#I’ve met Pierce Brown four times and have yet to say one complete sentence to him

[spuffybot]

Shout out to people who meet their heroes and act cool. Double shout out to people who meet their heroes and befriend them. The best I manage to do is hyperventilate and cry while shaking.

[purplesurveys]

629

What color is your bedspread? Blue and yellow. Pick up the nearest book to you, turn to page 25 and read the first sentence. I’m on the rooftop and there isn’t a book anywhere near me at the moment. How many candles are in the room you are in? No candles, just two faint beams coming from our rooftop lights. What was your first word when you were a baby? My parents didn’t give much thought to stuff like that so they didn’t keep track of my first word, whatever it was. It was most likely either mommy or daddy though. How old were you in 1996? I was...somewhere in the universe, floating around lmao.

How old will you be in 2016? I turned 18 in 2016. How long until your birthday? A little less than three months before I turn 22. How many siblings do you have? Two.  Are they older or younger than you? My sister is two years younger, my brother is five years younger. Are your grandparents still alive? I have three out of four. I lost my maternal grandfather in 2015. How many orange objects are there in the room you are in? The lights we have on our rooftop emit a yellow-orange hue.   Have you ever run a stoplight? Never. I’ve seen enough car crash videos to know what could possibly happen if I was that impatient/if I drove too fast to brake. Do you have any children? Nope. Maybe by the end of the decade. Saying that and knowing that it isn’t 100% bullshit feels WILD. How was your first kiss? It was mostly her. I was too overwhelmed and shaking too much to remember. That whole time I was just in disbelief that I was already having my first kiss lol. Have you completed high school yet? Yeah, almost four years ago. I’m about to complete university/college this year. Do you have any relatives in the military currently? As far as I know, no. The only person I know who’s in the military is Angela’s uncle, who she’s told me about but we’ve never met each other. I also know Kate’s brother is attending military school instead of attending a ~traditional academic university, so to speak. Who got married at the last wedding you went to? Oh my, the last wedding I was in was in 2007, and it was between my uncle (my mom’s youngest brother) and my now-aunt. The new batch of weddings I’m going to be invited to now is definitely gonna be my friends’ and I’m STOKED. What time did you get up today? I first woke up at 6 AM, but I wanted to sleep in so I officially got up at around 9. When was the last time you stayed up all night? I haven’t had an all-nighter in around three years, but I did stay up until 4 AM partying with my friends a couple of months ago. We got back to Rita’s place by 5 AM, but I guess this still kinda counts as staying up all night. How long have you had a myspace, facebook, or whatever you use? I’ve had a Facebook since 2013 (I only made one since my English teacher in freshman year required us to make an account, but I technically wasn’t allowed by my parents so I had to sign up in secret). I made a Twitter three years before that, because it was a website that my parents didn’t know about yet so it was easier to sneak in and make an account for it. Who was the last person of the opposite sex you hung out with? My cousin, Jereth. We exchanged stories and played the Switch while waiting for 2020 to hit. Person of the same sex? Gabie. She came over last Friday. What color are your eyes? They are dark brown but appear to be black most days. Do you like them? Sure, it’s not like Filipinos have a choice lolol. Have you ever had braces? Yes, I had them for a year and a half in high school. I eventually lost my retainers and never got to buy another set, so everything that the braces did was to no avail since my teeth just went back to how they looked like pre-braces. :( Turn on your mp3, cd player, radio, etc. What song is playing? Khalid’s Talk just started playing on my Spotify. What was the last thing you drank? My second cup of barako coffee is keeping me company up on the rooftop right now.

Are you better at math or art? Math. I never accomplished anything presentable in art classes. Science or History? Oooooh, ya got me. I love both, but nothing replaces my love for history. Who was your 4th grade teacher? Ms. Belen, who is actually Satan in a middle-aged woman’s body. I won’t deny that I’ve wished for her death several times; she had her favorites and made her non-favorites know that she hated them. She was just that awful. Who was your best friend in 7th grade? Gabie! We actually met in the seventh grade and she’s been my best friend ever since then. Where did you go to pre-school, if you went at all? I went to the same school from preschool to high school, which we’ll hide under the name AA. We don’t have schools divided into primary, secondary, high school and whatever else y’all have in America. Who was the last person to call you? It was my mom. We went to the mall so I can spend time in Starbucks while she was looking for fancy china (we were going to have guests the next day), and she called to tell me she was gonna drive to another mall cos she couldn’t find any good plates in the mall we were currently in.

Did you smile in your driver's license picture? Yes. They told me I was allowed to smile, so I gave a hearty grin. Apparently that’s an unusual thing to do cos most people just give a closed-mouth smile or don’t smile at all, and the people at the LTO were very amused when my license was finally printed out hahaha. Do you have a job? Not yet, but that’s my goal by the end of the year. AHHHHHHHH WILD What is your favorite smell? Curry being cooked or cookies being baked. What's your favorite brand of gum? Bazooka is classic bubblegum flavor, so I’ll go with that. Have you ever dated someone & then dated their sibling? Nope. I think I’d find that super awkward, especially in my case because I see Gab’s sisters as my little sisters too lol. Who was your crush in 5th grade? My science teacher lmaoooo. We don’t talk about that era. Who was your first bf/gf? Gab. What color is the shirt you are wearing? Brown and black. What do you think of the 1980's? Pop music, big hair, Madonna, Michael Jackson. Have you ever dated someone more than 2 years older than you? I haven’t. How about 2 years younger? Nope. I’ve only dated one person and they’re the same age as me, so I don’t really know how I feel about age gaps in relationships. What brand of shampoo do you use? Dove. How long is your hair? It’s super long now that I hadn’t had it cut AT ALL in 2019. I want to have it long for my grad pic shoot so I’m probably not having it trimmed until February. If I lean my head a bit back, it already reaches my hips. If you could change one thing about yourself physically, what would it be? I’d have my teeth fixed. Is there a box of tissues in the room you are in right now? Nope, I’m out in the rooftop and there’s no reason to keep tissue in here lol. What time is it? 10:27 PM. Is their anything living (plant, animal, etc) in your room right now? We have plants on each corner of the rooftop. What color are the walls in your kitchen? White. All our walls are white, except for my brother’s bedroom which used to be the balcony until we had it renovated. His walls are creamish. Have you ever had a car accident? Mild ones. I’ve never been in a major crash where a car was totally destroyed or where someone was hurt. Do you have any major plans for today? There’s like half an hour left before the day officially ends, so I think I’m good. What kind of deoderant do you use? A...normal one? If you mean brands, I have a Dove one. What color is your toothbrush? Maroon and white. Do you own a digital camera? Nope. I stopped using those around seven or eight years ago. How old is the cellphone you have right now? It’s almost two years old. What are your initials, using the last letter of each of your names? NELZ. Do you know anyone named Tyler? I know a high school classmate’s stepbrother is named Tyler, but I don’t know anyone personally with that name. How about Reese? Katreen’s younger sister is named Reese. Diana? No. I know several Diannes, though. Shelby? That’s a no for me. Have you ever kissed someone who's name started with "C"? Negative. How about "L"? Also no. "E"? I haven’t. "B"? Andddddd nope. Are both your parents still living? Yep. What was the last thing you cooked? Nothing. How many times have you moved in your life? That I remember? Two. Do you live within 20 miles of your birthplace? Yeah, I think Manila counts as being pretty close to where I am now. Can you do a handstand? I can’t. I tried many times as a kid though (and hurt myself several times in the process). Is it after 11am? Well after, in fact. What day is it? Thursday, but it’s soon going to turn to Friday. What's the longest time you've ever spent on the phone? I was once on a Viber call for around eight hours straight with Gab back in like the early months of our relationship. That was insane. We never did it again after that lolol. How many pairs of brown shoes do you own? Just the one pair of brown heels. Are you on any prescribed medications? Nopes. What was the date 2 weeks ago from today? December 19th. If you aren't already married, do you expect to be married within 5 years? No. I’m giving myself between 7-10 years. How about 2 years? That’s an even bigger no. How many funerals have you been to in your lifetime? I’ve never been to a funeral, just wakes. I don’t think I’d like funerals, so I want to stay as unaware as I am now. Have you ever been far away from home on your birthday? Yeah. I was in Batangas for my 20th. I also went on a cruise around East Asia for my 18th birthday, but I was back in the Philippines by the day of my actual birthday. The cruise took place in the days leading up to it. Have you ever had a pet fish? Yes. My first pets were goldfish. Do you have any tattoos? Nope. Would you ever or do you have a nose piercing? Probably not. I wanted one as a teenager though. If you only had 30 days to live, what would you do? That’s pretty dark, but uhhhhhhhh I guess I’d spend all my money, party as much as I want, drink as much as I want, look for new owner/s for my dog, drive as far as I can, spend most of the time with my girlfriend.

[one-deranged-son]

Tell Your Girlfriend to Fall Back

this plot is taken after Tell Your Homeboy to Fall Back

“I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him.”

Here’s the situation: it’s 9:00 p.m. and they’re on the rooftop of the station. It’s February and the air around them is biting in the ass. One of them is smoking, the other one is just staring at the city lights.

New York is a busy city, indeed.

“The forensic shows that 80% of his blood is DRUGS. He murdered some important dude from Russia and almost tipped this country into having another world war. His house is fucking loaded with illegal firearms, he’s literally on the FBI wanted list. And he made us skip Taco Night! Alan, for fuck’s sakes, we never miss Taco Night!”

Melvin Rickman huffs the smoke outta his lungs. He’s frustrated, dammit. He always smokes when he’s frustrated, and lately, he’s been smoking a lot. Like, a lot.

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Sorry? Oh my God, you have a serious problem with that Revelator dude. The hell you got in your hand anyway?”

Melvin also talks a lot when he’s frustrated. He talks about everything and he asks about everything.

Not that it mattered, though. That question actually makes Alan smile from ear to ear. He’s ecstatic, oh my god. He feels like he’s back to preschool and he feels giddy because his Dad just came home and brought a huge present because he’s being a good boy, oh my god. His heart is beating so fast, oh my god. He can’t believe this is happening.

Oh my god, this is really happening.

Alan looks up from the brown envelope and takes a deep breath. “But you have to promise me you won’t ever, EVER, tell anyone.”

Melvin frowns, but he nods.

“Officer Barrera made a copy of the Revelator case for me.”

“She WHAT?”

“I KNOW, isn’t she like, the coolest person ever exists?”

“Alan, no! You know it’s classified. It was the FBI shit and the only reason why we could process him was because our captain managed to pull some strings. If they see you with that, they’re going to put your head on the SPIKE.”

“Stop making Game of Thrones reference, you hated season 8.”

Melvin raises his hands in frustration and quickly takes a long drag of his cigarette. His cheeks are red, either it’s the cold or the fact that he’s angry right now, Alan doesn’t care.

“You know what I’m saying is true. You shouldn’t have that file,” Melvin sighs, and it almost sounds like he’s whining, but Alan isn’t going to surrender because of that.

“Dude, can’t you see? This is a chance for us to find where the Revelator is. We could even get a Medal of Valor to bring him to justice!” 

“He’s been on the FBI wanted list since before you were born! This lunatic practically started doing all of this since… I don’t know, the 80s? He had outlived half of the population already and the fact that he was caught yesterday? We’re just lucky, man. He’s something else.”

“See! You admit that he’s cool.”

“That’s not the point, Alan!”

Melvin breathes hard until his fingers are trembling. His nostrils are flaring and he refuses to look at him, but he didn’t say anything else. He just breathes in until the red across his cheeks calmed down, then he takes yet another looong drag from his cigarette.

Alan sighs.

“Look, I know this is a wild—”

“And dumb.”

“—and dumb, yes, thank you for that, but you always wanted to be a detective. This is your chance to prove them that you have it inside you. The captain would totally recommend you.”

Melvin’s eyes haven’t quite met his, but Alan can see that there’s a spark of interest in it. He looks at him and to the file, then in one swift movement, he throws his cigarette to the ground and steps on the dying butt.

“Tell me what we have.”

Alan smiles.

“Alright, I’ve read this in the bathroom during break and I just know you will love it,” Alan says as he carefully opens the file for Melvin to see.

“Shoot.”

“So, apparently, the Revelator is actually... two different people.”

“You’re shitting me.”

They’re in Alan’s apartment room right now. Melvin has a beer in his hand and he’s sitting on Alan’s couch.

Now here’s the guide to conduct a super-secret-slash-illegal meeting, based on Alan. First, pull down the blinds. You don’t want a sniper to know where you’re standing.

Second, dim the lights. So with the covers pulled down and the lights barely giving you away, your neighbor would probably think that you’re having sex and that is way better than getting caught smuggling a super-secret-slash-illegal file.

Third, turn the TV on. You don’t have to put it on the highest volume, just make sure people on your side could hear you and whoever trying to butt in hears Berlin speaking “Tranquilo, tranquilo,” instead of whatever you’re talking about.

And that’s fucking dumb, Melvin thinks, but he doesn’t wanna argue with a riled-up Alan.

“The Revelator in the 80s is different from the Revelator we have now,” riled-up Alan says, to which Melvin just stares dumbly and say, “What the fuck.”

What the fuck, man.

Anyway, it’s been an hour since Melvin nearly woke up the whole New York City from screaming too loud. And it’s been 30 minutes since they flopped on Alan’s couch with Allan giddy giggles as he pulls out the papers from the enclosed brown file to shove it down Melvin’s throat.

And as Melvin’s face goes sour and sour and even sour as time passes, Alan’s face glows brighter.

“Why are you smiling?!” Melvin throws his hand.

“Because it’s our lead! For the last decade, people thought that he’s some kind of… I don’t know, Jesus? Messiah? Look at his face.” Alan throws a picture of a man to the coffee table. “Tell me that you would believe anyone who said that he could turn water into wine.”

Alright, maybe Alan has a point. Dude actually looks like some white Jesus or something without his mask on. Shaggy brown hair and surprisingly awesome beard, the only thing that makes him so different is he got blue eyes, and when Melvin sees the picture when half of his face is covered by a mask, those eyes pierce right through him to the point he has to look away.

“So, this man over here is named John. No surname, mind you, he just wanna be called John based on the interrogation tape. He’s known as the Revelator and it was a reference from a song titled ‘John the Revelator’.” Alan shows a mugshot of John. His cheeks are blotched with dry blood and there’s some cut at the corner of his lips. He was staring right at him with the same blue eyes, but it was... hollow. Completely different from the picture where he got all his tac gears on.

Although to be fair, his jawline is more structured than Melvin’s life.

“Now this is John Monsoon, also known as the Revelator, BUT this man was found dead at a shootout in 1998.”

Alan tosses another picture to the coffee table. Melvin couldn’t exactly look at his face because the only picture they got was the autopsy picture, but John Monsoon has similar shaggy hair and beard.

“So… what happened?” he asks.

“Apparently, a man from the FBI witnessed four people during the shootout whereas the 80s Revelator worked with only two people.”

Alan tosses two more pictures. Two mugshots with one black man with a box fade hair and ginger with sunken eyes.

“That’s Cole Hedlund and Paul MacCullagh, sentenced for a death penalty in the same year as the shootout. They didn’t tell us anything about the fourth shooter, refusing to talk a single word even in the courtroom. But! An FBI agent was so certain that there was another person there.”

Alan hands another picture. Now this time is a white man in an FBI windbreaker and in that picture, he was smiling.

“That’s Todd Russel. He led the Revelator investigation in 2002 before the case went cold and Russel was found dead at the beginning of 2003.”

The next picture was Todd Russel, still in his FBI windbreaker, but he wasn’t smiling this time. He’s looking at the camera, brown eyes devoid of any emotion and there was red in his shirt. Red in his pants, red in his windbreaker, red all over his hands.

There’s red all over him.

Melvin’s stomach twist.

“Autopsy shows that he was already dead before he was crucified in his own home. His wife and 5-year-old son were found harmless and I guess they’re still on the witness protection program.”

“Alan,” Melvin places the picture on the table and sighs. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Alan’s eyes bulge. “Wait! Why?”

“Can’t you see?” Melvin is scared, holy shit, who is he fooling? He’s terrified.

He sees what this dude has done to a shit ton of people for the past twenty years. He killed people for breakfast and crucifies them for brunch. He burns their motherfucking house down for lunch then drains their bank account for dinner.

No sane person would want to mess around with that.

“He killed an FBI, shit, is ‘killed’ a right word? The man literally did the same thing as what the Romans did to Jesus. An FBI agent, Alan! And we’re just regular cops!”

“That’s why we should do it. The Revelator won’t even notice it because we aren’t on his radar! This is our chance, Melvin, seriously!”

Alan walks over to the couch and sits next to him, and for some time Melvin just stares at him with furrowed brows.

“Think about it, man. Think about it.”

The apartment room behind the police line is painted in gray; there are some cracks and holes in it. The floor is made of wood that creaks when they step on it, and there are some dishes in the sink and an empty bag of chips plus more empty ramen cups on the round dining table. Every single of them is covered in plastic.

Surprisingly, the place looks habitable and… mundane for a super-secret-plus-illegal vigilante hideout.

“You sure this is where the Revelator lives?”

Melvin closes the door slowly so as to not make a sound. He pauses for a moment when he sees how many combinations of locks are placed in it. Guess they were just lucky that the investigating team only uses a thin yellow tape to barricade it.

“I’m 100% sure. I read it in the files, this is where he plans… everything.”

Alan walks over to the broken window, the splinters of glass cracks beneath his feet. In that quiet minute, Melvin moves closer towards a hole in the floor and squats next to it. There are planks placed neatly right beside it and there’s nothing inside it when he aims his flashlight into it.

“The NYPD and FBI must’ve wiped this place clean. There’s probably no clue left behind,” he says, standing up from his position to look over Alan. The Revelator seems to stash all of his guns and drugs beneath the floor and, judging from all the mess, the investigating team must’ve checked the walls too. 

From behind him, Melvin looks at Alan while he stares at the broken window like he’s trying to make a sense of it, and it doesn’t, really. The Revelator jumped from the second floor through a literal hard glass and landed without a single scratch. That doesn’t make sense at all.

The fact that they tried to look for clues also doesn’t make a single fucking sense as well.

“We should probably go,” Melvin says.

“There must’ve been something else here.”

Alan walks away from the window and starts to search from room to room, and Melvin just stares. It’s weird, it just doesn’t make sense. Alan doesn’t have any reason to get so fussed over the Revelator and he wasn’t even that crazy about the medal from the very beginning. The fact that he’s willing to go all through the process of searching a needle in a haystack is just fucking obtuse.

So he decides to walk over to the kitchen area. The sink is leaking droplets of water and everything else is just evidence covered in plastic. He wears his latex glove and opens the fridge door; nothing. He checks the trash can; nothing. He opens every single cabinet to check if the FBI left anything for them; nothing.

Every corner of the room is wiped from all possible evidence, and this is just dumb. Melvin should’ve just realized that they’re reaching a dead-end from the moment they even decide to do this. It’s a dumb idea, and to think that this shit will boost his career up is just the same. This isn’t even legal.

“Alan, let’s just go. The other tenants are going to suspect us,” he half-whispers as he walks over to the other rooms.

The first room he steps into is empty except for a mattress with newspapers below it. Alan isn’t there.

The second room is filled with more stuff than the other. There’s actually a bed with covers with it rather than a single sheet of fabric. It isn’t painted in gray like the other part of the apartment. The room got a personality on it.

And then there’s a desk but it’s empty from a single object. There isn’t any single dust in it like it was meant to be filled with something.

“Uh, Alan?”

Melvin steps out of the room and moves on to the next room. Alan is standing in the room next door, one that looks fairly the same, but with different paint, or, to put it simply, a different ‘personality’ than the previous room.

Melvin gulps.

“Do you think the Revelator lives with… someone else?”

Alan turns around slowly, a paper in his hand and a serious scowl across his face. He nods.

“He has kids.”

The ride is filled with silence. Though, to be fair, Melvin wasn’t sure if it was because of the horror, or the shock.

“I’m sure that there’s at least two of them, but all we have now is Elisa Miller. I’m going to look it up.”

Alan holds the piece of paper and hands it to Melvin. It’s a part of an exam paper with the name Elisa Miller and a school name. The rest of the page is ripped away, it’s like the owner was rushing or trying to hide things or… he doesn’t know. Both? Maybe.

‘Shit, they’re probably trained for things like this,’ Melvin wonders. It’s common sense! If the Revelator has kids, then they’re probably highly trained in combat or, if they don’t, they know what to do when this kind of situation arises. He doesn’t know. There’s just no way his kids are ‘normal’. There’s just no way that their family is a functional one just like the family you see on a cheesy, American TV commercial.

The worst case is that they’re abused. Shit, Melvin feels like he’s going to throw up at the thought. The Revelator wasn’t known for his kindness or his fatherly nature, right? Fuck. He’s an insatiable monster with a fucked-up moral compass.

How can he have kids?

“I still can’t believe that the FBI missed that clue,” Alan snickers as he looks over to the school ground with his binoculars. It’s the same school as the one written on the ripped paper. This is the only lead they have.

Melvin frowns. “This isn’t a joke. Shouldn’t we give this to the FBI?”

“Sssh… They can have it later when we are done busting his ass to the jail. Hey, check this out, I think that’s the one.”

Alan hands the binoculars to Melvin and points out towards the direction of a girl. She has medium-length hair with light tips and a permanent scowl, apparently, or maybe it’s just the sun. Melvin was just guessing.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, lemme check it again on the database.” Alan unlocks his phone and types on the screen. “Elisa Miller, adopted from a church in downtown New York by a man named… Jim? Wow, Jim Parker. Jesus, how many aliases does this man have?” Alan frowns as he scrolls through his phone.

Elisa Miller walks alone towards the school gate with earphones shoved in her ears when two boys, one Asian and the other is African-American, walks towards her, smiling and probably calling her name.

“Try checking out if Jim Parker adopts another kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Um… there’s another one named Brown. Peter Brown. He’s a Korean descent, raised at the same church.”

“So the Revelator does have kids…” Melvin mutters softly as his eyes tail Elisa Miller and Peter Brown. In some way, Melvin knows that the Revelator isn’t going to be there to pick them up as the three teens start to walk heading towards a nearby station.

“Any other info?” Melvin asks as he gives the binoculars to Alan, he takes Alan’s phone in exchange.

“From what I read, no. Jim Parker only adopts two kids and they came from the same Catholic orphanage. I look it up, there’s a database for a man named Robert Brown that we could interrogat—I mean, talk with, later.” Alan takes his eyes off the teenagers and looks at Melvin.

Elisa Miller and Peter Brown, along with the unknown teen, talks about something from afar. They’re moving away, but not at an alarming pace. They don’t look like they notice their presence, but even from here, Melvin knows that they’re being alert, judging by the amount of time they look over their shoulders.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Melvin looks at Alan, he has his eyes firmly locked to them.

“To where they are staying right now,” Alan answers, then nods firmly at him. Now there’s the sign he knows too well. Melvin starts the engine and tails them slowly; keeping an appropriate amount of distance so nobody will notice them. At some point, he nearly thought that they would get caught. They don’t know anything about the teens besides their name and probably some legal information recorded by the States, but what he does know is that they’re the ‘same’. The Revelator and his kids, they both have the same, piercing eyes, and that expression fades away when they talk to each other or stop being so damn alarmed. Maybe they don’t even realize what they’re doing, and that brings him to even more questions.

How much do these kids know about the Revelator? Do they help him? Holy, is the Revelator making another team just like what the 80s Revelator did?

“Melvin, hey, get it together buddy. They’re taking the subway.” Alan snaps his fingers in front of Melvin’s face. “Come on.”

Alan goes out of the car first, then Melvin follows him without skipping a beat. The subway is crowded and it’s just the perfect place to blend in. Elisa Miller and Peter Brown part way with the other teen and hop into one of the cars, Melvin and Alan, on the other hand, take the one right next to it.

The ride is slow and nobody speaks a word. It’s still crowded inside. Elisa Miller sits and Peter Brown stands in front of her. They didn’t talk at all.

“Do you think he’ll be there?” Alan asks, eyeing the teens through the glass window, and Melvin just shrugs. He doesn’t know what to expect, really. His goddamn heart is currently beating sooo damn fast. He’s excited and scared, like, how could he not? He doesn’t know what he will do if they really meet the Revelator. Fight? That’s really not a good thing to do when you’re facing an international vigilante even if there are two of them. Malvin saw what the Revelator did towards a group of cops. He remembers it all too well how they got him cornered in an abandoned church and how long the shootout lasted. One person, obviously injured and not in their best state of mind, versus a whole squad, and that one person nearly managed to run away.

And what if they run? That’s worse. Oh, man. The Revelator would track them. He just can’t think of a good ending for this.

Melvin feels the sweat running down his spine. He doesn’t know what the Revelator will do when he meets them, that’s even worse.

“They stop here. Let’s go.”

His heartbeat is spiking up, goddamn. They’re going back in the same direction of the Revelator’s super-secret-plus-illegal hideout, but this time, that dumb nickname doesn’t bring any smile to his face. He’s fucking tense, and so is Alan. He notices that his partner has been biting his fingernails on their way and he only does that whenever he’s nervous. And now they’re reaching another dead end when the teens get into their apartment complex. Melvin knows damn well that they couldn’t get inside because the other tenants will notice them and ruin their entire stealth mission, but they’re so close. So fucking close.

“Alan, we can’t.”

Melvin grabs Alan's wrist. They can’t take another step, they’d be found. Alan frowns at him like he’s losing his mind, but he doesn’t argue. He stays quiet and bites his fingers. From the look on his face, Melvin realizes that he’s thinking hard. Alan’s eyes roam over the surroundings. Damn right, Melvin knows he isn’t gonna give up and as much as he appreciates his partner’s spirit, sometimes he wishes that Alan would stand back.

“We are so close,” Alan whispers, and Melvin agrees.

Alan points over to a building. It’s abandoned and there’s a sign that shows that they’re going to tear it down. He doesn’t tell Melvin when he jumps over the low metal gate and into the building. With quick precision, he turns his flashlight, and Melvin follows.

“Where are we heading?”

“Third floor. We might be able to see them from here.”

And Alan was right. They can see the Revelator’s room exactly from their spot. With his binoculars, Alan gets the first exclusive look at the broken window of the Revelator’s apartment from where he lays on his stomach. Melvin gets the first shift of the watchman. With his guns loaded, he stays near the only exit they have. 

“Did you see anything?”

“Negative,” Alan answers. His voice nearly echoing around the hollow concrete room. The place is a total mess, really. It’s not empty of furniture, but it does feel like the developer doesn’t even bother to finish the construction. There’s probably some homeless dude staying here judging from the interior. Gray wall, gray floor, all of it made of concrete. There are gaping holes in the walls where the windows are supposed to be placed, and there’s a worn-out mattress at the corner of the room with the springs coming all over the soft cushion placed on top of outdated newspapers, just like the Revelator’s room.

Melvin’s hearts drop to his stomach.

“Alan,” he whispers, palms sweating and trembling.

“Ssh, shut up!”

“Alan,” he whispers again, this time nearly yelling. He looks around the room to find another exit. There’s none. The only place where they could exit the building is through the creaking stairs or from the window, which is entirely impossible because they are not the Revelator who could jump through three stories building and still be able to run like he doesn’t feel a single, fucking, pain.

“I think I saw a movement. Holy shit, we might just be right all along!”

“ALAN!”

“Dude, what the—”

“I think this is the Revelator’s hideout.”

They freeze.

It’s quiet.

“Damn right it is.”

Alan screams.

ㅤㅤㅤEverything turns to black.

ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ

“Oh my God, oh my fucking God. Stay out of him you sick fuck oh my God, MELVIN!”

‘Alan, you forgot to give me blankets.’

That was Melvin’s first thought.

It’s cold, it’s fucking cold out here and he’s uncomfortable. His head hurt like there’s someone trying to drill a hole into it, and his entire body is sore, all his muscles trying to stretch and move and just, basically, trying to ease the pain.

It’s fucking cold here.

“Melvin.”

The whisper is the first thing that he registers. It’s small, it’s out of breath… it sounds… pained?

Alan.

“Alan,” Melvin word’s slurs.

It’s cold, it’s hella cold, and his vision is blurry. The air smells tangy and sour, but the room is bright. It’s oddly bright, why? Harsh white light flashing his eyes, blinding his already blurry eyes. He tries to focus, tries to control his breathing. It’s cold, holy fuck. Why is it so cold?

“Took you a while.”

Melvin raises his head, struggling to find where the voice was coming from. It’s no use, everything is blurry. The light isn’t doing anything good to his eyes.

“Get the fuck away from him!” that’s Alan again, shit, he sounds in pain. Melvin tries to shake the blur away, he wants to see Alan. He wants to see him—no. He needs to see him.

There’s a low chuckle. “Ya might wanna keep it down a bit, sweetheart. Yer going to need all those air for later,” the voice says, and he feels a soft touch under his chin, “ain’t that right, Melvin?”

His vision is still blurry when a rough hand caresses his skin, but he can already feel his senses getting back to him. First, it was his skin: once he couldn’t feel his legs, now he could feel the cold floor even better. Second, it was his ears: once the sound was muffled, now it is crystal clear.  He knows that voice, he heard it all over and over and over again in Alan’s apartment room. When the blinds were pulled down and the lights were dimmed, when the TV was playing the Masters Tournament in Fox Sports, he heard that voice before. “No, no, Melvin. Rewind. Rewind it again. Look at his face, what is he doing?” Alan had said back then, and Melvin thought that the idea was dumb, but now it’s just pure terror.

He can’t even try to pull away.

“Shit, kid. Did I hit ya too hard?” the voice says again, and Melvin has to bite his inner cheek and holds his breath for a moment. Third, it was his eyes: once everything is blurry, now his nightmare is manifesting in front of him.

He wishes that it would stay blurry.

Because now he’s looking at the same blue eyes just like the one he saw three days ago. When the blinds were pulled down and the lights were dimmed, when the TV was playing a documentary of lion cubs on NatGeo Wild, he’d seen those eyes before. He’s looking at the same piercing gaze like the one given by the teens. He’s looking at the same monster as he did back then.

“Melvin, eh? Heard a lot about ya, ’m sorry for hitting your head too hard.”

Alan sneers. “G—get the f—”

　　One click.

　　He hears the load of a gun.

“Stay.”

Melvin snaps his eyes wide and searches frantically towards Alan’s voice. He’s still in shock, but he can see his partner in the corner of the room—a closed space with white walls and shelves with boxes in it. It’s cramped and it’s cold. The floor, the wall, the air. Everything’s cold.

Alan’s hands are free. Alan’s legs are free.

Alan’s stomach is bleeding.

“Alan—”

Melvin scrambles his way towards him, but he’s stopped right on track. Shit. His head hurts so bad and he’s stuck in his place. He could feel his muscles tensing behind him, his wrist securely tied to a metal shelf by a rope. The metal is cold, and it hurts. It hurts and it’s cold, it’s cold and it hurts. Holy fucking shit, Alan.

“Ssh…” The gentle hands return to his cheek. It’s cold, cold like the rest of the room, cold like the pale blue eyes that looked more like it has always been gray this whole time.

“Your partner is bleeding to death, you can’t panic,” the voice says again. His tone is flat and his voice is low, but then he hears a chuckle. There’s blood at the corner of his lips, there are cuts and bruises across his face. There’s terror coming from those eyes, the manic gleam glinting under the harsh, white lamp.

“N–no—”

“Melvin, darling, I’m joking. He‘s fine, I stitch him up.” The cold hand tilts his head. “Come on Alan, tell him.”

Alan looks at Melvin and to the source of the voice. There’s a bob in his adam’s apple, but when he looks back at Melvin, Alan nods like he means it.

“Good boy,” the voice says again. The cold hands disappear, and when the voice’s owner steps back, Melvin has to hold his breath.

Standing in all black is the Revelator himself. He doesn’t wear his mask, his entire face, from those sharp jaws and hooded eyes, all the bruises and cuts standing in front of him. There’s a Glock in his hand, but Melvin knows the man enough to realize that it isn’t the only weapon he has. There’s gonna be an extra gun tucked somewhere in his pants, some combat knife under his tactical vest. There’s always something he hides.

It’s the Revelator.

“Thought you wanna meet me, Melvin Rickman.” The Revelator smirks. “Or do you prefer, ‘Melvin Russell’?”

Melvin’s guts twist like it has never been before. He hears Alan muttering something from afar, but he couldn’t tell. His heartbeat is racing like shit, and he couldn’t breathe.

The Revelator looks at Alan and smiles wider. “You didn’t know, did ya?”

Melvin knows that Alan is looking at him, but Melvin couldn’t look back.

“You didn’t really think that your partner is willing to go all out for some stupid medal, did you?” the Revelator says again. He sounds calm, too calm for his own good. Too calm for someone like him. Is this thing a normal routine for him? Just another Saturday of blackmailing people! What a fun activity.

The Revelator snickers and looks back at Melvin. “You ain’t fooling anyone, sweetheart.”

Melvin chokes.

“How did you—”

The Revelator shush him before he could even continue his words. He’s so gentle, it’s making him sick. He doesn’t even know which one is better, believing that the Revelator is a fucked-up sadist who skins his victim alive or realizing that he’s actually a gentle fucker who uses too many endearments.

He wants to puke.

“Now, I hear that you guys are looking for me.” The Revelator drags a chair and sits on it. With his legs crossed on top of a knee, he pulls out a combat knife from one of his boots and starts juggling with it between his fingers. ‘Every move is calculated, but not necessarily planned.’ The letters from the file resounding inside his head. Back then, it didn’t make any sense, but now it does. It’s coming together now. Every time Melvin thinks that the knife is going to slip, he just picks it back and continues with the same, steady pace. The knife play isn’t a show of control, no, it isn’t. The Revelator isn’t trying to prove his capability, Melvin knows that he’s just bored. He knows that the Revelator thinks he’s way above that already to prove himself.

‘Every move is calculated, but not necessarily planned,’  he thinks again.

So does the Revelator know that this would happen? Did he calculate this? Did he know that there’s a chance for two young cops with barely one year worth of experience will try to snoop around? Have they been in the equation? If yes, since when?

Did the Revelator already know that this would happen the moment he nails Todd Russel in front of him?

“That’s Todd Russel. He led the Revelator investigation in 2002 before the case went cold and Russel was found dead at the beginning of 2003.”

Yeah, he knew that long ago. He knows.

Melvin is there the whole time.

He wants to puke. So bad.

“You find another side that you don’t know, good for you,” the Revelator says, “and I respect that. Not a lot of people could find some good lead easily.”

The Revelator drags his chair closer to Melvin, then he leans back. It’s the same pose all over again. His head is tilted to a side, just like what he did during the previous interrogation with Detective Nashton, but this time he’s flipping a kali knife in one hand and he has one foot crossed over a knee. Melvin wonders if he’s going to sit like this if not because of the cuffs back then.

“So, imma give ya punks a special time to interview me. Oh no, don’t get excited too easily. I only accept three questions,” he continues. The Revelator tilts his head to the other side and smiles at Alan. And it’s so sweet, sweet and gentle just like everything he does. Sweet and gentle like the way he touches his cheeks a moment ago, sweet and gentle, just, so different from the way he dresses. So different from what the file told them.

“W-who are you working for?” Alan tries to make his voice as menacing from the corner of the room, but he’s breathing heavily, puffs of white smoke coming from his lips. His face is pale from any colors, be it from the blood loss or the cold, Melvin just wanna run at him and hold him close. 

The Revelator stops his knife flipping and covers his mouth. “You can’t be serious,” he says, holding his laughter back, and Alan just stares at him wide-eyed, completely baffled at the response.

“It’s in the file, isn’t it? I saw it in your room. You should’ve kept it in a better place besides the bottom of your drawer, kid.” The Revelator smiles at Alan, then he glances at Melvin for a brief moment and wink. What the fuck.

It shouldn’t be surprising anymore, but Melvin couldn’t help the violent contraction inside his stomach. He stifles a groan, it hurts so bad and he’s fucking stressed. The Revelator already knows his real name, his real identity, then what else does he know? How many things does he know about them? He finds Alan’s place, and he might’ve already had Melvin’s address in his intel from a long time ago.

How many things does he know about them?

“You…” Melvin breathes in harshly, struggling to control his heartbeat. The Revelator eyes him with his sharp gaze. The gray irises—Melvin is completely sure that it was gray by now—swallowing his pupil until it left only a speck of black.

“Did your kids… know?”

The Revelator stays quiet, the curve of his lips turned flat, and there isn’t any sharpness inside his eyes anymore. There’s nothing there, nothing to indicate any sense of distress or anything else. No hostility, no emotion. Nothing.

It’s like staring into the void and hoping that it will give you something, but no. No matter how long you look at it, there’s just nothing there.

Does it mean he hit the right spot?

“Well,” the Revelator looks away, and when his gaze returned, the same sharpness returned. There goes back the confident look on his face, the same gentle smile that doesn’t suit the bloodlust coming from his eyes.

“There are… a lot of things a parent hides from their children,” he begins, “maybe you’ll understand better when you’re older. There are sacrifices you gotta make, you know, some dirty things you have to do for love. Honestly, I thought you, of all people, would understand it better.”

Melvin looks away. “How can I? You killed Todd Russel.”

“Yes, Melvin, sorry,” the Revelator rubs the bridge of his nose, “but your Daddy broke his promise to me.”

Melvin bites his tongue. They’re playing a mind game, he finally realizes. The Revelator doesn’t want to answer anything, at least, not in a way. With every question they ask, there’s a truth, then there’s also a threat ready to just jump back and tackle them. It’s a sick thought and Melvin hates it. He hates that the Revelator has the upper hand no matter what he does. He runs away from the police, survived a chase, and the fact that the room is fucking cold doesn’t help a thing. Now Alan is coughing and it’s cold and oh my fucking God, how long have they been here?

“One more question,” the Revelator says, and he smiles again. It’s sickening. It’s sickening how even fate picks his favorite.

Melvin looks at Alan. He’s so pale.

“What promise did Todd Rus—that, Dad, broke?” Melvin half-whispers, and the Revelator chuckles.

“The same promise I’m making with ya.”

There’s a loud sound of metal hitting a tile. The blade glinting under the harsh white light.

“I’m gonna let you kids live your life a bit longer, just enough so you guys could cut off the sexual tension and start dating each other and have some glorious sex. I’m letting y’all do it, I even booked two plane tickets to the Bahamas for you. I’m letting y’all do it, as long as you let me live my goddamn life. You ain’t coming anywhere near me, near my kids, near my fucking apartment or my fucking boss or my fucking friends, ‘cause if you fucking do,” the Revelator stands up and walks to him, “then I’ll fucking come at you, kid. I will fucking send swarms of flies upon thee and upon thy goddamn servants, and upon thy people, and into thy houses. And yer houses shall be loaded shit of flies and also the ground whereon they are but maybe I ain’t talking ‘bout some weak-ass flies. Listen to me, sweetheart, maybe I’m talking about something else. Something’ exploding that you won’t ever forget, something that you will always, always pop out in your goddamn head whenever you close your eyes. Something, something similar like the one I give to yer Daddy.”

The Revelator stands tall and steps on the knife he throws. In one single movement, he slides it in Alan’s direction and starts walking away towards the exit. It’s a metal door and the only thing holding it from closing completely is a single, dumb red brick.

“You know me, Russel. You don’t wanna mess with me.”

The Revelator walks away and shuts the door tight.

It’s quiet for a moment. He feels his heart sinks to the floor.

“Melvin—”

Melvin turns his gaze away from the metal door. Alan is still there, his face is still pale, and there’s still some smoke coming from his mouth.

“Shit, Alan!”

Melvin struggles to slip away from the knots, but it’s no use. The ropes are tight around his hands. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Well,” Alan’s eyes are hazy and he looks so fucking tired, but he flashes a smile. “He shot me in the leg and stabbed my abdomen, but I’m good.” Alan laughs like he is reminiscing a cute memory from his childhood days.

“You sick fucker, how can you still—alright, shut up, I’m going to find a way to get out of this… wh-what are you doing?”

Alan drags himself towards Melvin’s direction with the knife in his hand. He realizes it’s the combat knife, the same knife that the Revelator juggles, and the same knife that was thrown into his feet a while ago.

“Oh, shut up. He gave us this,” Alan cuts the rope with the knife, his breath panting heavily as he struggles to keep his hand steady. Melvin’s heart aches. “For... this.”

The ropes around him break loose and Melvin sighs heavily when he feels the tension leaving his shoulder. Alan slumps back to the nearest wall and shuts his eyes.

“God, Alan, what the fuck—”

“He stitched me up.”

“What?”

“The Revelator.” Alan pulls his shirt up to show a bandage. There is dried blood on his stomach and bruises covering the rest of him, but the dressing looks… neat. “He stitched it. My legs too, he takes the bullet out by himself,” Alan says, his eyes don’t quite meeting Melvin’s.

Melvin stares wide-eyed. “B-but why?”

“I don’t know, Melvin. I really don’t know.”

Alan sighs and tries to sit upright. He can’t, he slumps back again with a moan. “When he hit you on the head, I was so mad and I… I just came at him with empty hands. Then he stabbed me and shot me in the leg, and I was... dying. I thought I was gonna die and you’re going to see me covered with my own blood and I started to beg.” Alan is now completely avoiding his eyes. “He stares at me like he doesn’t care, then he hits me in the face, and when I wake up, my wounds are clean.”

“Alan that’s…”

“It’s weird. I know. He… he doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Melvin stares at him for a moment until Alan finally looks at him. In some way, he doesn’t know what to say. The thought of not having Alan in his life anymore sounds bleak. It looks bleak. It feels bleak. He doesn’t want that.

Melvin holds Alan’s wrist. “We’re taking you to the hospital,” he says. Then he quickly stands up even when he feels like tumbling down again, even when his head starts screaming “sit the FUCK down” and his legs feel like jelly. He limps his way towards the door and tries to open it by the safety release handle. It doesn't budge. He rings the safety bell, there’s no answer.

Melvin pants. He’s doing everything too fast to the point he forgets that they’re stuck in a closed space with a temperature of -10° F and low oxygen level. Fuck, his heart is beating too fast and he’s about to hyperventilate. “We’re stuck,” he whispers, but Alan doesn’t look like he gives a fuck. He rolls his eyes and looks at Melvin, deadpan. “Yea, genius. Just get back here now and warm me up.”

Melvin shakes his head. “No, no. We can’t give up. There must be, there must be something we could do.”

“No, Melvin. There isn’t. The only thing we can do now is wait until someone found us and that’s the hard part because it’s cold, Melvin. Don’t you feel cold?”

Melvin nods.

“It’s a walk-in freezer, Rickman, and if we don’t,” Alan coughs, “if we don’t keep ourselves warm, there’s no telling how we could survive that wait.”

Melvin stares at Alan again. Once again, the fear found him. It makes his brain go numb and his legs all jittery. There’s this urge to just scream and throw himself on the door, but he knows better than to do that.

He looks from shelves to shelves to find something—anything. Anything that could keep them warm for some unknown time. Anything that could cover both of them for the night. There’s nothing, and he’s scared. He’s fucking scared. He’s so scared that he might start to cry right now.

“It’s really cold, don’t you think?” Alan jokes, but Melvin doesn’t crack a single laugh. Melvin stops looking and sits next to his partner instead. “We’re gonna get out of here,” Melvin says, his hands founding its way around Alan’s cold body. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

They stay like that for what seems to be eternity. Alan’s body grows colder and his breathing gets heavier, and so does Melvin’s. He doesn’t know how many hours have passed since the Revelator left the room. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. And he just wants to cry, fuck, he wanna cry so bad because it hurts. Melvin looks so pale and out of it, and he’s scared. He’s scared. He’s out-gunned. They’ve stuck together for so long and they always won. They’ve been together from the beginning and they will always be until the end. Alan has saved Melvin over and over and over again, but right now, when Alan needed him the most, he couldn’t do anything about it.

“When we get out of here,” Alan smiles at him, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes, “wanna have some dinner together?”

Melvin hugs him tighter and nods. Yes, that sounds great. They’re going to get dinner when they’re out of here. They’re not going to miss any Taco Nights and they’re going to watch the Yankees together. They’re going to do a lot of things when they get out.

If only. If only they get o—

“NYPD GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

The metal door opens forcefully and a swarm of people in tac gears rushes into the room. Melvin tenses in his place and hugs Alan even tighter. It’s Sergeant Jones.

“Huh, Collins and Rickman. I should’ve… what the fuck, we need a medic!”

The tac teams look around the room as Sergeant Jones walks towards them with heavy steps. “H-how did you…?”

“There’s an anonymous call to the precinct saying there’s a hostage situation. We tracked the phone and it comes to this address. The FBI is waiting outside,” he continues as he kneels in front of them. The tac teams leave the freezer to make a room for the medic. Two men quickly come to lift Alan’s limp body to the stretcher, and another one quickly wraps a blanket around Melvin’s own freezing self.

“Why is the FBI here?” Melvin asks as Sergeant Jones hoists him up. The older sergeant and the other medic help him walk outside the room.

“You know who called, Rickman?” The Sergeant’s eyes are sharp at him. Melvin shakes his head.

“It’s the Revelator.”

“Is he gonna be alright?” Melvin asks as he looks at Melvin. He’s sleeping right now, the blinds are pulled down and the lights are dimmed, but the TV isn’t playing any random show and there isn’t anything to hide now. Not anymore.

“Doctor said that he’s lucky,” Sergeant Jones says with his thick Brooklyn drawl. “He lost a lot of blood, but his sutures are neat. I can’t believe the fucking Revelator actually did that. What the hell happened, Rickman? You know what, don’t tell me. Save the answer for the Captain later.”

Melvin doesn’t reply, he’s still looking at Alan. “Don’t be so bummed, kid. Nobody is going to lose their job.”

He smiles. “I’m thinking of quitting, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Jones’ eyes go wide.

“Alright, I know that was crazy, but take your time to think about it.”

Melvin looks at him for a moment, but that’s all he does. He says nothing and just stares at Alan’s peaceful form.

“What are you gonna do after this, kid?”

He looks at the Sergeant.

“Dinner, I guess.”

[niallerscraicdealer]

Proclivity - A Split Fanfiction

also posted on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10664319/chapters/23602938

"He has a proclivity to watch young girls dance naked." Marcia moves to Philadelphia with her family, where she encounters the strange man who lives across the street.

When Marcia’s father told her that he would be moving the family to a completely different state, she was excited, to say the very least. Marcia had spent her whole life living in Shaker Heights, Ohio which had its moments maybe once or twice a year but other than that - it was quiet and bared no interest for Marcia. One would think that if a girl spent her whole life in one place, she would have a decent amount of friends, people that would miss her when she was gone - no, that wasn't the case for Marcia.

The sky was a deep shade of blue/purple except for the bright orange strip that lay across the horizon where the sun was slowly rising. Marcia lazily stared out of the truck window, her eyes almost completely closed. Her father wasn't much of a strict man, he wasn’t one to rule with an iron-fist. However when it came to driving, he was very meticulous. Every trip had to be planned with the utmost precision and perfect execution. Her father was a man who preferred to get the job done quickly and with as little stops or delays as possible. For Marcia and her ten year old brother this meant having to endure the eight hour long drive from Ohio to Pennsylvania, Philadelphia to be precise. Most parents would probably have driven halfway, checked into a room for the night and then carried on in the morning when everyone had been refreshed but her dad wasn't like that. He made exactly one, ten-minute stop, for gas and to stretch legs then it was back on the road as soon as. She rolled her eyes thinking about it.

“Are we almost there?” A yawn garbled the end of her sentence but she was far too tired to repeat it.

“Got about two more hours left baby-girl, be smart like your brother and sleep.” He glanced at his son through the mirror and then over to his daughter.

Her eyes fluttered gently, the low hum of the radio lulled her into a deep sleep.

A knocking sound resonated in Marcia's head, she groaned as she realised that she was being woken up. As she hesitantly opened her eyes, they adjusted to the sudden and harsh daylight, she wished for the night sky to be back again. The pre-sunrise sky, the sky that resembled a Van Gogh painting splattered with calming purple and orange tones. She sighed and sat upright. Her father knocked on the window again as he waved a set of keys around and grinned widely. Marcia's brother, Thomas, was already making his way into the house carrying a box from the U-haul that was attached to the truck. Marcia opened the truck door and jumped out. “I’m afraid Tom has already picked out his room Marsh.”

She had never really thought about the nickname her dad had given her years ago - but after hearing it for the first time in a long time, she realised how pointless it was and if anyone else were to call her that she would laugh. Her dad was the only person that could get away with it. She smiled. “It's fine, as long as it can fit my stuff in there - I'm happy.”

“Moving van got here an hour ago, they've taken your bed up if you want to go and have a look.”

“How long did you let me sleep in the car for?”

“You looked too peaceful to disturb and you were up the whole night.” He shrugged and walked into the house with his daughter.

Philadelphia seemed like a nice place and Marcia hoped that this would be a lot more entertaining than the street she lived on in Ohio.

The first week goes by rather quickly and even though Marcia is excited to explore the new state she calls home, she stays at home for the week to help out and concentrate on where she wants to put everything. Her new room is much bigger than her old one so she enjoys the added freedom and space.

The new week starts at 6:35 in the morning, when Marcia finally gets the strength to pull herself out of bed. Today she was starting her new school which filled her with a mix of anxiety and excitement. She was running back and forth between her wardrobe and the tidy little bathroom that she had to herself. A knock on the door snaps her into reality. Marcia realises that she let time escape from her when Thomas appears in her doorway fully dressed and she stands there in just her underwear and a sweater.

“Dad said hurry up or you won't get a ride to school.”

“I can walk.” She looks on her bed at the choices of skirts and jeans she's put out.

Thomas rolls his eyes and turns on one foot. “She said she can walk! Can we go now?”

Her dad runs up the stairs. “Look at the time, what have you been doing Marsh?”

She shrugs. “I didn't know what to wear.” She pulls on a pair of black leggings.

“Okay well I have to go and I can see that you're still not ready yet.” He points to her hair. “Have a good day, you'll be fine okay?”

“I know.” She smiles. “Thanks dad.”

“Love you Marsh.”

“You too.”

He disappears down the stairs and she carries on with her morning routine.

Almost an hour later, she rushes out of the house with her bag on her back and her iPod in her hand. Marcia sets it to shuffle after putting one earphone in place and shoves it into her pocket. Marcia watches the houses as she struts down the walkway of her new home. A few mothers and fathers are loading cars with children and some are waving them off of doorsteps. A man emerges from the house directly across the street two doors down and stands on his porch. He watches the children walk down the road with their parents and greets them silently with his arms folded across his chest. The man seems to be dressed for work, in a tightly buttoned grey collared shirt and matching trousers but he just stands there outside his house. Marcia hadn't realised that she had stopped walking until the man locked eyes with her. She wanted to look away but there was something about him, she couldn't work out if it was a bad thing or not but the way that he just stood there intrigued her. She mentally shook it off and kept walking, she had to otherwise there would have been no point of making an appearance at her new school. Marcia turned around before she was at the end of the road, only to find that the man was still staring at her.

Making friends was not a problem for Marcia, so the day went by quickly and smoothly for her. The faculty were not even bothered by the fact that she strolled into school an hour and a half late. She was already starting to like Philadelphia. A bell sounded over the school's PA system and she waved goodbye to her new friends, Claire and Casey. The only thing that remotely bothered Marcia was homework and although the faculty didn't bother to scold her for being late, they gave her a few assignments to do, so that she could catch up with the other kids in her classes. She decided that she would need to pick up a textbook or two if she was expected to catch up with work and thought it would be best to visit the library.

The large door swung open before she could extend her arm and her stomach dropped a little. The somewhat creepy man she had encountered that morning, emerged from the dark library with a set of keys in his hand. He made her feel even more uneasy standing so close to her. His left eyebrow was raised and his brows were furrowed, making him look angry and standoffish. The mans cold, icy blue eyes pierced Marcia's delicate, brown ones. “This is closed for today.” His voice was deep and monotonous.

“Oh, okay. W-What time does it open in the morning?”

“Eight.” He spoke and turned around immediately to lock the door.

Marcia scanned the hallway to see if anyone was still around but it was empty. Desolate. She turned on one foot and began to walk towards the exit. Marcia could feel the man watching her as she walked away but she didn't dare to turn around. He could have been the world's nicest man but there was something about his stare, especially up close, that made her uneasy. Marcia plugged a single earphone in and started down the road for the walk home.

When she got there, her father was standing on the front lawn speaking to a woman with shoulder-length, blonde hair. “Hey Marsh! Eva this is my daughter, Marcia this is Eva who lives across the street.”

“Very nice to meet you.” The woman beams. “You just started the school down the road? My daughter Claire should be in your class.”

“I met her today, she's real nice!”

“You should come and say hello again, I live just there!” Eva pointed at the house across the road, one door down which was right beside the creepy maintenance guys house.

“Sure.” Marcia smiles and follows her across the road.

“I was actually talking to your dad about getting someone to help walk the dogs with Claire, we have four of them and she just can't handle it.” Marcia started to daydream, Eva's voice just a drone in the back of her head. Marcia was concentrating on the house next door. She was brought back to reality when Eva knocked the door and her daughter, Claire, answered. “Also I would pay you!”

“That sounds good.” Marcia had no idea what she was agreeing to but she was going to get paid for it.

“Nice to see you again, come in.” Claire smiled.

Eva introduced Marcia to the four family dogs and then left her to hang out upstairs in Claire's room.

Claire hummed along to the song that was on the radio, whilst Marcia watched the busy street from the window ledge. A silver SUV pulled up to the house next door and moments later, the man emerged. “Hey”, she spoke to get Claire's attention. “What are your neighbours like?”

“Well on the right we've got a family of six which can get pretty loud...but we're no better with four dogs, are you kidding me!” She laughed. “Then on the left there's Dennis.”

“Dennis?” Marcia questioned, pressing for more information.

“Dennis Crumb. He's quiet but odd.”

“Odd, how so?”

“He just stares at people sometimes, I've noticed him stare at me before. He never smiles too but you know what makes it even worse?”

“What?”

“Apparently Dennis isn't even his real name and he was supposed to go to jail years ago but he got off because of some mental disorder.”

“A-Are you serious? What's wrong with him?”

“I don't know but one time I was walking the dogs and one of them did their business on his grass, but before I could get a bag out to scoop it up - he freaks out and starts going nuts.”

“Wow.” Nothing like this had ever happened in her old neighbourhood in Ohio, even if that was just a rumour. Everyone in Marcia's old neighbourhood was devastatingly polite and sociable. “What did he do to almost go to jail?”

“I don't know. I just heard my mum talking about it with Mrs. Peters - the woman next door. You know he works at our school? I try to be nice to him but he always scowls at me or just stares. Weird right?”

“Weird.” Marcia mumbled, she couldn't stop thinking about him. Dennis. “Anyway I should go. Dads probably got dinner ready. See you tomorrow?”

“Meet me out here at 8 and we can walk together!” Claire suggests with a smile. Marcia returns it and leaves. She can't help but take a glance at his house before she crosses the road.

At the dinner table, their father presses both of them for information on how their first day went. He also mentions that the two of them should make efforts to get to know everyone in the neighbourhood, just in case. Marcia thinks of Dennis. She questions if her dad knows anything about him but he says that he has not heard anything yet. For a split second, Marcia wonders if Claire had exaggerated her stories but something tells her that she didn't. “I'm gonna head up. Got some work to do and some sleep to catch up on.”

“Love you Marsh, sleep tight.”

She spent hours browsing on her laptop, an hour or so was even spent searching about this mysterious ‘Dennis Crumb’ but nothing turned up and Marcia quickly remembered when Claire had said Dennis wasn't his real name. Marcia was desperate to know more, she wondered what his name really was and why he had to change it - she was curious about the stern-faced man across the road.

Her eyes shot open and she was jolted awake by something, it was almost as if someone at the foot of her bed shook her mattress to bring her to attention. The smallest amount of illumination that crept through the curtains was from the moon and Marcia realised she hadn't even remembered going to sleep, in fact she was still fully clothed except for the absence of shoes. Her bedside clock reads 3:13, the neighbourhood was quiet. Marcia sat up and walked over to her window to sit down and gather her stirring thoughts. She was never one to wake up so suddenly during the night but thought it was down to the fact that she was in completely new surroundings. Marcia gently parted the curtains and looked up at the crescent moon that was slightly hidden behind some clouds. Movement on the corner of her caught her attention, she turned her head to look at Dennis’ house. From what she could see, all of the lights were on and there he was - stood on the front porch once again, but she couldn't think why - there was no one to watch. He was stood at an angle, his body facing Marcia's house as if he had been waiting for her to awaken. It was too dark for her to tell if he was looking directly at her but a feeling in her stomach said that he was. She shook it off and decided to retreat back to her bed. Marcia dreamt of him that night. He was in her bedroom sat at the foot of her bed just watching her sleep.

[abbyfic-updates]

Just Take My Hand - Chapter 4

Author Notes: This is the next chapter in the story on AO3. I’ve rewritten this one the most of any one I’ve been currently working on. I’m honestly happier but not content with it.

Characters: Jason Todd, OC, and Richard Dragon

Jason wasn’t sure how far he had walked. Honestly, he hadn’t cared where his feet had been taking him. Neither snow nor cold bothered him. Now though, something had his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, a green, fluorescent light flickered. The bright glow was a sharp contrast to the blur of snowflakes.

Drawing in a deep, cold breath, his lungs burned and constricted. He forced himself to cough, but it wasn’t the icy wind that stole his breath away. No. It was the name written out in vibrant neon green over a pair of large wooden doors.

The Jaded Stone Dragon

Stepping towards a double pane, lightly frosted window beside the doors, Jason glanced inside. Booths partially lined one side of a rather narrow space. A few round tables dotted here and there along the center. On the other side, a bar counter stretched nearly the entire length. Only a few people were inside.

Jason’s gaze drifted away from the window for a moment. Shivers raked over his back. They were reason enough not to stay outside any longer. No matter how much he wanted to be alone, he didn’t want to freeze to death either.

“But do I go inside or head back... to the motel?” Over his shoulder, Jason squinted into the blowing snow.

Jason knew what going inside could mean. For starters, he knew he'd be carded. That was the trouble of dying young. No one believed him about his age. Someone always commented. Twice he had decked a guy for calling him baby-faced. Worse then that were the women. Near the front he spotted a group of three women. At least one looked drunk. He had stopped counting the number of times some drunk woman had tried to coax him out of his seat with a giggle or sweet word to his ear. He usually didn’t mind flirting, but he wasn’t in the mood tonight. He just wanted to be alone with a beer.

A sigh fell from his lips. "Then, there's Cassandra. What's the chance she'll leave me alone for the rest of the night?"

Jason was almost certain that she would be waiting for him by now. He could picture her standing in the snow, looking about for him. She might even be worried. Then again, she might have gone to their motel room and was currently fuming. He had left without a word. Wincing slightly, he considered facing her wraith. She was terrifying when she was mad.

With a quick shake of his head, Jason made a snap decision. "No." He stepped towards the double doors. “I’m just not ready to go back. Not yet.” Grabbing one of the brass handles, he started to pull open the heavy door. “Maybe after a beer or two.”

As Jason crossed the threshold into the bar, he hesitated briefly. He couldn’t help but take in the new his surroundings and those inside.

For a small-town bar, it was rustic but not in that new, modern design. From the chips in the wood to the lighter looking wood panels along the bar, the building was showing its true age. Yet, it wasn’t some rundown, smoke filled mess. Real care had been taken to make the space feel comfortable and inviting to visitors.

Speaking of the people, most sat in the booths on the left side. Furthest away,  a small group of rowdy college guys were singing drunkenly to some pop song on a nearby jukebox. A bit closer were a pair of winter-ready hunters, talking in hushed voices. The closest was a family of four. They were eating in silence, except for the blue eyed, babbling toddler who kept looking in Jason’s direction with a big smile.

When another shiver raked down his spine, Jason let the door close behind him. It made a loud thud. Only a couple customers spared him a glance. Even then, it was so brief that no one, outside a student of Batman, would probably have noticed.

One of them was one of the three women seated at the front table. She was a short haired brunette who seemed a bit tipsy. When she attempted to wave at Jason, she nearly knocked over a bottle of red wine. Jason just frowned and strode past without a second glance. Instead, he headed towards the bar.

The rest of the customers were seated at the bar. There was a couple holding hands on the elongated side of the bar. Neither of them gave Jason a look. On the shorter end, there was a pair of older looking men dressed in dark gray business suits. The blond, broad shouldered one spared Jason only the briefest of glances. He was busy, trying to calm down his inebriated friend.

Moving down to the other end of the bar, Jason pulled off his backpack. As he sat down, he placed his bag on the stool next to him. Drawing in a long and deep breath, he tried to calm himself. His nerves were still on edge. His mind still tittering between depressing thoughts and his present mission. "Keep it together," he breathed. His words felt empty. A cold, tall one would be a far better cure. Maybe more than one.

When he heard the door behind the bar swing open, Jason glanced up. He half expected to see some bosomy woman with a flirty smirk curving a pair of bright red lips or some overly friendly, stout man with a glint of nosiness to his eyes. Jason saw neither. Instead, a towering broad shouldered man, carrying two trays of empty beer mugs, stepped out. Jason swore he might be taller than Bruce had been.

Despite Jason's gaping expression, the towering man seemed oblivious to him at first. His deep, brown eyes were sharply focused down the the bar in the direction of the other pairs. The intensity of his gaze was only matched by the shear brightness of his fiery red, receding hairline. He didn't speak a word, but Jason could tell he wasn't happy about something.

Carefully setting down the two trays on the counter behind the bar, the red haired man purposefully strode down to the other end of the bar. He stopped in front of the two men in suits.

The taller of the two suited men suddenly straightened up.

Then, his inebriated friend pushed himself up to reach across the bar counter towards the red haired man. As he little too loudly spoke, his words were slightly slurred. "Ah! Rich! Therre youu arrre. I ne anothr..."

Placing a hand on his friend's outstretched arm, the taller man interrupted him. "Now, Marty, just hold..."

Whatever words he had intended to say seemed to die on his tongue when the towering man - Rich - placed his hands down on the bar in front of both of them. "I think you've had enough. Don't you agree, Rob?"

Even from his seat Jason could see the taller man - Rob - swallow nervously. His eyes widened. "Well, yes. You're probably..." He hesitated for a second before finishing his sentence. "Right." He stood up, looking already to go, despite not having his coat on.

Marty, his friend, looked the complete opposite, leaning against the bar with a mischievous smirk. "No."

Leaning forward, Rich continued to speak but in a hushed voice. Jason couldn't hear what he said, but he heard a grunts of agreement from the taller of the suited men. 

Then, he saw Marty suddenly lean back with a shocked expression. "Wwwwhy?" His question sounded more a like a whine as Rob grabbed both his and Marty's coats.

"Sorry again, Rich."

"Whaaaa?!" the shorter man said questioning. "But I... no..."

After the taller man put on his coat, he grabbed his friend's closest arm and pulled him to his feet. Grabbing a wad of cash, the taller suited man dropped it on the counter. "Night, Rich." Then, he dragged his inebriated friend towards the exit.

All the way, Jason could hear Marty protesting, until the door shut behind them.

Rich did not move from his leaning position at the end of the counter. Instead, he watched the pair exit and pass by the frosted window. Jason saw a cold seriousness to Rich's eyes, which got Jason to start rethinking his decision to not head back to the motel. He was in no mood to deal with a grumpy bartender.

"Um. Excuse, sir." Jason saw the young girl from the other couple at the bar speak to Rich. Jason cringed, expecting a piercing glare. Instead, when the gaze shifted, there was genuine warmth and friendliness. Jason just blinked. Still taking in the short series of events, Jason entirely missed the friendly exchange, until he heard the shared laughter.

Jason raised an eyebrow and considered the fiery red haired man named Rich. He did not look the type to run a family friend bar. He had the body of a bodybuilder with a bit of gut showing through his tight fitting shirt. His fiery red hair suggested European roots to him, but Jason swore he picked up an accent with inflections that seemed of Asian influence.  With a small bemused smile, Jason silently teased Rich. He liked how his hair seemed to be gradually becoming his thick, red beard. Of course, Jason resisted the urge to verbalize his comment to the man. Rather, when RIch finally met his gaze, Jason forced his smile away and gave a short nod.

Rich seemed to blink at him for a few seconds. His face grew serious, but there was no sternness or anger as Jason saw before with the suited men. Neither was there a warmth and friendliness. Slowly, the red haired man approached Jason.

“Hey,” Jason said, sitting up straight. He was vainly hoping to make himself look bigger. “I could go for a beer. Whatever’s on tap should be fine.”

Stopping in front of him, Rich rested his large hands on the edge of the bar. For a long moment, he did not respond to Jason. He appeared to be appraising him.

Pushing out his shoulder a bit wider, Jason dropped his voice even lower, doing his best Batman imitation. "Though, I prefer cold, if you have it."

A single red eyebrow rose up as if in question. His lips were tightly drawn as if he was considering the question that his eyebrows had asked. “I'm sure you could... Son, but I’m going to have to see some identification first.”

His shoulders sunk, despite himself. Rolling his eyes, Jason muttered about dying young again. Reaching into the backpack, he pulled out the fake ID that Cassandra had given him before leaving Gotham. As he dug through the backpack for it, he felt the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stand up straight.

Jason furrowed his brow. He looked at the man who was still looking intently at him. Then, he spared a quick glance about the room again. Everyone was still seated where he’d last seen them, and no one was even glancing in their direction. Still, something didn't feel right. A small voice in his head started to whisper that it wasn't safe here, that danger was close. Jason tried to ignore the voice in his head telling to him leave. He pulled out his ID and slid it across the counter.

There was a beat of a pause before the man took his ID from the counter. When he looked back, he noticed the man’s eyes were now wide and his head was tilted as if scrutinizing Jason. His gaze was narrowed and the muscles his shoulders looked like they had tightened. In the blink of an eye, he turned his gaze away from Jason and to the ID that he had picked up.

Leaning forward, Jason drew in a long breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and waited for some comment like always.

"Jason," the man said as if sounding it out. "Not from around here, I see, but... Gotham... and..." There was a pause as if the man considered saying something.

"What?" Jason spat out the question as he drew in another long breath. He waited for Rich to speak, but there was no response. Jason sighed. “Look, can I just have a beer.” He lifted his gaze.

Rich held Jason’s license in one hand, but his gaze locked solely on Jason. Those dark eyes were wide, almost shell-shocked. He noticed the man’s throat tightened for a second, before he coughed loudly. Then, he coughed into the back of his hand. Then, he said in a tight sounding voice, “Sure thing, Kid. Just... just stay right here. Okay? Don't go anywhere."

A mixed snort of amusement and irritation fell from Jason's lips. "Why would I?" The small voice in his head reminded him about the possible danger, but he didn't share that with Rich.

Nodding slowly, Rich backed up from Jason. "Good. Stay put. I'll be right back.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jason watched the man vanish behind a swinging door. A heavy sigh finally fell from his lips. He lowered his gaze again.

He was still mad at himself for letting his emotions get the best of him. He was supposed to be focusing on this mission from Bruce. He was suppose to be helping Cassandra. Yet, here he was running off, dwelling on a dead past. It was pointless. It was childish. He couldn’t believe he’d even let those thoughts cloud his judgment. He much rather the alcohol in his glass do the clouding.

Then, he felt a hand clasp his left shoulder. He tensed instantly but did not immediately turn. Rather, he spotted the person in the mirror in front. It was one of those college guys in the black hoodies. Jason noticed he was peering down at his photo id on the counter. Then just as quickly as he looked his gaze focused forward. In a slightly slurred voice, he said, "Awww man! Just missed Rich?! I needed another pitcher. Can you believe that, Dude?"

Turning slightly towards him, Jason looked at the hand on his shoulder and then, looked up at the college guy. He had a sloppy smile on his face and a glazed over look in his eyes. "Why didn't you hold him a bit longer, Kid?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Name's not Kid." Then he brushed the hand off his shoulder.

With a bemused smile, the college guy leaned forward. "Yeah, according to your ID, but we know how real that is, right?" He chuckled as if it was some shared joke.

Jason did not even smile. He just glowered at the  college guy, hoping he'd take the hint.

The college guy didn't. Rather, he looked over his shoulder towards his table and in a loud voice stated, "I mean, it says your veteran, but we all know that's crap."

Jason picked up his photo ID and saw what the college guy was referring to. It did in fact list him as a veteran. That was probably Cassandra's way of hinting at his history. She sure was obessessed with his past. All her questions about him, and she decided to reference it on his ID. Probably not a good idea, at least in hind sight. He blew out a breath and pocketed his ID into his pants pocket.

When he heard new footsteps approaching, Jason turned to face them. Now, there were three of the college guys much to Jason's frustration. Instead of losing his cool or just walking out, he tightened one hand into a fist and asked ,"Oh, and why's that? Think I look too young?"

With a snort of amusement, one of the college guy's friend - towering, broad shouldered guy who probably was the school quarterback, stated, "No, too wimpy and lanky. Army thugs have more muscle. Like me." He actually pulled up both his hoodie's sleeves and flexed with a broad grin on his face.

Jason gawked briefly at the three college guys who were now cheering each other on. No one had called him lanky since he was a teen. True, he was wearing an overly large hoodie, probably a size bigger than normal, but he didn't think he looked that small in it. That irritated him.

Just then Jason realized dealing with this irritation might just be the distraction he needed. Maybe this was just a good excuse, and he might be able to do it without leading to a brawl and upsetting Rich like the two suited men had done.

"Not bad, but how do I know you aren't all show?" Jason asked with a teasing glint to his eyes.

Instantly, the towering, broad shouldered college guy frowned. "Whadda you mean, Kid?"

"Jason." He corrected the guy. "And what I mean is how about you prove just how much stronger you are."

Looking among each other, the college guys shared a confused look. Then, the shortest of them asked, "How so?"

"Arm wrestle me, I mean if you're sure you can beat me," Jason suggested.

There was a snort from another college guy who had walked over. "Of course, he can. We all could, Kid."

"Prove it. I'll even make it interesting." He pulled the few dollars he had in his pants pocket. Slapping down two twenties, he raised an eyebrow at the guy. "That is if you're sure you are stronger than me."

They all exchanged looks. Then, the first college guy pulled out another two twenties. "You are on, Kid. And if you can beat all three of us, I'll triple the beat. Whadda you say?"

Flexing his fingers, Jason just smiled. "Hope you'll have enough cab fair to get home after I've won."

To be continued...