him or was he just that glad to get us out of his hair for another few days?”

“I should’ve lied and said it was the Chupacabra, you’d be flicking me a lot less shit,” Mulder knew she was delighted and part of him was relieved that she wasn’t mad, which was shades different than the trip to Florida. “At least with the Chupacabra, I’d have a body for you to slice and dice.”

“Aren’t you thoughtful?” Scully wasn’t upset with the locale this time as she marveled at the attention to detail on the historical buildings on the final few streets toward the hotel, her attention on the balconies as they dripped with water and barely sheltered the structures from the weather patterns. “You wouldn’t have been able to lie for long…not here…wrong state for that mythology.”

Scully had only witnessed the spectacle of New Orleans through the scope of history, through books that her parents would never have approved of, and word of mouth via trips that others had taken over the years. As they drove, it was more than a little apparent that this was an entirely different situation from third party information as the sounds and sights were already saturated even in this weather. She wasn’t fully prepared to witness the elaborately painted faces, elaborate dresses, and costuming before the consumption of alcohol had really begun. It was hedonistic, it was traditional, it was mildly erotic and plastered just feet from their faces…a notion that had her rethinking the buttoned-up look she had put on this morning. It couldn’t have looked that bad, though, she had already caught Mulder staring twice since final call in DC.

Not that she minded it—it was the instant need for him to look away that left a bitter sting she felt in her bones.

“The young girl, named Kya, had been associating with a couple of girls who were dabbling in Haitian Voodoo for the last year or so to an end that they had been borrowing books on conjuring spells from local, known Voodoo associates,” Mulder leaned forward a little bit, squinting through the windshield at the street signs to navigate where they were, reticent to really delve into it before unloading the trunk. “Her friends aren’t talking.”

“Refusing or are they afraid?” Scully was actually curious as she found herself fondly reminiscing about the ghostly little boy that had suckered Mulder into buying a charm from him. “You have me morbidly curious.”

Her words were like foreplay as a chill went up his neck while he hesitated to divert his field of vision toward her for a moment, thoroughly intrigued at her level of interest in the unknown for a change. “Both…kept rising their protection emblems from around their necks that had been doused in soot. I don’t know the implications of such a maneuver but it can’t be good.”

“Did anyone bother to ask where the ash came from?” Scully had been keeping her knowledge of the occult and Voodoo traditions close to the vest but flexed her intellect as Mulder pulled into a spot near a row of two-story buildings at the corner of Burgundy and St. Peter Streets. “Inn on St. Peter…Mulder, there’s no way this was approved by the Bureau to stay at.”

“It was when I lied and said the only other place available was a hostel with a half roof and no windows in the middle of hurricane season,” Mulder flashed his teeth with a smile and turned off the ignition, the broken umbrella in his peripheral less than pleasing as he opted to skip even reaching for it. “I don’t think anyone bothered to ask about the type of ash on a bronzed pendant.”

Scully joined Mulder on the sidewalk, the melancholic and oddly rhythmic melodies of a funeral procession blending with the celebration songs from both directions without concern for the weather’s plans. The daylight had barely begun to fade as they dragged a couple of suitcases into the Spanish influenced building constructed in the 1800s, the brick painted a deep burgundy, dripping rainwater across the textured tiles. Scully stayed near the doors as Mulder went to the check-in desk, her growing fascination with the surroundings only intensifying as she watched the funeral parade through the muddied glass of the only window that hadn’t been shuttered. It was haunting and poetic as men and women in a myriad of colors, black lace shrouding faces, danced along muddied sidewalks and alleys with their brass instruments and drums, scattering white petals in their wake.

“Don’t be mad…” Mulder startled her out of the trance with a palm to the small of her back, his warm fingers radiating through her damp jacket.

“What did you do this time?” Scully wanted to be surprised as she wiped the excess of water droplets off of her forearms, angling her head to judge him just a little better.

“I, apparently, wasn’t listening all that well when I made the reservation,” Mulder was watching her use that unnerving smirk as he searched for the right words to explain his massive oversight. “The woman that I spoke with insisted that she told me it was for one room with two beds and I remember it as two rooms with a bed each.”

“So, you get to explain that to Skinner when he asks for the printout on the second room, then?” Scully’s voice elevated as she reached for her luggage at her side then raised her eyebrows toward the hallway and stairs. “Lead the way.”

9:45 PM

Between St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 and No. 2

French Quarter, New Orleans, LA

A puff of smoke and a flash of almost turquoise and orange flames danced in front of Mulder and Scully as they meandered through the amassed crowds that had already begun to block sections of the street, with or without permission. They felt underdressed or overdressed as casual clothes looked out of place in the sea of elaborate, well-thought-out attire to pay homage to the dead. The celebration, a cross between a masquerade and a Día de los Muertos festival, had the theme of death, resurrection, and Voodoo at its center, marked by the makeshift tents with markings that represented each sect. They had been tipped off to the location of their two witnesses and had been seeking out their wares for just over thirty minutes, all the while being approached by every creature with an offering.

“You look like you are in need of a reading…and a charm,” A woman with her long, dark locks wrapped carefully atop her head in tight, desperately meticulous braids and satin strands with elaborate beadwork intermixed stepped directly in front of Scully, disregarding her personal space. “Come.”

“Wait, what?” Scully was taken aback as the woman, clad in a deep purple and red French Pompadour dress already had her by the arm, tugging her toward the shadows of a small, hut style tent with a single side drawn open. “Ma’am…wait.”

“It is tradition,” Her unassuming yet demanding, deeply Creole voice caught Scully off guard and before she could protest further, a generous yank of her wrist had her separated from Mulder before he could fully realize. “Now…you sit.”

“This seems like something that is more my partner’s speed, maybe you should have him do this instead?” Scully made eye contact with him through the sliver of light at the doorway, the flashes of fire dancers illuminating him as he shrugged his shoulders and became engulfed in the crowd.

“I don’t think you want your strictly platonic to know you don’t want to be strictly platonic,” The words slipped from the raven-haired Voodoo soothsayer like she knew Scully’s entire story in only a few glances, the power of which had her gasping for air.

Scully spun around, disbelief in her voice as she hovered by the door, the wind dancing against the back of her neck as she narrowed her eyes at the trickster before her. “What did you just say?”

“You’re a lot of things, Dana Katherine Scully, but naïve and stupid, you are not,” Each syllable was a torture device and yet, Scully didn’t want to look away as a perfect stranger proceeded to call her by her full name with no sense of irony. “Now sit.”

“Now, how exactly would you know my full name?” Scully sank into the wicker, the cushion saving her backside from the bite as she fidgeted her fingers underneath of the tablecloth. “Do you have a name or do you prefer to just be nameless?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” She reached across the small, rounded table, gesturing for Scully’s palm as she elevated her own in the middle, on a velvet doily with the burned ashes of an incense stick. “I am Ayida…given name was good enough for what chose me.”

Scully reluctantly elevated her hand across the table, her palm facing up as Ayida winked at her and marked lines of perfumed, purple-tinted incense across her palm. “I could guess you’re a palm reader but something tells me you’re about to tell me that I’m wrong…”

“The lines on our hands tell a story but they only tap the surface of a person’s story. Your name, divulged from your eyes, while your adoration of your partner out there…well, that came from your pulse point,” Ayida dabbled a little dot along the center of Scully’s middle finger and inhaled a deep breath, exhaling away her Cheshire cat grin. “You hide from your heart, Agent Scully…”

Scully didn’t like personal information unfurled in this fashion as she uncomfortably chewed on the inside of her cheek and squinted at the lines on her hand. “You’re just making guesses. Anyone could make that leap.”

Ayida took the comment as a challenge, blatantly calling out her craft as a candle flickered in the corner, the flame deepening in color, matching the hue of red in her dress for a moment as she burrowed her stare into Scully’s soul. “You’re here chasing a shadow when the one you should be looking for is your own. You’ve battled sickness with light at your side—but you keep turning away from crossing its path. You’re afraid that you’re not good enough.”

It was enough to rattle Scully, even if it sounded vague and indirect, as she swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder, praying silently that Mulder couldn’t hear any of this. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide from him or keep a part of herself locked away but that she didn’t want to be exposed with no hope of the hammer to fall in her favor. She could hear him in the distance in awkward conversation with a group of people amidst the music and mixture of chants, drumbeats, and melodies that she’d never heard before. Ayida wasn’t menacing, by any stretch, but there was a part of her hardened, damaged heart that was crying out to know more, to see exactly what she was seeing in spite of the repercussions.

Morbid curiosity had always been a vice.

“That isn’t the only thing that terrifies you,” Ayida finally dug deep enough that Scully’s actual worry manifested in a barely audible yelp as the candles flickered in unison, burning blue in a series of flickers she snapped her fingers in the air. “Someone very close to you, long ago, gave you a crystal once upon a time, didn’t she?”

Scully ripped her hand free, eyes wide as she held the puff of air in her lungs, jolting backward while the tears formed along her waterline. “Wait, just a damn minute. That’s…that’s…”

“Too close for comfort? Your sister believed in so much more than the spiritual,” Ayida was calm, almost too calm, as she gestured for Scully to move back to the table as she opened a small satchel of silver charms and a single length of matching chain. “That crystal represents healing, strength, and compassion in Voodoo rituals. I saw you from afar, wounds no longer healing, and knew you no longer keep visible to forget her memory.”

“This is too much,” Scully managed to keep the lines of incense perfectly intact on her hand in spite of wringing her fingers to the point that they were hurting as she deepened the focus on her palm. “This is all too much.”

Ayida held a section of her skirt away from the edge of the chair and carefully crossed her legs, returning the fabric to the floor as she was shocked to find Scully extending her hand across the doily, her free hand wiping errant tears. “Is there something that you want to know or are you simply challenging me to push further into your open wound? I am not into that kind of Voodoo…as much as you might disagree.”

Scully had a picture in her mind that had been brewing for years, one that had taken shape from purely self-doubt to one of regret as she nodded slowly, her voice softer than intended. “The decision I made…to do…this with my life.”

“Your line of heart, your line of life, and your line of head have points of intersection but the Girdle of Venus is light, yet fanned, you hide your sensitivity in spite of it being an ally. You hide that quality from everyone,” Ayida dragged the answer out as she dipped a feather into a container of palm oil then pulled it across the center of Scully’s palm. “Loneliness is consuming and you are in the dark with the key at the door.”

“Hey…Scully…” Mulder was wide-eyed as he pushed through the canvas opening and nearly scared Scully right out of her skin, his ears catching half of Ayida’s last words as he went off a little half-cocked. “Am I…Interrupting?”

Scully shook her head and saw that Ayida had cleared her hand of the marks, leaving only the residue of pleasantly scented palm oil along the bottom of her hand up to the tips of her fingers. “No, I think that about covers it?”

Scully knew that she wasn’t obligated to pay but she slid at least twenty dollars across, covering it with the edge of the doily and stood, embarrassment written on her face as Ayida blocked her from leaving. Confusion would’ve been an easier emotion to experience for Mulder as he watched Scully blink twice as she was stuck in the crosshairs of the palm reader that had kept her from their investigation for well over twenty minutes. Mulder cleared his throat and was met with a soul-piercing fixated look from Ayida that had him swearing her eye color changed as though she were silently delivering a warning. He knew not to move—it was the kind of glare that mothers give when they are pushing that last nerve.

“I do have one more thing,” Ayida gathered the chain and put it up and over the top of Scully’s head, letting the charms attached rattle against each other as they fell against her chest, “Wear these, for protection, for the answers you were seeking about the life you chose…and about the loneliness, if you hope to discover where you are meant to go, to do…if they come off, they must be hung near where you sleep…to remind you.”

Scully was petrified over the notion of Ayida saying that out loud in front of Mulder, but she agreed with a quiet nod and sipped the charms underneath of the material of her shirt without fully looking at them. She didn’t necessarily want to linger too long over them knowing that she had seen them before—and knew exactly what they represented. Ayida watched, like a raven hiding in the trees, as Scully moved closer to Mulder’s arm, casually seeking refuge in his familiarity without it being painfully obvious to anyone but, perhaps, the clairvoyant in the corner. Mulder furrowed his brow and assisted her with the heavy canvas, letting her back onto the sidewalk where the chilly rainfall met the heat in Scully’s cheeks and only made them more apparent as she put distance between herself and that tent.

“Scully?” Mulder barely touched the curve of her shoulder and felt her push into his palm as she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

Scully pressed her lips together and glanced around at the growing sea of faces clad in various paints and glitters, some with elastic held masks, purposely shrouding their identities from one another, her eyes slowly wandering back to Mulder. “I’m okay, I’m okay…did you find the witnesses?”

Mulder knew, beneath her shroud of grit and placating strength, that she was breaking but he held back and wiped the moisture from her face, not needing to know if they were tears or rain before pulling her hood onto the top of her head. “I did a little better than that…I found someone who knows where they went last night and is willing to get us there.”

“Are we taking a walk in the dark, Mulder?” Scully was still shell shocked as the weighty presence against her skin, hidden by her shirt, as Mulder’s eyes were doing their best to slip under her skin, into her life force.

“I promise there won’t be any broken bones…or accidents leading to either of our demises,” Mulder gestured toward an alleyway, a smile forming on his lips beneath wet, tousled hair while he tore his eyes away from hers to lead her toward their next destination.

Scully followed Mulder in the direction of a split in the crowd, where the unlit corridor of the alley hinted at secrets, lies, and more questions than answers as Mulder’s guide waited, dressed in blue, umbrella above her head. As they came to the edge of the crowd, the rolling thunder emanated from the sky, shaking the foundations of the historical French Quarter. The vibrations didn’t phase the atmosphere of praising the ultimate passing of time and the afterlife as the flames danced through the zigzags of bodies in motion. The flames dotted into an arc and married with the jagged lines across the sky as the blues mixed with the reds, casting light over the crowd.

It was then, at the center of the crowd, that the woman in white took shape, shrouded by a haze of blue smoke, smile perched on her lips, eyes glowing red as she shook her necklace full of charms around her neck. She kept her stare in the direction of Mulder and Scully before undulating like a walking serpent into the blackness.

10:30 PM

St. Louis Cemetery No. 1

French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

“Daliah, how big is this cemetery?” Mulder was fascinated by the sprawl of the above-ground burials in spite of the decline in conditions, some parts worse than others as lack of upkeep was an ongoing problem.

“A full city block, it isn’t even our largest of the historical sites,” Daliah had Voodoo protection charms around her neck, along with a few that Scully didn’t recognize, but lacked the face paint of a priestess of any sect, her accent native to Louisiana, leaning toward the French aspect as she carried both dialects in her twang. “We don’t have much further to go—the tombs are hard to navigate at night, even with a versed traveler.”

“Thank you for doing this, even under the circumstances,” Scully kept her pocket light aimed at the ground as she matched pace just behind Daliah, the sounds of faint, distant murmurs just enough to keep her from feeling completely at ease.

“Naïve little Voodoo girls come out to Marie Laveau’s resting place and expect to become equal to the High Priestess in one incantation,” Daliah ranted as they turned a corner, passing the angels bowed in devotion, and the offering of Mary, her voice shaking as the chill brushed past her lips. “Nothing good comes from playing with the dark arts when you are not ready to dabble.”

“So it’s common?” Mulder nearly biffed it as he took a step over a white brick that had tumbled into the pathway, tripping across it and into his partner, who managed to hear him grunt prior to him vaulting forward. “Sorry, Scully…”

“You’ve got two left feet, Mulder,” Scully had held onto him at the bend of his elbow and his ribs, instinctively, and for longer than necessary as he re-established his balance.

“Common is a relative word,” Daliah turned her head to glance at the commotion and the display of affection that hadn’t meant to be caught as she cleared her throat. “A lot of novices, non-believers, believers, and highly skilled Voodoo priests and priestesses come to her for an ask—a wish. It’s not usually something massive, because, the bigger the payoff…the higher the price.”

“An expensive quid pro quo,” Scully stopped in her tracks as the sound of branches snapping apart had the hairs standing on the back of her neck, the chills down her spine. “What was that?”

“Try not to let the noises in here lure you in and unravel fear, Agent Scully,” Daliah kept her eyes forward, unbothered by the sounds that were mimicking footsteps from behind them, a concept that would have rattled anyone else. “There’s too much history within the gates to not have a few, lingering spirits that want to take advantage of the scent of fear.”

“No one is going to be able to smell fear above the odor of garlic and spicy sausage on my breath and all over my clothes from dinner…woof,” Mulder cracked the joke, much to Scully’s chagrin, and pressed a hand to his chest as the stonework of Marie Laveau’s marked up vault came into view in the spot of Daliah’s flashlight. “Is that it?”

“The very same,” Daliah crept closer, muttering a subtle blessing under her breath as she rubbed her protection emblem that rested in the center of her neckwear. “These candles were big before they expired, a circle of poured wax, and those large, centered X’s? Blood.”

“I would assume that isn’t a good sign,” Scully knelt next to Daliah as she pulled a small satchel from her pocket, the contents of which were heavy in her hand. “What is that?”

“Protection…” Daliah poured a swirling line of salt between them and the altar, keeping her hands away from the improperly conducted divination spell. “These girls didn’t know what they were doing and I fear that they’ve done something stupid without even realizing the gravity of it. I’m not going to pay the price for their improperly sealed conjure.”

Daliah’s focus was fixed on the altar, the smeared and splattered droplets of red along the sides of each candle, wrapped delicately at the base with smudged, soaked hair around two of the three. Her eyes opened and the gasp left her lips like a wisp of a whistle as she considered not uttering a word of it to Mulder or Scully. It was not a good sign—and one looked significantly less bright with crimson than the other. They were already paying a price for their request. A soul…cannot rise without a considerable sacrifice.

“That doesn’t exactly give me the warm-n-fuzzies about the chances of anyone finding the missing girl alive, Daliah,” Mulder could hear, and see, out of the corner of his eye, apparitions of silhouettes moving from grave to grave, ducking behind the high walls of the burial sites, a phenomenon that he believed in, but never truly experienced until now. “You’re right about this place…plays tricks on your vision.”

“You’ll be lucky to find any of them when this case is said and done, Agent Mulder,” Daliah stood and turned away from Marie Laveau’s grave, tossing the last of the salt in the air as the precipitation began to come down a little harder to meet the power of the wind from the south. “Bodies and all…”

“I know that the locale is perfect for a little cryptic delivery on the clues, but I don’t plan on being in a cemetery all night listening to riddles,” Scully felt her boots squishing in the developing mud beneath her feet as she shifted her weight and held onto her hood while the wind howled through the trees like a distant siren.

Daliah didn’t want to be here anymore as she pushed past them, gripping the handle of the umbrella as she turned her flashlight toward them. “This was blood for blood. Two of the three candles are wrapped with hair. Once the third has the same ornamentation…Laveau will be intended to walk amongst the living until sunup on the 1st. They didn’t know that their sacrifice would be each other for a night of glory for the Voodoo Queen.”

“They cannot just vanish into thin air,” Scully was elevating her voice as the lightning returned like a cipher in the air, barely making her move as she glanced to her left. “That doesn’t happen.”

Scully moved the spot of her flashlight toward the side of Marie Laveau’s reliquary and caught a glimpse of the unreal in the form of hollowed wraiths of two young Haitian girls with vacant spaces where eyes should be. As quickly as the wights presented themselves, they were gone, leaving Scully to flick the light back and forth in hopes of finding them again. It made her stomach roll and the worst of it was that Mulder hadn’t been paying attention to her motions to realize that anything had happened. As she inhaled and exhaled slow, Daliah was looking at her with her eyebrows raised, fingers wrapped around the center of her necklace again.

“You don’t know Voodoo, Agent Scully,” Daliah had power in her voice to warn them as she desperately gripped the umbrella to keep it from pulling free of her fingers, shaking her head defiantly. “Neither of you do…and if you stay here any longer? They’ll know who to come for before they finish it.”

11:30 PM

Inn on St. Peter

French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

“Scully, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop pacing—these rooms are old,” Mulder looked up from a reclined position in his tee-shirt and sweatpants, his toes wiggling freely while he flipped channels in their dimly lit room on the second floor.

Scully’s dark blue, satin pajamas were swaying with every step and did little to hide what resided beneath them as they clung to each of the right spots without her even noticing. Mulder definitely did as he watched the angle of her backside until she buried it against her bed and let out a frustrated groan in the process. Scully was preoccupied and wasn’t the least bit concerned over the likelihood of Mulder staring at her in her pajamas…at least until she turned her head to see his head already angled in her direction. There was nothing more obvious of being caught than a sudden jerking motion of one’s head to look as though innocence were actually a possibility.

With Mulder? It usually wasn’t.

“You aren’t the least bit concerned about the chances of not finding your missing girl?” Scully yanked a pillow onto her lap and hugged it to her chest, the charms rattling against each other as she adjusted the fluff to her chin. “Especially after the speech that your little tour guide, Daliah, delivered out there next to Marie Laveau’s crypt?”

“Two…” Mulder noticed her eyebrows going up as he came up to a seated position, tossing the remote down by his knees as he leaned against the head of the bed and felt her signature, irritated stare against his skin. “While you were showering…the local PD informed me that Ayanna, the second of the three girls, never came home tonight.”

“You can’t be this calm about an investigation that unfolded in a matter of hours,” Scully could hear the wind whipping against the shutters behind her and the spray of rain that it brought, the air in the room thick with moisture. “I’ve never seen you this calm over an unknown escalation…it’s disconcerting.”

Mulder had the remote in his hand again, his nose wrinkling as he kept his eyes looking straight on and exhaled slowly, loudly. “I’m not calm. I’m thinking and I have a lot whirling around about what happened out there—but you’re jumpy, moreso than ever. Do you…think you want to talk about it?”

Scully had been dreading the inevitable as she felt herself reaching for the charms against her chest, almost willing the fortitude to process her own thoughts as she diverted her eyes to the floor. “That woman, the Voodoo palm reader, knew things that she shouldn’t have been able to know and I wasn’t really expecting it. I know that I shouldn’t even put a second of my time into extrapolating anything from any of it but…The experience made time stop. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling I had when I walked out of the tent.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being affected by something so outside of your normal,” Mulder knew how tough it was to open up about being adversely influenced by an experience, especially when it concerned anything out of her comfort zone. “I was surprised that you stayed in there as long as you did—and I’m a little shocked she didn’t go straight for me.”

“I think that’s why she went after me,” Scully thumbed the chain and made eye-contact with Mulder, searching his face for an affirmation to delve deeper. “She saw my fear written on my face and knew I’d be resistant to what she’d divulge. I don’t know how to feel about it except for exposed.”

The lights flickered and the shutters shook against the windows, popping one of the mechanisms free that caused the door to the balcony to swing wildly with the gusts. Mulder scrambled for the shutter at the door, pulling it in until it snapped back into place and the lock flipped tight, the vibration of the wind rattling against his hand until he could close the door behind it. He had been exposed to the wind and ricochet of the downpour for only a moment, but it was enough to spray his face and soak the front of his shirt. Mulder turned around just as Scully had gotten to her feet, the pillow still in her hand as the room went completely dark, filling it with silence.

“Power’s out,” Mulder broke the quiet with a quip and had Scully letting out an awkward, necessary laugh while he groped across the floor, toward her. “You think they equip these rooms with candles?”

Scully turned on her flashlight and aimed at the nightstand, pulling the drawer open to find a stack of emergency candles to her surprise. “Ask and you shall receive…looks like someone had issues with the power here once before?”

Mulder had them lit and arranged along the two nightstands, illuminating enough of the room to keep from tripping over everything, or each other. It was eerily quiet aside from the rumblings of the storm surge outside, enough so that they could hear the other guests shouting at each other for matches and candles. Everything unexpected had happened and left both of them retreating to the confines of their beds while the distant thunder started nearing their proximity. Scully was the first to get under the covers while Mulder was still meandering through the pile of crap on his bed including a bag of sunflower seeds he had been devouring. He pushed them onto the stool sitting at the end of the bed and slid between the sheets, the chill mixing with his body heat to the point that he had goosebumps almost immediately.

“How long do you think they’ll be up yelling for candles?” Mulder was staring at the ceiling while Scully’s back was to him, widely gaped at the windows, tension through her.

“I don’t know but if I hear gunshots, I’m not moving…” Scully looked over her shoulder at him, his cadaver-esque positioning making her wonder if he was just as uncomfortable as she was. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” Mulder turned his head toward her, the subdued, delicately dancing light of the cast against her face as she rolled over completely.

“You can say no if it’s just, out of the question,” Scully lifted her head and leaned against her palm, the charms falling away from her skin with a clang while she swallowed her pride, her fear. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Get those things off your neck and bring another pillow, mine are flat,” Mulder was secretly losing his mind over the prospect of being inches from Scully, with no more than the thinnest, softest material keeping her skin away from a caress, but he kept his cool. “None of that, sticking your cold feet on my legs, either…I kick.”

Scully carefully dangled the charms from the lampshade, looping the chain around the top until it swung carefully from the bottom, tossing the pillow onto Mulder’s face as she slid into the bed. “I’m cold from the neck down so watch yourself.”

“Jesus, fucking, Christ,” Mulder let out a laugh as Scully’s fingers and toes simultaneously touched the side of his arm and halfway down his leg, sending a chill through the material of his sweats in the process as he pushed the pillow under her head instead. “You weren’t lying about being fucking cold…scoot that way, you’re just plain mean trying to steal my body heat!”

“Come back, you’re warmer than I expected,” Scully tugged at the bottom of his shirt and found bare, surprisingly hot skin along his abdomen, while he tried to maneuver away from her, half flailing his right arm until he was almost to the edge of the bed. “You’re going to fall off the bed and all I’m going to do is laugh…now stop, you’re making it colder.”

Mulder rolled onto his side and gave the blankets a yank to his shoulder, enveloping them both as he found himself rubbing her arm over the top of the satin pajamas, fixating on the charms as they swayed above the lit candles. He hadn’t had a chance to really look at them since Ayida had put them on her but he was seeing them clearly now, glowing in the light of the emergency candles below. Mulder squinted—protection, love, and incite lust—that last one had him inhaling a breath as though it had been revoked from him, weakly contemplating the reasoning for them. Voodoo was more than superstition; it was a way of life for so many and Scully was already following the instructions of a woman who had, admittedly, frightened her.

“Scully…why did that palmist mention something to you specifically about choices and loneliness?” Mulder had his chin close to her forehead, his hands pulling her closer to give her as much of his heat as she needed, comfortably cradling one arm underneath of her upper body. “Do you have regrets or are you questioning life?”

Scully thought back to the prophetic words from Ayida about guarding her emotions from the man that she was now intertwining limbs with, close enough to feel his heart beating against her own. She replayed the actuality of just how badly it hurt to be this close to him with no real hope still burning in her eyes. She had been running from her heart, from the possibilities that taking a chance might possess, even as they presented themselves with clear opportunity. It was never that simple—at least it never seemed that simple. Even as she felt the warmth of his hands against her back, her arms, her shoulders, something felt complicated and tentative from within her soul that she never placed until now. She never felt like she was quite enough for more.

“I don’t know if me saying it out loud will really change things,” Scully marked circles with her index along his shoulder-blade through the material of his shirt, looking up at him as though something might flicker back. “Even if I did…would it matter?”

“Anything you say to me, matters,” Mulder’s voice unexpectedly dropped an octave, teetering somewhere between affection and desire, capturing Scully’s attention as she angled her head back to really look at him.

“Ayida, the palm reader, managed to expose something about me that I was not ready to face,” Scully couldn’t fully concentrate with Mulder’s leg wrapped around her own but she held on, breathed through it, and looked into his pools of green and brown with flecks of deep gold in the center, his lashes fanning with every blink. “I don’t regret the life I chose…but the things I keep doing are the makings of an awfully lonely life. I’ve shut you out of so much and kept you away because I didn’t think you’d want to hear it, or be there—"

Mulder cut her off with an unparalleled gesture, masterfully capturing surprise and elation with the unexpected, the necessary, the singular unfolding of years of holding back. It was as though Mulder had been tacitly conceptualizing this moment for years as the hand once residing against her arm slipped to the curve of her jaw where it met cheek, stroking that place as his mouth came alive. Scully held on, lips parting to let him in and hands feverishly groping along the back of his neck, awakening the part of her guarded heart that had been crying out his name for far too long. It went beyond a twinge as the swaying of the flames mimicked their every move, reaching in the dark as Mulder rolled and encouraged her thighs around his own, wheedling a breathy moan that reverberated against his tongue.

“Mulderrrr…” Scully couldn’t help it as her head tilted back and left his lips along the curve of her neck, lavishing her with kisses while a not-so-subtle erection pressed against her inner thighs.

“I can stop if it’s too much,” Mulder could hear it in her voice as the sound of his name went ragged from her lips, the resonation of which had his head swimming as he met her waiting gaze.

“No, don’t stop,” Scully shook her head and dragged her fingers down his back until they found skin, tugging at his shirt while she fumbled with her words, agonizing over the way she must’ve sounded. “I have wanted this for so long.”

“It wouldn’t have taken walking in on a palm reader for me to want to know if you ever wanted the same things that I did, Scully,” Mulder put his weight against the flex of his arm and elbow, dotting his lips along her collarbone while painstakingly unbuttoning each pearl finished dot from the bottom up, his eyes trained on hers. “The day you walked into the basement office…I wondered how you would feel, how you would sound in so much more than conversation, and how your mouth might taste. I couldn’t keep it out of my head on the flight to Oregon, then you went and dropped that robe in front of me? I tried not to think about it but what would you have said?”

“Oh, God,” Scully bit down on her lip, the muted glow against his bedroom eyes as he found that top button and nearly disconnected it from the threads as well as the loop, his thumbs just barely between the gap in the material. “Say it…please, say it…”

“I want you,” Mulder gradually exposed porcelain skin to the air and dragged his fingers along the space between her breasts until he could see the gooseflesh appear across every inch of unveiled Scully. “Jesus…Christ…you’re fucking beautiful.”

Scully would’ve inspired a full prayer from Mulder as the meticulous, pale form beneath him was more than he expected, more than he could’ve hoped for. She licked her lips instinctively and guided his tee-shirt up and over his head, taking the time to admire every mark across his chest as she discarded it on the floor. Mulder brought her to his mouth, his arm guiding her torso up to guide the satin sleeves off and away from her, tossing it into the general direction of his shirt. Mulder allowed her back to find the pillows all over again as his hands grazed across delicately raised and hardened flesh, earning a low, stuttered moan from Scully as she arched against his hands, the shockwave of electricity flowing straight to her core. Scully dug her fingers into Mulder’s shoulders and met a look drenched in pure, raw sexuality as he lowered his lips anent her breasts.

“Yes, yes, yes, keep going,” Scully enjoyed the gradual building of every one of her senses but wanted to urge him on, as she felt his index fingers barely pulling at the waistband of her bottoms, thrilling her with the agony of taking his time.

Mulder guided her out of her bottoms, leaving her in a pair panties that seemed to match the texture of her pajamas, much to his surprise. “Eager, Scully? I would’ve thought that I’d be the one to express that…given the confession I just made.”

“Eager doesn’t go far enough,” Scully’s voice shook as she guided his hand to the space between them, pressing against the thin, diaphanous material of her panties until he could feel the heat and wetness seeping through. “That happened the second you slipped your tongue in my mouth…I can’t wait any longer.”

Mulder wanted to tease her a little more but his own, growing problem was pushing against her, throbbing against the spot just below his hand as he dragged his thumb across the silky material until Scully was undulating up to him. Scully had been concerned with being seen as fragile or breakable but as Mulder’s thumb strummed her like an instrument, she nearly sailed over the edge. Mulder dragged his fingers only once more, this time to free her of the confines of her panties, leaving her naked beneath him. Scully had her lip between her teeth as she gazed up at him, giving him the lightest of tugs to bring him back to her lips, back to the place that had started it all. There was a secret yearning to take his time but the woman already halfway to spilling over had his thoughts jumbled, knowing that they’d already taken their time to get to this point.

They had both supposed it was years of foreplay, in the oddest way deemed possible.

“Fuck,” Mulder’s mouth popped free as he felt his erection slip free, only to realize that it was Scully that had brought that action into motion as her perfect, graceful fingers gripped him just enough to make his eyes roll back. “Scullyyy…holy shit!”

Mulder inhaled sharp and connected that gaze with hers, as the distant thunder finally arrived and rolled overhead. He lingered for only a moment, caressing her thigh as her free hand glided along his midback, memorizing the details of his body in the same fashion that he had already been doing with hers. They fit together, like perfect puzzle pieces, and Mulder was careful with his first thrust as the mattress sighed beneath them and the lightning flooded through the gaps in the shutters. Rhythm slowed and hastened as their passion set the bed ablaze while the candles continued to flicker in the dark, wind whistling through the cracks in the windows and doors. They didn’t care if anyone could hear them as the moans became frantic, stuttered, and mixed with the thudding of the headboard against the wall. It was long overdue as their heartbeats met and synchronized.

He couldn’t have been more in love and she had finally given him all of her heart—as the storm raged on outside.

Saturday, October 31st 1998, 5:30 AM

Inn on St. Peter

French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

They had only slept for a few hours, through the heart of the storm, and woke to the sound of the phone ringing on the nightstand between the beds. It would’ve been easier to ignore it as Mulder felt the warm, barely stirring Scully still cuddled against his chest, her arm draped up to his neck but the lull in sound only meant that the person on the other end was simply calling back after no response. Mulder groaned and smirked at the half-awake, disheveled Scully as she tilted her chin up at him, mouthing “what the fuck” as the jarring sound echoed in their room. They’d both had enough of it as Mulder rolled halfway out of the blankets to get it, glancing at the mess of nightclothes on the floor in the process.

“Mulder?” He couldn’t shake the sound of agonizing sleeplessness from his voice as he looked over at Scully with the sheets across the center of her back. “Well, that happens when you call at 5:30…Okay, you’re going to have to repeat that for me, Sergeant…two of the three girls are confirmed missing, the third hasn’t been seen since late last night?”

“What?” Scully kept her voice low as she sat up, wrapping the sheets around her in the process, her hair a wreck as she ran her fingers through it.

“It’s Halloween…you’re going to have strange shit all over the place,” Mulder paused, his face turning white as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, frustrated that he couldn’t enjoy the memory of last night for a little longer. “Okay…We’ll investigate from our end…you get people out there looking for possible bodies, as much as I don’t want to go there, these families deserve to know what happened to their daughters…Bye.”

Mulder placed the phone back on the receiver, his eyes on Scully as she reached for his hand. “What’s going on?”

“You know how Daliah mentioned last night that the three girls made a blood deal when they went to Marie Laveau’s burial site?” Mulder reached for a pair of boxer-briefs from the pile of clothes, the frustration climbing in his voice. “Officers went out there this morning after someone reported hearing screams coming from the cemetery—when they arrived, they found a jar.”

“Mulder?” Scully didn’t like where this was going as he turned, his face less than pleased with the situation.

“The jar was filled with embalming fluid,” Mulder’s tone was somber, sober even, as he rubbed his eyes again, index lingering along the bridge of his nose. “…and six eyeballs.”

Saturday, October 31st 1998, 8:30 PM

St. Louis Cemetery No. 1

French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

The task force had been working busily through the day, in spite of the weather destroying nearly all particulates and evidence that could’ve been used to find who could’ve orchestrated this morbid experiment. Mulder and Scully had been overworked throughout the day, interviewing every person that saw Ayanna, Kya, and Madeleine since before their experiment in the cemetery. It was another dead end—stories full of holes, people that had sworn they’d seen each of them, at the same time of the day, in opposite places, which had given the agents little hope in finding the three teens alive. The investigation, in all of its yellow, Do Not Cross tape, had only confirmed one thing; that the eyes they had found matched their young, missing Voodoo conjurers.

“Mulder, this is a literal dead end,” Scully could see him squinting into the dark as the sounds of celebrations began to interrupt their work, the drumbeats and chanting had begun to flood along the outside walls. “We’re not going to find anything here…not in this weather, not in the dark, not with this going on in the background.”

“We found parts of them, like breadcrumbs in the most macabre way possible,” Mulder moved closer to her, into her personal bubble, his hand on the small of her back as though he were protecting her from the wind. “They were out here and someone is doing this…”

The reverberating chants were barely discernible above the thuds of drums and wailing of trumpets as the flashing red and blue lights of local PD seemed to add to the hovering from mystics. The shadows were now blending with the fog, the air thick with moisture as the lingering storm continued to bring the wind, rain, and an intermittent thunder. Lightning blitzed across the sky and had the Agents looking up instead of down, taken aback at how intense the colors were as they skidded across the sky, leaving behind a fraction of a second long halo before the thunder cracked all the way to the ground. Neither of them would have ever noticed the woman, with her hair wrapped tightly, eyes glowing red, floating in the background in the midst of the flashing lights, her silhouette barely visible as her smile appeared and faded before she disappeared into the shadows.

An officer shouting “we got something!” from the corner had Mulder and Scully jogging to meet them, to discover what could only be described as another piece of the morbid puzzle. Mulder’s stomach spun and Scully heaved a heavy sigh as their confirmations of dread had been met—finalized by the spilling of too much blood. Mulder didn’t want to admit that he knew what it was, even as he stood, in disbelief, of the carnage that someone had inflicted on three, unlucky teenaged girls. It was too much for them to contemplate alone—it was exactly as Daliah had foretold.

“What in the fuck?” Mulder looked at the tangled mess spilled along the dulled white surface of the walkways, just feet from Marie Laveau’s tomb.

“Entrails,” Scully winced and felt the blast of cold air to the back of her neck as instructed officers clad in protective gear before turning her head away from the grisly scene. “I need someone to make sure that we identify if it belongs to one…or all of them. Start searching the surrounding area for the bodies.”

It must have been poetic justice, by design, that Mulder had missed this moment for a second time, as Scully witnessed the misty apparitions of the three teenagers just behind two angels in prayer. She blinked and the clear as day manifestation was gone, leaving her to simply grip the chain around her neck, reminding her of the gift she had been given and what it meant. Mulder squeezed her hand, pulling her focus, and nodded symbolically at her, as though her expression said what had happened, without saying anything at all.

#x files #fanfic #xfspooky2019 #fanfiction is life #MSR #Mulder and Scully #writing is life #inspiration

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prolestariwrites · 5 years ago

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Time To Go [5]: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: M Characters: Nero, Dante, Vergil, Kyrie, Nico, Trish, Morrison Tags: Mystery, Humor, Missing Person, First Time, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Post-Canon Chapter: 5/9 Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4]

Summary: When Kyrie goes missing, Nero goes on a desperate search to find her. Unfortunately, Dante and Vergil go too. Sparda boys shenanigans, fighting demons, a smattering of family drama, and male bonding (otherwise known as Nero’s worst nightmare). Please check it out below, or you can read on FFNet or AO3. Beta read by @copper-wasp.

Now posted! Chapter 5: Things Have Gone So Horribly Wrong At This Point, in which Nero meets a former President, Dante and Vergil race, and Nico’s van gets a makeover.

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The van screeches to a stop in an empty parking lot. One street lamp flickers in the corner; otherwise, it's quiet—there are no lights, no cars, no people. It is the perfect spot for them to regroup and figure out their next move.

Dante opens the side of the van and climbs out as Vergil and Nero do the same. Reaching inside, Dante grabs the demon by the front of his coat, ignoring Trish's protest, and sets him down, the demon's legs dangling over the side of the van. Planting his foot up on the edge, Dante says, "Start talkin'."

The demon looks up, shaking slightly. "I don't—"

"Listen, shit head," Dante sighs. "It's one in the morning, I got this kid up my ass, I've had to look at my brother's ugly mug all night, and a cat stole my pizza. I'm pissed, tired, hungry, and I want to go home. So fucking talk."

"I don't know anything!" the demon cries.

Trish leans her forearm on the side of the door. "I thought you said you were good at this."

"I thought you said he'd know something."

Next to Dante, Vergil huffs. "You might try asking an actual question."

"Okay, everyone back off!" Dante snaps, holding up his hands.

"Move." Nero pushes him out of the way, stepping up in front of the demon. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Abe Lincoln," the demon replies.

Nero nods. "Okay, Abe. There's a girl missing. Her name is Kyrie. One of you demon assholes took her, and I want to know who. If I like what you have to say, you get to live another day. If I don't, you get a bullet in your head, just like your namesake. Understand?"

It is hard to tell what exactly the demon's expression is with his human suit so mangled, but Dante assumes it hits somewhere between annoyance and disgust. "Fucking humans," he says. "What makes you think I know anything? You all look the same to me."

Nero takes out his revolver and pushes it against the demon's head. "You have five seconds."

"He's not kidding," Vergil says. "He shot me earlier."

Dante snorts, but notes how Nero's fingers flex and coil around the grip of the gun. If they aren't careful, he'll blow the informant away before they get any information. "All right, kid," he says. "Let's give him a chance to answer."

"You're crazy!" the demon snaps. "All of you are crazy!" It looks up at Trish hissing, "Why did you bring me here?"

"Just answer their questions," she says tiredly.

"Time's up," Nero says.

The demon puts his hands up. Half the suit falls off and hits the ground, and Dante wrinkles his nose in disgust as it splatters on his boots. "Okay! Okay! What's her name? I don't know, maybe I heard something—"

"Kyrie," Nero replies coolly.

The demon nods. "Okay. I mean, maybe? Lots of demons take humans for food or power or just for fun. I don't know their specific names though."

"She's from Fortuna," Dante offers.

"Fortuna? I don't fuck with Fortuna." The demon gives a weird hissing sound that could be laughter. "Anyone that has any sense stays the hell away from there."

"That's funny, I kill plenty of demons there," Nero says.

The demon looks at him scornfully. "Newbies," it replies.

Dante heaves a sigh. "Listen, Abe, you got something for us or what?"

The demon looks around nervously. "No! I don't know. I ain't heard nothing about taking people from Fortuna, and I ain't heard the name Kyrie. Don't kill me!"

The three men exchange a glance. "He's telling the truth," Trish says. "He wouldn't lie, would you, sweet?"

"No, ma'am," the demon answers.

Dante narrows his eyes at Trish but she offers only a cool smile. "I'd really, really appreciate you not killing this one. It took me a long time to find a worthwhile informant."

Nero makes an angry noise in his throat, but he lowers the gun. "If I find out you lied to me, I'm going to come back here and rip your heart out myself." Then he steps away and walks around the van, climbing into the driver's side and slamming the door shut.

Dante swallows uncomfortably. He looks at Vergil and says, "Got any other ideas?"

Vergil shoots him a look but doesn't answer. Dante nods and says to Trish, "Thanks for trying anyway. I guess we'll head back and figure out our next step."

"No problem." Trish hops out of the van and tugs the demon with her. "Give me a call if you need anything else." She walks away, dragging it behind her, until they disappear into the night.

Dante heaves a huge sigh. "What a damn mess."

"We should go back to Fortuna," Vergil says. "Start looking there. I'm still not convinced she didn't leave on her own."

"Don't push that with the kid," Dante growls. "He's feeling bad enough."

"Let's go." Vergil steps into the back of the van, leaving Dante to kick the tire in frustration.

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They are halfway back to Fortuna and in the middle of nowhere when something inside the van makes a loud popping sound. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood, and with a series of curses Nero pulls over to the side of the road. The van sputters as it rolls to a stop, and all three men climb out and step around to the front hood.

The only light on the road comes from the van's headlights. There is not a sound, not even animals in the distance, and they had not passed another vehicle for at least an hour. Nero rubs the back of his head as Dante checks his phone, which has no signal bars above the time that reads 2:28 am.

"Now what?" Vergil asks.

"Guess we walk." Dante heads to the van and opens the side door. He climbs in and grabs an empty bag, rummaging around for anything they might need. He finds a flashlight, a smattering of knives, and a candy bar, the rest of it just being Nico's junk that he can't make heads or tails of anyway. He munches as he returns to the others, who are still staring at the smoking van. "You guys coming or what?"

Nero slams his fist on the hood of the van, leaving a small dent. "This is bullshit!" he shouts. "We came all this way, and for nothing! We're no closer to finding Kyrie and now the van—" He lets go a yell and punches it again, and again. His demon arm activates, the blue light looking eerie in the dark, and with a final growl Nero rips off the entire hood and tosses it towards the wooded area off the side of the highway.

It skids across the ground with a metallic, grinding sound until it comes to a stop. Dante swallows the rest of the candy bar as Vergil glances at him. He gives a shrug, and Vergil nods. They stand shoulder to shoulder and watch as Nero continues his tirade for another minute or so, the van left with holes and dents in the metal, and the windshield now sporting a nasty crack that runs diagonally through the glass.

Nero plants his hands on the side of the van, leaning his head down as he takes heaving breaths. His shoulders shake as he tries to get a hold of himself, and Dante clears his throat. "You good now, kid?"

"No, I'm not good," Nero hisses. "What are we gonna do now? She's still gone and…" Metal screeches as his demon hand bends the frame under his grip. "This is just like Fortuna. I was too weak to protect her then, and now she's been taken all over again. I'm supposed to keep her safe but this shit just keeps happening, because of me."

Dante wads up his trash and shoves it in his pocket. "Ah come on, you don't know that—"

Nero whirls on him, the edges of his eyes glowing, the devil inside him kept at bay with the barest threads of sanity. "It's because of me, and you, and him—" Nero points at Vergil, who tenses in response, "—and Sparda—I wish I wasn't a part of this fucking family!"

Dante can feel his own demon powers rallying inside in response, but he tempers it easily even as he sets his jaw. "Fighting me ain't gonna get you anywhere," he warns.

"It'll make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"Nero," Vergil says in a warning tone.

Dante can't help but stiffen a bit. He has no idea what to say at this point, if there is anything that can be said to calm the kid down. But he knows for sure whatever lecture Vergil has planned is going to end with them all bloody, so he sighs and shakes his head, bracing himself for it.

To his surprise, Vergil simply says, "Come on. It's getting late."

Nero blinks in surprise when Vergil turns and starts walking up the road, his strides purposeful. He glances at Dante who gives the kid a smile and a shrug, slinging the bag over his shoulder and following. He smiles at the stunned silence behind him, only broken when Nero shouts, "Where are you going?"

Dante turns and walks backward, squinting at bit at Nero's silhouette illuminated by the headlights. "Gotta be something up the road," he calls back. "Best to keep moving."

He stares at the back of Vergil's head as they continue on, and a half minute later the headlights go out. Dante can hear Nero's footsteps hurrying up behind them, and again he smiles to himself. He picks up the pace a bit, a renewed energy letting him pass Vergil, who makes a noise behind him. "Don't walk in front of me," Vergil mutters. He moves a bit faster to catch up with Dante, making sure to walk just fast enough to stay a half step ahead.

Dante picks up his pace in answer. "Too slow, old man."

Vergil starts walking so quickly he is nearly jogging, and Dante begins trotting along to pull ahead. "What are you doing?" Nero calls behind them, but neither brother answers. Their speed increases incrementally until they are both moving at a quick jog, when Dante gives Vergil a shove.

"Watch it!" he snaps.

"Watch you eat my dust," Dante laughs.

He sprints forward, running as fast as he can. "That doesn't even make sense!" Vergil yells behind him, and a moment later he appears by his side, the two racing down the highway in the dark.

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The little office of the rundown motel is crowded with all three Spardas inside. There is just the front counter in front of a wall with dangling keys, the attendant looking up at them in a surprised half-daze, as they squeeze into the waiting room. Nero looks around at the stained green carpet and the calendar on the wall that is three years late, his skin itching just being in here. "Van broke down about thirty miles back," Dante says. "You got a phone we can use for a tow?"

The attendant leans over to turn the volume down on the little television set on the counter. "Only tow around here is Richie, but he won't answer this late. You'll need to wait until morning."

Nero huffs and pushes his way through the other two. "We're in a hurry."

The guy squints his eyes up at him. "You fellas in the circus or something?"

Dante gives a loud laugh. "Something. Since we gotta wait, you got a room? Three of them."

"Yeah." He pulls out a book and starts to write. "It'll be ninety dollars, plus tax."

Vergil and Dante exchange a look. "All you, brother," Vergil says.

"I ain't got it." He nods to Nero. "You can cover, right?"

"Not after I had to pay that woman and then buy you pizza," Nero mutters. "I only have another thirty on me."

Dante leans on the counter. "What can we get for thirty?"

The attendance swallows. "One room for the three of you. Checkout is at ten."

Nero grumbles under his breath, pushing past Vergil to go outside. After chasing down the two idiots they had spotted the neon Vacancy sign, heading over from the highway. It is nearly three in the morning now, and Nero can feel tiredness in his muscles and joints between the driving, the fight, and then the run. A shower and a couple of hours of sleep actually had sounded good, even in a fleabag place like this, but he still itches to get back to Fortuna and look for more clues.

The room is as bad as he had feared. Two double beds are inside, the mattresses lumpy and the blankets looking unwashed. Dante immediately flops on one, his frame taking up the entire space as he crosses his legs and props his hands behind his head. "Not so bad," he says as Nero and Vergil exchange a glance.

"It's awful," Vergil says.

Nero reluctantly agrees, watching as Vergil steps through the room tentatively. He turns and looks at Nero and says, "I'm not sharing the bed."

"Don't bother," Nero snaps. "I'm not gonna sleep anyway."

He strides through the room to the bathroom. The tile is cracked and dirty and the shower looks like it hasn't ever been cleaned, and he doesn't even want to look as he closes the toilet and sits down on the lid. In the next room he can hear Dante flip the television on as Vergil gripes about the inch of dust on the bedside table. Guilt fills his stomach as he thinks about the way he destroyed the van and railed against them both. Nero heaves a sigh, dropping his head down. Despite his tantrum, they had stayed with him and hadn't given him any grief about the van. That has to mean something.

"Hey kid!" Dante pounds on the door, startling him. "There's a vending machine, you want something?"

Nero chuckles. "Sure," he replies.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #vergil sparda #nero sparda #nerokiri #dmc nero #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmc trish #fan fiction #time to go #my fic

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