#I wouldn’t hunt him down with a crowbar but I probably would try to ask him for a selfie

[ghost-bxrd]

are you implying that if you ended up in Gotham you would go chase down Jason Todd with a a crowbar or something

I’m implying that my self preservation skills are worse than those of a wet paper towel and I’m not even kidding.

And excuse you I would NEVER. Now, Joker on the other hand….

[themaribatpit]

Love and War: Chapter 2

Prompt: Thigh (Jasonette July) @maribat-calendar-events

Rating: M for violence  

Ships: Jason Todd/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Jason often felt more comfortable sleeping in his private room at the Iceberg Lounge.  It was lonely, but he was left to suffer in silence and battle his own demons.  Sure, there was the simple joy of reading to Marinette while she rested her head on his thigh, and his voice would lull her to sleep after a long day at the shop or after finishing a difficult commission. He made the mistake of falling asleep at Marinette’s place once before, it wasn’t one he planned on making again.

Once, Jason had spent many sleepless nights trying to take care of some upstarts encroaching on his territory. He offered to let them join him, provided they played by his rules.  Sadly, they refused and that made them troublesome for him to deal with.  The thought of running into Batman was enough to make the more skittish goons back out for good, but the rest of them needed some persuading.  Jason was cooling his heels in Marinette’s apartment one night, while she was toiling away working on some commissions. She didn’t say anything as Jason drifted off to sleep, this was one of the few times he slept in her apartment. It was one of the few times, and after this time, it was the only time.

The nightmares that haunted him had eventually caught up to him, and Jason couldn’t seem to outrun them this time.  He felt the CRACK of the Joker’s crowbar across his face. He heard the ringing in his ears as the timer on the bomb reached zero, and the firey explosion that followed and snuffed him out. He watched himself sink deeper and deeper into the Lazarus Pits, several pairs of eyes watched and waited for him in anticipation.  They could not foresee the vengeful killer that would emerge, one who would kill them all with the ease that they had killed many others.  Jason felt the waters burning his skin, as flesh and bone knitted back together, as he felt himself being reforged into the man he was today.  His cries for help were silenced, all that came out was the desperate gargling of a drowning man. Did he cry out for help? Or was he crying out for someone to put him out of his misery? This time, through the surface, he could just about make out a figure staring down at him. She was reaching towards him, as if she was offering him a way out.  While he was underwater it sounded muffled, but it almost sounded like that person was calling his name.  Jason tried to swim to the surface, arms scrambling as he tried to reach out and take that person’s hand. Wherever they planned to lead him, it had to be better than here, right? “Jason…” he heard the voice call as he drew closer and closer, “Jason…”

“Jason!” his eyes shot open and he saw Marinette leap back in shock, “Jason?” she asked more tentatively, probably wondering if he was still the person she knew.  It took Jason a moment to realise where he was, he looked around the room, he felt the thick futon beneath him, he took a deep breath. 

“How long was I out for?” he asked, his voice sounded groggy. “I came home and saw that you were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you so I just kept working on my commission. Suddenly, you…”she trailed off, she was at his side and her eyes were wide with concern.  “Did something happen to you?” she asked softly.

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose, her concern was touching, but telling her all that he had been through would have her running for the hills. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.  Jason looked into her sad eyes wishing he could tell her, tell someone all that he had been through. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and he held her hand close to him.  “For many years in Paris,” she began, “there was someone who was always on the hunt for people who were feeling angry, scared, and heartbroken.” Jason had seen some files on what was happening in Paris back when he was Robin, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.  The Justice League was repeatedly told to stay out of it, and no one knew why at the time.  Marinette was used to seeing people being turned into literal, rampaging monsters because someone wanted to harness the power of those emotions for their own ends.  This ongoing calamity only stopped just before he returned to Gotham, but from what he gathered, the people of Paris haven’t been the same since. “If something happened to you before, you know you can always tell me about it, okay?” she said encouragingly.  

When he did manage to get it together, he gave her a weak smile and told her, “It was just a bad dream Pixie, don’t worry about it.” Jason hoped that calling her by the nickname he had for her would get her to change the subject.  He wanted to tell her, but that would mean telling her everything, and he wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

“Do you give nicknames to everyone you meet?” Marinette asked with a sigh, followed by a smile shortly after.

“Not to every girl I meet, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he joked. He got to his feet and looked around the tiny kitchen for something to eat, he could still see the slightly concerned look on her face.  Once she’d even asked about the white streak in his hair, and he simply shrugged and said it just grew out like that.  The fact that he could lie to her so easily turned his stomach, he convinced himself that he was doing it to protect her.  Having been raised by Batman, having grown up alongside Dick and Barbara, most of the people he knew were already vigilantes themselves.  They understood that their identities had to be kept separate in order to protect people, especially those close to them. Right now, the guilt of lying to someone who was close to him was starting to weigh on him.  

So from that night on, he made a note to never fall asleep in Marinette’s apartment, no matter how nice and warm it felt.  Sadly, it meant spending his mornings in his room in the Iceberg Lounge.  More recently, he had been spending time in his bunker, researching Ladybug and trying to figure out what the hell she was doing in Gotham. She hadn’t been seen in her home city of Paris for about 5 years, and there haven’t been any sightings of her anywhere else.  Why was she snooping around one of his warehouses? What did she hope to find in Gotham City? Nothing added up.  He hadn’t seen her since that night. If she came here to join up with some other heroes, literally anyone else would have jumped at the chance to take her under their wing.

Marinette started her morning like many others, she woke up to find Jason had already left, she wasn’t entirely sure if he got any sleep the entire night.  He told her that he worked at the Iceberg Lounge, and that was the reason why he left early in the morning.  Between working at the shop and doing her commissions, Marinette never really had the chance to see the place for herself.  It was a quiet day at the shop today, as she strummed her fingers on the counter. Very few customers came in, but a certain crime lord didn’t come knocking on her door either.  She was worried he’d show up asking if she knew anything about Ladybug and what she was doing at the warehouse that night.  As the hours ticked by, she was by herself and only had Tikki for company.  Marinette was alone with her thoughts for the most part, and found herself thinking back to one of the few times she found Jason asleep in her apartment.  

At first, when she returned to her apartment that night and found him sleeping, she let him sleep. This was because for a moment, he looked completely at peace.  Sure, there was a softness to him underneath the veneer of bravado and sarcasm, and she had a feeling that she was one of the few who knew about it.  When she saw him sleeping, he looked almost vulnerable, and Marinette had no intention of ruining this moment.  So, she tried to work quietly, so as not to wake him.  The tapping of her sewing machine seemed a lot louder than usual at that moment, and she kept glancing over to see if she had accidentally woken him.  Later in the night, he had begun to stir in his sleep. Marinette didn’t move, she pulled away from the sewing machine to see if that was interrupting his sleep.  After a long moment, it only got worse from there.  His once peaceful expression was gone, he furrowed his eyebrows and gritted his teeth.  He began violently tossing and turning on the futon, and Marinette was immediately alarmed.  Tikki emerged from her usual hiding spot, pulling at Marinette’s sleeve to get her attention.  “Marinette…” Marinette looked down at Kwami, hoping they had an explanation for what was happening. “Do you feel it? Do you sense the magic in this very room getting stronger and stronger?” Marinette knew Tikki was right, but it didn’t have anything to do with what was happening in front of her, did it?  

Jason had begun hissing in pain, and Marinette knew she couldn’t continue to watch in horror.  It made her heart sink to see someone she cared about in this much pain, but she had to be brave if she was going to help him. “Jason…” she tried to call out to him, she inched closer and closer towards him, reaching out to gently touch him.  He was still twitching slightly as she inched closer still.  “Jason…” she tried again, his head shook but he didn’t wake. “Jason!” she finally called, hoping that would make him snap out of whatever nightmare he was having.  His eyes shot open and Marinette leapt back in shock, his soft aquamarine eyes were now a bright green. She didn’t want to say anything at that moment, she was too stunned. As he woke up from his nightmare and got his barings, they started to fade back into the colour she knew and loved.  Marinette tried to ask him what happened, but to no avail, he just brushed it aside as a bad dream.  Marinette had her share of bad dreams, mostly from her time as Ladybug. In those dreams she had been unable to save people from their demise. That said, her nightmares didn’t make her eyes do that.  

She loved Jason, but there was a part of him that he seemed to keep secret even from her.  One time she saw him shirtless, and although she was a little embarrassed at first, her curiosity surpassed her embarrassment as she saw several scars along his body.  He flinched slightly when she reached out to touch them. Naturally, she wondered what happened to him in order for him to get these scars. He simply said that he got in a lot of fights as a kid and well into his teens, and all Marinette could wonder was, with who? Even the most rough and tumble kids didn’t have quite this many scars, but again, Marinette didn’t push the subject.  

“Is something wrong?” Tikki asked, and Marinette glanced down at Tikki, who was sitting in her lap and looking up at her.  The Kwami tried to stay out of sight from the customers, but today was slow enough that no one would notice them as long as they weren’t in the shop window.  Jason would tell her the truth about his scars and his nightmares when he was ready. After all, Marinette hadn’t told him that she was once the Parisian hero, Ladybug.  

“It’s nothing,” but before Marinette could say anything more, the bell above the door chimed and Jason entered the shop. Tikki dove into her pocket and Marinette leaned forward on the counter, “What can I do for you today?” she asked cheerfully. 

Jason propped himself against the door, and gave her a warm smile. “I was wondering if you planned on doing anything later?” he asked, there was something charming about this sight before her.  Marinette stood up and went over to the rack to straighten out some blazers that were perfectly fine minutes ago. He wasn’t going to let her live it down if just being around him was all it took to make her blush.

“Slow day today, why do you ask?” she turned back to him and smiled, hopefully her face didn’t look quite so red.  

“So I was thinking,” Jason leaned over the counter just as Marinette sat back down behind it, and he was just close enough that the tips of their noses almost touched “there’s a French restaurant in a nicer part of Gotham, if you’re feeling a little homesick.” Jason smiled, but Marinette cocked an eyebrow. True, she hadn’t really explored that much of Gotham, but this came out of blue. She wondered if there was any particular reason he was suggesting this.  He pulled back slightly, “Figured you could use a night-off, every night for this past week, you come straight home from running this place to work on commissions.”

Marinette knew he wasn’t entirely wrong, he didn’t know that the night before, she was on the hunt for a source of magic that seemed to hang over the city. However, explaining that would not only give away her big secret, it would also prove his point that she seemed to be working around the clock.  “I close the shop at 7pm, can you come by then?” Marinette suggested, Jason smiled and Marinette cursed that charming, mischievous smile every time it made her heart race.

“So it’s a date.” Indeed it was, as he stepped out of the shop.  Marinette sat there for a long moment to calm her racing pulse, before getting up and walking into the back room.  There were some spare clothes that she stored there for herself, in case she got splashed by a puddle on her way to work, or in case she forgot to bring a raincoat.  Hanging from a hanger was a simple black and white dress that she had recently cleaned and hung up in the back room.  It was simple, yet elegant enough to wear somewhere nice.

[marauderundercover]

Day 6: Party

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE 

Continuation of days two and three

Marinette grins at her reflection in the mirror. The costume was perfect- close enough to the original that you could tell who she was, but also with her own touch so that she didn’t hate looking at the costume. She’d even curled her hair slightly. The knock at the front door makes her squeal in excitement, knowing exactly who it is. 

“Cass!” She cheers, opening the door and grinning widely at her best friend. Sure, Cass didn’t talk a lot (she was like Luka in that way), but she always seemed to know when Marinette needed help out of her own head. And she was eternally grateful for that. She was even more grateful that Cass had agreed to do a duo costume with her since Jason apparently didn’t want to dress up. He was ‘too old’ or something. Well, Marinette wanted to have fun and wear a damn costume. 

“The suit is amazing! I’m not sure the cowl I made will be good enough for it.” Marinette says worriedly, examining the stitches on Cass’ costume. “Where’d you say you got this?” She asks, frowning. It was definitely higher quality than the Halloween store downtown. Cass just smiles, the one that basically says ‘not telling’. Mari just grins, used to it by now. She passes the cowl to Cass and grabs her own domino mask, sliding it on. Posing next to Cass in the full length mirror, Marinette takes a picture and sends it to the group chat that Jason had recently added her to. Dropping her phone into her purse and grabbing her keys, she turns to Cass. 

“Ready?” She asks. 

“Ready.” Cass says. Marinette grins. Look out, Gotham, Batman and Robin are out on the town. 

---

Dick squeals as the picture comes through on the groupchat. He was beyond relieved that Jagged had scheduled his Halloween party two weeks before the actual holiday. It meant that he, and the rest of his brothers, could actually go instead of being on the extra patrols they always had to schedule around the holiday. Grinning, he opens twitter. 

@flyingrayson

Look at my little sisters! Aren’t they the cutest?! #halloween #Waynefam #jaggedstone

[image description: One girl stands with a hand on her hip, dressed in what is obviously a spin on a Robin costume, including: a domino mask, black tights, dark red tunic with a Robin logo, gold belt, knee high emerald boots, and a dual sided cape black on the outside and gold on the inside. Another girl stands next to her with her arms crossed over her chest, dressed in what is obviously a Batman costume, including: black catsuit, yellow utility belt, black cape, and a redesigned black cowl.]

---

Marinette pecks Jason’s cheek and grins. 

“What, not a Robin fan?” She asks teasingly at his frown. He huffs. 

“Not really. More of a...Red Hood guy.” He says, and she snorts. 

“Of course you’d like the one with guns.” She says, shaking her head with a smile. “His costume is actually probably one of my favorites. Well, besides the whole helmet thing.” Jason grins, pulling her in and giving her a sweet kiss before he glances behind her and groans. 

“My brothers just walked in.” He says and she smiles. 

“Go say hi, I’ve gotta go ask Uncle Jagged a question really quick. I’ll be right back and Cass and I can show your brothers our awesome costumes in person.” She says, pecking his cheek before walking away. She looks around for Jagged, but frowns when she doesn’t see him in the main room. Pulling out her phone, she sends him a quick text asking where he is. 

In the garden with Fang!!!!!!!

She shakes her head fondly. Of course he skipped out on his own party to spend time with his crocodile. Smiling, she heads out to the garden to try and get to him. She’d wanted to see if the man planned on being in the US around Thanksgiving. Bruce had already invited her (probably to get Jason to show up) and said she could invite any of her family as well. Since her parents and superhero partner were both dead and her grandparents didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, she decided she’d really love Jagged and Penny to come instead. As she walks outside, she’s shocked that Fang doesn’t immediately run up to her. 

“Uncle Jagged?” She calls, frowning. Where was he? And why was it so dark out here? Fang was scared of the dark. Jagged never would have brought him outside without more lights on, he was too protective of him. She tenses when she notices a slumped figure next to the bench Jagged had put in the gardens for when she visits. It was one of her favorite places to sit and design. 

“Hello?” She calls, watching the figure for any movement. Seeing none, she steps closer and her stomach drops. Immediately she runs over and checks her Uncle for a pulse. She sighs in relief when she feels it, but the gash on his head is worrisome. How-

“Hello, Birdie!” An amused voice rings behind her, making her blood run cold. She whirls around and manages to catch a glimpse of the man’s pale face before a thick piece of metal flies at her head and the world goes black. 

---

“Jaybird! Where’s Mari and Cass? They’re blowing up on twitter, even MDC liked my tweet!” Dick says happily, making Jason scowl. 

“Did you seriously post my girlfriend all over your twitter?” He asks grumpily. Dick nods. 

“Oh yeah. Her and Cass looked too cute to keep it to ourselves. Where are they anyway?” Dick asks, scanning the room. 

“M said she needed to go talk to her Uncle about something. Personally, I think she was just avoiding you guys. You all crowd her every time you see her.” Jason reprimands, crossing his arms. Replacement rolls his eyes. 

“It’s ‘cause she’s so much cooler than you. And she’s not an asshole like you are.” He says. 

“Something’s wrong.” Cass says, suddenly appearing at Jason’s side. He jumps slightly, but then frowns at her. 

“What?” He asks, surprised to see the deep scowl form on her face. 

“Don’t know.” She huffs. 

“Well if Cassandra believes that something is wrong, we should investigate.” Damian says, looking relieved that he wouldn’t be asked to socialize with anyone. A startled scream from outside makes the five vigilantes tense before running towards the noise. Jason curses when he realizes it’s Penny Rolling, Jagged Stone’s….something. She’s kneeling by a slumped figure, shaking it until a groan escapes it. Jason feels his blood run cold when the figure’s hair catches the light. It’s Jagged. Then where-

“Where’s she? Where’s she at?” Jagged slurs out, blinking wildly. 

“Who?” Penny asks, gently holding the man’s face. Jason frowns at the gash. 

“M. He wanted ‘er.” He says, and though the man is looking around crazily and slurring his words, Jason can tell he’s completely serious. And M-

“Do you mean Marinette?” Jason asks, stepping forward. Jagged frowns, but nods. 

“Crazy clown.” He adds before turning and throwing up in the grass. Jason growls and turns on his heel, ready to go hunt the damned clown down. Out of everyone in this damned city that he could’ve targeted, why did he choose her?

“Jason, wait.” Dick says, grabbing his wrist. “We need to have a plan. Come on. You can’t just go out like this.” He reminds him lowly, Jason’s eyes narrow but he follows anyway. Might as well use the good tools. That fucking clown won’t make it to morning. 

---

Ice cold water falls over her and Marinette sits up, gasping in shock at the sudden temperature change. 

“Little cold, Birdie?” A voice asks before walking around and standing in front of her- a huge smile on his face and a thick piece of metal in his hands.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Marinette says, trying not to let her voice shake. This was the villain. The one she never wanted to meet. The one that gave her boyfriend nightmares that he couldn’t explain to her. And now she was alone with him. 

“If you’re sure, we could have some...fun before Batsy arrives.” He laughs. 

“Why would Batman show up?” She asks. “You do realize this is just a Halloween costume, right?” She flinches as the piece of metal- a crowbar, she thinks shakily- stops inches in front of her face.

“How stupid do you think I am? Of course it’s a costume. A costume posted by one Dick Grayson. You’re a Wayne, somehow. And Batsy always shows up when a Wayne is involved.” Joker says, his twisted grin making her sick to her stomach. 

“I’m not a Wayne! Batman isn’t going to come for me.” She argues, cursing her decision to not wear her earrings today. Some days were harder than others, especially leaving in a mask. Even if the mask was a costume. Every time she tried to put on her earrings today, she shook and started to panic. Granted, it was probably for the best. Because she would definitely be tempted to transform and she did not want to give Joker that kind of knowledge. 

“Wayne or not, one of the bats will come. You have friends in very high places, Birdie.” Joker tuts, twirling the crowbar in his hand. She flinches as it nears her face, making Joker laugh. “If I wanted to hit you, I would.” He says. She doesn’t even have time to figure out what he means because her shoulder explodes in pain. The pain is blinding and she wants to scream but no sound will come out of her mouth as she gasps for breath. 

“That’s no good. A silent bird is a dead bird. So sing, Birdie.” Joker demands, and he aims slightly lower this time, shattering her left arm. And she screams. The pain tearing at her throat nothing compared to the pain in her arm, her shoulder. She sobs, the shaking making the pain worse, but she was unable to stop. It hurt. 

“S-stop!” She manages to yell, nearly biting her tongue when Joker grabs her chin and forces her to look up at him. 

“Hmm. You’re right! The internet should definitely see this.” He laughs, pulling a phone out. She shakes her head, flinching as he whacks the crowbar against the floor near her chair. He points the phone at her, and she knows he’s recording. The bastard. 

“Hello Gotham! Look at this little Birdie. I’m afraid she flew too far, and now we have to clip her wings.” He says, sighing as if he’s actually apologetic. He sets his phone up on the table and stalks over to her before turning and waving at the camera. She watches him move the crowbar around warily, her breathing shaky. God, she hoped Jason wasn’t watching this. Hoped he was somewhere safe, not trying to go do something stupid. She winces as Joker acts like he’s about to hit her, only to stop before the crowbar actually connects with her good arm.

“I told you, I’d only hit you if I wanted to.” He chuckles. 

“Go to hell.” She spits out, ignoring the voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like Tikki) telling her to shut up. To not antagonize the crazy man with the crowbar. 

“Gladly.” He says with a grin, rearing back and swinging the crowbar out to hit her in the ribs. Her scream echoes around the room and she has no time to catch her breath before he’s attacking her ribs again. Tears stream down her face, but she can’t scream, she can’t even catch her breath. I’m going to die, she thinks, and the thought is terrifying. She didn’t want to die, she wanted to live. 

---

“Do we have a fucking location or am I about to go shoot up every goddamned warehouse in this city?” Jason growls as he zips through the streets on his bike. He knew Babs and Alfred were back at the cave, watching the livestream and working to locate Marinette. And even though he couldn’t see the video, the audio playing through the comms was enough to make his stomach churn. 

He didn’t give one singular fuck what Bruce said. He was going to kill that goddamned clown the minute he saw him. 

---

Marinette glares at the Joker, barely able to keep her head up. For some unknown reason, he’d decided to use his fists on her face instead of the crowbar. Not that she was complaining. She wouldn’t have survived multiple hits to the head. Not with the force he had. She watches him, and she knows he’s saying something, but she can’t tell what it is. She’s too tired, too hurt, to care what he’s saying anyway. Unless it’s some magical cure to stop her from feeling like she’s broken into a million pieces, she doesn’t want to hear it. 

Eyes wandering behind him, she’s relieved when she notices the costumed figure. The cowl, the cape- Batman did come. How strange. Though, she had assumed that Joker was live streaming. So that could definitely explain that one. Deciding she was out of immediate danger, she lets her eyes droop shut, reveling in the darkness that surrounds her. She let’s it stay, and she can feel things slipping away, some of the pain lessening. It’s nice, until someone is poking her and talking much too close to her. She lets out a whine as the person forces her eyes open. 

“‘m tired.” She mumbles, wincing at the pain that comes with breathing, with talking. 

“I know, kid, god I know. Just keep your eyes open.” A voice says. She blinks, the blue marks on the suit in front of her helping her to identify the vigilante. 

“Couldn’t fight.” She spits out, tears springing to her eyes as her attempt at conversation makes her chest ache. 

“But you’re fighting now, you’re staying awake. You’re doing such a good job, I’m proud of you. Stay awake kiddo.” Nightwing says quietly. She vaguely feels the ropes slide off her wrists and ankles. Fighting to stay sitting up, because slumping will hurt more than she’s willing to allow, she sighs. 

“Jason’s gonna worry.” She mumbles, and Nightwing hums. 

“Ambulance is almost here, kid, just stay awake.” He says instead of asking about Jason. She hopes Jason is okay. Hopes he isn’t mad at himself for letting her go talk to Jagged alone. Suddenly, sirens are close and she lets the world finally slip away.

---

The pain is the first thing that clues her in. She isn’t dead. Which is a relief. But the way her entire body aches, is not a relief. Forcing her eyes open, she sighs at Jason’s slumped form in a chair next to her bed. She wished she knew how long she’d been in the hospital so she could scold him. Because he was still wearing the outfit he had on at the party. Which meant he hadn’t given himself a break. Just as she’s trying to decide how to ask the nurses for pain medicine, Jason’s eyes open. 

“Marinette!” He gasps, starting to lunge forward, then stopping himself. “I thought, god, M, I thought-”

“‘m okay.” She says softly, and he frowns. 

“Okay? You were nearly beaten to death with a goddamned crowbar. You’re not okay.” He argues. She sighs. 

“I’m alive, and I’m with you. I’m okay.” She insists, wincing. He looks like he still wants to argue, but stops himself. He scoots closer and holds her hand, kissing the back of it softly. 

“I’ll never leave you.” He promises. She smiles softly, before falling back asleep, finally safe.

Tag list:  @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess 

[lissacmonster]

Wrong Place, Right Time

TMNT x (Gender Neutral) Reader (Non-romantic) Synopsis: Reader goes into an abandoned building to find their dog, and ends up finding a lot more than their dog. Rating: Teen Genre: Action/Thriller Pairings: None Content Warnings: The dog is in danger for some of it (but isn’t actually hurt) Other Tags: Funny, Combat, Short Story, Fanfiction, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Shredder

When you left your apartment that night, you had no way of knowing how unprepared you were for the events that would unfold. Armed with a flashlight and a roll of doggy bags you and your dog Cody had slipped out into the fresh, cool night air. You also brought a can of bear mace in case you ran into any creeps. Bear mace wouldn't have necessarily been your first choice, but it was leftover from the time you went camping and you wanted to put it to good use.

The dog was just happily sniffing around and relieving himself when he suddenly stiffened up. Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a cat. The cat was happily strutting across the street, unperturbed by the dog even as he began barking hatefully and straining against the leash. You held your grip and started pulling him back the way you had come. But he turned around, dug his heels in and managed to pull out of the collar.

The cat suddenly noticed it was in danger and darted around, looking for a place to hide. Cody followed the cat in circles around a parked car, then he chased it around the corner.

You ran after him, "Cody! Get back here!"

You were half angry, and half worried that he would run out into the street in front of a car. Instead, when you rounded the corner, he was wriggling his way into a boarded up building. His tail disappeared through the space in the boards just as you leapt forward to grab him.

"Cody! NO! Get back here, now!" You said, using your best angry parent voice.

But Cody was on a mission to find that cat. You knew that he would be single-minded until he found what he was looking for. It might have been admirable if you were coon hunting together out in the countryside, or something. Instead, it was annoying because you were on an evening walk in the middle of Manhattan.

You groaned in exasperation and looked up at the building. It was an old apartment building or something, a rough brick structure that was 5 stories high. The windows were mostly boarded up, and the ones that weren't were missing their glass. There were no lights on inside. It didn't look like anyone had been here for a long time. At least, nobody you wanted to run into...

And nobody you wanted your dog to run into either! Your protective instinct kicked in. You called through the hole to him for another 30 seconds. When he didn't reappear, you started looking around for a way in.

In the alley where you were standing, there were lots of bits of metal and you took a second to poke through them and find a good one. First you found a weird, 3-pronged dagger of some kind, which you tucked into your belt. Maybe you could use it for protection in case somebody dangerous was squatting in there. (Although, if you were being honest, you mostly kept it because you thought it looked cool.) Then you found a metal rod that seemed sturdy enough to work as a crowbar. In no time, you were squeezing through a gap you had made in the boards covering the doorway.

After clicking on your flashlight, you noticed that you were standing in an old lobby. There was a torn up spot on the floor where the front desk had obviously once been affixed. The wallpaper was peeling. The hardwood floors, which had probably been gorgeous when they were kept up, were covered in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs were hanging in the corners and doorways, with their own gathering of dust.

You followed the sounds of Cody's feet skittering against the floors.

"Cody!" You whispered harshly, creeping towards him. If there were any questionable people around, you didn't want them hearing you guys. Luckily Cody wasn't raising hell yet, which told you that he must have lost track of the cat.

You spotted him at the end of a hallway.

"Cody, c'mere," You called, sweetly.

He looked you dead in the face and then turned and walked through a doorway into pitch black nothingness.

What. A. Brat.

Gazing down the stairway, you wanted to cry so bad. That damn dog had just run down into what must be the basement. You stood at the top, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to see down the steps. After a minute you realized that it wasn't actually pitch black. There was some kind of light that was dimly illuminating the bottom of the steps.

Gathering every last ounce of courage, you made your way down the steps. Every step creaked horribly, and with each one, you felt certain that your foot was about to sink through rotten wood. A dank smell invaded your nostrils more as you descended. How long did you have to breath black mold in before it would make you sick, anyway?

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, you found that you were standing in a hallway. The floor here was even more dirty than the ground floor above. There was garbage piled all over the place. If anyone had ever squatted in this building, you were willing to bet that they'd done it here in this basement level.

A voice sounded from down the hallway. Your head snapped towards it in alarm, but after a few seconds it was clear it wasn't directed at you. It had come from a doorway at the very end of the hall which was slightly ajar, pale blue light spilling from it. You fought the urge to sprint back up the stairs and instead crept down the hall towards the voice. You tucked the metal rod into your belt and pulled out the strange dagger, ready to strike if someone suddenly rushed out at you. The voice was speaking again.

"...think you can defy me, turtles, but once again I've proven you wrong."

"You're not gonna get away with this, Shredder!" A second voice, female this time. She sounded scared. What were you walking into? You felt strangely numb as you continued to move forward, your heart pounding.

"I already have. Look at them! Once I have what I need, I'll dispose of you all," It was a deep, rich voice with a cold fury beneath.

"And then what? You took the mutagen out of our blood when we fought you years ago. So what could you possibly want with our blood this time?" Another male voice countered, sounding calm, but angry.

"Th-that's right! Our blood is free of mutagen, you can't use it to mutate anybody!" Another, nervous-sounding male voice agreed.

You reached the doorway and peered around the doorframe very slowly...

Within the room was some kind of makeshift laboratory. One bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the whole scene in harsh bright light. Several figures were visible in the large room. The first one that caught your attention was the huge figure in the center of the room. It looked like a man wearing a thick, heavy suit of strange armor. The armor had lots of sharp angles and spikes on it. You couldn't see anything else about him because he was silhouetted against the harshly-lit room. He was facing two figures who were lying on the floor.

One of the people on the floor was the woman. She had dark hair and eyes and was wearing a yellow jacket. Her hands were bound and she was glaring hatefully at the armored man. Next to her was another man. He wasn't talking, and he was lying very still... Was he ok? Or was he...?

You didn't finish that thought because you caught sight of four... somethings against the far wall.

They were... turtles, you guessed. But they weren't like any turtles you had ever seen. They were tall and buff with humanoid faces and bodies. Each was wearing a different colored mask, as well as various gear. They were strung up against the wall by lots and lots of chains. There was some kind of machinery connected to them, but it was hard to make out what it all was from this far away.

The spikey man- what had she called him? Shredder? He was speaking again, "I don't need to mutate anybody. All I need is your DNA, and I will have an unstoppable army."

"He's cracked, you guys," A new voice. It was gruff, and it came from the largest turtle, who was wearing a red mask.

"Oh no... I-I think I know what he's talking about!" The nervous voice was coming from the tallest one, in the purple mask, "He wants to clone us!"

"Is that true?!" The orange one finally spoke up, "Man, you can't make another Michelangelo! I'm the one and only!

"Stockman, how much longer before they're drained?" Shredder interrupted.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as an answer sounded out from very close to you.

"Another 2 hours, Mr. Shredder!"

"Why must it take so long?" Shredder asked, threateningly.

"W-well... We only had so much equipment..." Stockman defended, "I mean, there are ways of removing it faster, if you catch my drift. But if you want a clean, untainted sample, this is the best way to go!"

"Hmm... Very well." Shredder agreed after a moment.

You were now pressed against the wall just outside of the door, clutching your chest. That Stockman guy had been no more than 4 feet from you just inside the door! He was against the wall that you couldn't see, though, so you hadn't noticed him.

Stockman was talking again, more to himself, "Aw man... That cat got in again..."

A soft growling sounded from within the room. Oh god. Cody.

"What the..." Stockman started and then yelped, "HEY!"

His chair clattered to the ground as Cody's chorus of barks started up. You rushed back to the door and were frozen to the spot as you watched the scene unfold. It was utter chaos as Cody tore around the room after the cat, which was leaping around on the equipment and furniture. Cody managed to knock over 2 chairs, jump up on a table, and upset several important-looking instruments before he was caught around the neck by the monstrous man's hand. Cody's high-pitched cries snapped you out of it.

"STOP!" You hurled yourself forward. Everything in the room seemed to stop in time. All eyes settled on you and every face held surprise. Shredder's helmeted head turned towards you, observing as you sprinted toward him. You had the dagger drawn back with the intent to jam it into the metal of his stupid, shiney armor.

You didn't even feel it when he swatted you away like a fly. All you noticed was that suddenly you were flying backwards. You quickly sprung back to your feet. Your skin felt electric as adrenaline coursed through your body. There was a throbbing feeling in your face where he had struck you. The strange dagger had skittered out of your hands.

Cody was no longer in his grip, that was the good news. The bad news was that now you were getting an up close and personal look at this Shredder guy. You could see every facet of the armor from here. The most striking part was the helmet, which resembled a leering skull.

You wondered what his face looked like behind the helmet. Did he look as surprised as everyone else? His voice didn't betray any surprise, only amusement.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here... A new hero, come to save the world. Such a pity you’ll have to die."

You tried to keep your voice steady as you explained, “Look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about- I’m just here for my dog!”

"Really, turtles, is this weakling the only ally you have left?"

None of them answered. They were still staring at you and glancing at one another, like they were trying to figure out if they knew you from somewhere. This was getting awkward.

"No, really, I don't know them," You insisted.

"Is that so? Well, then, how do you explain that." He lifted one of his huge metallic arms. It took you a second to realize he was pointing at your shirt. You looked down and gasped.

Save The Turtles was emblazoned across your chest in bright green letters, complete with a cute little cartoon rendering of a turtle.

God damn it. Of course you had chosen to wear the shirt you got from that time you volunteered at the turtle sanctuary.

"Uh- that's-!"

Before you could explain it to him, Shredder cut you off, "ENOUGH! Stockman, restrain this fool."

"ME? I'm not here to be your muscle!" Stockman sounded indignant.

Shredder was just throwing out another line about how weak you looked, and that restraining you would hardly require "muscle," when you darted around him and over to the far corner where Cody was cowering. You had to climb around some equipment that seemed to be collecting blood from the turtles. You were uncomfortable being so close to them, as you had yet to discern whether they were friendly or not.

"Hey, that's my staff!"

You looked up at the turtle with the purple mask. He was peering down at you through glasses that made his eyes look 3 times bigger than they actually were.

You glared at him, "No, that's my dog!"

"No, I mean that thing on your belt!"

Was he talking about the metal rod?

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! DUCK, KID!" The one in the red mask was shouting.

You dropped instantly to the ground. A huge BANG! sounded from above and drywall rained down on you. There was a big piece of metal embedded in the wall where your head had just been. Cody scampered away, whimpering in fear.

"He's coming up behind you!"

You whirled around to find Shredder was advancing towards you. You glanced around for an escape, but you were boxed in by equipment.

Suddenly Shredder stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. Stuck in his back was the dagger you had dropped. The girl in the yellow jacket was standing there, having plunged it into the battery pack on the back of his suit.

You stepped carefully out of the way of the equipment and cast around desperately for a way to help her.

"Quick! Use the staff!" The purple one called.

When you looked clueless, he clarified, "The thing on your belt!"

Oh, the rod! Great idea! You grabbed the rod, jumped on Shredder's back and started pummeling his helmeted head with the thing. This drew a chorus of complaints from the turtles.

"Aw MAN! C'mon, kid!"

"Duuuude, that's not funny! Kick his butt for real!"

Purple was fighting desperately to be heard over all the commotion. He sounded completely exasperated by this point, "No, I meant-! Press the button!"

What button? There were no buttons on the-! Oh, wait. There was a button on the rod. How had you missed that? You pressed your thumb down on small, red button. Instantly, both ends of the rod shot out, extending it by about 5 feet. In the process, it struck Shredder's helmet, launching it violently from the man's head. With a startled cry you toppled off of Shredder's back. The man rounded on you. You looked for the staff, but it had launched itself far out of reach.

"Now, I'm going to put an end to this little game," He said, and you could see the full extent of his fury on his face.

The four turtles were all shouting things and you couldn't make out any of it. All you could see was the hate in the man's eyes as he approached. His long black hair hung in his face untidily. He was panting and his lips were pulled back in an angry grimace. He looked like some kind of beast, like a lion, or like a...

"Bear!" You shouted suddenly. You tugged the bear mace out of the little pouch on your belt.

Shredder was towering over you now. He raised one of his bladed arms, poised to strike. Popping the top off, you raised the bear mace, pointed it at him, and pressed the switch.

Shredder was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of orange smoke. He roared and stumbled backwards. While he was distracted with that you scrambled to your feet. The woman was busy unlocking the chains that were trapping the turtles.

"Thanks, Angelcakes!" The one in orange said gratefully as he shrugged off all of the blood-collecting equipment.

He came over and stood next to you. You eyed him warily, but he was just looking at you with interest, "Hey, that was pretty rad how you stood up to Shredder like that! You pretty much ruled, even though you kinda-sorta... suck at fighting!"

Your pride had never been particularly tied to your fighting skills, so you just said, "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Michelangelo. But the ladies like to call me Mikey."

The two of you kept an eye on Shredder while the woman continued unlocking the turtles chains. You even sprayed a few more times in his direction when he got too close. Eventually he managed to rip the metal armor off of his hands so he could rub his burning eyes. Now he rounded on you again.

He looked truly out of his mind by this point, his blood red eyes were streaming and his face looked pinker than any face you had ever seen.

"Whoa... I think he's gonna-"

Before Mikey could finish, suddenly Shredder was charging at you. Mikey yanked you aside as someone barreled past you. The one with the red mask slammed into Shredder, colliding with him with the force of a refrigerator.

"Oh, shit! Is he ok??"

"You mean, Raphael? He's fine! He gets thrown into cars and stuff all the time," Mikey waved his hand dismissively.

Raphael rolled to his feet, pulling the dagger out of Shredder's back as he did so. He walked back to where you guys were standing, "Thanks for bringing one of my Sais, kid."

Things were kind of a blur from there. The turtles restrained the Shredder. The one with the blue mask was apparently the leader, and his name was Leonardo. He was on the phone with the chief of police. Wow... So your local police department was cool with these turtle ninjas? Who would have thought... Maybe your uncle's conspiracy theory about reptiles controlling the government wasn't totally crazy.

Donatello, the one with the purple mask, was attending to the man who had been lying on the ground when you came in. The man's name was Casey, and he wasn't dead as you had previously thought. He did have a pretty nasty concussion, though, and kept repeating the same phrases over and over (A common symptom with concussions, Donatello told you).

Don also took a look at your own injuries while he was at it. Your face was beginning to swell from where Shredder had struck you, and you would be sporting a nasty-looking bruise for a while. Other than that, you would be just fine.

After everything was said and done, and you had talked to the police, and Shredder had been loaded into an armored vehicle and hauled away, you and Cody were finally leaving to go home. You were back in the cool night air, walking your dog on his leash. You wondered if Cody would think twice about chasing a cat next time, or if the whole event had gone over his head? He definitely didn't look like he cared that he had just been in life-threatening danger.

Before you could ponder it much more, the brothers suddenly appeared around you.

"Heeeyyy, let us walk you home!" Leo offered aggressively.

"No, that's ok! You don't have to!" You really just wanted to be left alone now.

"We insist." The grin on Leo's face looked mostly threatening.

Leo threw his arm around your shoulder, as if to make sure you wouldn't run away, and started practically dragging you along.

They took you on the coolest shortcut you had ever been on. You scaled buildings and leapt across rooftops. It was just like in Assassin's Creed! Of course, they had to carry both you and Cody the whole way like a couple of carry-on bags.

When they set you down finally, you were in the alley next to your apartment building.

"Thanks guys," You said, "But how the hell did you find out where I lived?" You hadn't ever given them any directions.

"I have my ways..." Donatello said. He adjusted his glasses and they glinted dramatically like in an anime.

They were all kind of staring at you in a vaguely menacing way, "Uh... Are ya'll gonna... kill me because I know too much or something?"

"What the-! Of course not!" Donnie yelled.

"Hey, relax, buddy! We're not those kind of ninjas!" Mikey laughed, "That's not how we handle people who know too much!"

"Not any more, at least..." Raph said, narrowing his eyes at you, "The chief said it was too messy to keep covering it up."

You gulped nervously.

"Raph! Don't tell people things like that!" Leo shoved him and turned back to you, "Don't worry, he's joking. YOU'RE JOKING, RIGHT RAPH?"

"I'M JOKING. JESUS CHRIST!" Raph yelled back, "Just, don't go runnin' your mouth about us, aight?"

The leader in blue leaned in uncomfortably close to stare into your eyes, "If you say anything about us, we will come back to see you..."

"Aaaand PUNISH YOU," Mikey added, "In a gentle, non life-threatening way!"

You put up your arms defensively, "Trust me, I am not telling anyone that I fought some kind of terminator samurai to save my dog and some turtles."

You thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth before he straightened up and lead his brothers away. They scaled the walls of the surrounding buildings with ease, and then they had vanished just like that.

============================

Will you ever see them again? Would you LIKE to see them again? I hope so because I have a lot of ideas for this series.

Thanks for reading, ya’ll. It’s the first story I have finished in ages and it feels good to be back.

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 7

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M for sMut. You knew we’d get here at some point.

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

---

I felt the blast before I heard it. It pushed me into the air, hot and forcefully.

The sound made my ears pop as I flew.

This is it. I’m dying in a second.

I hit the ground. Blackness.

An eternity went by.

“She’s under that car!”.

“Get a crowbar or something!”.

Metallic screeches. The air smelled like smoke; and I coughed.

“Chess? Kid? Are you in there?”.

“Mami, say something!”.

“I’m here”, I croaked. I tried to crawl towards the voices, but my foot wouldn’t move.

It was dark around me. Feeling my way with my hands, I felt something like a handle, recognizing it as belonging to a car door.

“Y/N”, I head Flag yell.

I pushed at the door, making a crack to let in some light.

“Croc!”, Flag yelled, and the door was ripped away from over me. I looked up at the squads worried faces. Flag grabbed my arms, trying to get me up.

“I’m stuck”, I wimpered.

Croc, Floyd and Diablo put their backs against the car that pinned my ankle down. Digger and Flag each took one of my arms.

In the background I saw Harley yelling at the soldiers to help.

“1... 2… 3!”, Floyd counted, and the three men pushed at the car, lifting it slightly, allowing the other two to pull me free.

I scrambled forward, ending up in Flags arms.

“Chopper inbound”, Edwards called, and Flag picked me up, carrying me in the direction of rotor sounds.

“Beta Team are clearing out any stragglers. We’re good to liftoff”, Edwards said, as we moved to the chopper.

Setting me down in one of the seats, strapping me in; Flag pulled out a bowie knife, and started cutting open the bottom of my pantleg, and then took of my boot.

“Don’t joke about me ripping your clothes off”, he grumbled; as I tried to hide a smile.

Determining that my ankle was most likely not broken, Flag went to his own seat, and strapped in for the ride back to Belle Reve.

---

Celebrating a job semi well done, we were granted a case of beer; outdated a few months earlier.

I’d had the chance to wash up, and put on my prisoner clothes, before Flag arrived at my cell, strapping me back up in the harness. I put my flannel over it.

“You don’t want to miss the party”, he’d said, and had a group of guards transport me in a wheelchair to the gym.

I hadn’t seen a doctor for my ankle; which I wasn’t surprised about; but the alcohol, and a couple of little pink “friends” – as Digger had called them, after he pushed them into my hand – made the pain bearable.

Harley had helped me out with a bandage; so sitting there in the wheelchair, drinking the stale beer, leg raised by a folding chair, I was content.

The guards had also “blessed” us with a small karaoke machine, and I was chuckling my way through Diggers strangely erotic rendition of Waltzing Mathilda.

“And he sang as he sat, and waited while his billy boiled: You’ll come a waltzing Mathilda with meeee”; he moaned; one hand pointing into the air, hips thrusting to what I guessed he thought was the beat of the song.

“You did good, kid”, Floyd said from next to me. “Made a choice probably none of us would”. He took a sip of his own beer.

“I guess so”, I answered.

“Now don’t get me wrong, doll”, he continued. “Good doesn’t necessarily mean smart”.

He smirked at me.

“You know you could have died back there”.

“That probably wouldn’t have been good for team morale”, I laughed, and he nodded with a smile.

Harley took over the mic, Digger having fallen from the chair he’d been standing on. Taking a deep breath, she led us into a heavy metal version of Stand By Your Man.

Diablo and Croc were arm-wrestling; actually having a pretty even fight, as the tattooed man would let his hand light on fire every time Croc almost had him defeated.

Once Harley started bawling her way through the second chorus, I decided it was time to turn in.

Wishing Floyd a good night, I wheeled my way towards the metal door.

Edwards was standing outside it.

“Boss wants to see you”, he mumbled, cuffed me to the chair, and wheeled me off, out of the building towards some barracks next to the cellblock.

“What does he want?”, I asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care”, was the answer; as he drove me into the building, and down a hallway.

We stopped outside a door. Edwards banged on it.

“Colonel!”.

Flag opened the door. He’d cleaned up too; and was drying his hair with a towel.

“Uncuff her”, he said shortly.

“Sir?”, Edwards said.

“Do it. I’ll bring her back to her cell when we’re done”.

Edwards looked at him questioningly; but began to uncuff me from the chair.

“I’ll radio if I need you”, Flag said, and Edwards left us.

“Come in”; Flag said to me, and moved out of the way, so I could stand, and limp my way into the room.

A bed, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a minifridge were placed up against the walls of his quarters.

It was surprisingly messy. Not dirty in any way, but both chairs had become makeshift closets, and papers were spread across the desk and bed; telling me that Flag literally took his work to bed with him. I chuckled to myself, thinking it must have been a while since anyone had been in here with him.

He cleared one of the chairs and pulled it out for me to sit on.

“I don’t have bitters or ice, so you’ll have to drink it neat”, he said, handing me a glass of amber liquid I instantly recognized as whiskey.

“How’s the ankle?”, he asked, taking a sip from his own glass, and sitting down on the edge of the desk.

“It’s ok. Digger had some fun little pills in his stash, that took the edge of the pain”, I smirked, and took a sip from my glass.

“I’m sure he did”, Flag retorted, almost looking defeated. “It’s like dealing with a kindergarten. And that?”. He nodded at the bandage placed on my foot and ankle, to decrease the swelling. The thing was covered in stickers, and held together by a couple of glitter hairpins.

“Harley”, we said simultaneously, and laughed, our eyes meeting for the first time. For a second all air went out of the room; but then Flag looked down at the floor.

“They didn’t want you in the hospital wing”, he said, still not looking at me.

“I scare them, don’t I?”, I asked, finishing my drink, and putting the glass on top of a stack of files on the desk.

“They’re worried, yeah”. He finished his own drink, and took both glasses away, putting them down next to a bottle on top of the minifridge. “You’re able to disappear at will; and they don’t know you won’t sneak up on them, and slit their throats”.

“Even with this?”, I asked, gesturing towards the belts and wires strapped to my body.

“Yeah. They ain’t exactly geniuses in this joint”, he scoffed.

He went to sit on the other chair, facing me. He wrung his hands; seeming indecisive about something.

“Hey”, I said, biting my lip. “Thanks for not letting me die”. I looked at him, and smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“You’re Wallers newest toy. She would have had my ass if I did”, he answered shortly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Ok. Good talk”. I went to stand, finding it difficult to put weight on my busted ankle.

Limping towards the door, I was about to knock it, hoping a nearby guard would take me back to my cell. At this point, anywhere was better than here.

“You know, I thought were smarter than that, Y/N”, Flag suddenly said, startling me. “Why would you do something so stupid? Putting yourself at risk like that?”.

“What do you mean?”, I wondered.

He chewed at his bottom lip, looking at me angrily. “You threw yourself headfirst into that situation; almost got yourself killed!” He stood up, and paced the floor, staring me down; as I stood there, mouth agape, not knowing what to say.

“I told you before, I can’t always be around to protect you. You need to be smarter than that”.

“Locking me in a dark room, treating me like and animal? Strapping me up with this bullshit chastity belt contraption? Is that what you call protecting me?”.

I was on a roll. Who does this asshole think he is?, I thought.

“Did you forget that I’m a scumbag, and that the world would be better if I just disappeared?”. I pointed an angry finger at his chest and looked him square in the face. “I was doing my job. The job you hunted me down, trapped me, and tortured me to get me to do”.

He stepped back.

“That wasn’t my call”, he said, and went to pour another glass for himself.

“Waller?”, I asked, voice low.

“She seemed to think that letting the guards here work on you a bit before we returned, would make you more compliant”. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I scoffed. “Why do you work for her?”.

He lowered his glass, having just been about to take a sip.

“I guess I’m a bad guy too”, he said, and drank the whole content of the glass in one swig.

I took a step forward; having forgotten all about my hurt ankle. The pain from stepping down on it, made me stumble and fall.

Flag ran over to catch me, but I hit the floor with my knees, cursing.

“Shit”, I yelped, and tried to stand again.

Flag grasped my elbow, and put his arm around my waist, supporting my weight. I pushed at his chest.

“Let go; I can take care of myself”, I said, struggling against his grasp. He held on to me, forcing me to lean against him; chest to chest.

“Would you just let me help you?”, he growled at me, putting his other arm under my knees; lifting me into the air.

Kicking my legs, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, my other hand scratching at his arms.

“Get. Off. Me!”, I roared, and smacked him across the face.

Having been walking towards a chair, Flag changed direction.

“Fine!”, he barked; and let me go.

---

I landed with a bump on the bed. Shocked, all I did was stare up at him; standing over me, breathing heavily. Grasping my face with both hands, he leant over me; and planted his lips on mine.

I think I blacked out for a second – everything was Flag and his lips, tugging at mine.

His hands moved to my shoulders, gently pushing me backwards; until I was lying down underneath him; his one knee between mine.

I opened my mouth slightly, letting his soft tongue find its way to mine.

Grinding his hips against me, his groin meeting my core; it felt like I was on fire. I threw my head back and moaned.

Flags lips moved towards my neck, his hot breath sending tingles through my body. He kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin below my ear, and moved down; reaching the spot where he’d used the strange gun to place the nano-bomb.

He suddenly groaned and pulled back; getting of the bed.

“Shit, we can’t do this”, he cursed, running his fingers through his hair, and pacing the floor again. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. This is wrong. I should take you back to your cell”. His eyes met mine, almost pleading.

The pain in my ankle completely forgotten, I stood up. I stormed across the floor, pushed him against the wall, and grabbed the back of his neck; pulling him in to another kiss.

“I don’t give a shit if this is wrong”, I said pointedly. “You finish what you started, Flag!”.

His eyes were instantly on fire. He grabbed my bottom, and lifted me up so quickly, it was almost dizzying.

“Rick”, he breathed.

“Rick”, I smirked; and pushed my lips to his, our tongues colliding, and fighting for dominance. He tasted like whiskey and chewing gum.

As I straddled his waist, he spun us around; pushing me against the wall – his hips grinding against my core once more. He grabbed at my collar, pulling it down; and nibbled and licked my exposed neck and shoulder.

The sensation almost sent me over the edge, as I felt his hardening member through his cargo pants, rubbing against my most sensitive spot.

I’m about to have sex with a guy who wears cargo pants, I chuckled to myself.

“What”, Rick asked, out of breath.

“Nothing”, I answered. “Just keep going”.

He carried me to the bed, and laid me down; my legs still in a tight grip around his body. His weight on me put even more pressure on my core, and I gasped loudly.

“Eager kitten, aren’t you?”, he chuckled into my ear, and tugged at my lobe with his teeth. My eyes rolled back, and I let out a mewl, as his fingertips travelled down my side, ending up at my waistband.

He ran one finger along the band, once again kissing me, this time softly; exploring the curves of my lips with his own.

He sat up on his knees suddenly, making my butt move up his thighs; as I was still holding on to him something fierce, with my own.

He looked down at me, soft eyes exploring my own, then travelling down my body.

“You sure you want this?”, he asked. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Rick pulled of his t-shirt, and as it travelled up his body, I swallowed hard. His muscles flexed, revealing the reason he was so strong.

Colonel Flag worked out! He was fit; slender, but not skinny. His muscles were defined, and his skin smooth and tanned. I ran a hand up his torso, and scratched at his chest; feeling the small amount of hair there, soft against my fingertips.

Throwing his t-shirt on the floor, he smiled smugly, and chuckled at me. Putting his hand around my back, he pulled me up into a seated position on his lap; our faces inches from each other.

I felt his breath again, warm; and he grabbed my bottom lip between his teeth, nibling slightly, before exhaling and looking me into the eyes again.

My body was frozen in place. What the hell are you doing to me, colonel?, I thought.

“Let’s get this of you”, Rick smiled, and pulled at my flannel shirt. Taking it of me, he threw it behind his back; and it landed on the desk, knocking over one of his piles, making us both laugh.

I ran my fingertips down his spine, as he leaned in for another kiss. I teased him; pulling my mouth away at the last second, tilting my head, and biting my bottom lip.

He tried again, and as I did the same thing; his eyes on fire, he growled, and grabbed both my hips.

He lifted me from his lap effortlessly, and threw me backwards, making me land on the middle of the bed, on top of the papers strewn there.

With one hand, he took a firm grip around my wrists, holding them over my head.

I giggled and struggled against his grip, as he straddled my legs with his own, and grabbed the bottom of my face; kissing my lips passionately.

“Who’s the eager one now?”, I smirked at him, as he pulled back. His answer was to kiss me again, grab my hip with one hand, and flip me over; still holding on to my wrists. Grabbing and squeezing my buttcheek, he leant over, and whispered in my ear from behind me.

“I can stop any time you ask”, he breathed, and chuckled when I mewled in response to his fingers close vicinity to my core.

He smacked my butt, and flipped me over again; this time letting go of my wrists, and sitting back up.

I threw myself at him – our lips once again meeting – one hand in his hair, the other scratching his back from top to bottom, ending up at his waistband; slipping my fingers underneath it, to stroke the top of his ass. It was firm; and I was eager to find out how it looked.

Smiling giddily, I started undoing his belt; as he sat back, hands behind him, looking at me intently.

Opening his pants fly, I noticed the fabric of his boxers struggling to keep the little colonel in place. Rick inhaled quickly, as I let my finger softly stroke his length through the fabric.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him. One eyebrow raised, he smirked at me. You’re a smug sonofabitch, I thought – but I had to admit to myself that he did have plenty to be smug about.

Rick leaned back towards me, and as his tongue restarted its exploration of my mouth, he started tugging at the hem of my tank top, trying to get it over my head – something that turned out to be an impossible task, due to the harness I was still wearing.

“Shit “, Rick said.

I sat back on the bed and sighed. I knew this had been too good to be true.

Rick caught my eyes, as if searching for something. He shook his head.

“Fuck it”, he said. He got up, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer. He took out his key to the disc on my chest.

Once he got back to the bed, he unlocked the harness; and I lifted my butt slightly, letting him pull it off me.

He quickly threw it on the floor, and looked down at me, as I sat there – eyelevel with his stomach.

I ran my hand up his toned torso, and he grabbed my wrists again, lifting my arms into the air. Then – as eagerly as he had with the harness – he pulled my tank top over my head, leaving me in my bra and shorts.

He ran a finger across the uncovered top part of my breast, giving me goosebumps, and making me tingle in all the right places.

I looked up at him, once again biting my lip.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, kitten”, Rick breathed. “You don’t know what it does to me”.

Placing my palm over his covered member, gently squeezing it; feeling it’s warmth through the fabric.

“I can tell exactly what it does to you”, I smirked, licked my lips, and kissed his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers.

I started tugging at his cargo pants, and he stepped out of them, kicking them away.

Still seated, I put my hands on each of his butt cheeks, and pulled him closer to my face.

Looking up at him, I opened my mouth and put my lips on his length. His eyes widened, as he gave a small gasp.

“Y/N”, he breathed.

I moaned, and tugged gently at the fabric of his boxers with my teeth. Hearing him hiss, I laughed quietly; and hooked my fingers in the waistband, starting to pull down his boxers.

Behind my back, I could feel him unhooking my bra. Removing it myself; he meanwhile shucked his boxers.

Hi there, my eyes lit up. Standing at attention, Ricks member was right in front of my face; and I couldn’t help myself.

I placed one hand on his butt cheek, and the other closed around my new friend. Gently kissing the tip, I tasted the salty pre-ejaculate waiting there.

I opened my mouth; and meeting his eyes above me I took him in to my mouth, stroking his length with my hand.

I moaned, moving my head back and forth – tasting his warm skin, and feeling his veins ripple against my lips as I moved.

Ricks hands suddenly pulled at my hair, making me let go of his manhood.

Mouth still agape, I looked up at him, panting. He looked about to explode with lust.

He pushed me back in the bed, and pulled down my pants with shaking hands. Slinging them who knows where; he crawled over my body, grasping my right breast with a firm hand.

His other hand travelling upwards from my knee on the inside of my leg; he put his lips around my nipple, and sucked greedily.

I gasped loudly, as his fingers reached my covered folds. He continued to assault my right nipple for a couple of seconds more, before smirking up at me; then quickly pulled my panties to the side, and slid his finger between my wet labia.

He gave my left nipple a quick kiss, and moved his face to meet mine, grasping my lips with his own.

Continually kissing me, my hands in his hair; he stroked his finger from my entrance up to my sweet spot. Finding it engorged, he rubbed it gently between his thumb and index finger; driving me crazy with his circular motions.

My panties were discarded by joint effort.

He slid his free hand behind my torso, grasped my waist, holding on to me firmly. His member poking at my thigh, he held me down; one leg intertwining with mine.

He returned to my clit, stroking it softly.

His pleasuring hand pulled me closer and closer to the edge, when suddenly he slid his ring and middle finger inside me; and moved them in a come hither motion, rubbing his palm against my nub.

I pulled my mouth from his; gasping and moaning. A fiery tingle started spreading from my core, all the way through my arms and legs, fingers and toes.

I grasped the sheet, and threw my head back. Rick kissed and sucked at my neck, letting his warm breath there intensify the sensation on the rest of my body.

His hand continually moved – pressing upwards inside me, and downwards outside.

“I…”, I gasped.

“I know, kitten”, he breathed heavily. He kissed me again. “Let go”.

A hot wave, intense and earthmoving, washed over my body, from my core and outwards.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t breathe. My whole body tensed up, and I swear I floated into the air for a second; before dropping back down on the bed.

---

All the while, Rick had been staring at my face.

My body continued to climax, even after he had removed his hand from my warmth. He was now stroking my face, examining every inch of it with inquisitive eyes, as my muscles relaxed more and more; allowing me to breathe in a steadier pace.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”, he said, voice low; his index finger travelling from my forehead, over my nose, and finally stroking the edges of my lips.

I sputtered with laughter.

“I mean it!”, he said. I slapped his shoulder lightly.

“My cumface is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”, I laughed at him.

“Yeah!”, he laughed.

“You can’t be serious”, I smiled.

“Well I did see an original WWII Lanchester submachine gun once, that got me pretty hard”, he smirked.

I laughed out loud again, making him chuckle.

“Speaking of hard…”, he said, and moved to lie between my legs. “… I’m not done with you”.

His eyes bore into mine; and he positioned himself at my entrance.

I gasped; and Rick slid into me slowly, letting me feel every delicious ripple of him as he did. Everything was this moment, and we started to move together.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[scaryscarecrows]

Before You Put My Body in the Cold Ground (Take Some Time to Warm It With Your Hands)

AN: ‘Roots and Leaves’ related. Title from Brand New’s ‘Sowing Season’.

* * *

Bruce does not allow himself to speculate on the nature of the Light. Gordon turns it on for anything from ‘take this piece of evidence’ to ‘we have a new serial killer’ to ‘there’s been an Arkham breakout. Again’.

It isn’t, at least, an automatic warning sign of mayhem.

Gordon, as per usual, is standing near it, soaking up the warmth, when Bruce lands silently on the rooftop behind him. Contrary to popular opinion, he doesn’t come in from the back to be dramatic. He comes in from the back to avoid taking blinding, agonizing light to the eyes.

“Commissioner.”

Gordon jumps and swears.

“Every time…Dove Marquis wants to see you. Says she’s got temporary custody of one of your-and I’m quoting, here-‘fifty thousand children’, and would like you to come and get him.”

Well. This is unexpected.

Dick and Tim are accounted for on the way, Dick covering the night shift for a friend and Tim…interviewing…some of Harley Quinn’s on-again-off-again henchmen. Which leaves Jason.

Jim had not implied it was anything imminently fatal. And Jason, the last anybody knew, hadn’t actively picked a fight with anybody overly dangerous. It’s likely that he’s got some sort of mild, but unpleasant, injury that’s preventing him from getting home. 

That sounds weak to Bruce’s own ears. With Marquis calling Gordon about this, it’s because it’s serious or because Jason asked, and if it’s the latter…

Marquis is on her balcony with a cigarette when he arrives. There’s no sign of Jason, but surely that’s not a bad thing. Surely. It’s pouring rain, it’s late…

She looks rattled, and she keeps twisting around to glance through her doors. The feeling of unease grows, and he scans the building. The only figure in the apartment is curled up on the couch, asleep. He deems it safe to land on the balcony railing.

“Jesus-!” Her cigarette lands in a puddle with a hiss! “Good God, that’s creepy…are you socially awkward, or just an asshole?”

“Why did you tell Gordon to contact me.”

Marquis rolls her eyes.

“Asshole it is...because he asked for you. So you have to take him.” As though he wouldn’t. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t wanna know. I found him wandering around a few blocks away. He was throwing up dirt a-and fucking worms, and I spent a good forty minutes pulling shards of wood out of his hands.”

Sounds like someone thought it would be a good idea to bury him alive. Bruce will disabuse them of that notion as soon as he gets Jason home and under Alfred’s care.

“Hn.”

They go in. Jason’s scrunched up on the couch with an electric blanket over him, face smushed into a pillow. His hands are wrapped from fingertip to wrist, and he’s shivering, just a little. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he’s not waking. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and for him to be uncaring, unknowing, that he’s not alone…

What happened to you tonight?

He whimpers and scrunches up under the blanket, hands jerking, and Marquis says softly, “Want me to try and wake him up, or do you want to risk it?”

Neither, preferably.

The whimpers stop and he goes still, sniffling softly. Bruce sighs, calls for the car-it’ll be here by the time he gets downstairs-and pulls Jason into a fireman’s carry.

“Thank you,” he manages to say. “For. For watching him.”

“Take it up with Harley,” she says shortly, fishing out her cigarettes and heading for her porch. “Tell him I hope he feels better soon, huh?”

Jason stirs, a little, when he settles him into the Batmobile, but when Bruce tries to talk to him, his face scrunches up and he closes his eyes again. He’s tempted, he really is, to go after Harley now; Jason’s clearly all right, not even a hint of a low-grade fever, but…

But. He could have inhaled something, he could have been drugged. Bruce needs to take him home and have Alfred look at him. Harley can wait.

And this way, he’ll be more likely to keep his temper when he tracks her down.

He tousles Jason’s hair, covers him with the cape-he’s shivering now that he’s away from the electric blanket-and makes sure he’s secure before hopping into the driver’s seat and calling Alfred.

“I need you to prep the med bay,” he says. Alfred does that thing where he doesn’t really sigh, but he may as well.

“What happened this time, Master Bruce.”

It isn’t always his fault. Arguing will get him nowhere, but it really isn’t always his fault.

“I’ve got Jason,” he says, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant that really is located too close to the curb. “He’s. It appears that somebody attempted a live burial.”

Alfred is silent.

“I will be ready and waiting for you, Master Bruce,” he says at last. “Drive safely.”

He does. Mostly. He takes care, anyway, not to come screaming into the cave in a cloud of dust and burnt rubber. Jason’s still unconscious in the back, but he wakes, a little, when he’s picked up.

“B…?”

“Hn.”

“You came.” The surprise in his voice hurts. “You really came for me.”

“Yes.” He sets him on a gurney. The clothes aren’t his, and they don’t fit him well. There’s small cuts on his face and neck, and his hands are all but mummified. “Jay—”

“My fault, I should’a—”

What?

“Jason—”

“She said it was safe,” he whispers. “She said. She said.”

And then Alfred is there, shooing Bruce out of the way and humming, “Let’s see what’s happened, Master Jason…”

Jason blinks at them for a minute before his eyes roll back. Bruce has no idea what happened. He doubts Jason would have trusted Harley Quinn. Pitied, almost certainly, but trusted? No. Somebody else was involved, somebody he doesn’t know about.

Bruce doesn’t like not knowing about things.

There’s a bump on the side of the boy’s head, and when Alfred unwraps his hands...they’re not a pretty sight. There’s a few nails missing and the remaining ones are badly broken. They’re riddled with cuts and punctures and oh. Coffin. There must have been a coffin, or at least a large wooden crate.

How did this happen?

“--ce. Master Bruce.”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“Move aside, please...thank you. It’s a miracle his fingers are still intact.”

Bruce often thinks it’s a miracle Jason’s alive at all, after...after everything. And now, under the stark light of the medical bay, that idea comes back in force. He can’t place most of these scars, even though he knows what caused them. That one’s from a crowbar; he’s got a few of those himself. They’re a cheap, easy weapon. Or that one, there, that’s from a knife. There’s more than a few gunshot wounds, far more than he ever had from his time as Robin, and…

“There we are, Master Jason,” Alfred says, forcefully cheery, even though Jason’s not awake to care anyway. “I’m sure your father will take you upstairs.”

Some father he is. This is his fault, none of this should have happened.

He wants Harley Quinn. And once Jason’s settled in bed, he’s going to find her.

* * *

Bruce decides, when he’s back in the car (he isn’t hiding from Alfred’s disapproval, he’s just…), that he’ll start his hunt for Harley after getting what he can out of Marquis. He’s hoping she’ll be more cooperative about this than she’s been about past cases, given the circumstances. Besides, Penguin’s not involved (theoretically), so she doesn’t have any reason to withhold information, not really.

She’s still outside, but no longer smoking, when he lands on the balcony.

“Why are you here.”

“What happened.”

“Get lost.”

“I need to find Harley, but I need to know what happened.”

For a minute, he thinks she’ll just go inside. But she sighs, mutters something about too many goddamn vigilantes and never thought I’d miss the weirdo with mommy issues, and gets up off the bench.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I found him wandering around a few blocks away, and he said Harley did it, and he was really, really upset about some woman named Sheila, but I don’t know who that is and at this point, I don’t care.”

Sheila, Sheila...Bruce knows of a Sheila, but...no, that’s too much of a coincidence...there’s no such thing as coincidence...and Jay’s always had near-comically bad luck. Rather like the Baudelaire Orphans.

“Where exactly did you find him.”

“Ah...over in Sunshine Plaza.”

Bruce has always wondered who, exactly, named that plaza. And why.

“Thank you.”

“Now are you gonna go?”

He can take a hint. And also there’s nothing else he needs here.

He brings up his file on Sheila Haywood on the glide over. She’s still living exactly where she was the last time she was on his radar, when he’d been desperate. He’d thought that maybe...either Jason had found out, somehow, and gone after her, or that her connections to the Joker would…

He’d been desperate.

Sheila’s apartment isn’t far from here, and Bruce’s unease only grows. The odds of there being another Sheila are...low...and Jason…

He lets himself in through the bedroom window. There’s a body lying in the front hall, but no other signs of life.

The body is Sheila Haywood. Bruce sighs-he doesn’t know why he expected otherwise, really-and sets up a virtual crime scene.

Sheila died from a bullet to the head, maybe...five hours ago, give or take. The shooter was waiting for her; she’s still wearing her raincoat, and her purse is sitting on the ground where it fell when she died.

There’s a gun near her hand. It hasn’t been fired-it’s not even loaded-but hers are the only prints on it.

Hm.

There was a struggle, at some point. The end table by the couch is tipped over and there’s blood on the carpet. The blood is both Jason’s and an unknown-likely a hired hench-and there’s a hint of Quinn’s perfume still lingering in the air.

So. Harley-or her goons-probably shot Sheila when she pulled the gun. That doesn’t entirely explain her involvement, but Bruce wonders if Harley wasn’t trying to get her to come back. She didn’t take Joker’s death well, and he knows she’s been grasping for any last connection to him. Sometimes he feels sorry for her.

But not today. Today, her insanity killed a woman and could have cost Jason his life, and Bruce is not happy about it.

He calls Gordon about Sheila before following the perfume outside. There’s not enough to track over a long distance, but it does lead him to the parking garage...and a set of tire tracks.

The first place the tracks go is a park, maybe two blocks away. Reasonable; Jason was either unconscious or restrained, but keeping him in a small car would have been risky. The car was parked, and…

Oh.

Oh, dear God.

He doesn’t need to track anything to see the tear in the earth, the thick wooden shards and the torn roots. The scanner says the disruption goes down six feet, to a cheap coffin.

Oh, Jay-lad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

His ear crackles and Alfred’s voice hits him, colder than Freeze’s gun.

“Master Bruce.” Oh no. “What do you think you are doing.”

“I need to find Quinn.”

“You need to be with your son, who has asked for you twice tonight.” The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach is a response to the grave in front of him, and that’s all. “Now.”

Alfred uses-really uses-the No Argument tone very rarely. That’s probably why it’s so effective.

That said, Harley’s likely gone to ground for the time being. Big to-dos aren’t her style, not anymore. Besides, he can put feelers out from home. And maybe Tim will find something.

* * *

Jason’s asleep when Bruce nudges his door open, face buried in the pillow. Looking at him now, Bruce can almost convince himself that none of the last few years has happened, that he’s just...home from college for the weekend. But then he rolls over, bringing the brand into the low light, and the illusion’s shattered.

“Has he woken up at all?”

“Once,” Alfred says, apparently happier now that Bruce is here. “He wasn’t terribly happy with the room being so dark, hence the pineapple lamp.” Bruce can only imagine. “He wondered where you were, but then decided to go back to sleep.”

“I’ll watch him, Alfred.”

He’s sure he’s imagining the it’s about bloody time aura Alfred is radiating. It’s been a long night, that’s all.

“Very good, sir. Call me if you need me.”

Jason doesn’t stir when Bruce sits down on the edge of the bed. Good. It’s...it’s better that he get some sleep.

(Bruce doesn’t want a fight tonight.)

How did this happen, Jay? What am I missing?

He’ll find out. He’ll find Harley, he’ll make this...well, there’s no making this right, but...he’ll find her.

God, he’s tired of clowns trying to take his son.

THE END

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 13 - Ladies

Jody had just sat down to dinner when the phone rang. Claire hid a smirk behind her hand as Jody rolled her whole head along with her eyes to glare at the phone, it was a movement Claire had seen in Cas before, apparently a trait in her parent-figures.

Jody grumbled and pushed back from the table to stand. Donna took the opportunity to sneak some of Jody’s cubes of potato with a wink at her, Patience and Alex. Donna was over for dinner a lot these days, stayed over some nights too. Not that Claire minded, she liked Donna, how could she not? She was just so… peppy. On anyone else, that kind of unending enthusiasm would make Claire want to punch someone in the face but on Donna it just made sense.  

Jody had made meatloaf for dinner. It was a special occasion after all, this was the first night in three months that they’d all been free together. Claire had gotten back from a hunt just last week and had been able to witness the chaos, everyone grabbing as slices of toast popped out of the toaster, one person (usually Claire) lounging on the sofa with nowhere to be, people banging loudly on the bathroom door, making their case as to why they needed to use the shower first.

Jody and Donna’s shifts had been all over the place lately, overlapping just enough Claire had barely seen either of them for more than ten minutes at a time.

Patience had like four study groups, even though their school was on break now so she had nothing to study for and like a billion different sports clubs that kept her out of the house, or taking over the dining table with her nerd friends.

Alex was almost always at work; sometimes, when Claire was bored and needed company, she would go out there with sandwiches and soda and Alex would smile and, if she wasn’t immediately busy saving a life, she’d call a break and they’d go to the canteen. If it was open, Claire would buy a sausage roll or a cup of soup, something hot that would be a lot nicer than boring old sandwiches, but Alex would always eat them first, or dip the sandwich in the soup, which Claire would make a face at, though she would secretly be pleased.

As a result, Claire was often on her own in the house. Usually, she didn’t mind too much, but the extended periods of isolation were getting to her. She couldn’t show up at the hospital too often or Alex would start to worry, and everyone was just so busy and it’s not like she had a reason to go out looking for… comfort or whatever. Just… sometimes her mind would start to wander and she’d think of Kaia and, and that would suck.

She stabbed a piece of carrot with her fork and nibbled on the end, though she knew that none of them, not even Donna, would even touch the meatloaf until Jody sat back down at the table.

“Sheriff Mills?” Jody said into the phone, her back to them. Then, “Oh, heya Sam. What’s up?”

Immediately, a ripple of tension went around the table and every eye turned to Jody. Last they had heard, things had been started to turn sour with the kid they’d taken in, Jack, the devil’s son, and they were all worried about him. If the call was social, Jody would tell Sam she’d call back later, if not…

“Huh. Well no kidding.”

Alex stood and went to fetch the ‘hunting’ first aid kit in the kitchen while Patience went for the tupperware. Donna started gathering the plates together, scraping like foods onto their own plates. Claire headed for the stairs to grab all of their go-bags, a duffel under each of their beds. Even Alex had one and Claire grabbed that too, though Alex probably wouldn’t want to come, but her duffel had more complex medical supplies than the rest of them, things that could come in handy in a bind, even without a registered nurse wielding them. They were heavy, each had a few sets of clothes and toiletries and all the basic stuff, plus a tub of salt, an iron crowbar and a selection of blades in each one.

She clanked down the stairs with the bags. Patience was shrugging on her coat at the bottom and took two of the bags from her, swinging them onto her shoulders.

“I didn’t think this was your thing.” Claire said quietly.

Patience grimaced and looked over at Jody. “Sounds important. You might need a psychic.”

 Donna and Alex were filling a plastic bag with the boxed up food, though there were still a few portions left. Alex wasn’t joining them then. Claire tried not to be too disappointed. Alex’s job was important and she could get into serious trouble if there was any kind of screw-up with the law and she was caught with the smuggled medical equipment in their go-bags. Not that she had smuggled it for them, Jody would never have asked her to compromise herself like that, but they had gotten it from Alex’s hospital, so Claire knew how it would look.

Jody was still on the phone, facing away from them, apparently oblivious to the activity going on behind her. “Oh Sam, I- I’m so sorry,” she was saying and Claire froze for a moment, she knew that tone, someone was dead, someone important, but it wasn’t Dean or Jody would be crying, and it wasn’t Cas… it wasn’t Cas because Jody would turn to look at her.

“Of course,” Jody said. “I’ll be there… Now don’t you try and talk me down, Sam, you could use the extra hands and you know it. Just… be careful until I get there, alright? Keep an eye on your brother for me, and Cas. Yeah… yeah, watch out for ghosts, I got it. Alright. Take care, Sam.”

Jody hung up with a click and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Alright girls, I’m sorry but I’ve gotta-” She stopped as she turned to see them all, Claire and Patience by the door with the go-bags, Alex digging behind the couch for her stack of lore books that she’d move within easy reach in case they called, Donna holding the keys for her truck in one hand and the bag of food in the other. Jody blinked at them and then a slow grin spread across her face.

“Well, ladies. It looks like the world’s ending in Kansas. Whaddaya say we go save it?”

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[bamby0304]

The Hart III: Secrets

Chapter 14: Careful What You Wish For

Series Masterlist

Summary: Three months… Dean was gone for three months and now he’s back. He’s back and he truly has no idea how much things have changed. Life moved on while Dean was in Hell, and now things are complicated. With new faces and troubles right around the corner, will the trio find a way to come back together? Or has all hope been lost?

Warnings: Angst. Bit of violence.

Bamby

EPOV  

Not a lot of people knew this, but the night Bobby and I met... well a lot had happened.

I almost died for starters. Or maybe I had. I mean, when I died with Sam a couple of years ago, and Dean had sold his soul to get us back... the demon said I was already back. So, maybe I'd died that night as well? Maybe I've died a few times?

But that's not all that happened.

It had been a hectic night. It had been a hectic few months. After losing my mum, both my sister and I fell down dangerous paths. I went through things. She went through things. Only difference was, I made it out.

Gabby had started dating a guy. A bad-boy. Only she hadn't realised how bad he really. Neither of us knew he was actually a monster. In the end… he killed her.

Not even a year after finding my mum's lifeless, torn up body lying on the office floor of our home, blood everywhere and a look of terror in her eyes which refused to close... I then found my sister.

The similarities between the two bodies had been uncanny. My sister had been the spitting image of mum, in life and in death.

Bobby had saved me after that. After I found her body, tried to get revenge, drastically failed and almost- if not definitely- died.

Bobby did something for me then. Here was a scared, broken, lost girl. A fifteen-year-old with baggage to spare. A head-case and emotional wreck, who would drag everything and everyone she touched down. Yet, he didn't run. He didn't warn me away from hunting. Instead, he took me in.

Then, instead of burning my sister there, along with the monsters- even though there was a chance she may have been turning into one herself- he packed both her and me into his car, and took us to his hometown. There, he burned and buried my sister on the edge of the cemetery. The grave was marked by a single rock. He'd found it. Turned to me and asked if it was a good choice. I'd been too numb to see he was simply trying comfort, or maybe amuse, or even distract me at that moment. All I did was nod, and watch as he laid the rock on top of my sister's grave.

We went home after a few hours. We didn't speak. We didn't need to. He took me to his place, invited me into his home, offered me the bed in his office, ordered us some home delivered burgers, and then he just sat at his desk and did some research while I sat there looking out the window.

Over the next few years, Bobby became family. He taught me how to hunt, but also how to live again. He didn't just save my life, he saved my sanity, spirit and soul bit by bit every day after.

When I started to leave, to hunt on my own, I would always come back. I tried to come back as much as possible. The Roadhouse was where I lived, but Bobby's would always be home. As long as the only father I ever knew was there, and my sister's grave not too far away, I would always return.

Which is why I was now lying on the grass, under a tree in the cemetery. Looking up at the sky, my hand lying down on the soft grass above where my sister lay, I let myself be in the moment.

Powers. Tristan. Dean. Sam. Ash. Bela Talbot. Gordon Walker. Azazel. Lilith. Castiel. Ruby. All of it. All the drama, and pain, and fighting, and problems, and complications... sometimes I just needed this. Sometimes I just needed to be with my sister and forget all about monsters, demons, angels and the stupid apocalypse.

DPOV  

Leaning down over to wishing well, I used the brush to sweep at all the coins lying on the now drained bottom. The restaurant had been cleared a few moments before Sam and I got to work, so as we'd have no distractions and could do what we needed.

"Typical fountain, plaster Buddha. Nothing I can see," I noted, pulling back to stand next to Sam again.

The waiter behind us nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, nothing. We keep a clean place here."

Sighing, Sam turned to him. "Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave during the preliminary investigation, okay? Thank you." With that, he turned back to me as the waiter waited a moment and then left us.

Once he was gone, I pulled out a coin form my pocket. "Oh, come on. Aren't you a little bit tempted?" I asked, flipping the coin over to my brother.

He caught it, chuckling lightly. "No." handing it back to me, he shrugged. "Wouldn't be real. I wouldn't trust it."

"I don't know. That bear seemed pretty real."

"Yeah."

"Come on, if you could wish yourself back, you know, before it all started... think about it. You'd be some big yuppie lawyer with a nice car and a white picket fence."

"Not what I'd wish for."

"Seriously?"

"It's too late to go back to our old lives, Dean. I'm not that guy anymore."

"All right, well, what, then? Hmm? What would Sammy wish for?"

"Lilith's head on a plate. Bloody."

"Okay..." Now that was a surprise.

Sam had never really been a violent kind of person. Sure, we were hunters. We killed things. But that was all in the name of saving others. Protecting those who didn't know what was out there, didn't know how to protect themselves. So to hear him say something so dark and heavy, with such a flat and determined voice... I never thought something like that would come from my brother.

Looking down at the well again, my eyes landed on something I hadn't noticed before. "What is that?" Reaching down again, I brushed away the coins that were resting on top of a different coin. One I'd never seen before.

Crouching down, Sam took a look as well. "Some kind of old coin. I don't recognize the markings." He paused a moment, leaning in a little more. "You know who probably would recognise it?" Turning his head, he gave me a knowing look.

I rolled my eyes. "Liz made her choice. If she's done with us, I'm not gonna dwell on it. We're all adults here, Sam. We make our own decisions." Reaching down, I went to pick the odd coin up... only to find that it wouldn't budge. "Damn."

Sam chuckled lightly, watching me, amused. "Lift with your legs."

But try as I might, the thing just wouldn't move. "Is that little mother welded on there? Huh."

...

Sam and I had left for a moment, but as we walked back into the restaurant, a hammer in his grasp and a crowbar in mine, I was one hundred percent sure that we'd get this coin out of the well once and for all.

The waiter spotted us carrying the tools and came hurrying over as I put the crowbar to the coin. "Hey, hey, hey, what is this?! You are gonna break my fountain!"

"Sir, I don't want to slap you with a forty-four sixteen, but I will," Sam warned, causing the waiter to walk away again- though he clearly wasn't happy with the two of us. "All right, thanks."

When the crowbar didn't work, I looked over at the sledge hammer in Sam's hands. "Let me see that. I got an idea." Lining up the crowbar, I then grabbed the hammer and took a swing, hoping that if I hit the crowbar, it would pry the coin away from the well.

But instead, as the hammer hit the bar, the hammer broke...

"Damn!"

Sam's jaw fell open as he looked form the broken hammer, to the well. "Coin's magical."

"Boy, I'd say. I think it's hoodoo that's protecting the well. I don't think we can destroy this."

Kneeling down, pulling a pencil and piece of paper from his pocket, Sam then traced over the coin to get an imprint of it, before handing the paper to me. "All right, here. You got to look into this."

I frowned, watching as he turned to leave. "Where you going?"

"Something just occurred to me."

SPOV  

A woman stood by the sink, doing her makeup, completely obvious. But I could see the foot prints, and hear the steps.

Reaching out, I grabbed what felt like a body, and turned it. Just like that, a form appeared in front of me as a red-headed teen aged boy went from being invisible, to completely visible- hence why he moved quickly to cover himself seeing as he was naked.

"Aah!" the woman yelled out, noticing that she was no longer a lone, and that two males were in the bathroom with her.

Raising my Health Department badge to her, I gave a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'm with the health department." In a hurry, without a word, the woman rushed out, leaving me with the kid. "So, you can turn it on and off, huh?"

Unable to look me in the eyes, both nervous and surprised, the kid muttered, "How... how did you know that I was..."

"You actually walked up to a wishing well, dropped a dime, and wished to be invisible so you could spy on women in the shower?"

"N- No. No," he stuttered. "N- No, no, no. That's crazy."

Let out a sharp and short breath, I shook my head disapprovingly at him. "Put on some pants. And stay visible," I ordered, poking him in the shoulder with each of the three last words.

"O- Okay."

DPOV  

I was walking down the road, heading back to the hotel, when my phone started to vibrate in my pocket, telling me I had a message. Stopping in the middle of the path, I pulled my phone out to see who it was from. Bobby.

Just thought you boys would like to know.  

She's home.  

Liz. She was back at Bobby's. Safe and sound.

I wasn't going to admit it to her- or anyone for that matter- but I was jealous of this boyfriend she had. This guy I didn't trust, seeing as no one had seen him. This guy who just happened to sweep her off her feet, despite the fact she hadn't been interested in dating. This guy who I knew nothing about, except for the fact that he apparently made Liz happy.

I made her happy.

The thought was a shock to me at first, but as I wondered a little more, I realised that I wasn't wrong. At one point, I did make Liz happy. Maybe not the happy she was now, or the happy she needed, but it was a kind of happy.

She'd made me happy, too. But even if she was single, and we went back to how things were before... I doubt much would make me happy again.

The sound of kids running and yelling had me looking up to see the three bullies from earlier now running from the kid they'd been chasing.

"You better run!" he yelled, until he spotted me watching them. Coming to a stop, he glared at me. "You got a problem, mister?"

"What?" I shook my head. "No."

After a second or two, the kid headed off again, chasing the others once more. I took a step to leave as well, only to come to freeze as my stomach grumbled and everything inside it moved in a very, very, very bad way.

Oh, no. This can't be good...  

EPOV  

I was home. It was nice to be home.

After dumping my bag in my room, I headed down to see if Bobby needed any help. He was looking up some stuff for the apocalypse. He'd been doing that a lot lately. With the world possibly coming to an end, he was trying to help the Winchesters keep everyone alive.

But I knew he needed a break. Needed to get out of the house. So, while he sat at his desk, flicking through book after book, reading lore after lore... I got comfortable on the couch and started surfing the web for anything that might catch his interest.

SPOV  

Walking into the hotel room, I slid my keys into my pocket as I closed the door behind me, only to freeze at the sound of Dean in the bathroom... throwing up.

"Dean?" I called out to him. "You all right?"

"The wishes turn bad, Sam," he answered back, voice strained. "The wishes turn very bad."

"The sandwich, huh?"

Instead of answering my question, he flushed the toilet and opened the door, leaning against the frame looking very unwell. "The coin was Babylonian. It's cursed. I found some fragments of a legend, but-" Before he could finish, the colour in his face dimmed a little as he quickly turned to the bathroom again.

I stood there, watching, waiting, concerned for him. But at the same time, I had warned him. He should have known better. When did getting your way ever come without consequences?

As he returned, he gave me a reassuring nod. "I'm good," he insisted as I moved over to the table where the coin and his research sat. "The, uh... the serpent is Tiamat, which is the, uh, Babylonian god of primordial chaos." Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he then come to sit on the bed next to the table. "I guess their, uh, priests were working some serious black magic."

"They made the coin?"

"Yeah, to sow the seeds of chaos. Whoever tosses a coin in the wishing well, makes a wish, it turns on the well. Then it starts granting wishes to all comers."

"But the wishes get twisted. You ask for a talking teddy..."

"You get a bipolar nut job," he finished.

"And you get E. coli."

"Mm. This thing has turned more than one town upside down over the centuries. It's even wiped a few off the map. I mean, one person gets their wish, it's trouble, but everybody gets their wish..."

"It's chaos."

He nodded, taking a drink from his can. "Mm-hmm."

"Anyway to stop it?"

"Yeah. One way. We got to find the first wisher. Whoever dropped the coin in and made the first wish, they're the only ones who can pull it back out and reverse the wishes. So for now, we've got a couple of nutso dreams come true, but once the word gets out about the well, things are just gonna get crazier and crazier."

DPOV  

Sam and I had a pretty good idea who made the first wish. It was published in the local paper a month ago. 'Wesley Mondale and Ms Hope Lynn Casey have announced their surprise engagement'. Which is why we were standing on their porch right now, Sam lifting his hand to ring the doorbell.

A moment or two later, revealing Hope- the woman from the couple in the Chinese restaurant earlier. "Can I help you?" she asked, a little bit of a lost look in her eyes.

Sam smiled at her, giving a short nod. "Hi. We're looking for Wesley Mondale and Hope Lynn Casey. We were called about a wedding. See," he gestured between the two of us, "we're florists."

Hope's eyes lit up as she ushered us in. "Oh, please come in. Wes is inside." She beamed before leading us towards the living room where Wesley sat on the couch, watching TV. "Wes! You didn't tell me that you called the florists for the wedding."

He looked from Sam and I, clearly confused. "Huh?"

Ignoring his confusing, Hope leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. "You're the best! Mm! Ah!" pulling back, she turned to Sam and I. "I'm gonna go get my folders." With that, she left.

The moment she was gone, I turned to Wesley, smiling but clearly unamused. "Wesley, how's it going?"

"It's 'Wes-" He'd been about to get up, but as I stepped closer he fell back into the chair. Intimidated, he looked from me to Sam again, noticing something. "Aren't you the guys from the health department?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded- not nervous, unlike Wesley. "And florists on the side."

"Plus FBI," I added. "And on Thursdays, we're teddy bear doctors."

"Huh?"

"Doesn't matter who we are. What matters is what we know," I told Wes as Sam came to stand next to me.

"So, coin collector, huh, Wes?" Sam gestured to some framed coins hanging on the wall.

Wes turned to look at the coins. "Oh. Yeah. My... grandfather gave them to me."

"Did you happen to lose one of those coins lately?" I asked, going on to elaborate my question. "And by 'lose', I mean drop into a wishing well at Lucky Chin's and make a wish on it?"

"No, I- I don't know what you're, uh… talking about."

Just then, Hope came back in, carrying a bunch of folders and papers. "Okay, now. I have a lot of ideas, but, you know, we don't have all the money in the world. Wes is between jobs right now. Means more time for me. You know, I'm thinking a Japanese-y ikebana kind of thing."

"Yes." I smiled at her, keeping up appearances. "I can see it." Honestly, I had no idea what she was going on about.

"Yeah. So, Hope, uh, tell us how you two lovebirds met," Sam encouraged.

Hope's face lit up even more as her eyes landed on Wes again. "Oh, best day of my life."

"I bet." My own smile grew a little, but it was smugger and knowing than excited. The look of Wes' face told me just how nervous that smile made him.

"Yeah!" Hope went on. "It's the funniest thing. We both grew up here, but I never really knew who he was. Not by name anyway. Until one day, last month, it was like I just," she sighed, content and so happy, "I just saw him for the first time. He was just... glowing." She reached over to press a hand to Wes' chest, running her hand up and down. "Oh, just glowing."

Eyes nervously looking from his 'fiancé' to Sam and I, Wes quickly tried to change the subject. "Uh, babe, can you- can you get us some coffee?"

"Yes. Yeah." Nodding, she did the opposite of leaving, and leaned forward to kiss him. Deeply kiss him. It was getting pretty awkward, if you know what I mean.

"Oh. Okay. Okay. Mm-Hmm. Okay." Between each kiss, Wes tried to mumble words to her so she would leave. "Oh, okay. Oh. Mm-mmm, okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay."

Pulling away, Hope nodded again, fixed herself up. "Yeah." As she turned to leave, I watched her go, a little jealous of Wes at that moment.

"Wes, we know." Sam got to the point, getting back on track. "So tell us the truth."

It took a moment as he stood there contemplating it, but eventually, Wes told us everything. "My- my grandfather found the coin in north Africa, you know, World War II. And, uh, he brought it back. He, um, he said it was a real wish-granting coin, but that nobody should ever use it. Um... it was all I had, and when he died, I thought, 'Well, you know what? Why not give the coin a shot?'"

"Yeah, well, now you're gonna wish it back," Sam told him simply.

"Oh." Wes chuckled, until he realised we were being serious. "Oh. Ha, ha, no, I'm not."

"If you don't stop it, something bad's gonna happen," I explained.

"Something bad. Like us," Sam warned.

Stepping closer to Wes, I pulled my gun out and held it by my side so he could see it. "We really wish you'd come with us."

...

Wes sat in the back of the car as I drove down the street, headed for Lucky Chin's. Sam sat next to me, where he usually was. Only things were a little tense between us. Had been for the last few hours.

After he woke me up from a nap, he'd asked me about Hell again. Claimed he could tell things weren't right because I was drinking more, and that he knew I was having nightmares. But once again, I lied and insisted that everything was fine and I remembered nothing.

Of course, we were ignoring all of that for now. There was a case we needed to finish, and Wes was the guy to do it.

"I don't get it," Wes sighed from the back, clearly annoyed and frustrated with the whole idea of taking away his wish. "So, my wish came true. Why does that have to be a bad thing?"

"Because the wishes go south, Wes," Sam tried to tell him- not for the first time. "Your town is going insane."

"Come on." I looked at Wes through the rear-view mirror. "You're gonna sit there and tell me that your relationship with Hope is functional, that it's what you wished for?"

Wes shrugged as if he thought things were going the way he wanted them to. "I wished she would love me more than anything."

"Yeah, and, uh, how is that going? That seem healthy to you?" Sam asked.

"Well, it's a hell of a lot better than when she didn't know I was alive."

I shook my head at the guy. "You're not supposed to get what you want, man, not like this. Nobody is. That's what the coin does. It takes your heart's desires and it twists it back on you. You hear of the whole, uh, 'be careful what you wish for'?"

"'Careful what you wish for'," Wes repeated in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes. "You know who says that? Good-looking jerks like you guys, the ones who've got it so easy because you happen to be handsome."

Sam and I scoffed. "Easy?"

"Yeah. Women- women look at you, right? They notice you."

Yeah, they did. But that wasn't the point. That didn't mean we had things easy. It didn't mean we were happy. Or that we got what we wanted. Girls might notice us, but we still had no mum, or dad, or home, or stable life, or wives, or girlfriends, or anything 'normal'.

"Believe us, we do not have it easy," Sam assured him.

"We are miserable," I added. "We never get what we want. In fact, we have to fight tooth and nail just to keep whatever it is we got."

Sam shrugged. "But you know what? Maybe that's the whole point, Wes."

"Yeah." I nodded, knowing what he meant. "People are people 'cause they're miserable bastards, 'cause they never get what they really want."

"Right, yeah, you get what you want, you get crazy," Sam added.

"Take a look at Michael Jackson, hmm? Or Hasselhoff," I finished.

But Wes just wasn't getting it. "You know what? Hope loves me now. Completely. And it's awesome. Besides, look around. Where's all this, uh, insanity you guys were talking about?"

As if on cue, we spotted the kids from earlier as they yelled out for help. The smaller kid grabbed the bottom edge of the car they were in, lifting it as if it were as light as a feather, and then pushed it onto its side.

I stopped the car. "Well, that should cover it."

"Kneel before Todd!" The smaller kid looked up to the sky, yelling. "Kneel before Todd!"

Needing to stop the kid before someone got really hurt, I got out of the car and turned to Sam. "I'll handle Todd. You get Wes to Lucky Chin's. Go!" Without waiting a moment longer, I hurried over to the kid. "Hey, kid! Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Get out of my way!" he warned.

I raised my hands in the air as I took a few more steps towards him. "Okay. Hey, I can dig it, Todd. It- it's Todd, right?" He nodded. "Look, I-I know the score. Okay? They're- they're bullying you-"

"Every day," he claimed as I stopped to crouch down in front of him. "Every day! You do not know what it's like!"

"No, no, I don't." I shook my head. "But, you know, you're you and I'm me, so-"

"Couldn't stop them. I couldn't do anything. Then Audrey Elmer told me the wishing well worked."

"Okay, okay. Look- look, I get it. They're- they're mean little jerks, huh? But they're not superhuman like you. You see, with great power comes great respon-"

Before I could finish, he lifted his fist and punched me, throwing me across the parking lot and into some garbage cans and trash bags.

SPOV  

Stopping in front of Lucky Chin's, I hurried out of the car, moving for the door.

"That- that- that kid turned over that car like- like it was nothing," Wes noted as he moved around to follow me.

"You should have seen the teddy bear. Now, come on. Fun's over. Time to pull the coin." But as I turned to him, I found he had stopped. He wasn't coming. "Wes!"

"Well, why can't we just get what we want?!" he asked, frustrated. He was seriously starting to get on my nerves.

"Because that's life, Wes."

I'm not really sure what happened next, but I just remember feeling something painful push through me, shaking me to my core. Something I'd never felt before, almost burning though my veins. Then everything went black.

DPOV  

I pulled myself up and out of the trash, straightening myself up as much as I could as I stated for Todd again. "Hey, kid!" I called, getting his attention. As I reached him, I leaned down to his level again. "I didn't want to have to do this." I punched him.

It hurt. Bad. Like punching a wall. It hardly moved his head, too. Like he hardly felt it. But I did. I was pretty sure I'd been feeling it for a while. I hope my hand isn't broken...

Before I could test my hand to make sure it was in fact okay, Todd reached forward, wrapped his fingers around my throat, and began to squeeze.

I struggled and fought against him, trying to pry his fingers from me. But try as I might, he was too strong. I knew I wouldn't last much longer. I could already feel my lungs screaming like they were on fire, begging for air. My head was growing dizzy.

Come on, Sammy. I hoped and prayed he'd hurry up. I hoped and prayed Wes would pull the coin out any second.

It honestly felt like it wasn't going to happen though... and then, suddenly, I could breathe again.

Todd's hand was still wrapped around my throat, but the pressure was gone. The strength was no longer there. His wish was gone.

As his hand fell from my throat, he looked confused, a little scared, and even disappointed. I knew things weren't going to get better for him now, not when he was back to his weak scrawny self, and despite what he did I felt the need to help the kid out.

Getting to my feet as I tried to get control of my breathing again, I nodded down at him. "Okay. Follow my lead and you won't have a problem. Come on."

Heading over to the car he'd toppled before, I made sure the bullies were out and could see us as I suddenly backed myself up into the turned over car. Looking down at Todd, eyes full of fear, hands up in surrender, I shook my head at the kid.

"Okay, man, no more! No more, okay?" I looked to the other kids. "I wouldn't mess with this kid any more if I were you." Turning, I grinned to myself as I walked away, knowing I may not have saved the day but I might have saved Todd's day.

...

Sitting by myself, reading the paper, I looked up in time to see Audrey walking past with her parents- who were sunburnt- and her normal sized teddy in her arms. She gave me a smile and wave, continuing down the pier.

Sam walked over to me then.

Turns out, Hope had made it to the wishing well before us and wished that we be stopped from making Wes take away their 'love'. Seeing as I wasn't trying to do that at the moment, the wish turned on Sam, and actually sent a lightning bolt down to electrocute him. He'd died because of that. But the moment Wes pulled the coin out, Sam came back.

"Well, uh, coin's melted down," he sighed as I moved to stand next to him. "It shouldn't cause any more problems."

"Audrey's parents are back from Bali," I noted. "Looks like all the wishes are gone. And so are we." Turning, we started to leave.

But the guilt of keeping secrets from Sam had finally got to me. I guess seeing Wes holding onto something that wasn't really his, it made me think of the false truths I was holding on to. Just like how he wanted to be loved, I wanted to be happy. But you can't force these things. I can't force my memories away, just like he can't force Hope to love him.

I came to a stop. "Hang on a second."

Sam stopped and turned to look at me, confused. "What?"

Looking out at the water, I hesitated a moment, but didn't give myself enough time to chicken out before saying, "You were right."

The confused look on his face only grew. "About what?"

"I shouldn't have lied to you," I started, looking up at him. "I do remember everything that happened to me in the Pit. Everything."

The confused turned to what I had dreaded would come... pity. "So, tell me about it."

"No." It was as simple as that. "I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it."

"Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone. You got to let me help."

"How? Do you really think that a little heart-to-heart, some sharing and caring, is gonna change anything? Hmm? Somehow... heal me? I'm not talking about a bad day here."

"I know that."

"The things that I saw... there aren't words. There is no forgetting. There's no making it better. Because it is right here," I lifted my hand to tap my head. "Forever. You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I am sorry."

Bamby  

[thegreen1969pontiac]

L’appel Du Vide Chapter 5- Feel My Wrath and Extreme Self-Doubt

                                         Eventual Dean x OC

Summary: When Hope’s sister is killed in a less than a normal house fire, and Sam, her sister’s boyfriend, disappears with his brother after her death they’re her number one suspects. When the cops declare the case cold she begins her hunt for the Winchester boys. She follows them in hope for some evidence pointing to the death of her sister, but will she find more than just the cause and the killer? Will she find out more than she wanted to?

Warning: blood, violence, language, switching povs

Word Count: 2083

The funeral did suck, I asked around and there wasn't anything out of the ordinary about any of the people, I couldn't figure out why Sam and Dean killed this guy. He seemed to be living a pretty normal life, he had two daughters, the mother seemed to be out of the picture I asked around saying that I was just a coworker of his, a secretary of some sort. I finally got to Lily, the youngest, she reminded me a lot of how Jess was as a kid, superstitious, she kept saying over and over that it was Bloody Mary that it was her that killed her dad.

I remember playing that game I remember all of the stories so not once would I ever believe that it was real. I left, said my goodbyes and followed the Impala away from the funeral, they drive to a park and meet up with some girl, she was crying on the park bench as the two men looked down at her, I couldn't even begin to comprehend what was happening. I ditched Theo three streets down hoping that by doing so I would be more inconspicuous. The two tall men look to be consoling her, I chuckle what in the hell? I decide to leave it alone and wait for the next murder writing down all of their actions, this case has no evidence to point to them hell they didn't even know the guy, I could find absolutely no motive behind the murder either.

I find probably one of the only motels in town and surprise surprise the Impala sits idly in the parking lot, I leave my car inside thinking that with all the busy work these boys have been doing there is no way they would recognize a car from two days ago. I sit in my motel room and stare at the car.

But how did I even know he did it, I mean this kid has nothing suspicious to him other than that his mother's death and my sister's death line up and he was involved in both, I mean, maybe this was all just some freak coincidence. But how can I live my life without knowing? Could I ever live my life without knowing? I chuckle darkly. God, I hate this. I hate living in my car, no matter how good of a car it was, I hated losing the people I loved, all of it. Why couldn't I have stayed with her, been with her through college, I could have kept her with me, kept my baby sister.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was driving the Impala, probably his favorite place to be, Dean looked over to Sam,

"You know Charlie's boyfriend killing himself isn't really her fault." He said side-eyeing his brother

"You know as well as I do, spirits don't exactly see shades of gray," Sam stated focusing ahead of him keeping his eyes on the road.

"Dean, Charlie had a secret, someone died. That's good enough for Mary." He finally looked over to his elder brother it was Dean's turn to stare at the road, the boys were tiptoeing around having a conversation about what had been going on.

"I guess," Dean said sounding like he was not convinced, "You know I've been thinking," Sam started, "It might not be enough to just smash that mirror." He said knowing his brother won't appreciate what comes next, "Why? What do you mean?" Dean asks looking across the bench seat at his baby brother. Sam suggests summoning Mary to a mirror in order to keep her tied down so she won't be able to move around from mirror to mirror. "Well, how do we know that's gonna work?" Dean asks unimpressed,

"We don't, at least not for sure," Sam spoke,

"Well, who's gonna summon her?" Asked Dean looking at his brother, as Sam stared out the window watching the rain slide down the glass of the car.

"I will," Sam said quietly, Dean shook his head taking his eyes away from his brother,

"She'll come after me." Dean clenches his jaw,

"Alright, you know what, that's it," Dean says as he pulls Baby off onto the side of the road. He turns the car off and turns almost his full body to his brother looking at him accusingly,

"This is about Jessica isn't it?" Sam stays quiet not facing his brother irritated face.

"You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow?" Dean said staring at Sam's face. Dean smiles darkly,

"Sam, this has got to stop man. I mean, the nightmares and the calling her name out in the middle of the night, it's gonna kill you. Now listen to me. It wasn't your fault, if you want to blame something, blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me, I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place." Sam finally met his brother's eyes,

"I don't blame you, Dean," Sam mumbled.

"Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, cause there is nothing you could have done," Dean said directly,

"I could've warned her," Sam mumbles, trying to contain his emotions and keep his cool.

"About what? You didn't know it was going to happen, and besides all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it, its not gonna work with Mary anyway." Dean said exasperated.

"No, you don't," Sam said his voice struggling not to crack as he stared at the dash of the precious car.

"I don't what?" Dean asks, he can almost feel his stomach drop with those words.

"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything." Sam has tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he looks at his brother. Dean looks at him with urgency and question in his eyes,

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks with wild eyes,

"Well, it wouldn't be a secret if I told you would it?" Sam smiles with those words, Dean looks at him with horror and then surprise. "No, I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it." Dean grunts, getting protective of his little brother,

"Dean, that girl back there is going to die, unless we do something about it. And you know what who knows how many more people are going to die after that. Now we are doing this, You got to let me do this." Dean turns his gaze back to his brother at those last words and his eyes glare at him. Sam's puppy dog eyes pleading with Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I get up, when I see that the impala leaves the motel, I get in Theo as well following them close behind, I see them talking through the glass and then the driver suddenly pulls off, I keep going as to not raise suspicion but I look and I see what looks like Dean in the driver's seat arguing with Sam. I keep driving not expecting much to come of the boys tonight and as I drive back I hum one of the old songs I heard at the diner the other day. I tap my red chipped nails on Theo's steering wheel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam and Dean are inside the antique's store searching for the mirror, Dean pulls out the picture of the murder and they begin their search,

"Maybe they already sold it," Dean says flicking his flashlight around the dusty store. Sam points his flashlight at all different types of mirrors none matching the picture until he stumbled upon one on the ground facing directly at him.

"I don't think so," Sam says approaching the mirror. Dean looks at his brother,

"Are you sure about this?" Dean asks. Sam begins to say it,

"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary..." He hesitates and takes a breath,

"Bloody Mary," Sam says staring at himself in the mirror.  He raises the crowbar at it.  Headlights shine through the windows of the Antiques Store and Dean turns.

"I'll go check that out, you stay here," Dean says pointing towards the front of the store, "Be careful, smash anything that moves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  As I drive down the endless seeming highway I see a flash in my mirror, I look for the approaching car only to see my own reflection with what looks like a pale, dark-haired girl in my backseat. I jerk the wheel. The car slides almost flipping entirely and I am flung into an open field, the impact of getting off the road rustles the car. As I slam on my brakes Theo comes racing to a stop and I turn around to not see the girl behind me. I get out of my car looking up into the sky trying to calm my racing heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam turns around only to see the dark haired girl in the mirror he smashes it and then another, he stares aggressively at the mirror in question mumbling to himself to 'let it be this one' and he holds his crowbar ready for the swing at the mirror up dramatically.

But his reflection in the mirror lets the bar sink slowly down, his reflection smiles at him. Sam feels enormous amounts of pain rush to his eyes as if someone was stabbing needles into them. And blood begins to drip out of his eyes, Sam falls to the ground, crowbar slipping out of his grip. His reflection stares at him blood reflected from Sam's face onto his,

"It's your fault. You killed her." The reflection says, "You killed Jessica. You never told her the truth, who you really were. But it's more than that, isn't it? Those nightmares you've been having, Jessica died screaming, burning, and you had them days before she died. Didn't you!" The reflection shouts at him, Sam is writhing on the floor in pain, as blood seeps out of his eyes.

"You were so desperate to leave on your own, to believe that they were just dreams, how could you have left her alone like that to die like that. You knew it would happen." Then a shattering of glass, Dean ran the crowbar through the mirror.

"You okay Sammy?" Sam nods, his eyes though are still shut, Dean helps him get up but they both hear the clinking of glass under feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I turn around ready to get my car back on the road again, as I reach for the handle my reflection smiles at me. What the hell?

"Jess died. And you weren't there to stop it. She died because you were too selfish to stay. And now you want to just give up on finding the man that killed her? What kind of sister are you?" The reflection shouts, behind my eyes I feel burning pain, it's horrible. I choke out a sob and fall to my knees which split open on impact. I reach my hand up to my eye only to pull away and feel blood on my fingertips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Both of the boys fall to the ground their eyes bleeding as Mary faces them, Sam turns away but Dean grabs the closest mirror he can find and turns it onto Mary herself. "You killed them, all those people, you killed them." Mary begins to crumple and she falls apart into shards of glass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

The pain behind my eyes stops and I look at myself in the glass and only see myself this time. I rub my eyes making sure I could see, but I still pull away to find blood. Oh my God. What the absolute hell? I get in the car and pull myself back onto the road. Probably just some shitty side effect of zero sleep, an abundance of alcohol, and only eating granola bars. But as I get back on the road I see someone standing right in front of me but it isn't the dark haired girl anymore. It isn't some stranger, it's my sister standing in the middle of the road staring me down, still dressed in a white dressing gown with the rain pouring from the sky but somehow not affecting her at all. I get out of the car and look at her as the rain rushes down my face, wetting my hair and clothes I look at her and she just stares back and then flickers away. I wipe the water from my face only to come back with watered down blood and I look at the sky and ask,

"Why her?"

[musekicker]

I'd love to see a scenario where Ignis (a much more "updated" robot) experiences his first true glitch/malfunction - perhaps in the vein of an anxiety attack. He has no idea how to fix or handle it and he forced to go McDuck Industries for help.

Some mentions of mental abuse in this drabble, so just a heads up for that.

Fenton was just heading into work when he heard the crashing noise coming from near where the trash was left out. It was probably a trash raiding animal of some kind. But with Ignus and hired goons coming after him lately it paid to be a tiny bit paranoid.

"Who's there?" Fenton asked, preparing to make a dash to the entrance of his workplace if need be.

A form stepped out of the darkness. Fenton realized it was Ignus only moments before the swan lunged at him

"Help me, please!" Ignus cried, hands grasping Fenton's shoulders.

Ignus. A robot swan, made by the same group that made Fenton himself. So much like Fenton except more updated and with built in weapons. Fire hands and blade claws to be more exact. Weapons that he had used or threatened to use on Fenton and some of his friends.

The swan robot had made it his mission recently to hunt Fenton down and bring him back to his master. And understandably Fenton was a bit on the worried side when he saw Ignus. And Fenton started to try and struggle out of the swans grip. He succeeded, pulling away from Ignus and starting to his work entrance for safety.

"Wait! I'm not attacking you, I swear!" Ignus shouted.

Something in that tone made Fenton stop and turn around, though he did not leave the entrance thresh hold.

"There's something wrong with me. And I don't know what it is." Ignus said.

Fenton looked Ignus in the eyes, trying to read his expression. It looked wild, desperate. Perhaps Fenton was reading too much into the situation it seemed like whatever it was that drove Ignus here, it had to be pretty bad.

There was still a fairly big question to ask before making any decisions on what to do though.

"I have to ask, why are you coming to me? Wouldn't you go back to your boss and have them fix this?" Fenton asked.

Ignus opened his beak to speak. He seemed to think better of what he was about to say and closed it. It didn't take long for Fenton to realize what wrong.

"He'll trash you if he suspects somethings wrong with you, won't he?" Fenton asked.

Ignus glanced at the floor, not meeting Fenton's gaze. It was answer enough. It was also the final bit of information that made up Fenton's mind on what he was going to do next.

"I'll help you." Fenton said.

Ignus looked shocked. Desperate as he was he hadn't expected help this easily.

"Really?"

"Believe me. I know this is probably a bad idea. But I'm not going to turn down a call for help. Even if you've tried hunting me down." Fenton said.

"So, what's wrong exactly?" Fenton asked as Ignus got up on the work table.

Ignus hesitated. There was so much in that mere hesitation. Embarrassment, a little fear. Ignus overcame his hesitation.

"I'm get well..overloaded sense around big groups of people." Ignus started. "I try to keep to myself a lot anyways but lately I've been needing to blend in a bit and it's been really hard. Too many people around and I start losing control of my senses and got generally acting really glitchy."

"I see." Fenton said, already working at the hatch on the back of Ignus's head.

"Maybe it's something wrong with your proximity senors. There could be a bug overloading it." Fenton said. "How long has this been happening?"

"For little more then two weeks. Can you fix it?" Ignus asked softly.

Fenton had to consider the information given to him

"I can't give you a guarantee. You're supposed to be more upgraded then me, right? That said, I'll do what I can." Fenton said.

For the next half hour Fenton worked in mostly awkward silence, time to time asking how Ignus was feeling after he changed any little thing. He didn't want to end up messing up any of Ignus's important wire or circuit work. Works that were much more updated and prettier looking then his own workings Fenton had to admit. But at least he had an idea of what he was doing.

"What does it feel like?" Ignus asked suddenly.

"What does what feel like?" Fenton said.

"Not having a master? I couldn't imagine that. Not having someone to be an ever present figure in your life. It must be scary."

"Can't say I agree with that. I mean sure I have bosses-"

"Not the same thing." Ignus interrupted.

"Something about how you talk about.. that guy sounds like you would just lay down your life if he told you to." Fenton said.

"I would." Ignus said a tad too proudly.

"I don't think that's a good thing." Fenton said.

Ignus frowned.

"Let's talk about something else." Ignus said quickly.

Fenton wondered for a moment if he should press Ignus on the topic. But then he thought better of it, afraid he would try to leave in the middle of the repairs.

"Okay, that's fine. How about I ask a different question?" Fenton thought a moment. "Can we get anxiety? I mean I get nervous but I can say I've ever had an actual panic attack. At least I don't think I have. But who knows."

"That's an interesting question." Ignus replied. "We've always been suppose to copy organic beings as much as possible in so many ways. So maybe it's possible?"

Fenton thought a moment.

"Do you think this could be part of whats happening to you now?" Fenton asked.

Ignus frowned.

"I.. guess? But it's most likely a bug, right? Something you can fix. Right?" Ignus asked.

"Honestly... i'm not finding any bug so far. Maybe all this... err, hunting, is making you really  stressed out and-"

"I don't get stressed!" Ignus shouted, slamming his palm into the table he sat on.

The slam dented the table and startled Fenton just a bit. Ignus had the courtesy to look just a bit sorry.

"Sorry, didn't mean to yell like that. I just.. this issue is just a bit stressful, you know? How can I serve my master well with this issue? I can't go back to Drago like this." Ignus said.

Fenton had learned from previous conversations with Ignus that he was very devoted to this Drago. And whenever he questioned that devotion Ignus would get just a little bit upset. By a little bit he meant that Ignus had set fire to a building on accident once in his anger. So a dangerous thing to ask about.

Still it was worth asking.

"Why go back? Clearly Drago is not a nice guy if he's willing to scrap you for just having anxiety." Fenton said. "No one should be hurt or scrapped just for something like that."

Ignus looked at Fenton like he had asked him to jump off the top of a very tall building.

"I can't do that!" Ignus cried. "I'm loyal! And besides, if I ever strayed I'm sure that my master would send someone else to retrieve me."

Fenton frowned.

"This is abuse. Surely you can at least see it."

"It doesn't matter if it is." Ignus said.

"I'd say it matters very much actually!" Fenton argued.

"You don't know him!" Ignus cried.

"I know enough." Fenton said "Please, let me help you-"

"No!" Ignus shouted with real anger behind his words. "No one can help me!"

There was silence at those heavy words. Heavier then Ignus had meant judging by his expression.

"He's my master. I have to go back eventually. After I have you I mean." Ignus said softly, not meeting Fenton's eyes at that.

Fenton sighed.

"Yeah, didn't expect this to mean you were going to stop coming after me." Fenton said.

"And yet you're still helping me. Which of us is the more stupid one here I wonder?" Ignus asked.

"I would say both of you are being equally stupid right now." a new voice said.

Fenton cringed, knowing that voice.

"Oh hey Gyro, didn't expect you to be in the lab right now." Fenton said.

"Clearly." Gyro said sourly. "I assumed you're smart enough to not bring an enemy into this lab while i'm here."

Gyro looked in Ignus's direction, gesturing to the swan robot.

"Why is he here? Isn't he the one who threatened me with fire?" Gyro asked.

"I can threaten you with claws next time if you like." Ignus said.

"Ignus, be nice!" Fenton hissed under his breath.

Surprisingly the swan robot obeyed. Though his attempt at a friendly grin was more menacing looking then friendly. Gyro wasn't buying it.

"Fenton, a word." Gyro said.

Fenton and Gyro had quite a few words in the hall closer to Fenton's old "office.". Gyro was not at all pleased.

"I can't believe you brought him here. Or that you're helping him. This is clearly a trick to get at you." Gyro said.

"He had a lot of chances to do something and he hasn't." Fenton argued.

"That doesn't mean anything. He probably did have a problem, and was going to try and drag you off after you did fix it." Gyro said.

Fenton couldn't argue that was a possible plan. But still..

"I had to do something." Fenton said softly.

"Why? Why help him?" Gyro asked.

Fenton grasped one of his own arms in thought, trying to get the right words in processor before speaking.

"I know what it's like to have a problem that I can't really reach out to anyone else with because of who I am. And I didn't want to see Ignus deal with that if I could help him." Fenton said.

Gyro sighed, rubbing at his temples a bit.

"That way of thinking is going to get you either killed or captured, you realize that?" Gyro said.

"Possibly." Fenton agreed. "But there's also the possibility that maybe change his mind about some things and maybe not be on this masters side anymore?"

"That's idealistic at best. Foolish at worst." Gyro said.

"I know. But I want to try. He's a victim, if he knows it or not." Fenton said.

Gyro groaned.

"Ugh, maybe your stupid is catching but.. fine. Hurry up and finish what you were doing. Then get him out of here. I'm going to get a crowbar in case he gets unruly." Gyro said, heading off to find said crowbar.

"Okay. So Gyro says we can-"

Fenton stopped when he peered around the lab. There was a significant lack of Ignus in the room. He had to have left while he and Gyro were arguing. Possibly because his plot, if it existed, was foiled. Or possibly because Fenton might not have been able to actually help him.

"He's gone." Fenton said when Gyro returned, crowbar in hand.

"Good. Less chance for him to cause trouble." Gyro said.

Fenton glanced at the spot Ignus had been minutes ago. There were no signs that he had even been there besides the tools laid out on the table.

He had not been able to make any repairs. And if Fenton was right, his problem may not be bug based.

The only thing Fenton could do was hope that Ignus would be alright.

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again  - Chapter 4

Whole Again on AO3

The temperature was immediately different upon stepping into the crypt. The stonework acting as an insulator against the cold Icelandic environment. The room beyond the doorway was wide, but low; the ceiling hardly two feet above their heads. The ceiling and walls were rounded, blending into one another with smooth curves. If Stan had been younger, he could have jumped and smacked the stone, but his knees were 50/50 on good days.  

The chamber looked as though it had been a mine once, large pillars left behind after removing material to help support the ceiling. The pillars were positioned lengthwise, one in front of the other with a gated door at the other end of the room. Cast iron and well-oiled enough to be resistant against rust. “Barred. Hmmm. You said you had a crowbar?” Ford turned to Stan, rubbing his chin. “’Course.” Stan flipped his pack around and dug out the crowbar before inspecting the gate. The metal nearest to the stone was probably the weakest due to moisture exchange. He could try bending the gate there first and yanking it out of the door frame. That was only if the gate was standalone and not integrated into the wall itself. Maybe he should have considered bolt cutters, or a welding torch.

Ford had wandered off, taking more pictures and (now that he was able) pulling his journal out to write some more. Whatever, let the alpha male do the hard work. He slipped the crowbar between the stone and the iron rod and put pressure on the crowbar. Nothing. Ok, not a problem. He grabbed the end of the bar and pushed as hard had he could. Nothing. Stan breathed and held back the flow of curses he wanted to scream. Instead he rubbed at his forearms and pushed against the bar with all his weight. He felt movement! It was the crowbar bending under the pressure. The profanities that echoed off the walls reverberated to the surface, startling an artic fox that had been hunting in the snow.  

Stan was ready to start throwing things and turn the iron to rust and splinters with a snap of his fingers, when he heard a quiet flip of a latch. He felt a rumble through the stone as some counter weight was dropped, lifting the iron gate he’d be ashamed to admit had not even dented.

“Hey. My crowbar!” Stan smacked at the tool as it rose with the gate, knocking it loose and wincing as it tumbled down on his head. “Ow!” Stan rubbed at his head, kneeling on the floor, and watching the dust fall. Part of the wall it is.

Ford exited a hidden corner of the room and Stan stopped grumbling long enough to get off the floor. “There are a series of symbols in ancient Gaelic engraved along every wall. The pictographs seem to be recording a religious or spiritual ritual that was performed here. I believe the inhabitants may have worshiped an interdimensional being, these glyphs look familiar.”    

“Hey, next time you wanna start touching random shit, let me know, will ya?” Stan shouted, collecting both of their bags, and packing away his crowbar. “Hm? Oh, yes, fine.” Ford said, completely not paying attention to anything Stan had said. Stan rolled his eyes but held back a complaint when Ford continued speaking. “I took some rubbings for further study. I may have to consult some of my old notes. Shame we tossed those journals in the Bottomless Pit, I could use some references now.” This wasn’t the first time Ford had made a passing remark lamenting the loss of the journals. If he was so upset, why not take a trip back to Gravity Falls and start re-recording all the weird things that existed there. They were on ‘ok’ terms with most of the creatures there, it wouldn’t be hard. Instead, Stan simply reminded Ford of the danger their contents possessed. “Those things were dangerous. Inert of not, some of that stuff should be forgotten. And hey, it can’t be that hard to learn ancient Gaelic. Heck, I learned your stupid nerd code in about a year. Should take you a few weeks to a month, tops.”

Ford looked apprehensive…and maybe a little resigned. “Dare I ask if you decoded everything?”

“I had that thing for thirty years, Stanford. Yeah, I read the whole thing. Could’a probably recited some pages before the whole memory wipe thing.” Stan was a world class liar, born with a silver tongue that had matured to tempered platinum with age, but he disliked lying to his brother. Sure, lying by omission was one thing, but flat out telling a falsehood gave him acid reflux. At least with Stanford. It felt…wrong. But Stanford didn’t need to know he could recite every word on every page.

Ford looked sheepish, right hand grasping at his left arm nervously. “Look Stan, I…” Stan interrupted him, “Hey, its nothin’. You missed me, but you were mad. I missed you, but I never bothered to reach out to ya. We both needed to grow up.” There was that bile taste again, but Ford really didn’t need to know about…that night either.

“I know, but I…what I wrote…what I was thinking…you know that it was just...” Ford was distraught, or approaching that limit. “I didn’t mean it.”

A moment passed. Then another. Stan sighed. Stanford had meant it. But that was a bucket of rotten fish Stan had no intention of ever opening. Even if he did, this was not the time nor place to be doing that anyway. “Hey, we’ll talk later. Right now, we have a crypt to plunder and ancient squiggles to archive. We got time.” Stan had placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder and Ford returned Stan’s smile with a weak one of his own, but a smile nonetheless. “Now common, we got ourselves some real adventurin’ to do.” Stan slung both bags over his shoulders and charged through the open gate, Ford left with no other alternative, followed him.

The second room opened into a towering chamber with a massive and ornate central pillar. Stan could hear drips of water echoing in the cavern. A rickety wooden ramp led them up to a platform that had been carved into the central pillar. A ledge bordering the room had once been connected to the central pillar, but the bridge had collapsed. Under the debris, was a body.

Everything passed the poor sod’s topmost ribs had been crushed, just a pile of grey bones and threadbare cloth that looked as if it would turn to dust. One hand, stretched out in front, was wrapped brittlely around what looked like a sculpted lizard or bird foot. Ford knelt down and broke the bones, drawing the thing up with him as he stood.  

It was a bronze, three-toed dragon’s foot. Ford held it up close to his face and Stan supplied the light. It glinted slightly, but was tarnished. It was highly detailed for its time; the toes having folds and creases to represent skin and scales before shifting to the claws. The sculpture seemed to end at the ankle joint.

“But where would they get the reference from? A Comodo Dragon? But where would they get one? Did the Nordic people travel that far south? Could one have been traded? Was it alive? No, preserved, most likely; it’s doubtful that it would have survived this climate.” Stan had rolled his eyes and pulled out a tiny notebook from his back pocket, half a pencil from the lip of his beanie and scribbled down a few key words that Ford had prattled off. “’Comodo dragon, preserved foot, how far did travel’, Got it” Ford sighed and rolled his eyes, but said nothing, Stan’s small notes did help him remember his spontaneous questions.

Stan pocketed the sculpture and his notebook, Ford’s jacket already near bursting, and they ascended the ramp to the next level. The distance from the central pillar to the next floor was too far to jump. “There doesn’t seem to be another way across. Too bad, this is all stone; my magnet gun is useless.” The answer was simple.

Stan’s steady aim with the grappling hook and squeezing Ford to his side with his free arm, ensured hasty progress. Albeit, slightly bruised ribs and a sore shoulder. Man, he was getting old. Ford had squeaked in surprise when Stan had grabbed him, sputtering his hesitation at this “horrible and highly dangerous idea”, but Stan had only grinned maniacally and held on tighter. They landed roughly. Or rather, Stanford had landed in his classic hero pose and Stan tumbled head over foot, landing on his ass. He hurt, but it was worth it.

Ford stood, brushing himself off and peering to the top of the cavern. He let out a low whistle. “These ledges go all the up. It appears that this room acts as a central connecting point to all surrounding chambers. I don’t see any direct connections, though. Maybe there are stairs elsewhere. Hey Stan, you mind waiting a bit while I take notes?” Ford glanced back at Stan who was still a bit winded from his reenactment of Tarzan. “Stan?” Stan waved him off, shuffling on the floor to lean against the wall. Getting old sucked. He didn’t recommend it.

While Ford sketched and buzzed with energy, Stan rested, drinking some water, and munching a granola bar. It was bizarre, this place felt creepily familiar, but no matter how much he tried to pull the knowledge to his head, it seemed to flitter away before he could get a good look at it. It was almost as if the ward had protected this place from his mind too. And wards. That didn’t make any sense. The shack was still warded against him, but he had no problems going in and out. What made this place different? It grated at his mind that he couldn’t remember. Sure, he’d gotten used to having gaps in his memory, and he had tried to ignore that he just knew things now, but it was like a lyric to a song you just couldn’t get right so the song plays at the edges of your mind driving you crazy, and you can’t even remember the name of the song or who sang it and you couldn’t even ask anyone because you killed them all and…ok, time to calm down. His gums had started to twinge as he clenched his dentures together.

He’d been meaning to ask Ford if he knew how to regrow teeth (he didn’t) or at least invent something like a serum that could (he could, but it was painful). ARRRGH! Why? Why just know things unless it was about something that was helpful? Stan wanted a cigar to chew on, but he settled for a stick of gum. ‘Course smoking was how he lost his real teeth, that and bare knuckles boxing in Mexico. There was more than one night he spat out a tooth, but his winnings paid for passable, if not functional, bridges. Come to think of it, he was lucky to have his eyes after some of those matches.

Eyes. Eye. Yellow eyes, what was that?! Yeah, anything that was a depiction of him was a window, but the dragon or wyvern wasn’t a depiction of him…was it? Or not him, not him him, but past him. Oy. I need an organizer. Stan rubbed his eye eyes, two eyes, and glanced around his little corner. He caught sight of three waist high stone structures that looked like sliced bread loaves. Or maybe he was just hungry. Regardless, there were three of them, and they seemed to be facing each other, meeting in the middle. He couldn’t tell if the floor between them was dusty, broken or what, but there was something weird about the pattern those mounds made. Stan called out to Ford.

“Hey, Sixer! There’s a-a thing that might be interestin’ for ya.” He didn’t spare the mental energy to actually describe anything, counting on Sixer’s gravitational pull towards him to do the trick.

“Find something?” Ford had returned and Stan pointed out the stone mounds. “Whadd’ya make of those?”

Ford hummed as he wandered around the stone figures, crouching down to trace the designs on the faces. Stan eased himself off the floor, grabbing his bag, and making his way over to Stanford. He approached Ford’s left side and stood directly in the middle of the three mounds. Both brothers jerked at the eruption of red light from the floor and designs on the stone. They both turned towards the bang of a gate opening to their right that Stan had not noticed before. “What the hell…?” Stan mumbled slowly and took a step. Almost instantly, the light vanished and the gate closed again. Ford strode over and peered through the gate, Stan followed, weirded out by the light a moment ago. “It’s a puzzle. Two people must work together to open the way through. See…” Ford held the flashlight aloft and pointed to the other side of the room beyond the gate. “I suspect that to open that one, we’ll have to make the totems match with their counterparts on this side.”  

“Hey, I got this one.” Stan patted his brother on the shoulder, fully intending to not stand in the ring of creepy red light again. Ford nodded and returned to the ring, the light appeared again and Stan ducked through when the gate rose. He stood in the center of the room, and froze.  

Shoot, he hadn’t bothered to look at the symbols. “Um..Sixer?” he called, hesitantly, voice filled with embarrassment. “Stand facing the next door” Ok, he could do that. He turned to his left, facing the barred doorway; he could see Ford from the corner of his left eye. He turned a bit more to look at Ford again.  

“No, Stan like this. See me?” Ford waved and adjusted his body to face directly between two of the figureheads. Stan grumbled, but turned to mimic his brother. “Reach out your left hand to the nearest one. This one should be a whale. Or, at least it kind of looks like a whale.” Stan rolled his eyes, stepped forwards and tried to spin the figurehead. It didn’t budge.

“Stan?”

“Hang on a minute, would ya? This thing ‘s heavy.”

He placed his hands on the top of the stone for leverage and pushed. The figurehead sank into the floor slightly before turning. “Oh”

“What?”

“Nunin’, Sixer. I got it.” He pressed down again and turned it so the whale was facing him. Ford was right, it did look kinda like a whale. Kinda. He returned to his previous position.

“Ok. Turn right, the next should be a snake” Stan did as Ford directed; this one did look a bit more like it was supposed to.

“The last one’s an owl.” No, it wasn’t. It looked like a cat’s head on a bird body. Whoever carved the mural likely had never seen an owl before. Stan’s call of “Got It” was drowned out by the clang of the rising gates.

Ford joined him a moment later, holding out a granola bar to Stan. He waved it off and pulled out the empty wrapper from his earlier one. Ford shrugged, tore it open and began to eat as they walked.

The hall they followed didn’t go up; they went down. “The rooms above aren’t connected?” Ford asked himself quizzically.  

“There might’a been a ramp or sommin that use ta be there. There was a lot o’ debris back there”. There had been a ramp, but it had been vaporized and left only dust. Stan scowled at this tidbit of information entering his brain involuntarily. Ford didn’t seem to notice, instead he just hummed and made a few notations on his phone as they walked. Several of the rooms they passed looked as though they were residential rooms; a couple of bedrooms, what looked like a galley with a stone oven and hearth, a room with what looked like it once housed a pile of tables and chairs, and a tiny closet that smelled rancid that neither of them were interested in examining further. Ford paused in another room to take a rubbing of a pedestal with a bronze plaque covered in Gaelic that he couldn’t remove. The room gave Stan the creeps and looked like a place of worship.

They continued their descent down, passing more wall carvings that Ford photographed with his phone. Stan rolled his eyes; his phone was filled with funny pictures of himself, Ford, places they had been, weird animals and the occasional picture of something for Ford. Ford’s camera had exactly one picture of the kids, a scanned picture of the two of them on the original Stan O’War and a picture of them both on the Stan O’War II. Oh, and about three hundred pictures of anomalies and glyphs and interesting plants and rock formations and…well, there wasn’t much of his family. Stan had wanted to call him out on it, but he didn’t know how to voice his concerns in a way that didn’t sound insulting.  

The hall finally ended at a spiral staircase that disappeared into the darkness below. Ford pulled out a glow stick, cracked and shook it, and let it drop. Ford counted under his breath to three, almost four. “It’s about…um…what’s the acceleration of gravity on Earth, again?” Ford frowned. “I don’t know,” Stan did, “but I’d say it’s about five or six stories down. You want me ta go first?”

“I’ll lead, just stay close behind me. And keep that grappling hook ready. We don’t know how sturdy this wood is.” They started down, taking slow steps at first, shifting their weight. The wood creaked and popped, but held firm. They made it past a full spiral before they were emboldened by the lack of instability. Ford started in with more deliberate steps and Stan resumed his normal near stomping gait. It was a mistake.

The wood below Stan gave way and he would have fallen the entire way down had his reflexes not been in top condition. The grappling hook was deployed before he’d even passed the next level and lodged itself in the wood above them, shooting passed Ford’s head and causing him to backpaddle away from the edge. Stan hung in shock with bits of wood dust and debris raining down on his head.

“Stan? Are you alright?”

“I’ll, um, I’ll meet’cha at the bottom!” This was embarrassing. “Just be careful, Sixer”

“Will do” Ford muttered quietly and began making his way, with less confidence this time, down the steps. Stan toggled the button on the grappling hook to lower himself slowly down until he reached the bottom of the stairwell. It was pitch-black. He could see the bobbling of Ford’s light above him. He was reluctant to let the rope grow loose and disengage until Ford could reach him. The echoes around him told him that the room beyond was massive. And he could hear scurrying.

He held a death grip on the handle of the grappling hook until Ford rounded the last spiral. “You good?” he said, shinning the light at Stan before growing concerned and continuing in a whisper, “What’s wrong?” Stan glanced at Ford, then back at the doorway. Ford spun and looked too when a squelching sound emanated from the room; the flashlight held at an angle pointed away from the sound to not attract attention.

Stan gulped. He had an uncanny feeling that this was gonna be his wort nightmare. Ford steadied himself and directed the beam of light into the room.

Yup ‘Worst nightmare’, in the flesh, or carapace in this particular case.

A giant spider the size of a Great Dane paused mid step, turning towards the two and hissed.

FUCK!

The thing was dead in a matter of microseconds; its body flung across the room from the force of four plasma rounds being fired at it from close range. The pistol smoking in Ford’s hand.

“Did I ever tell you what happened on that road trip I took the kids on?”

“Yup, that’s why I shot it. I have no intentions of dealing with that.”

Stan also suspected that his panic attacks over the ordeal that had kept Ford awake some nights after that had something to do with it.  

With Ford’s help, they pulled the grappling hook free and tentatively entered the room from hell, Ford taking point and pulling Stan along behind him by the hand. Stan only felt some shame at hiding his face in the back of his brother’s coat.

The room was filled with webbing and things wrapped up in that webbing that Stan had no interest in looking at. Ford carefully lead him through the room and towards the next doorway when he heard a quiet insect clicking. He risked a glance up at the same time Ford flicked his flashlight up. There was a large hole in the top of the ceiling and a large black mound slowly descending and reaching its way too many legs out.

NOPE!

Stan bolted for the door, Ford right behind him, not daring to look back as he felt the ground shudder slightly with the creature’s landing. He saw something goopy and gelatinous whiz above their heads, but he was NOT turning around to look. They made it through the door, Ford shooting a gap in the webbing that covered it, and bolted down the hall beyond. When Stan could bring himself to stop, he realized Ford was not behind him.

He heard some plasma shots ring out and a loud grunt.

Stan took a second to steady himself before turning around and heading back into the hall to rescue his brother. Another rumble ran through the stonework and a bright light emanated from the end of the hall. He rounded the corner to smack right into Ford.

“What the hell?” Stan winced at the light.  

“I stole a stick of dynamite and a smoke bomb and trailed the powers behind us and fired a shot. Those smoke bombs are incredibly flammable, you shouldn’t be using them.”

Stan just laughed with the release of adrenaline and hugged his brother tightly. “Come on. The rest of the way is safe…probably.” It was Ford’s turn to laugh.  

The heat from the inferno in the spider room, now turning it into a literal room from hell, escaped through a series of vents in the stonework and erupted out to the surface. The same fox from before jumped directly into the air with all four feet when a gust of warm air puffed across its tail. It brought its body low to the ground and thought about going back to bed.  

Ford and Stan walked along the hall that opened up as it went, ending in a tubular room with a circular door at the end. The walls were again covered in murals. Most prominent was a yellow-eyed dragon and a procession of people worshiping it. The eyes made him uncomfortable. And it had everything to do with the fact that he had to fight to keep his vision his own.

Ford was snapping pictures like a paparazzi catching a celebrity in the nude, and grinning widely. Stan just made his way over to the door and peered at the markings in the center; ignoring the face of the yellow-eyed dragon glowering at him. His vision shifted momentarily, looking at the top of his own head and Stanford taking more notes behind him. He placed a hand on the door and shook his head to return his vision to normal. He blinked a few times and rubbed his fingertips on the bronze disk at the center of the door. There were three holes and a semicircle blob that almost looked like a foot print.

Stan pulled the bronze claw from his pocket and inspected the underside. There were scuff marks on the pad of the foot and on the tips of the claws. A key?

“Hey” He called out to Stanford, using is free hand to wave over his shoulder.

“A dragon’s claw for a key?” He adjusted his glasses. “Unusual choice. Though depictions of dragons were revered as beings of great strength and power in Viking culture. The structure of this chamber seems to indicate this was done deliberately. Enemies would find it alarming and hesitant to go further and allies would see a welcome protector. Brilliant design. And the door is unusually intricate. It must have been designed to protect something exceedingly significant.” Stan perked up at Ford’s suggestion.

“Significant like treasure?” He couldn’t help the toothy and predatory grin from enveloping his face, his eyebrows waggling up and down. Ford rubbed his chin and returned Stan’s grin with a smug one of his own, “Could be. It could also be a pile of scrolls and books with more glyphs to study.” Stan frowned. “Way to be a buzzkill, Poindexter.”      

Ford just chuckled and took the claw from Stan and fitted it to the grooves in the door, “Well, only one way to find out.” The claw fit perfectly. Ford turned the claw counter clockwise until he felt the lock resist him, before turning it back to the starting position. The door jolted, and both brothers stood back as it sank into the floor with a stutter, Ford having kept hold of the claw. They stood, quiet exhilaration and trepidation coursing through their veins. “Ready?” Stan asked. “Always,” was the reply as they passed through the gateway to the unknown.

Previous

Next

Chapter 1

[purgatory-destiel]

It’s Not Okay - Samifer

Lucifer was curled up in the bed with both Heidi and Sasha just watching Netflix when Sam came into the bedroom. He looked up and jumped out of the bed when he saw the blood on Sam's shirt. “What happened?” He started to help Sam out of his shirt, wincing when he saw the stitches through the hole in his undershirt.

Sam shook his head but let Lucifer get him out of both his shirts. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out his first aid kit. It was immediately taken from him and he was gently pushed down on the bed. “Supposed to be a simple salt and burn. I got tossed across the room. Landed on the stupid crowbar.”

Lucifer opened the kit and took out an alcohol wipe. He tore the package open then dabbed it over the stitches. He heard Sam's hiss, but didn't stop. Sam didn't stop him either. He nodded at the explanation as he worked. He pulled out several gauze pads and opened them. He had Sam hold them steady while he taped them down. “You need a tetanus shot.” He looked through the kit and found the ready made shots.

Sam grumbled about it, but nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He took it from Lucifer, so the angel could set the kit aside.

Lucifer had another wipe and ran it over Sam's arm. He took the shot and injected Sam with the contents. He wiped it down again, then stuck a band-aid over the site. “Are you really okay?” He asked softly as he started checking Sam over for any other injuries.

Sam nodded and took both of Lucifer's hands. “I'm fine, love.” He met Lucifer's worried gaze. “Just had a couple other scrapes, but I've already treated them.” He pulled the angel down to sit beside him. “I'm really okay.”

Lucifer sat down, but he didn't stop looking Sam over. He finally nodded. “Okay.” He sighed and pulled his hands away. “Let me just...” He looked around, then got up. “Stay here.” He left the room and came back with a warm, damp cloth. He helped Sam clean up as best he could.

Sam finally relaxed under Lucifer's care. It wasn't normal for him to see the angel so worried, but this was the first time he'd gotten hurt since Lucifer's grace was unavailable to him. He felt better once Lucifer was done with the cloth. He was pulled up and taken to the bathroom, where Lucifer figured out how best to help him clean up better without getting the stitches wet.

Lucifer smiled faintly while taking care of Sam. This was something he could do. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to help. Sam wouldn't take him on this hunt because he was too fragile now. He wasn't happy about that, but this, he could do. He could take care of Sam after he was back.

Sam was dried off and taken back to their bedroom. He didn't argue as he was put to bed and given the TV remote. He didn't even argue when Lucifer left the room. He watched Netflix, half dozing, when Lucifer finally came back with a chicken caesar salad for him. He smiled up at his angel as he took the bowl from him. “Thanks.” He let Lucifer snuggle up to him while he ate his salad.

Lucifer stole a piece of grilled chicken from Sam's bowl, nibbling on it. Once he got settled, both Sasha and Heidi jumped back up on the bed and curled up, Sasha on Sam's stomach and Heidi on Lucifer's chest.

Sam didn't stay awake long. He barely managed to finish eating before he dropped off to sleep, still half petting the purring cat. Somewhere between wake and sleep, he felt Lucifer's lips on his temple and was surprised at the warmth. His kisses were usually cool. He barely registered the warm body next to his and, for a moment, thought it was all wrong. He shouldn't be warm. He should be cool. He whimpered and felt fingers running through his hair.

Lucifer frowned down at Sam as he was falling asleep. He heard the word 'warm' muttered several times, then 'it's all wrong'. He bit his lip, then kissed Sam's forehead before moving Heidi and getting up. He left the room with tears in his eyes. He went toward the bathroom. He stripped down and turned the shower on. Cold only. He stood there until his legs gave out from shivering so much. He slid down and sat there on the tile, just shivering. Sam didn't like him warm. He had to get cold again for Sam.

It wasn't Sam that found Lucifer an hour later. It was Dean. He was headed for a shower when he heard the water running. He knew it couldn't be Sam because of the stitches, and Gabriel didn't take showers. He was about to leave quietly when he realized there was no steam. He listened for a moment and heard the stuttering whimpers. He went in, almost fearful of what he might find. He saw Lucifer on the floor, shivering so hard that he had hit his head against the wall of the shower and there was a small stream of blood from the back of his head over his back and to the drain. He was only half conscious and his lips were an alarming shade of blue. He called out for Gabriel instead of Sam.

Gabriel came flying into the bathroom. When he saw Lucifer, he grabbed a towel and shut the water off. He and Dean got the angel wrapped up in several towels. Dean took care of the head wound while Gabriel turned on the shower again and redirected the spray so it wouldn't hit them. He went hit the hot only so the steam would heat up the room.

Lucifer didn't even fight against the two trying to warm him up. He forced his eyes open to look at Dean. “Sammy doesn't like me warm. Have to be cold.” His words were slurred and barely coherent.

Dean dabbed at the still bleeding wound. “So you decided to take a cold shower long enough that you put your life at risk?” He shook his head. “How would Sam have handled it had you died in here? Huh?” He was angry, but not at Lucifer directly. “You could have died, Lucifer.”

Gabriel shook his head at Dean. “Dean, don't. That's not going to help.” He rubbed Lucifer's arms and back with a towel. “Go warm up some towels in the dryer. I'll handle things here.” He waited until Dean left. He turned his full attention to Lucifer, who was now sobbing openly after Dean's words sunk in. “It's okay, Luci.” He carefully dried Lucifer's hair, paying close attention to the wound. It would most likely need a stitch or two. He tried to heal it, but was surprised when it didn't take. He bit his lip, then sighed. “I can't heal you.”

Lucifer curled up as best he could. “Just leave me alone then. I don't deserve help. Sam doesn't want me anymore. Not unless I'm cold for him.” Or at least that's what it sounded like.

Gabriel grumbled softly, then took Lucifer's shoulders and gently shook him. “Stop it, Luci. Sam loves you. Hell, he called you a Winchester already. He took you as his mate. Willingly. If he didn't love you, there is no way possible he would have mated with you.” He gripped Lucifer's chin and forced him to look in his eyes. “He. Loves. You.” He punctuated each word with a light shake.

Dean must have stopped by Sam's room and woken him up, because Sam came running into the bathroom. He stopped and took in the scene, then dropped to his knees beside Lucifer. He gathered the angel in his arms carefully. “You're so cold, Lu.” He shook his head. “Need to get you warmed up.” He looked at Gabriel and mouthed 'how bad?”

Gabriel mouthed back 'bad', before he sat back and let Sam take over. He touched Sam's chest lightly and healed the wound and removed the stitches. He stood up. “Dean should be bringing warm towels. You want them here or in your bedroom?”

Sam looked up at Gabriel. “Bedroom. Can you help me get him up and in there?” He smiled his thanks as Gabriel helped him get Lucifer up to his feet. The angel couldn't stay up under his own power though. Gabriel steadied Lucifer long enough for Sam to pick him up bridal style. Sam was grateful that Gabriel stayed nearby as they got Lucifer through the hallway to their bedroom.

Gabriel went in first and shooed the two animals from the bed as he turned down the blankets so Sam could put the angel in the bed. He left the room to find Dean and help him with the towels.

Lucifer whimpered as he was put in the bed. He couldn't straighten out because he kept shivering. The blankets were pulled up over him. He closed his eyes and felt several more blankets being added. He felt it when Sam sat down next to him. He whimpered again as fingers started to probe at the sore spot on the back of his head.

Sam got up and went to the desk, pulling out the first aid kit again. He opened it and set it on the desk. He looked through it and found some lidocaine spray and sutures. He went back to the bed. “I'll be as careful as I can, love, but this is probably going to hurt a bit.” He sprayed the wound and winced as Lucifer let out a soft cry. “You need at least two stitches here.” He waited a few minutes, then sprayed it again. He got to work, wincing each time Lucifer made a sound in response. Three stitches later, Sam was done. He tied the last one off and got an antibacterial spray to use. He sprayed it down one last time. “What happened?”

Lucifer opened his eyes and looked up at Sam. “Don't like being warm.” He tried to push the blankets off. He was stopped by strong arms holding them down. “Please, Sam. I don't want to be warm. You don't like me warm.” He would have fought harder, but he was so tired.

Sam was stunned by that. He just stared down at Lucifer. “Wait. What?” He swallowed hard. He must have talked in his sleep earlier. “It's not that, Lu. It's just different.” He wasn't going to deny it. “I love you whether you're warm or cold.” He sighed and slipped under the blankets to cuddle his angel and try and warm him up further. “I love you.” He pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Lucifer's mouth.

Lucifer shivered when the blankets were moved. Once Sam's warm body was pressed up against him, he tried to relax into him, but the shivers were making it hard. “Do you?” He didn't sound sure. He couldn't look at Sam. “I'm human, Sam. I'm just human now.”

Sam held Lucifer tighter. “You're not human, Lu. You're not. You're just trapped. You're still an angel. You're my angel. Mine.” He felt the trembling increase and looked down to see the silent tears from the angel. He kissed them away. “It's okay, love. It's going to be okay.” He wiped the following tears with gentle fingers. “You are my everything, Lucifer.” He leaned in, finding Lucifer's lips with his own. He kept the kiss gentle.

Lucifer let his eyes slide shut when Sam's lips pressed against his. He finally wrapped his arms around Sam and held on tight. He barely felt it when warm towels were stuffed under the blankets and wrapped around him. He was starting to feel warm again and the shivers were starting to subside. He felt himself drifting off to sleep while listening to the steady beat of Sam's heart.

Sam watched as Lucifer fell asleep. He finally looked up at the worried faces of Gabriel and Dean. “He's going to be okay.” He had tears in his own eyes and tried to blink them away. He looked back down at his angel after the other two left. He almost lost Lucifer tonight. This had been too close. If Dean hadn't gone into the bathroom when he had, Lucifer might have died there. He was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought he felt Lucifer getting up and he snapped awake. He would look at his angel and see that he was still asleep, shivering every so often, but also softly snoring. He knew he was in for rough time until Lucifer could be convinced that he was loved no matter what. He just tightened his hold on Lucifer and settled in for a long night.

[typetypetypetypeface]

Ten Pence and a Pint

Short ghost story based around a pun. See if you can spot it!

2,971 words.

I need your help. I don’t know what to do. I swear I’m not crazy but I can’t think of any other explanation. Let me tell you what’s happened. Then if you want you can walk away, I won’t blame you. I would, if I ever could.

I’ve always been a bit of a drinker, and I know it doesn’t help my credibility but you have to listen. Nobody has ever complained and I’ve held down a steady job for years, but I’m always the last one to go home after a night out. After every party I would wander home past the abandoned pub at the top of my road.

After three different owners had all tried and failed to make a profit, the conventional wisdom was that the size of the pub and the terrible location made it too expensive to operate. Combined with the horribly accelerating property prices, nobody wanted to buy it. It had been boarded up, first with wooden planks and then with metal panels after some squatters had pulled away the planks. Then the building had been left to decay until someone could raise the money to fix it, or else give it a decent burial.

It all started in that pub at Halloween last year. I was wearing a silver spacesuit decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. At some point in the night I’d acquired cat whiskers drawn with eyeliner and some glasses with those googly eyes on springs, but I was carrying them in my hand. As I walked past the abandoned building I noticed that the lights were on in the frosted windows, the door was open, and the smells of a party were coming from inside: meat, beer, wine, sweat. The night was cold and I wanted one last drink before bedtime. I swerved straight inside, not even caring if I was crashing a private party.

Through bleary eyes I noticed everyone was wearing outlandish outfits, from all kinds of periods of history. Obviously I didn’t think much of this at the time. I remember thinking it was hard to make out details of people’s faces. It was hard to understand anything anyone was saying. I thought it was a pretty pretentious party, with everyone role-playing. If I had been sober I’d never have dreamed of trying to get away with party-crashing, but I figured with enough swagger I could just walk up to the bar, order a drink, keep to myself, remain polite, and nobody would bother me if I didn’t bother them. I wobbled my way to the bar and ordered a pint of lager to settle my stomach. It was warm in the pub so I was sweating into my spacesuit, and I worried about my whiskers melting.

From what I can remember the bottles behind the bar were wildly diverse. There were glass bottles in all kinds of shapes, dozens of beer taps, chalk boards with cocktail menus in at least three languages, and even terracotta jugs on the bottom shelves. There were mirrors behind the shelves. They were clouded and artful, more like a metallic sheen than actual mirrors. I could see my own face clearly. For a brief second I was confused, seeing something behind me in the mirror that didn’t make sense. I can’t remember what it was, only impressions: darkness, squalor, anger. I felt the urge to look behind me but then the barman asked for my order. He was bald and his entire head was made up to look like a skull. He wore a black high-necked shirt and black gloves. I remember thinking that the skull makeup was very convincing.

“Just a pint of lager, please,” I said, as polite and sober as I could sound. I was pulling out my wallet and digging inside for enough coins. According to the price list on the chalk board, I had just enough money left to get ten pence change from a pint of lager.

“Sorry, we only serve spirits,” said the barman. His voice was deep and whispery, and I realised I could hear him so clearly because the noise of strange conversation had gone entirely silent as I ordered my drink

“Okay, vodka and coke then?” I replied, too drunk to think about the growing silence behind me.

“No, you don’t understand. We only serve spirits.”

“Oh I get it. Because it’s Halloween, right? Very funny. Let’s say I’m a ghost dressed as… whatever this is,” I gestured to myself, “And maybe give me a beer? A beer for the ghost of a poor dead space kitten? Miaow?”

The yawning void behind me suddenly became noisy again, but it was a terrifying noise. It sounded like a thousand howling wolves, very far away but very hungry. It sounded like a winter gale from the bottom of a deep ravine. It sounded like all the inmates of a terrible prison all at once suddenly flying into a violent rage.

At first I frowned in puzzlement, then turned from the barman. I can only imagine the stupid look on my face as I slowly turned to face the mass of forms that were swirling behind me. Faces screamed, or tried to bite me, or yawned open wide enough to try and swallow me, but they were instantly absorbed back into the swarm. My eyes were watering in the sudden wind that whipped the heat of the pub away. The sweat in my spacesuit was suddenly freezing.

Bewildered and terrified, I don’t know how much time I spent staring in horror at the terrible visions. Eventually I must have started running because the next thing I remember is fleeing down the road. I could still hear the animalistic screaming behind me as I yanked open my front door, hurled myself through it, and slammed it closed behind me. I was weeping loudly as I held my body against the door, bracing it in case something tried to follow me. I don’t know how long it took for me to start breathing normally, or for my heartbeat to recover, or to finally gather enough courage to let go of the door. Despite my fears, nothing appeared to be trying to get through.

I poured myself a glass of water with shaking hands and lowered myself onto a chair with trembling knees. I sat in the dark staring at nothing, jumping in fright every time the house settled. A creaking wall or groaning pipe had me looking around wildly like a hunted animal.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep because I jerked awake as the warm dawn light crept through the kitchen window. I rubbed my face, went to the bathroom, and nervously took a shower. The hot water scalding my frozen skin made me feel better. By the time I was making a cup of tea I felt recovered enough to laugh at myself. I had obviously had far too much to drink, and maybe had some kind of hallucinatory episode at the party I had crashed. Those poor people probably had a worse fright than I did. Nobody wants a random drunk astronaut with a cat face suddenly freaking out at their sophisticated Halloween ball, especially uninvited. Still, maybe it was a fun story they could recount to each other. Just one of many regrettable events over a busy, debauched Halloween night in the city. Or maybe it was something more nefarious. Maybe my hallucinations had been caused by some kind of drug in that beer. I didn't remember drinking it but maybe I had, and it had been spiked with something. By the evening I'd worked myself up into a righteous anger. How dare those pompous Halloween pricks take advantage of an innocent drunken idiot? I had imagined them previously laughing over the story as though they were my friends, and we were all laughing together. Now I imagined them laughing as though they were my enemies, not caring if I lived or died from their distasteful chemical prank.

Then I noticed my wallet was missing.

I hunted up and down, tearing my house apart into the night. The only explanation was that I'd dropped it in the pub after my freakout. Maybe one of those asshole “spirits” had picked it up and handed it in? If the pub was open again then there would probably be a ‘lost and found’ box. There was no physical money in it, but it had all my bank cards  I nearly had enough stamps on my coffee shop loyalty card to get a free muffin. Dare I show my face there after last night? Damn right! I would reclaim my wallet and have a bloody good word with them about their prank. It would be terrible for them if I reported their opening night to the police.

The next morning I went to work full of righteous fury, and on my way down the road I noticed the pub was covered in metal plates again. Maybe the party had been illegal in some way? It definitely seemed like there wouldn't be a box of lost property just left behind the bar. But maybe nobody had picked up my wallet? Or maybe one of the assholes had left behind something that I could use to track them down.

After work I waited in my house until it was dark, fingers drumming patiently on a crowbar I had borrowed from work. I fished a torch from the cupboard under the stairs - probably the least useful place to keep the one item you really need in a powercut. I waited until after midnight, put on some black tracksuit bottoms, a black hoodie, and a black woollen hat. The effect was spoiled by the bobble but it was still good camouflage.

Through the wintery air I walked down the road to the abandoned pub. Frost was forming on the pavement. I was hardly the most discreet burglar in the world, dressed in black and carrying a crowbar just strolling though the streetlit-orange night.

There was an alleyway alongside the pub, which led to the wall of the back garden. It was completely hidden and in deep nocturnal shadow, curtained on either side by frosty weeds. It smelled of foxes and piss. I pulled myself up the wall and then jumped down into the garden.

I landed in a crouch, watching the hostile shadows around me like a ninja in a bobble-hat. The orange streetlights barely lit the walls beyond the garden. The second-hand light that bounced down off the clouds only made the shadows seem more malevolent. Eventually I managed to make sense of the hostile forms surrounding me.

Everything had a thin scum of frost that seemed to grow like a fungal self-loathing. I was in a featureless square of earth with a tall brick wall on three sides, with the sheer face of the pub looming above it on the fourth side. It contained fractured concrete slabs that had once been a patio, each one a broken triangle of grainy orange texture. There was a smattering of beer tins like confetti shining in the darkness, and a roll of rusted chicken wire that lurked like a swamp monster. All of it was being swallowed down into the dirt.

The back door of the pub was covered in the same riveted metal, as were all the windows on the ground floor. It had a shine like an oil slick. My breath fogged against the metal, and as I felt the cold against my cheek I saw brief rainbows twinkle in the frost crystals I had exhaled. The second floor windows were still uncovered – not just uncovered by metal but also by glass which must have been smashed away a long time ago. They were a long climb up, and covered with pigeon crap.

I crunched my way over the derelict garden to the doorway, delicately placing my feet between the odd misshapen monochrome angles of the dirt. I jammed the blade of the crowbar into the narrow gap between the bricks and the metal, alongside one of the metal studs. I bent it several times, leaning my body weight against it. With a squeak of metal and a crack of stone, the panel shifted.

Instinctively I paused to listen for any kind of interest, beyond the garden walls. There was no unusual sound, only the distant noise of traffic on the overpass, echoing over the rooftops. There were shouts and TV noises bouncing around the wintery sky but no sirens, no screams, no alarms. The security box on the front of the pub was clearly one of those fake ones, unsupported by any kind of technology beyond a blinking blue light. The wood of the door all but crumbled as soon as it saw the crowbar. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

I pulled off my hat and flicked on my torch. It was dark, and predictably empty. Whatever remained of the carpets were fossilized under pigeon waste, the wallpaper had been ripped away along with most of the plaster, and the light fittings were just empty holes with exposed wires dangling like raw nerves. Each footfall crunched noisily in the dirt, sending up small clouds of dust. My footprints were messy and shapeless but left distinct marks in the filth. I tried my hardest to breathe through my nose rather than taste the air. I put one sleeve over my mouth, using my other hand for my torch. The shadows danced under my torchlight and it looked like the nerves were jumpy. Mine certainly were. I crept through the corridor, past the doors marked ‘ladies’ and ‘lads’. The actual letters had been taken long ago but the words were still stained onto the doors. I thought I would come back to investigate these rooms later. With a tremulous white torchlight I wandered into the main bar area – the scene of my previous embarrassment.

It didn’t look like I remembered. The mould was spitting off the walls like a hostile alien community. But some of the ancient structure was vaguely familiar. My torchlight found the bar. Apparently it had been anchored so securely to the floor that even the Halloween partiers hadn’t been able to lift it away after their illegal event. It had been left behind like the stump of an old tree. Whatever they had installed had been stripped away: the optics, beer mats, glasses, mirrors behind the bar, beer taps, and all the piping. Even the heavy ceramic jugs have been taken. The shelves must have been devoured by whatever super-powered woodworm lived in this mouldering crypt, leaving behind only the barest fragment of chewed-up wood like diseased and elderly gums. The tiny circle of my torch was dancing sideways along the bar, looking up and down for my wallet like a good hunting dog.

I didn’t find my wallet. I found my curse.

Sitting on the bar there was a shining, clean, pint glass full of cloudy amber beer with an inch of rich white foam at the top. The clouds were still floating to the top in patterns like sand drifting through water. I watched in shock as the foam floated upwards. Droplets of condensation were collecting on the glass.

An amount of time went past without anything happening. I must have been staring at the pint glass, eyes wide with terror.

Eventually a car slid past outside, and the headlights splashed through the tiny gaps in the walls.

The light slashed across the space, shining yellow and gold through the pint glass. It shone silver off a tiny circular coin lying in the filth next to it. Ten pence. My change.

“Oh shit,” I muttered. I wanted to break the tension. It sent pigeons flying from the rafters, disturbed from their nightly roost.

I shone my torch around the glass of beer. Nothing disturbed – constant filth. There were no footprints. Who had put the beer there? It was clearly freshly poured.

Through the sweat pouring out of my tracksuit bottoms I thought maybe this was some kind of TV prank show. I could only think of one alternative explanation and it made me sweat even harder.

I backed away from the lonely pint glass and its promise of sweet lager. My back made contact with the crumbling wall. I couldn’t back away any further. I shuffled along the wall until I reached the corridor, and then kept my eyes on the bar for as long as I could. I walked backwards past the toilet doors, and out into the pub garden. Very carefully, with a whispered apology, I pulled the flaking wooden door shut. I even pulled the metal panel back into position so that to the casual observer it would look entirely untouched. After that moment of sensible action I blindly ran to the garden wall, vaulted over it like a superhuman, and sprinted back to my house. I hadn’t reclaimed my wallet and the entire night was a repeat performance.

Since then, I know what’s happened. The objective explanation is that I’ve been traumatised. I know it was probably just a pint glass sitting on the bar. It probably wasn’t what I imagined it was at the time. The problem is that I’ve seen that pint glass since. Anyone standing around in a pub for long enough will see a pint glass unattended, because someone went out for a cigarette or went to the toilet or just got bored and wandered away. I’ve seen that pint glass standing casually next to a ten pence piece. I’ve watched the pint glass and the tiny silver coin, and each time they were never claimed. It was like they were waiting for me.

Now I suspect that every unattended drink is that one ghostly beer, lurking in wait, tempting me into drinking it. I’ve quit drinking.

So you see officer, that’s why I need your help. Am I crazy? Have you see that drink lying around with a casual silver coin next to it? Have you ever seen an idle drink lying in wait, and somehow felt a creeping sense of paranoia? Is it just me?

I worry about the pub too, officer. I heard a rumour they were going to knock it down to make room for luxury flats, but someone else said it had to be preserved as a historical building or something. I wish they’d knock it down. Officer, I try to avoid that end of my road. I honestly try. But sometimes I forget, or get caught in traffic, and I’m forced to drive past it. Sometimes at night I lie awake and think about the empty bar top with a fresh pint of beer, dripping condensation into the grime of years. I wonder if it is still waiting there. I need to burn the pub down. That’s why all that equipment and fuel was in my car. I was pouring it all over the building, and that’s probably why a neighbour called you. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, I was just going to burn the bloody place down. I was trying to protect the peace. I just need to make sure nobody else gets haunted by a beer.