#YEAH UH FAIR WARNING FOR SOME BRUTAL DESCRIPTIONS THERE

[ab1tofsp1ce]

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 7: Someone Else Again

Masterlist HERE

A/N: A special thank you to @mandos-things​ for your kind message, so here’s the next part!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Just some fluff (and a little bit of angst)

Description: Finally, you both reach Kistern - now what?

“Okay, but you have to promise me something,” I said, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He grumbled slightly when he asked that question.

“Don’t… don’t open your mouth.”

“Why would I do that,” he asked incredulously.

“Just – just don’t, okay? I really don’t want to get my fingers in your mouth.”

“And what would make you think I would want your fingers in my mouth?”

I sighed exasperatedly, although with light-hearted intentions. “Never mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

I reached my arms out, feeling around the air as I shuffled forward until my right hand bumped into his shoulder. From there, I anchored myself by grabbing his other one with my left hand. They felt stocky and warm under my grasp; the only thing separating his skin from mine was a thin shirt. I let out a playfully dramatic sigh, shaking myself slightly, and then began to trace up his shoulders to his collarbones, then his neck, his jaw, and finally I was cupping his face in my hands. He had a ragged stubble that scratched my fingers slightly, and I smiled and hummed contentedly at the feeling under my palms. I tickled my fingers slowly up the side of his face to his eyes, to which he grunted and muttered something about how I was poking him. His eyelashes were surprisingly long, and I could feel his skin was aged, yet still smooth – probably as it was consistently hidden from sunlight. I traced down the center of his cheeks, past his nose, and to his lips, which I ran my thumb over gently. At this, I felt two hands snake their way onto my hips, and he peppered a small kiss onto my fingertips.

“Why did you want to do this?”

I didn’t answer right away, because truthfully, I wasn’t sure how best to word it without sounding ungrateful or cold. So, I deflected.

“What do you mean?”

“You could just look at my face, if you wanted.”

“Is that what you want,” I asked. I didn’t want to pretend I knew what he wanted, but I had my suspicions.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” He sounded so dejected, and what made it worse was how he also sounded brutally honest.

“Did you want to take it off?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes. But I had to.”

“Well, if you were forced – ”

“No,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “I wasn’t forced. I wanted to, but it was more than that. I – I needed to.”

I nodded. I appreciated what he was trying to say, and it didn’t take a genius to see it was hard for him to articulate. He was doing a better job than I was, standing here like an idiot not knowing how to explain myself without sounding like a bitch.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared that once I open my eyes it’ll be real.”

“Would that be so bad?” I knew what he wanted me to say by asking that question, and so I felt guilty that I knew my answer right away.

“Yes, because I can’t stay here. In a few hours we’ll be on Kistern, and then I’ll go my way and you’ll go yours and… if I see your face, I don’t think I could ever do that. And I know that I have to do. So…”

“So, you can’t,” he sighed, and I felt a hand leave my waist and caress my cheek slightly. He understood.

“No. No, I can’t.”

His weight shifted and there was a momentary puff of his breath against my face before his lips came into contact with mine. It was a gentle kiss, as delicate and precarious as this all felt right now. It was a cruel trick of the universe, that just as I finally found a home, I would have to leave it. Right now, he felt so far away from the man in the suit of armor – it was hard to even believe they were the same person.

He pulled away slowly, as if it was a chore, and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before starting to move behind me. But I grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and, eyes still closed, pulled myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He obliged, in turn doing the same, and with my head in his chest I could smell him so clearly. It was something warm, like a foreign spice of sorts, mixed with rich woody tones and salt, like what I imagined the ocean to smell like. I felt him bury his face in my hair and sigh deeply, rocking me slightly with his overbearing frame. We stood like that for a while, and I soaked up every second of it, knowing when I let go, he would go and adorn his armor and be someone else again. Out there, he would be the Mandalorian but here, in my arms, he could be Din.

I tried to pretend it didn’t affect me. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, I allowed my focus to be enveloped by the view of my new home, rather than the dread of leaving what I had. As we jumped out of hyperspace, I got my first look at Kistern. What struck me as new and strange was the number of other ships around us. Larger stations orbited the planet, and I had never seen so many New Republic ships before.

As we came into the planet, there was a buzz through the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, this is landing tower 5, you need clearance to land on Kistern. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian leaned down and pressed something before responding to the call.

“Landing tower 5, this is D50 Genesis. I have a passenger with eligible refugee status, and I am the accompanying chaperone.”

There was a crackling pause over the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, may I please speak to the refugee?”

The Mandalorian looked over at me, nodding his slightly as a gesture for me to speak up. “Uh, yes?”

“Am I speaking with the refugee,” the woman asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you have your completed paperwork?”

“Yes.”

There was another brief pause.

“D50 Genesis, you're cleared for landing on terminal 14. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian shuffled forward in his seat as I sat back down.

“This is D50 Genesis, I copy. Over and out.” The intercom switched silent.

I paused, feeling suddenly how loud my heart was beating. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally here, about to land. I felt only apprehension.

“How long do you get on Kistern,” I asked him. “I mean, I’m assuming they don’t just let you wander free down there.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring forward as we entered the atmosphere. “I’ll take as long as I can get.”

I leaned back into my seat and stared at the roof of the ship, swallowing hard. He said it so calmly, like nothing had happened between us. How could someone feel so close to me and yet so far away? He didn’t even seem to care.

Part of me wanted to ask him, but the truth was that wouldn’t be fair. Because if he asked me the same question, I would be completely clueless. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what I wanted from him. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything he could give me. What would I do, trek around the galaxy with a bounty hunter? Not that he would ever want me to…

The ramp lowered and we were greeted by an officer, flanked by two guards. All three seemed rather taken aback at the sight of a Mandalorian escorting me down from the ship, although seemed to withhold any reaction.

“Welcome to Kistern,” said the officer, his eyes sliding from the Mandalorian to myself. “Can I see your papers?”

I dug around in my rucksack before producing a few slightly crumpled documents. The officer pilfered through them, occasionally looking up at each of us, almost skeptically.

“These are in order,” he said at last. “You can come with me to get your authorizations. We’ll, uh, give you two a moment.” His voice was laced with unease.

“Hold on,” I said, frantically. “He… you’re not sending him away, are you?”

The officer turned back to me with an eyebrow raised. “Well, he can’t stay… surely you know that. He has no jurisdiction on Kistern.”

“Can’t you make an exception,” I stammered, getting a bit desperate. “Just for… just for a couple of days? I – I just…” I could see the officer wasn’t buying it, so I reached over and took the Mandalorian’s gloved hand in mine. I could feel him tense up slightly under my touch, but he didn’t react. I pulled out my best desperate expression. “Please. I’ll never… I’ll never see him again.” Well, it wasn’t a lie.

The officer sighed. “I can give you 24 hours, no more. Come with me.” As he turned away, I exchanged a look with the Mandalorian, who seemed a little baffled. “Uh, thanks.”

“Hopefully it’s enough time…” I said, diverting my gaze and slowly letting go of his hand. “It’s better than nothing,” he admitted. “Come on,” he gestured, and I followed him after the officer.

Apparently, Kalbier had known nothing about Kistern, although this didn’t surprise me. The planet was not desertous like Yak’ish Temeen, and in fact, couldn’t be further from it. The city we were in was covered with a grey, dull sky, and was bordering a large ocean. The air was salty and somewhat humid and smelt of oil and smoke. The only immediate similarities I noticed between my home planet and this one was the variety of creatures inhabiting it. Once again, like that outpost on Utaran, many of them seemed to stare at us as we walked past, and I kept my eyes trained to the ground as best as I could.

We were taken to the New Republic’s post, where I was given a starting balance of 500 credits and keys to a lodging to which I had access to for four weeks. Their behavior was curt and professional, and I had to bite my tongue so as to not make my resentment apparent. I blamed them in part for what had happened on Yak’ish Temeen, and after everything they hadn’t done, they still treated me with civil disregard. I couldn’t be more pleased to get out of there.

The Mandalorian escorted me through the city streets; tall metallic buildings that created thin and crowded alleyways and backstreets. The streets were muddy and well-trodden, and the place was far less than pleasant.

“Kistern is notorious for pirates,” said the Mandalorian, placing a hand gently on my lower back to guide me through the crowds. “No wonder the New Republic wanted to get it under control as quickly as possible. But that doesn’t make it impenetrable. I’m sure there are plenty of pirates who would love to get back on this planet. Like our friends on Utaran…”

I tried to focus on what he was saying, which was valuable information, but I could only feel his gloved hand gently resting on my skin as we shuffled through the alleys.

We finally reached the lodgings, a dilapidated multistorey apartment covered in graffiti and adorned with flags and washing lines that hung out the windows between the buildings.

Inside, the room was small and minimally furnished. I walked over to the opposite wall and looked out the window, which boasted a view of the city sloping down to the docks. I heard the door shut and lock behind me.

“Keep the door and windows locked at all times,” said the Mandalorian. “And don’t stay in this town longer than you need to. I’ve heard there are far safer cities inland, and ones where your skills will be useful.”

I turned around and leaned against the windowsill, looking over at him. He was by the door, and there was something passive about the way he stood; he was trying to distract me from asking.

“Can I… what if I came with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“To find your… the person you’re looking for. You only have 24 hours here, surely you could use some help?” I knew my voice sounded desperate, but it was hard to hide how I was really feeling.

“No,” he said, with a tone of finality. I knew it was pointless trying to convince him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

“I’m not entirely useless,” I said, rather unconvincingly. “I’m sure there could be something –”

He interrupted me with a morose sigh, looking down at the ground. “Of course you’re not useless, but you’ll only tie me down while I’m out there.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. Ouch. I tried to hide the pain in my voice, but he noticed, looking up at me.

“I didn’t mean it like –”

“It’s okay, really,” I said, mostly meaning it. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about doing what you do.”

He sighed. “What I meant was I’d worry too much. I wouldn’t be able to focus if you were with me…”

It still hurt, hearing what I already knew. It made me realize how starkly different we were and snapped me back into the harsh reality of our situation.

“Well,” I said, gathering what composure I had left. “I don’t want to keep you here. You’d… you’d better get going.” I avoided the eye contact he was so intensely trying to give me. He seemed to take a hint, and slowly turned for the door.

I couldn’t hold back. “Will you – will you come back to say goodbye?” He didn’t need to be looking at me to hear my pain as I choked on my words. I felt stupid, bleating it out like a child, but at the same time, I didn’t care.

“I’ll try,” he said. And then he was gone.

[walker-journal]

Clocks and Cyrophoenix (Adam +Alfie- POTW)

Characters: Alfonzo Ramirez (Phoenix- Annie), Adam Walker (Hunter-Tapir)

Summary: The search for Nell continues in a frost dimension where Adam meets a grouchy charmander. 

Content Warnings: head trauma 

One minute Alfie was walking back to his apartment from a quick stop at the mailboxes, and the next he found himself at the edge of a cliff. His heart lurched into his throat as he reeled back in the nick of time, barely evading what was most certainly a fall to his death. Loose rocks beneath his feet tumbled over the precipice.

Wild eyes frantically took in his new surroundings; colossal pillars stretched beyond the void overhead. The air hummed menacingly along with the echoes of animalistic grunts — the source of which were out of sight. Frost covering the ground turned to sludge underneath his feet as condensation formed from his breath.

This wasn’t the elevator.

“Son of a bitch,” Alfie breathed, stumbling backwards as he shook the slush from his shoes. His day was going so well up until now. He turned slowly, trying to get his bearings on the unfamiliar environment. If there had been an outlet, it was long gone, leaving only a winding ravine behind him. He was left with no choice but to follow it in hopes of getting out of whatever hellscape he’d been thrust into.

He knew he should have taken the stairs today.

A figure dropped down from the edge of the ravine in a rush of white, beige, and glistening metal spikes. The assailant was dressed in the pale camo of arctic warfare gear, the darker colors of bandoliers and a goggled helmet were the only parts of their silhouette distinct from the surrounding snow. Black blood already drenched the tips of the two surgically sharp ice picks the attacker wielded in each hand. A shadow fell over Alfie as those brutal points descended towards his skull.

Yet the figure’s deadly blitz was broken by a sudden hesitation. The arctic soldier veered away from Alfie, sliding down onto the ravine bottom in an awkward stumbling gait as they tried to work off the momentum of the aborted assassination.

Two gloved hands reached up to lift opaque black goggles up from squinting brown eyes.

“Alfie?”

If Alfie thought his situation couldn’t get any worse, he was wrong. He hadn’t been travelling through the ravine for more than five — ten? fifteen? — minutes before being ambushed. He was completely unaware of anything lurking above until it was too late.

As the figure dropped into his field of vision, Alfie staggered backwards. With a piercing yelp, his back hit the ground and he scrambled to regain his footing. Not that it would have helped him any, but he was prepared to bolt away until the hulking silhouette gave pause and spoke his name.

He sat there, dumbfounded, as his eyes focused on the form of… a man? No — not just any man, but an irritatingly familiar one at that.

“Adam?!” Alfie questioned, incredulously.

What kind of fever dream was this? First, the elevator-turned-hell-dimension, and now Nell’s boyfriend was here? In all fairness, it could have been far worse. Still, he was floored.

“Uh, not to sound rude or anything,” Alfie said, pushing himself to his feet as the melting ice ferociously nipped at his skin. “But what the fuck?”

“The fuck today is that your ass is in Ice Hell,” Adam said, pointing one bloody ice pick up towards the sky.

  At first the sky appeared to be filled with moons, hundreds upon hundreds of pale lunar shapes, some of which loomed so large over the horizon that collision seemed possible. However more scrutiny revealed them to planet-sized icebergs floating in a frigid voice. Titanic ice bridges stretched across the emptiness between some of the colossus ice shapes in the sky, forming a glittering lattice which refracted light in dizzying refractions, casting everything in an eternal glittering twilight.

“Thought you might be another demon or one of the heat-drinker corpses when I picked up your vibes,” the Hunter explained. “But hey man! You're alive and not a chest burster alien! Sweet!”

“Ice Hell,” scoffed Alfie. That was just his luck, wasn’t it?

As he wiped his damp hands against his jeans, Alfie’s gaze followed Adam’s gesture to the sky above. He had been so preoccupied earlier by how he was going to get back home that he didn’t even notice the moons gleaming above. It was beautiful — or as beautiful as a hell dimension could be; not that Alfie had any experience with them.

His eyes fell back on Adam as he let out a disgruntled sigh. The palms of his hands ached as a result of the ice melting beneath his touch, but at least he still had his life. All things considered, it could have been much worse. Like being impaled with one of the Hunter’s menacing ice picks.

“Yeah, for now,” Alfie huffed. “Appreciate the whole… not killing me thing.” The same could have been said even in White Crest. Why Nell thought dating a Hunter was a good idea was beyond him, but at least she’d managed to keep the Ramirez family secret under wraps for this long. Still, Alfie didn’t trust Adam as far as he could throw him — which meant he didn’t trust him at all.

“You don’t happen to know how to get the hell out of here, do you?”

“Neat trick,” Adam observed with feigned casualness as he watched the snow melt at Alfie’s touch. “How’re you doin that? It’d definitely save on hand warmers.”

“No problem man,” the arctic soldier replied with a grin, meeting Alfie’s barbed sarcasm with the blunt force of supposed earnestness. Adam had learned that passive aggressiveness was best met by taking everything they said literally. It was one of those private little games the footballer liked to play under the guise of thuggish dull-wittedness.

“Sure thing dude.” Adam took a few steps back and pointed up...and up….and up behind Alfie.

Both men stood in the shadow of a mountainous glacier. From the center of the behemoth mass of ice rose Voorhees Clocktower, towering above the demon wastes as if it were the last visible landmark of White Crest remaining after the Earth succumbed to polar night. Whether the frozen clocktower were some kind of copy or somehow an extension of their world into this dimension Adam couldn’t really say.

“The exit of this nut-freezer locker is at the top of the clocktower,” Adam supplied.

Leave it to Adam to notice the ice turn to slush at Alfie’s touch. He knew he needed to be careful about what he said to the other man, but finding the balance between an acceptable excuse and being suspicious was a difficult thing to manage. For a moment, Alfie considered lying that he was a spellcaster. He knew enough about them to potentially fake it, but he also had a feeling that Adam knew just as much — if not more — about spellcasters than he did.

“Trust me, it’s not that great,” Alfie answered dismissively. Regulating his body temperature was a helluva lot more difficult when his skin screamed out in pain from the damage the snow inflicted. On the other hand, if he didn’t regain some kind of control over it, he’d have much bigger problems than rousing Adam’s suspicions.

Alfie’s jaw dropped when Adam drew his attention to the clock tower. No way in hell — no pun intended — was he going to make it up there on his own. Especially not if he had more than being mistaken for a demon to be worried about. He remembered the mention of “heat-drinker corpses” and swallowed hard. So much for being alive.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say there’s not a bridge or anything up there, huh?” Alfie quipped. Wishful thinking. “Say, Adam… You’re not busy by any chance, are ya? I could use a tour guide if—” His words were abruptly cut by a blood-curdling screech. Eyes wide, Alfie froze.

“What the hell was that?” sputtered Alfie; the words jumbling together and coming out almost incomprehensible.

“One those No-face-yetis,” surmised Adam, without much sign of surprise.

The ravine walls merely came up to the hips of the figure that stepped down into the gulch, tall enough to easily discern at a distance. It seemed both skeleton and insectoid, a vague humanoid shape whose exposed bones seemed as much chitinous  exoskeleton as they were ossein. As the Hunter had said, the ‘Yeti’ had no facial features of any kind, only a long toothless slit down the entire center length of its body that parted and closed in long rasping breaths. Its arms hung down nearly to its feet, all its cadaverously slender limbs tipped with long claws that seemed merely an extension of its chitinous bones. Dark hair clung to the patches not covered in exoskeleton, forming a black mane that rippled in the arctic wind.

“I named that one Jasper-Rasper,” Adam informed Alfie, as if this were the most important point as he frantically motioned for Leah’s nerd brother to run like hell.

“No-face-yetis,” Alfie repeated; testing out the words to see if that would help them make more sense. It didn’t. Seeing the beast in the flesh was just as surreal. But he had to admit, Adam’s description was upsettingly accurate.

Alfie was already worse for wear. There were blisters forming on his hands where he pushed himself off of the ice; his elbows, too, were inflamed from the contact during his fall. But he had no intentions of dying — especially not here.

“You gave it a pet name?” he asked incredulously, shooting the other man a look of disbelief. “I’m not sure if that helps,” Alfie quipped. Either way, he wasn’t about to stand around long enough to find out. The moment Adam gestured in the opposite direction of ‘Jasper-Rasper’, Alfie pivoted sharply. The soles of his shoes disagreed with the texture of the ground as he ran back down the ravine.

Just when he thought he was safely out of reach, the earth trembled beneath him. Bleary eyes did their level best to concentrate on the path ahead. The way was blocked. Not by one, but two menacing creatures, far smaller in stature than the burly yeti. Alfie’s heart leaped into his throat and he skidded to a halt. Curious heads rose from the center of precariously slumped shoulders. For a moment, they didn’t seem to notice him standing frozen in his tracks. A cloud of smoke formed as Alfie’s breath mixed with the frigid air. Suddenly, the figures bolted towards him.

Without thinking, Alfie allowed adrenaline to take control of him. His arms raised, palms facing the pair of demons charging down the ravine. Flames sprouted from his fingertips and spread to his wrists. Alfie braced himself, daring them to come any closer. He couldn’t rely on Adam to save him. He wouldn’t. He was going to get the hell out of here and pull his own weight doing so.

Apparently Alfie was a grouchy charmander, but death was approaching too quickly for Adam to question it.

“Uh oh, Mantis Dogs, watch out for the grabby claws, they’ll pull you under and rip you apart with the other legs.”

The ‘Mantis Dogs’ in question were demonic hexapods with a pair of raised forelimbs. Their bodies were covered in shaggy fur whose extremely pale shade of blue  blended in well with the glacial ice of the ravine. Although their six legs were vaguely canine, the bone spurs on the back of their limbs were long and hooked for snagging prey in a deadly grapple. Drool dripped from eager panting mouths surrounded by a ring of faceted sapphire eyes. Spined raptorial legs like those of a mantid extended from the lesser demon’s hairy shoulders, lunging out at Adam as the closest of the insectile canines came within grabbing range.

Conscious of the giant faceless approaching them from the rear, Adam dropped to his knees as the demon’s mantid claw thrashed at the thin air where his shoulders had been moments before. The Hunter swung one of his ice picks and lodged it in the demon’s side, carved a long furrow that seeped noxious white blood as the creature’s momentum sent it careening past him.

Alfie hated it here. He hated the cold. He hated the snow. He hated the various hell-beasts there were wandering around that wanted to kill him. Not to mention that there were evidently monsters running around that fed off heat and would surely suck him dry.

As Adam effortlessly tussled with one of the Mantis Dogs, Alfie concentrated on the other. Clearly, the flames weren’t keeping either of the creatures away. He flinched as the second Mantis Dog lurched forward with bared teeth. Reflexively, Alfie flicked his wrists and two orbs of fire hurdled towards the beast just as it launched itself into the air for its attack.

Alfie stumbled backwards with labored breaths, narrowly dodging the marred body whirring past. The world around him was a blur and his heart pounded in his chest. Putting out that much energy was draining enough in a normal environment. But here? With his hands and elbows already blistered by the ice water, he was already weaker than usual.

The screams of the hexapod intermingled with the ringing of his ears. Slowly, Alfie’s eyes focused on the scene unfurling before him; a thrashing heap of flame and fur as the creature screeched in agony. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted. His eyes fell back on Adam before he glanced over his shoulder to the faceless yeti behind them.

“What now?” he asked shrilly.

“Into the caves Charmander,” Adam shouted as he buried an ice-pick hilt deep in one of the Mantis Dog’s forelimbs and twisted the weapon. There was a sickening crack as the mantid claw snapped, dangling from a few tendons as the insectile canine howled in agony.

But pain shuddered up through Adam’s leg as he drove the other pick deep into one of the Mantis-Dog’s pupil-less blue eyes and kicked the creature off him. He looked down to see one of the demon’s hooted leg spurs had gotten him on the thigh. It was just a graze, but with how sharp demonic claws were that’d been more than enough to slice a laceration down his leg and rip open his arctic gear to the cold.

Shit shit shit, not good.

But a huge shadow fell over the ravine and Adam didn’t have time to think about that. A rush of displaced air let the Hunter know what was coming without having to look up.

“Alfie heads up!” Adam ignored the agony in shooting up his leg as he sprinted towards Leah’s dumbass brother. With no time to explain, the footballer slammed into Alfie with a full bodied tackle, slamming him against the ravine’s ice wall.

Jasper the Rasper’s taloned hand slammed down where both men had been seconds before. The impact of the giant’s blow carved a deep fissure into the ravine’s floor. More jagged ruptures spiderwebbed outward from the broken crater and shuddering cracks wracked the ice walls. For a moment all Adam could see was Jasper’s silhouette looming against the sky of drifting icebergs. Even while kneeling down in the aftermath of pile-driving a hole in the ice, this No-Face Yeti was easily the size of a Harris Island mansion, a rolling hill of insectile chitin and black fur. Jasper’s body-length mouth yawned open sideways, each gasping breath turning the ravine into a wind tunnel.

“C’mon,” shouted Adam over the thunderous rasping. “We gotta head into the caves,” he claimed, pointing to gaps in the ice at the clocktower glacier’s base.

Before Alfie could even wrap his head around being called “Charmander”, a searing pain wracked his entire body. Adam was on top of him faster than he could force his legs to run. The ice burned cold against his skin as Alfie, wheezing, struggled to his feet. If he had to guess, one or more of his ribs were broken and he’d need several weeks to properly heal from the water damage. But it was better than the alternative. Dying wasn’t on his itinerary — granted, neither was being sucked into another dimension made to kill him.

This was the second near-death experience he’d had in the past few weeks; third in the last couple of months. But at least his life still made a little bit of sense then. At least back then he still had his friends. It was bullshit. All of it. "This is bullshit," Alfie thought aloud. Eddie. Nell. Dying in general. Dying in Ice Hell with no one but Adam there to know about it.

Rage boiled inside of him as Alfie staggered forward. For a moment, no amount of broken bones seemed to matter. Flames licked at his skin — patches missing where the ice bit into him. Fuck this dimension. Fuck this yeti-looking son of a bitch. He was losing control.

In one final blow, Alfie hurled a massive ball of fire towards the giant’s feet, immediately regretting it when he nearly collapsed onto Adam. Panting, he braced the Hunter’s shoulder, never minding his scorched clothes or Adam’s own mangled clothing. “C’mon,” he tried to encourage as his feet feebly carried him forward. His head was swimming. He was weaker now than moments before. “I’m not dying here. Clocktower, right?” He could make it. He had to.

Jasper the Rasper’s thunderous gasps echoed after Adam as he led the way towards the caves. The Mantis Dogs had regrouped and gave chase across the shattered obstacle course of the ravine. Pain shot up Adam’s leg as he vaulted over toppled  ice shelves and fissures. He tried to make sure Alfie followed after him, though it was hard to concentrate on anything as the No-Face Yeti wrenched itself free of the ice and began moving with a strange rolling after the tiny thing that'd burned it.

Adam ducked into a vertical crevice in the ice, beckoning Alfie in as he slashed at the pursuing Mantis Dogs with his picks.

“I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?” Alfie asked once he was (somewhat) safely tucked away in the ice behind Adam. He was trembling from head to toe; his battered side screamed its pain while his ice-kissed skin told its own blistering tale. If the monsters of this dimension didn’t kill him, it wouldn’t take much for the Hunter to piece together what he was and finish the job himself. By now, the other man had seen enough of Alfie’s powers to have some inclination, and his skin burning from the slush of ice wasn’t doing him any favors. He briefly wondered if it would be better this way. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about the curse awaiting him in the real world. “Don’t… don’t answer that,” he feebly amended.

When his eyes fell on Adam’s leg, Alfie’s stomach sank. He could fix that. At the very least, saving Adam might bring Nell back. “You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” Alfie asked, not bothering to elaborate. “I’m… I don’t think I can be of much use in here anymore, but I can try. Just… tell me what I need to do. What can I do?”

“Nah your sister would kill me if I let you die here, like...its super rare that fire chickens get to live with their kind or something like that,” Adam assured as he backed further into the cave system, keeping an eye on the wounded Mantis Dogs prowling around just outside the cavern’s entrance.

Alfie’s correct surmise drew a sidelong look from Adam followed by a nod. “Yeah, I’m trying to track the thing that took her,” the Hunter confirmed. “It’s a longshot but ….” He took off his googled helmet and ran a hand through sweaty brown hair. “Fuck its all I’ve got.”

Adam took a moment to consider Alfie’s offer, looked up towards where the cavern systems led up to the frozen clocktower and out to where demonic canines and a titanic yeti were raising hell. “First we need to get you out up to the Portal in the clocktower.”

Adam reached beneath his environment suit and undershirt, to pulled out a key on a length of cord. Comprised of scarlet coral, the key filled the cavern with a red bioluminescence that gleamed off the slick ice walls. “Our clues to whats going on a giant velvet worm that can go through dimensions, these keys, and the portals. I’m gonna keep looking for Nell but it won’t mean much if we don’t figure out how to seal the rifts.”

Adam placed the coral key back around his neck and tucked it underneath his clothing. “Honestly? Thats where folks back home could use the most help.”

Fire chickens. Oh, so Adam already knew. Alfie wasn’t sure whether he was more relieved or concerned, but ultimately decided that he was grateful. At least he didn’t have to keep worrying about slipping up in front of the Hunter. Leave it to Leah to inadvertently save the day.

As Alfie trailed close behind Adam, a frown formed on his face. After the uncomfortable conversation with Luce about Nell’s disappearance, Alfie thought it was best to back off entirely, but it didn’t stop him from worrying. Nell had been his best friend for years, after all. They may have had their own separate lives now, but he would never stop caring for her. “What exactly happened, anyway?” he ventured to ask. “I mean… What took her? Why?”

His eyes followed Adam’s gaze, falling on the clocktower that seemed all too far away at this point. If the other man had kept him alive this long, then Alfie just had to trust he knew what he was doing. Even still, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nell. What horrors was she facing where she was? Was she even still alive? It wasn’t fair that Adam would save him first.

Alfie scoffed at the idea of him being able to help close any godforsaken rifts. Until now, everyone had made it clear enough that things were under control. But weeks had passed since then and Nell still wasn’t home. It seemed hopeless. At least, that’s how Alfie saw it. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll talk to Leah about it, then.” It was becoming a recurring theme these days.

“But what about those things?” Alfie practically shrieked, gesturing to the hellscape presently waiting for them. “How the fuck am I— are we supposed to get through that?”

“We were on our goodbye-it's-armageddon date when this portal opened up and evil alien gribblies everywhere,” Adam explained before lunging forward to swing an ice pick down at the clawed forelimb of a Mantis Dog that’d gotten to close inside the cave entrance. “We fought them and got the civilians to safety but a giant Hell Worm grabbed Nell when she was trying to close the portal.”

Adam nodded to one of the safety lines stacked to the wall that he’d set up earlier to spelunk his way up through the tunnel system. “I’ve set up lines that we can us to pull ourselves up to the clocktower. We’ll have to make it past Grabby Gabby, but it’s probably the fastest way home.”

Alfie’s brow raised at the mention of an armageddon date — a goodbye one at that. It was almost as if they were expecting to get themselves killed. But what did he know? If given the chance, Alfie would probably take the opportunity to spend time with someone he loved in the midst of the world crumbling, too. “A giant Hell Worm,” he tittered, running his palm down the length of his face. Knowing the nitty-gritty details of Nell’s disappearance didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he felt worse.

“That sounds… dangerous,” Alfie remarked once Adam took the opportunity to explain his emergency route to safety. He felt drained enough as it was and heaving himself up the side of a cliff made out of frozen water didn’t sound ideal. What other choice did he have at this point? “After you, I guess.”

Adam produced a flashlight and affixed it to his helmet. He offered a carabiner to Alfie so that he might latch himself onto the safety line before beginning to climb hand over hand up the slick incline. He led the way up ice shelves and hacked his way through the perpetual forests of icicles that formed strange silent forests in the tunnels. The expeditioners’ reflections were cast in dim distortions through the caves, and Adam occasionally raised a hand for a halt and flicked off the light as much larger shapes momentarily drifted across the ice, or even directly through it in some cases.

“So, have you and Leah always been together? Did you like, rule Rome or something back in the day,” Adam asked as he washed a massive many-limbed shape swim through the ice below them as if where a whale drifting in the ocean.

Hooking himself onto the line behind Adam, Alfie cautiously trailed behind him. As much as he tried to mirror Adam’s every move, he couldn’t help but envision a tragic death for the both of them when his eyes wandered for too long. His knees buckled underneath him, threatening to make his fears become a reality before Adam spoke up.

“Not always, no,” Alfie mindlessly replied. His eyes shot back up to Adam on the line ahead of him once he realized he’d said too much. As far as Alfie was aware, Leah wasn’t privy to this sort of information herself. “I mean… we’ve been around each other for as long as I can remember, but unless one of our parents has something to hide, I think it’s safe to say we’re not fully related.” Alfie wasn’t sure if this was making things better or worse for his case.

“Like you said before, it’s pretty rare for… people like us to stick together.” Despite the fact that Adam knew, Alfie still couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘phoenix’ in front of him. “Definitely didn’t rule ancient Rome together, though. I don’t think either of us have been around that long.” As grateful as Alfie was for the distracting conversation, he wasn’t particularly keen on discussing the nitty-gritty details of his heritage. Partially because most of what he did know was from stolen property, but also because it only begged more questions about why he was fated to die sooner than the rest of his family.

“I am much disappoint,” pronounced Adam with false solemnity, “I was all ready to here the secret history of Emperor Phoeligula….Chickligula?...Spartunix?”

The spelunkers no longer how to crouch as they passed into a cave that abruptly expanded into a vaulted ceiling of  stalactites that glittered like crystal chandeliers in the lamplight.  The cavern’s sweeping floor was riven by jagged fissures tens of feet in width with the spider-webbing cracks of impact that expanded outward from the far side. It was as if something massive had exploded into this part of the glacier but time and relentless arctic conditions had frozen it over. At the far end of the cavern was an ornate door set in worked stone, a mirrored entrance to Voorhees Clocktower

“Well here we are….gotta see if Grabby Gaby is up.”

For a moment, Alfie stared at Adam incredulously before murmuring a soft, “Uhhh…” But as he heaved himself onto more solid ground, he chose to drop the subject altogether. “Trust me, if I remember anything like that, I’ll hit you up,” he stated instead.

With a quick look around, Alfie shirked away. He’d been so eager to get out of this hellscape the moment he arrived, yet even with the exit in sight, something felt off. The first time Adam mentioned ‘Grabby Gabby’, Alfie falsely assumed that it was yet another affectionate nickname for one of the beasts he’d already been introduced to. Now he was much less certain. “Let me guess,” he said, taking a few uncertain steps forward. “Gabby isn’t as social as Jasper? But still has a tendency to not let any houseguests leave?”

“Pretty much” Adam looked at the fissures for a time before turning back to Alfie. “Do you have any fireballs left in you?”

Great, Alfie thought. That was reassuring. “Maybe one or two,” he reluctantly replied. His palms turned upwards as he gave Adam a shrug. Better to save his energy for when it counted most. “Just tell me when.”

Adam motioned for Alfie to follow after re-bandaging his leg with some cloth from his bag, trying to staunch the wound enough to make the run.

Adam wove a precarious path among the ice fissures as black tentacles exploded upward. Each of the sinuous limbs were covered by electric blue fern-like structures instead that splayed out into delicate coils. The tentacles snaking after Adam, their bioluminescent fern hairs incandescently beautiful in the darkness. Soon they seemed to be running through a rubbery forest of black trees with glowing frond branches.

“If you have any fire left that’d be great,” shouted Adam as he sliced open tentacles with scything swings of his picks.

As soon as Adam kicked it into gear, hulking into the face of danger, Alfie followed suit. But nothing had prepared him for the mass of tendrils awaiting them. Had it not been for Adam’s exhortation, he would have frozen amongst the beast’s tentacles and met his fate. “Yeah, yep… workin’ on it!” he called back. Mustering whatever energy he had left in him, Alfie willed his hands to spark.

Alfie narrowly dodged a glittering pillar of black that whirred past him, just before releasing a fiery orb, striking further down the monster’s tentacle. There wasn’t much time for him to recoup. With the clock-tower well within his sights, he had to push himself. He might not be able to save Nell, but he could at least live another day to see her, and help get Adam to safety in the process.

Another ball of fire shot from the palm of his hand as he weaved through it, jumping over the beast’s appendages as needed. “What’s the situation over there?” Alfie croaked, trying his level best to keep his voice free of desperation.

“Go go go! She’s a c’moning oh shit!

Adam carved a path of blue blood through the forest of tentacles, ducking away from the impacts of Alfie’s fireballs before charging though the withered stumps to those closer to the door. But the cavern kept filled with more and more undulating coils and glowing cilia ferns as Grabby Gabby’s true horrific body began to emerge from the depths of the fissures.

“Don't look back, just go!”

Adam desperately beckoned Alfie through the door as tendrils slithered greedily after. He slammed it shut just as the cavern filled with a sound like the wind screaming as it was cut into pieces.

[spookyold-saintjm]

Touch

Mandalorian x female reader

Part of the Pilot series [Masterlist]

Warnings: descriptions of blood/injury, sexual references, Mando is a little handsy.

Word Count: 2,805

Using prompt 38 (“What did they do to you?!”) from my prompt list. Requested anonymously.

So many of you loved my first Mando fic (read it here), so I’ve decided to do more! While this isn’t a direct sequel to The Pilot, I’ll be doing plenty of drabbles and short fics that will tie in to that plot line, like this one!

As always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be tagged in future Mando works, I would be honored and happy to add you to the list! Enjoy. x

—

Shock does strange things to your body.

You knew you should be feeling pain, exhaustion, or, you know, anything at all. But you were numb. 

You vision was sharper than ever, though. As you jogged over to the Razor Crest, you became aware of finite details of the ship you’d never noticed before. A scratch here, a loose panel there, chipping paint over there…

Your feet felt like they were floating above the air as you stumbled into the ship, and you had to remind yourself to take steps, left foot right foot left foot right foot, until you were completely inside. 

The figure of a beskar-clad bounty hunter sat at the cockpit of the ship, and you slumped against the back of the pilot’s seat with a weighted sigh as he flipped switches and pressed the necessary buttons to get you in the air and off of this gods-forsaken planet.

“You’re late. So I’m getting us out of here.” His voice, altered slightly by the modulator built into his helmet, was a jolt to your eardrums. He was clearly agitated, maybe even flat-out angry. But you couldn’t will yourself to be bothered. 

You shrugged as you stared at a single, fixed point on the control panel of the ship, unable to move or think about anything else.

“Trouble.” Your voice had a light lilt to it when you uttered the single word. There was now a persistent throbbing feeling crossing diagonally along your ribs and down your side. The sensation was almost ticklish, yet you didn’t really feel like laughing.

“What kind of—”

That heightened vision you’d held onto for a moment longer faded, fast, and the cockpit swirled and wavered around you. Suddenly the roof of the ship was far, far above you as you registered a distant thudding sound. You felt like you were sinking into a deep pool of water.

There was a pause, and then a deep voice was shouting a single word, once, twice. A familiar, broad-shouldered figure with long, dark hair was hovering over you, waving a hand in front of your face.

“Huh? Ca—Car—” you sputtered out coughs in attempts to say her name. Her head jerked upward and off to her right, barking out words at the occupant of the pilot’s seat. 

“Stay with us, y/n. Come on.” Cara was hovered over you now, poking and prodding at your neck, your wrist. You tried to wave her away, but your hand was too heavy, and it dropped back down over your chest. 

“I’m—I’m fine. I—“ You inhaled sharply when you felt something poke the arm you had just tried to move. Cara had grabbed you by the wrist and you squinted your eyes at her grasp on you to see that she had inserted some sort of gods-awful long needle into your arm. You hissed at the intense burning sensation of whatever was in the vial spreading through your system, and you spat a foul curse at the former shock trooper. 

Her eyes widened slightly at your words, and despite the apparent intensity of the moment you caught her half-grin. 

“Your fly-girl’s got a mouth on her, Mando.”

Mando. It finally registered with you that the Mandalorian was piloting the ship, not you. You weren’t even doing the single job you’d been hired for. In fact, you weren’t quite sure what you were doing at that particular moment, but you did know that you had suddenly started to feel oh so good as whatever had been in that vial trickled through your body.

The bounty hunter had switched spots with Cara moments later, although it took you a bit longer to actually register the change in the body hovering over yours. You felt a rush of cool air as his leather-clad gloves lifted up the right side of your blood-stained shirt.

“Hey now, mister,” you slurred, your eyes narrowing as you lazily grinned up at him. He lifted your off the cold floor of the ship just enough to raise your shirt higher and keep it staying put, taking caution to make sure he didn’t reveal anything that wasn’t necessary. “Maybe you want to think about takin' me to dinner or something before you just—” 

“Stop talking.” He ordered. You immediately obeyed, although the grin on your lips lingered a while longer. He was pulling other supplies from the med kit Cara had hauled over, and then you were feeling something cold and mildly stinging on the skin over your ribs. The eventual light tugging of bandages came soon after, and through your thickening haze you realized that he was speaking to you again.

“What did they do to you?” he questioned, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

“Got cornered,” you attempted to answer through the sudden dryness in your throat. “Saw you, but. You. K-kid. Didn’t want—”

You couldn’t will more words to come. You titled your head back flat onto the floor, your gaze meeting the visor on Mando’s helmet. Your eyes were quickly drooping, a black fog slowly filling the space around you. The more you willed it away, attempting to turn your head and force your eyes open again, the faster things began to fade. 

“M-Mando, I…”

Then there was nothing at all.

—

You awoke to distant, quiet sounds of whirring ship machinery, flat on your back with your arms at your sides.

Opening your eyes was initially a chore; they felt like they’d been weighed down by some invisible pressure. When you finally adjusted to the dim light in the room, you glanced around with a slight turn of your sore neck. 

This wasn’t where you normally found yourself waking up. This was…this was his bed. His. 

It wasn’t much of a bed, to be fair. Little more than a cot extending from the wall of the ship but…still yet. You were in his realm. 

Attempting to raise yourself up was your next mistake. You cried out at the shockwave of sharp pain that blasted through your side. You collapsed back onto the sheets as you tried to catch your breath.

“S’not a good idea.”

You hadn’t heard the door slide open, but there he was, crossing into the room. His footsteps were slow, measured, as always. You looked over to him, instantly annoyed at how helpless you must have appeared.

He reached your side, his form towering over you as his arms reached out toward you.

“Sit or stand?” he asked.

“Sit, I guess.”

He helped ease you up into a sitting position, and you turned so that your legs hung off the side of the bed. The motion caused your vision to spin, and you pressed a hand to the side of your head as you looked up to him.

“What—what happened?” You’d tried to meet his eyes, well, in the way that you could, but you found you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the stare you knew he was giving you beneath the helmet. “We split up and they caught up with me. I couldn’t get to you, Cara had vanished somewhere, and I…" you hesitated as the memories somewhat stuttered there.

“You lost some blood.” Mando stated simply. “You got back to the ship. Gave you something to knock you out. Something else to help you recover.”

You somewhat recalled being sprawled on the floor of the cockpit. “Yeah…” You pressed your fingers to your temple, and winced at the soreness. “Stars, what was in that thing? Is that even on the market?” 

The slight tilt of Mando’s head was enough to tell you that you didn’t want to know the answer. 

“I need to see. Is that okay?” he asked after a moment. At first you pursed your lips at him, confused, until you realized what he meant.

Oh. Yeah. The massive gash along your side that was the whole reason you were in this situation to begin with.

“Uh…” why were you hesitating? “Y-yeah. That’s okay.” 

You scooted closer to the edge of the bed and straightened your posture. There was a moment of stiff stillness between the two of you; were you going to lift your shirt or should he do it? 

You settled on being the one to move, and reached to pull up your shirt by the hem. You let in bunch up in your fingers as you pulled it higher, higher, stopping right where the wound began. You held it in place with your right hand, internally cringing when you felt the faint crunch of dried blood in the fabric. The bandaging was somewhat haphazard, but thorough, and seemed to be enough to have held back the bleeding from getting any worse. 

Mando took a half-step closer, his hand twitching at his side as if he’d suddenly remembered to ask. “You want to, or me?”

“Ah, I can do it,” you replied. You reached down with your free hand and slowly began to peel away the bandaging that covered your wound. The tug of it against your skin was dulled by the sight of the thing underneath; deep and red and brutal. And this was hours after whatever had been in that e-bacta injection.

You inhaled with a hiss at the sight of it. They’d outnumbered you, normally not an issue because they still couldn’t shoot for shit and you’d been up against much worse countless times before, but one of those rogue bastards just happened to have a jagged-edged viroblade tucked away, ready for the opportunity to strike when you made one wrong half-step. 

You were suddenly flooded with anger and shame for allowing this to happen to yourself, and clenched your fist tighter around your shirt as Mando studied the wound for himself.

“Lucky you didn’t lose anything important.” You assumed that was his way of saying that it looked like it hurt. 

You muttered some offhanded curse under your breath, the heat from your agitation suddenly turning to something else you couldn’t identify when he knelt face-level you and a gloved finger began to ghost over the gash in your skin.

“Why’d an Imp have one of those things?” he questioned, more to himself as he continued to study the wound. You only half-heard him, something about his touch on your skin giving you the sudden urge to launch yourself through the ceiling. 

“Don’t know why you call them that,” you forced yourself to speak, although the falter in your voice most definitely wasn’t subtle. Another finger began to glide along your skin as well, as his touch slowly drifted from where the gash tapered off at your hip.

“That’s not what they are anymore.” Along your ribcage. "They’re just the the shit leftovers.” One fingertip’s length away from the underside of your breast. "I—ah, Mando could you—"

His fingers had stopped running along the wound when you’d spoken, as if he suddenly realized what he was doing. Yet he hadn’t pulled away. His head tilted up to yours, and you could feel his gaze from underneath his helmet. That kriffing helmet…

His hand abruptly dropped to rest on his beskar-clad knee. The silence that passed between you was nearly a beat too long to be comfortable for either of you, his concealed stare somehow still burning through you in places that you wouldn’t care to admit, until he stood again and turned to pull something from the opened med pack that rested on the shelf next to his bed. You recognized the jar in his hands to contain some sort of healing salve that, much like the injection, you weren’t entirely sure that just anyone should possess. He held it out to you, not making the offer to touch you again.

Slowly, you rose from the bed, then took the jar. Standing on your feet felt strange, the after-effects of the drugs in your system still giving you the faint feeling of floating.

“You got a mirror?” You asked.

He gestured with his head to the opposite side of the small room. “‘Fresher.”

You nodded and carefully treaded over, getting reacquainted with the feeling in your legs. You stepped into the refresher and placed the jar down on the sink after opening the lid, the chemical-and-plant smell rushing to your nose. You glanced over to a tiny shelf, where a fresh set of your clothes rested. You prayed to some god that might be listening that Cara was the one who had dug through your things to find them and not Mando.

You turned to the mirror then, and saw that you looked just like you thought you would: dark circles under your eyes, dull skin, a bruise under your left eye and a small cut along your cheek.

You didn’t dwell on it for long, and instead began to scoop the salve from the jar and spread it across your wound with light strokes. It was an instant, cooling relief and you nearly sighed at the feeling as you continued to apply it to the entire area. Whatever was in it, albeit primitive and definitely not entirely legal, was already making you feel infinitely better than you’d been when you’d first woken up. 

Mando’s voice came from the other room after a couple minute’s silence.

“Hey, look. I’m…I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that. When you made it back to the ship.” His voice was deeper than you’d heard it before, heavy. “I didn’t know—and I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, stepping out to face him again when you’d finished. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

You walked over to meet him, the two of you finally standing face-to-face. “I have a job to do, and I wasn’t here to do it when it mattered. I got caught. I deserved it.”

Mando hadn’t moved toward the bandages as you spoke, leaving you just somewhat awkwardly standing there, holding your dirty shirt halfway off your body in front of him. 

He still didn’t move when he replied. “No. These things happen.”

You found yourself curiously tilting your head at him, a peculiar thudding echoing in your chest. You weren’t used to this. He felt guilty about this? He was just going to accept your mistake? And that was it? 

You could only give him a stiff nod in reply. “O-okay.”

He looked back at you for a brief instance longer before starting to help you re-bandage the wound in your side. No more words were spoken, not until you had dropped your shirt back down over your torso. Not until, again, Mando’s touch had lingered for a little too long, as if something about touching you was something familiar and foreign and entrancing, all at once. You didn’t mind.

Your ears suddenly picked up a shrill chattering that you knew could be nothing other than the child, who was currently squeezing himself between Mando’s feet. The Mandalorian moved so that the little green thing could waddle through, over to you. His huge eyes blinked long and slow, and his tiny, clawed hands reached up towards you.

Mando picked him up instead, and the small creature shot an angry pout toward him. 

“She’s still hurt. Let’s leave her alone for a while."

The child whimpered, his ears drooped low as he turned back to look at you. You smiled weakly at him.

“Hey, kid. We’ll play later, okay?” You reached to rub your thumb and forefinger on one of his dropping ears, causing him to give you a contented sigh of acceptance.

“You can take over when you’re ready.” Mando stated, knowing that already, you were itching to get behind the controls again. It was your job, after all. One scrape wasn’t going to stop you anytime soon. And he wasn’t going to be the one to deny that.

The door shut behind him as he and the kid left, leaving you standing in the center of the room.

On the opposite side, Mando was all but ready to collapse as he leaned his back against the door.

He’d only just been able to quiet the frantic pace of his heartbeat, calmed the heat that had raged through his every nerve at your closeness. The feeling of your skin was intoxicating, even through his gloves, and his brain was still begging for him to just turn back around, take the damned gloves off and—

The child’s puzzled cooing at his ear brought him back down to reality, and he released a breath that he’d been holding for far too long as he lifted himself from the door and began to make his way down the hall.

Oh, was he fucked.

—

tags: @jamesdeerest @nadia-rosea @sanslover69 @backontheolebullshit @sunkissed-winter @rogrsnbarnes @capsironunderoos (If you were tagged you commented on The Pilot and I think you rock! I guess I’ll start an official tag list for this now; if you want to be added please let me know!)

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 19: True Night (S3E10)

Warnings: murder, swearing, graphic injuries, mentions of psychotic break, gang references

Ch 18 | Ch 20

~ ~ ~

“No!” Lydia exclaimed, trying to push Spencer’s hand out of the direction of the cashier. They’d decided to go out to lunch together on his day off. Lydia had just passed her gun qualifications test, which meant that soon enough she’d be back in the field and Spencer wanted to celebrate. “You can’t pay again!”

“You just finished graduate school and I work a fulltime job,” he argued. “I’m paying.”

The woman behind the counter laughed slightly and grabbed Spencer’s credit card before Lydia could push it aside again. “I gotta agree with him, hun. Little things like lunches add up when you’re trying to pay off student debt.”

“But what of my ‘Spencer’ debt?” she replied.

The woman just giggled. “You two are adorable, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Lydia smiled at her and ran off to find a table, leaving Spencer to mumble an awkward ‘thank you’ before following her. He wanted to appreciate the compliment more, but it threw him for a loop. He’d recently been thinking a lot about how he and Lydia acted around others and, more importantly, the team.

Spencer never imagined being a part of such a strong relationship. He’d never thought he’d be so comfortable with another person that they’d tease each other at a cafe or that strangers would find their behavior adorable. And after his first date with Lydia, he knew he’d do anything to get to this point.

Not telling the team was an attempt to protect his fragile heart. It had already gone against his common sense by falling for Lydia in the first place. But now… he loved her so much. He would let her break his heart into a million pieces, then leave it on the floor for the team to step on as they walked past. He would happily let the whole world know if it meant he could hold her hand on the jet. He might even consider letting the Bureau fire him for keeping secrets from them, just so long as the two of them were together.

But was it fair to ask of her? After she spent so long protecting their secret for his sake?

“What’s up, Spencer?” Lydia asked. He’d just reached the table, but had yet to sit down with her, instead looking out the window with unwavering concentration.

“Hm…?” he responded, still not processing her concern, so she grabbed one of his hands and pulled him into his seat.

“Tell me what’s got you distracted,” she demanded.

His eyes went from the window, to her, to the window again, trying to make up his mind.

“I can’t stand this secrecy thing!” he finally blurted out. “I thought it’d be fine because I’m a great liar and- Why are you laughing?!”

She tried to hide her smile behind her hand, but it wasn’t exactly easy to play off a laugh. “Sorry. I just think you’re so modest,” she replied, sarcastically. “Please, continue though. You’re a ‘great liar’ and…”

He was clearly not expecting this reaction from her. “And… And well, I just… don’t want to lie about this anymore,” he admitted. “I want to be able to talk to you in the office without raising suspicions. And I want to hug you and hold your hand without worrying that someone we know will see us.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“...okay?” He blinked. “You aren’t upset that I’m the one to-?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re okay with us just-?”

“Yep.”

Wow… he really hadn’t expected this reaction from her.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Spencer, I honestly don’t care. But are you sure? Because having a girlfriend is going to open you up to a lot of teasing from the team,” she warned him.

He waved an arm dismissively. “I can take them.”

She raised an eyebrow, watching him relax back into his normal self. It’s silly, she thought, the things that make him anxious. But she was relieved it wasn't anything serious. The thing with Spencer was sometimes the little things seemed huge and the big things he thought he could handle alone.

“So, we’re going to do this?” he confirmed.

“We’ll start with Hotch,” she reasoned. “And see what sort of agreements we’d have to make to be in an office relationship. Then, we can decide how to announce it to the rest of the team.”

He agreed, a smile spreading across his features. “It’s stupid, but I feel like I won’t be able to wait that long. Even after all the time we’ve already spent pretending there was nothing between us. I feel like I’m going to see you in the bullpen one day and just kiss you in front of everyone.”

She rolled her eyes jokingly. “You’ll be fine. If I see you going in for a kiss I’ll dodge.”

The image of her ducking away from his affection in the middle of the office had them both cracking up and they had to recover quickly so they wouldn’t get kicked out of the place.

~ ~ ~

They had planned on telling Hotch Friday morning, but Lydia ended up being called into the office for a case before that could happen. And it happened to be so severe that she was on a flight to Los Angeles before she really knew what had happened.

“You should have listened to me,” Spencer argued as Morgan, Lydia, and him got out of the SUV and onto the street. As she walked, her arm hit the holster on her belt multiple times, not used to having the bulky object at her hip.

“It wouldn’t have saved that much time, Reid,” Morgan snapped. “Let it go.”

“The interchange between the 405 and the 101 freeways is consistently rated the worst interchange in the entire world.”

Morgan took in a large breath. “Why do you know that?!” he accused.

“It’s a government report.”

Lydia burst out laughing.

“So, what?” Morgan cried.

“So, you work for the government,” Reid continued. “What, you don’t read the reports?”

As they argued, the three of them walked underneath the tape and onto the scene itself.

“On traffic patterns in a city 2500 miles from where I live?”

“2295 miles-”

“Don’t make me smack you in front of all these people.”

“Derek, you know not to estimate around Reid,” Lydia teased. “He doesn’t understand anything but the specifics.”

“I understand th-”

“I’m Brady, LAPD,” a man said, cutting Spencer off from defending himself.

“Derek Morgan,” the older man greeted, shaking his hand, then pointing to the other two. “Dr. Reid and Dr. Ambers. The rest of the team is in an SUV behind us.”

“Yeah. Stuck in traffic,” Reid snapped, looking at Morgan before realizing now wasn’t the time. “Uh, so you had two more victims last night?”

“They were discovered a little after 3:30 by a cleaning crew finishing up in the building,” Brady explained.

“So that’s seven victims over the past two weeks,” Morgan said and the detective nodded.

“Bodies are in the alley. What’s left of them.”

“Same victimology?” Spencer asked as Lydia stepped past them, pulling out a pair of gloves.

All they could determine about the kill method was that their unsub was using a bladed weapon. Something long, like a machete or sword, which wasn’t very common. During the flight, they’d determined they were looking for one guy, suffering from a psychotic break. It was the only way to explain the overkill, the locations, and the weapon. But it was hard to look at the victims and imagine one guy could have done this.

Both men were mutilated. Their chests had been sliced through multiple times, making their torsos look almost hollow. One’s arm was multiple feet from the body. The other had almost been separated at the waist.

Blood was splattered across the buildings surrounding them and it flowed from the bodies into a nearby sewer grate. At this point, both men were practically dried up.

“What do you see?” Morgan asked as he stepped up behind her.

“Same type of victim. It’s either gang retaliation or someone who wants to clean up the streets.”

“That’s too organized,” he argued. “Unsubs that are going through psychotic breaks don’t plan like that.”

“Well, clearly there’s a pattern here,” she argued, pointing to their hoodies, tattoos, chains, and clothing. “He’s not killing businessmen or waitresses or anything in between. He’s got vengeance on his mind.”

~ ~ ~

“Not good,” Lydia mumbled as she walked onto the next scene the following day.

The unsub had actually gone to the house of the gang leader, Glen Hill. There were 6 bodies, each more brutal than the last.

She stepped around the scene carefully, the blood pooling around the victims like auras.

“T.S.K.?” Hotch asked, pointing to the graffitied letters on the walls.

“Twenty-third street killers,” Brady informed them.

Rossi picked up a gun. “Looks like they tried to fight back.”

“They failed,” Spencer said.

It was hard to differentiate the blood with the spray paint splattered against the walls, but Lydia did her best to analyze the drops and determine where the victims had been standing when they were hit.

“So, what do we do now?” the detective demanded.

“We’re already doing it,” Rossi informed him.

“An unsub in a psychotic rage stands out,” Spencer explained.

“Agent Jareau’s got the media playing the press conference every hour,” Hotch continued. “She’s putting the profile out to the public. Someone in this man’s world knows he’s in crisis. Hopefully, they'll recognize the description.”

“Hotch,” Emily called from the next room. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Lydia was on his tail, following Prentiss out back, where a small trail of blood was leading from the door, to the side gate, then disappearing on the sidewalk. From the marks in the grass, it looked like a body had been dragged. Not only were they looking at 6 murders, but a kidnapping as well.

~ ~ ~

By that afternoon, they were bringing a suspect into custody. A man named Jon McHale. He was a graphic novelist, who’d been attacked by Glen Hill’s gang a few months ago, resulting in the death of his girlfriend.

A few people had shown up to the station to explain situations they’d been in with him over the past few days. His manager was concerned for his health, saying that he kept calling Vickie, his dead girlfriend. Some of his fans had watched him flip out when he showed up to a book signing. And one dude hit him with his car when he ran out into the middle of the road and when the man went to check if he was okay, Jon almost choked him to death.

As they took him into the station, Lydia helped Hotch and Rossi bag items from his apartment to be used as evidence. He had all sorts of violent storyboards, some which reflected their crime scenes to a T. There wasn’t a doubt in their minds that they’d found their guy.

“Can you go get the mugshot of Glen Hill?” Hotch asked Emily as they got back to the station.

“Yeah,” she replied, dropping the boxes of drawings on a nearby desk and disappearing.

Hotch turned on her. “Lydia, did Gideon talk to you about speaking to unsubs undergoing a psychotic break?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I want you running point with him. Command his presence like Frank. Keep him on track. We’ll get answers.”

Hotch left to explain the plan to the detective, leaving her to prepare herself for the interview. Gideon warned her that it was difficult to talk to unsubs like Jonny. His trauma was causing him to do things he’d otherwise be disgusted by. Before all of this, he was a good person and without the mental fracturing, he still would be. But the only way to get answers from him would be to put him under complete stress.

Lydia handed her weapon to Spencer, giving him a small wave goodbye. He looked nervous, but she didn’t dwell on it. Her only concern now was speaking with Jonny.

She led in the group, dropping the mug shot of Glen Hill that Emily had printed in front of the young man, then sitting across from him at the table. “Hello, Jonny. My name’s Lydia,” she said, curtly. “Do you know who that is?”

He shook his head. “Why does this have anything to do with me?”

“That’s Glen Hill,” Hotch said to her left.

Rossi took the right. “He’s missing.”

“You think I know where he is?” Jonny demanded.

Emily walked in, setting one of the boxes from his apartment down in front of Lydia.

“Six months ago, he and his gang victimized you and your girlfriend, right?” Brady asked.

Jonny’s head dashed wildly between everyone in the room, trying to keep track of them. “What?”

Lydia snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Jonny, look at me.”

“They attacked you on the street,” Emily continued, grabbing his attention once more.

“No.”

“And you couldn’t identify any of them after you got out of the hospital,” Brady said.

“Look at me,” Lydia insisted once more. She knew that the feeling of being surrounded was freaking him out enough. With everyone making accusations, if she made it seem like he wasn’t allowed to answer them, it would drive him even more insane. “Don’t worry about him.”

“This is crazy,” he said, looking at the photos in front of him. She could hear his handcuffs rustling against the table. He was trying to break away from her.

“I believe you're suffering from a post-traumatic form of a psychotic break,” Hotch told him, setting his hands on the table to lean over him and feel imposing.

“Psychotic?”

“And you have been for weeks.”

“Come on.”

“It’s possible you don’t even know,” Rossi said, once again forcing Jonny to turn fully around and look at him.

“How could I not know?”

Emily set down a storyboard in front of him. It showed two figures, mutilated in an alleyway, their killer standing above them with a sword. The whole scene was black and white, except for the pure red blood that ran down the gutters and towards the sidewalk.

“That’s a page from something I’m working on,” he told them.

“We know,” Lydia said, letting Emily drop another picture in front of him, this time an above shot from the scene she’d arrived on yesterday. “This is a murder scene from two nights ago.” She pointed between the bodies, both laid out in the same fashion. “Are you seeing any similarities?”

“You were there,” Rossi claimed. “Yesterday. I talked to you.”

“We have photos of you,” Emily continued.

He shook his head, pointing at the picture with his free hand. “Wait. This is real?”

“These are members of the twenty-third street killers,” Brady said. “Glen Hill’s gang.”

Emily continued setting out photos, one of Hill’s house, the other a matching drawing of McHale’s.

“And there were six gang members murdered in that house last night,” Hotch explained.

“No. No, this can’t be. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“This house belongs to Glen Hill. There was a trail of blood leading out the back door. We believe that you took Mr. Hill with you when you left.”

“These are just drawing-- my imagination,” Jonny argued.

Rossi sighed. “Severe PTSD is not uncommon for victims of violent crimes.”

“Victims?”

“You’re bleeding,” Emily noticed, pointing to a spot on the left side of his ribcage.

“It looks like a grazing gunshot wound,” Rossi accused

Hotch leaned over him threateningly. “Did they shoot you last night?”

“Look, stop it! I would know if I’d been… a victim!”

“Do you remember being in the hospital?”

“I was never-” The sound of his handcuffs got louder as his stress level increased. He was pulling away from them.

Rossi threw down a file in front of him, flipping through it as he talked. “That’s your medical report. They cut you open, Mr. McHale! You were nearly eviscerated.” He lifted up the boy's shirt to reveal a long scar through his abdomen. “They said it was a miracle you lived.”

“Miracle?” he demanded. “You think living was a miracle?”

He was breaking. Put some more pressure on him, and they’d get their answers. Hotch and Rossi took over, throwing questions around back and forth.

“All your drawings reflect actual crime scenes. All of them but one.”

“Where is this crime scene, Jonny?”

“Is this Glen Hill?”

“Where is he? Where’s Glen Hill?”

“Jonny, look at me!” Lydia insisted one more time.

“No!”

At his scream, Jonny finally ripped his right arm away from the table, splintering the bar the handcuffs were attached too. Noticing his escape, the whole room jumped to subdue him, but not fast enough. He got in a solid swing across Lydia’s face, knocking her back, her hands covering her cheek protectively.

“No! No!” he kept yelling. “You don’t know what’s out there! No one knows about the night!”

Hotch and Brady got ahold of Jonny’s arms, Emily pushing him back into the chair.

“We don’t want to hurt you, Jonny.”

“It’s okay, son,” Rossi tried to calm him. “It’s okay.”

They’d done it. He was remembering what had happened to him, what he’d done. But it didn’t make watching him any easier.

“Lydia,” Hotch called, not turning away from their suspect, “are you okay?”

“Yes, sir.” She stepped up, standing over Jonny, so that he could see her blotchy cheek and come to terms with what he’d done. “Jonny, you aren’t healthy.”

His eyes scanned her face, before he shut them tightly and started to sob. “I couldn’t help her.” He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. He was talking about Vickie, his girlfriend. “They made me watch.”

“I can help you,” Rossi said. “If we can tell the court that you told us where Glen Hill is-”

“They made me watch!”

“I know. I know. They’re animals.”

“You were sick,” Hotch told him. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

The memory of his confrontation with Glen Hill was too much for Jonny. He could barely speak.

“Where’s Glen Hill, Jonny?”

He sobbed, his body shaking for several minutes, before he broke, giving the address to the group. Emily dashed outside to find Glen Hill, but they all knew he was dead. There was no way Jonny would have been able to stop himself from completing his revenge.

Brady started to recuff Jonny, taking him out of the interrogation room and into a holding cell, Hotch on his tail. Rossi stayed behind to help Lydia pack up all the evidence they’d used during the interview.

“You’re good,” he complimented. “Sorry you got the short end of the stick today.”

“It’s fine.” Lydia rubbed her jaw, sorely. “I deserved it.”

“For what?”

She shrugged, grabbing the box and starting to leave. “I know we had to break him. But no one deserves to relive traumatic events against their will.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “It’s not really fair to profile someone who can’t profile you back, hm?” Then, she stepped outside and came face to face with Spencer.

“What did he do to you?” Spencer demanded, his hand already reaching for her swelling cheek.

“It’s fine,” she breezed, hearing Rossi exit the room behind her. “He had a mean right hook. I antagonized him.”

“I’ll get you some ice,” he said, leaving before she could argue.

“Maybe it isn’t fair,” Rossi mumbled from behind her. “But you make it so easy.”

Lydia just laughed at him.

~ ~ ~

“You found one of Jonny McHale’s books?” Lydia asked as she sat across from Spencer on the jet. She still had an ice pack pressed against her cheek at his insistence and the whole side of her face was starting to feel numb.

He looked up from his graphic novel. “Yeah! It’s called Blue. It’s about a girl who thinks she’s a real human being, right? But it turns out she’s a robot that was built by her uncle.”

“So it’s Pinocchio,” JJ reasoned as she passed the two of them.

“Yeah, it is like Pinocchio,” he laughed. “Only, uh, it’s set in a high school in outer space.”

She made an amused face and kept going, sitting with Rossi and Emily.

Spencer turned back to her, that special sparkle in his eyes. “Hey, did you know that Carlo Lorenzini, the guy that wrote Pinocchio, was said to be obsessed with the human nose? As a matter of fact, Pinocchio wasn’t even the first character of his to feature a large nose- How’s your cheek doing?”

She chuckled, having seen his sudden change in topic from a mile away. “It’s fine. It will probably be nice and swollen by the time we get back.” She pulled the ice pack away to reveal a splotchy pink and purple mess. “What’s your analysis, doctor?”

He leaned forward, examining it teasingly. “Hm… Looks like quite the injury. You must be very brave, doctor.”

They laughed until they heard Morgan walking past, talking irritably into his phone. “Just leave it alone until I get there. Hey. Hey! Hard-head! Don’t make me spank you when I get back.”

Spencer, who had already stuck his nose back into the graphic novel, immediately spoke up so that the person on the other line could hear him. “Don’t listen to him, Garcia. He’s all talk.”

Instinctively, Morgan smacked him across the back of the head and kept walking.

“Ow!” Spencer cried over Lydia’s laughs. “Stop laughing! He just hit me.”

Lydia handed him the ice pack. “Poor baby,” she cooed. “Why don’t you put some ice on it and it will feel better?”

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

~ ~ ~

Once they were back at headquarters, Lydia told Spencer it was now or never. Nodding her head, she ran up the catwalk to Hotch’s office, slipping inside casually.

“Lydia? How may I help you?”

She held up a finger and they stood there silently until Spencer also walked through the door, shutting it behind him awkwardly.

“Reid? What’s this about?”

Lydia stood in front of his desk, clasping her hands behind her back. “This is where we tell you something you already know and you act surprised about it.”

“Got it.”

“...We’re dating.”

“I’m shocked,” he responded, completely deadpanned.

“Is there some kind of office relationship… whatever that we need to fill out?”

“You don’t work in this office, Lydia, so not exactly. But you do work for the Bureau which means they have to know. I’ll do some research into it and get back to you. My best guess is Garcia will have to put it into our system and you might be required to agree to certain terms. At worst, they might have someone come in to question you and determine whether or not your relationship will affect your ability to work together, but I doubt it, seeing as Lydia isn’t an agent.”

“Thank you,” Lydia breathed. “I was worried this would be a big mess.”

“I think Reid here was ten times more nervous.”

She smirked at her abnormally silent boyfriend. He was completely frozen, staring at Hotch with a pale face. “I believe he was.”

“I should warn you,” Hotch continued, “that if this had been going on for much longer than two weeks, you could get in trouble for hiding pertinent information from the Bureau.��

“Two weeks, then,” Lydia said.

“Two weeks,” Spencer repeated.

“Good.” Hotch looked down at the file on his desk. There was silence. Then, he furled his eyebrow, glancing back up at the two of them. “You’re free to go.”

“Right,” Spencer squeaked, grabbing Lydia’s hand and pulling her to the door, as if Hotch would change his mind if they stayed any longer. “Going.”

Tags: @kris-stuff, @wooya1224, @arthurmorrgans​, @anotherr-fine-mess, @eddysocs

[kenzie-kitty]

Crazy Couple -MasqueradexJoker

So, this is another one of my older stories. It’s actually coming up on being three years old.

A short description of Masquerade, my OC: She’s average height, maybe about 5′8. Her natural hair is black, but she dyes it dark purple, and it’s cut to be kind of an asymmetrical bob with wavy bangs covering her left eye. Her eyes are icy blue.

To be fair, I’ve changed her characteristics up many times since writing this story. Typically, I now make her a vampire (original, i know, but i like vampires), and she also is a little more badass/tough/sassy. From what I’ve reread of this story, she’s human and I’m not sure what I did besides make her a lot like a weird version of myself from three years ago.

Anyway, I’ll let you guys read for yourselves if you’d like. :)

Oh, and I don’t know when, but it’ll get real NSFW at some point just fyi

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

It was raining in Gotham as it always was as a figure dressed all in black climbed up the side of a building. The figure, wearing a black masquerade mask that covered the top half of her face, stopped at a window and pulled a switchblade from her pocket. She slid the blade between the window and the window sill, wriggled it from side to side gently until the lock on the window was pushed over. Pushing up the window, she climbed through quietly and walked around the small apartment.

On her way through the small space, she picked up items here and there and placed them inside the black duffel bag that hung at her hip, and was clipped onto her belt with large clasps. She glanced around the main room before walking silently down the hallway and opening the first door to the right; inside was what she could see was a spare bedroom, so she grabbed only a couple of small decorations before moving on. The room at the end of the hall was the main bedroom, and she could see through the crack of the doorway that it was occupied with only one middle-aged man sleeping loudly on the bed.

She entered the room and snuck around to the dresser that was across from the bed, quietly grabbing a small assortment of jewelry that was in a small chest on top. She moved over to the opposite side of the room, watching the man carefully as she walked, and grabbed the watch and billfold from the nightstand before turning to walk back out the door. After taking three steps, the floorboards below her feet squeaked loudly and she froze in place. The man’s snoring stopping and he shifted onto his back, the covers falling down enough that the figure could see he was in only a pair of pajama pants and had failed to shave his chest… ever.

She exhaled slowly and continued walking, only to freeze again when she stepped on yet another squeaky floorboard. This time, however, the man grunted and turned his head to look toward the sound. The figure lunged at him, covering his mouth before he could make any sounds to try to alert anyone to his situation; he thrashed under her, but she somehow held him down. His squirms stopped abruptly when she produced her switchblade from her sleeve and held the blade against his neck.

“Now, now, doll. Don’t make a sound,” she warned in a threatening murmur. “We wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, now would we?” He closed his eyes in fear and shook his head “No” as best he could with her knife still pressed into his flesh.

“Good. Now, I don’t trust you not to go yelling if I were to let you free, unfortunately. So, I’m not gonna letchya go free,” she taunted with an eerie grin and slowly sliced open his neck, giggling as his blood spurted from the wound and covered her hands. She waited until the life was just leaving his eyes before she carved her mark into him; carefully, she carved a spider web around his left eye.

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

Commissioner Gordon sighed wearily at the files stacked on his desk and especially at the one he had open in front of him; Arkham patient 4479 a.k.a. “The Joker”. He had received the call late the night before that the clown terrorist had escaped from the asylum, leaving two dead security officers and a barely-alive nurse in his wake. Gordon had immediately come into the station and had been attempting to piece together enough information to have some idea as to where Joker would go, but so far, even after four hours of work, he hadn’t had any ideas.

He was about to push the folder aside and begin going through the other files when a young officer opened his office door. “Commissioner, we had a robbery gone wrong. Otisburg, it’s a lawyer, sir.”

Gordon nodded and quickly grabbed his coat, following the officer out the door.

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

He arrived on scene to see a bodybag being wheeled into an ambulance and a small team of officers already searching around the building to find any clues. Gordon found the officer who arrived first standing with the person who had called it into the station.

“Officer Dougherty,” Gordon started, walking up to the burly officer.

“Commissioner Gordon, sir,” Dougherty nodded, “I wasn’t expecting you to be so early.”

Gordon nodded back. “I came as quickly as possible. Tell me what we’ve got so far.”

“Yes, sir. The vic is Patrick McMurphy, he’s a very well know lawyer around here for both his cases and his political standpoints. There are signs of missing valuables. We have reason to believe McMurphy awoke and caught the burglar, so they killed him. And brutally, might I add.”

“How so?” Gordon asked, writing the information down in a notebook.

Dougherty sighed and rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “His throat was slit and there was a spider web carved into his face.”

Gordon paused and looked up at the officer with a serious concern. “A spider web?”

“Uh, yeah, sir.”

Gordon spun on his heel and stopped the ambulance from leaving. He jumped into the back and unzipped the body bag enough to show McMuphy’s face; around the right eye was a spider web, and Gordon swore aloud at the sight. He climbed out and returned to the officers  and witness who had remained where they were, watching him. “It’s Masquerade again. I shouldn’t be surprised, she’s been causing a lot of trouble lately. Any leads on her?”

“No, sir. Not yet, at least,” Dougherty informed him.

Gordon shook his head and walked away, heading to the elevator to see the crime scene. The small apartment was filled with investigative officers and a couple of detectives. Gordon greeted them with a short grunt before continuing on into the bedroom; the bed was covered in blood at the top and the forensic investigator was snapping pictures of the entire scene.

“She’s getting more proficient with her cuts,” the forensics man said, peering at the bloodied bed through round glasses. “Her first few were more frantic and seemed to be out of panic. This one… It seems as though she had planned this one somehow.”

“Really? What reason would she have for killing a defense lawyer?” Gordon wondered aloud.

The forensics man shrugged. “No clue, Commish.”

“Thanks anyway, Ed,” Gordon said.

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

Mask laid down starfish style on her bed in her apartment, with her legs tangled in the galaxy printed sheets. She adjusted the mask on her face a she closed her eyes and listened to the news on the TV she had mounted on the wall across from the bed; they were doing a story on the escape of the Joker the night before and warning citizens to be careful and call in any information they had. Mask chuckled to herself. ‘They really think anyone who knows anything about the Joker will be alive enough to call in? They’re so ignorant,’ she thought, ridiculing the newscasters and police.

They finished the report on the Joker and went on to the murder of Patrick McMurphy and Mask opened her eyes as she sat up, automatically interested in what they would say.

“Just last night, famed lawyer and political activist Patrick McMurphy was killed in his home. Police have informed us that the main suspect is the up-and-coming burglar and murderer Masquerade. Masquerade has proven herself to be very dangerous, having now killed twelve innocent people here in Gotham. Police are searching for her as we speak, but currently have no leads as to where or who she is. Please, be careful and lock you doors and windows at night; do not leave any entrances open after dark…”

Mask giggled at the warning. ‘They think a lock is gonna stop me? Wow, some people have no faith at all,’ she thought, grinning. She laid back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, forming a plan for her night. ‘I should do something big that’ll cause more fear. Maybe a gun or a few. Hmm, bombs are a definite; gotta step up my game.’

She flipped herself off the bed and walked into her kitchen, suddenly feeling hungry, and made a grilled cheese sandwich. “Bombs and guns, where to find ‘em… Ah! I know!”

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

There was little light at the warehouses by the docks, and Mask felt lucky to have adapted so well to working in the dark. She swung herself up onto the roof of one of the buildings and slid down through a small hatch in the roof; she landed on a large stack of boxes silently and jumped down to the ground as gently as she could. Sliding her crowbar out of her bag, she began opening the boxes, slinging the straps of machine guns across her chest and stuffing ammunition in her bag along with a few smaller boxes of hand grenades.

It was just as she was opening her third box that the door to the warehouse was opened and a pair of footsteps could be heard. She started climbing up the boxes quietly, but froze when a gun was cocked below her.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A nasally voice taunted. Mask turned to look and gasped when she saw the purple- and green-clad figure of the Joker standing below her next to a clown-masked goon who was aiming the gun at her. She let herself fall to the ground in front of them, landing perfectly on her feet, and put her hands in the air to either side of her head.

“I-I didn’t know this was your warehouse, uh, Mr. Joker,” Mask said, hoping to diffuse the situation (though she was doubtful of that happening).

The clown pushed the barrel of his goon’s gun down and stepped closer to her. “Didn’t you? See, I’m thinking you’re from some, uh, rival. And I’m not about to let some kid steal from me!” He shouted grabbing her upper arm harshly.

Mask struggled against his grip. “Don’t call me ‘kid’. And I swear, I’m not some rival! I’m just a thief!”

He stopped and stared at her. “You were in the news, weren’t you?”

“Y-yeah. I was.”

“Masquerade?”

Mask nodded slowly, staring bravely into his dark brown eyes. He tilted his head before continuing to drag her along with him out of the warehouse and into the parking lot where a rusty grey van was sitting. Mask was shoved into the passenger side, the goon climbed into the back and Joker sat himself behind the wheel.

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

Continue in part 2

Thank you for reading, Please remember that this was written three years ago when I was about 16. I’ve improved, I promise.