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ellnaturae · 6 years ago

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Hey! We need to talk.|| Quinnell

Who: Quinn Fabray ( @wingedfabray )and Elliott Gilbert. Location: Sciron, room #504 Time: 24th October, night - 25th October, early morning. Summary: Quinn wants to talk with Elliott which is actually surprising for both of them. Triggers/Notes: none.

The flurry of the night caught up to Quinn, who watched the others file away as though in a dream. Another dream. There was no way she was standing at Sciron. There was no way she stayed at Sciron. Her shaking hands stilled in the fabric of her shirt, and her eyes screwed shut. Too much was happening all at once. But the memories of the night didn't disappear when she closed her eyes, they only painted themselves against the darkness. Her own figure, smiling maniacally over her father's desk, Santana motionless yet crying, Elliott. Elliott, unglamoured face colored with concern. Her eyes flew open, her breath caught. It was too much. She tuned in to the world around her just in time to watch now-familiar horns disappear around a corner, and she followed quietly behind, until the voices of others disappeared entirely, until it was just the two of them. "Hey. Hey! We need to talk."

Elliott is trying to process whatever just happened. He thinks to himself and rolls his eyes wondering when they would just enjoy a normal day, just one, it wasn't hard, was it? He sighs lost on his mind, though gladly not literally again, when he suddenly hears a voice calling him. He turns around to discover Quinn and he can't hide an expression of surprise "Do we?" he asks confused and about to say a sentence he never thought he would direct to Quinn Fabray "Do you want to go to my room?"

Quinn is taken aback by the question. She hadn't thought farther than 'I have to talk to him.' There had been enough leftover common sense to wait until they were alone, but not enough to think about whether or not anyone could intrude. Alone in a room with Elliott Gilbert. More than that, alone in Elliott's room. A sick feeling crawled up her throat, but something a little more desperate had her swallowing against it. She pressed her lips together, jaw clenched, and gave a small nod. "Yes." Came the impossible answer.

Elliott looked at Quinn in surprise for a few more seconds, did she just say yes? he asked himself "This must be important" he says with a small smirk "follow me" he walks before her, guiding her to the stairs where he usually when up and down if he wanted to visit Santana, though teleportation was easier and quicker these days, but he also liked to respect her privacy. In a matter of minutes he was opening his door, still not processing that Quinn was actually there behind him. He looks over his shoulder for a moment to answer his own question, and then finally opened the door "Come in" he says as he steps in, he sees Ziggy poking her head out of her tank and he pets her "so?" he asks turning around to Quinn again "What do you want from me?"

Quinn looks around, breath shallow against her tight chest. A moment of silence falls between them as she takes the room in without actually seeing anything. The art supplies, the Queen posters, Ziggy. It's there, and it sticks somewhere, but Quinn's mind is turning too quickly to hold onto any of it, to see past the fact that she's there in the first place, or why. "I don't..." She starts, and pauses, a far cry from the girl who'd first confronted Elliott years ago. She finally looks to him directly, squaring her shoulders. "You're not supposed to care about people. You're not. But tonight, with Santana, the way you looked at her. Like you honestly care for her, love her even, and that's not the first time I've seen it." There's a pause, and her next words sound smaller somehow. Somewhere, distantly, she knows this isn't a responsibility to put on Elliott's shoulders. "How? How do you care? Why do you care so much? I don't understand."

Elliott looks at her with a frown "I'm not suppose to care?" he chuckles partially annoyed "Who says so? Why are you so sure?" he asks though he can already think what the answer could be "It's not your imagination, I do love her, she is my friend, and I care" he says surprised that he has to explain that "Why and how? I just... feel! I can hate and love people, I make bonds and connections, and I feel deeply for them just like anyone else... just like you" he makes a confused expression "Why do you care? How do you care?" he asks back at her "Would your answer be any different? Is that hard to understand?"

"Yes." The answer comes quickly, vehemently. Quinn feels like she can't quite catch her breath, this just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. How many nights had she spent sitting at a desk next to her father, reading the bible; next to her grandmother, listening to tales of her ancestors banishing demons in spirals of righteous, holy fire. If none of it was true, if none of it even mattered, then, then... "You can't! You..." But he could. That was the thing, he absolutely could. The evidence had been laying itself out before her for years, starting with an argument, and a crushed camera. "If you can, then it's all been a lie, hasn't it? It's all been for..." The word 'nothing' catches harshly in her throat. Something closer to 'I'm sorry' takes its place, but rather than let it escape, she turns away. Her eyes find the walls, the posters, the supplies, anything but Elliott. There'd always been a hard line drawn in the sand: what was holy (right), and what was unholy (wrong). The line, already blurry, washes away with the waves, and Quinn feels as though so much more is washed away with it. It doesn't feel better, just empty. The tense set of her shoulders shakes, and she pulls in a breath. "You were never supposed to care, but you do. I see that. I'm...sorry, nothing makes sense."

Elliott looks at Quinn, her nervousness so unlike what he normally saw of her, he wondered what was going on with her, on her mind. He couldn't read her, he never tried before either, his concept of Quinn was one of those churchy people who would quote the bible to him to excuse their shittiness, though it was true lately it has been easier to look at her in a different light, and the fact that she was close with Blaine always made him wonder if he was judging her wrong. "Why is so hard? Because it is easier to condemn me if you don't think of me as a person?" But even if he had a bad concept of her, sometimes she had even surprised him with a small gesture of decency, and that very moment could be classified as one of those. He doesn't know what to say, maybe because at this point he was ready for anything except someone like her apologizing to him. He keeps looking at her in silence for a while unsure "Breathe" it's the only thing that comes out of his lips when he sees her questioning herself, he would normally accompany his calm voice with a soft touch, but he avoided that wondering if it would make things worst "Nothing makes sense? What do you mean? That what you thought was not the absolute truth?" he can't stop himself from being a little sarcastic.

The moment feels surreal to Quinn. Elliott almost sounds gentle in his instruction, and it doesn't help the roiling confusion, or the way the ground seemed to fall away beneath her. Eventually, the process of questioning everything she'd ever been taught would be too much, and every time she wondered is this it. It's not, she pulls in a breath like he'd instructed, slow and steady, and pivots to face him once more. "It's not easier to condemn you. You've always made that very hard." She releases the breath slowly. "It just doesn't make sense. My whole life I've been told what you should be, and how I should feel about that. It's...it's obviously not exactly true...so, what are you, exactly? How do you fit into religion, belief?"

Elliott chuckles bitterly looking at the ceiling for a moment to take a breath in himself and let out a sigh as he looks at her again "I am a demon" he says, what did she want for him to tell her that he was magically not a demon anymore? that she could just breathe and move on? He touches his hair moving it around a little "There are bad and good people everywhere, you know?" he says calmly "but the thing is no one cared to write about the good ones in your book, no one told the stories of my people helping yours, no one told you about kind demons who would give humans strength and power, it was always about the sinful ones, or Satan whose sin was to want free will...that bastard, but you all are so smart, always drawing the line in the perfect place so the image of demons would always be monstrous" he crosses his arms "some of us may be bad but that doesn't make us all that way" he looks at her very seriously "Do you want me to judge you for all the sins of the human race?" there is a long silence "I don't fit in your religion because those who are said to be talking in the name of god won't let me fit in" he pauses again "I always though his message was about love and acceptance, but I guess it depends on the person reading"

Quinn stood quietly, watching, listening. Her father's library was full of selected texts, NYADA's full of many of the same plus texts that would never be found in Russell's. She wasn't new to selective history, of guiding beliefs through omission. She'd been stupid enough to believe she was learned, looking beyond what was purposefully placed right in front of her. As seemed to be the case so often, she'd been wrong. And it wasn't Elliott's fault, it wasn't his responsibility to correct her. "Right. Right, you're...okay. It is about...many things. The messages aren't always clear, sometimes contradictory. I've never believed the bible is perfect, but this never just about the bible." Normally elegant and articulate to a fault, Quinn felt at a loss. The empty feeling didn't lessen as Elliott spoke, it only grew. "You were doing research, and I'm sure you're more...well-versed in your own people than I could ever hope to be. Is there any reading you would recommend?"

Elliott observes Quinn body language and realizes something, she is actually listening and thinking about it, isn't she? He feels a weird sensation on his chest. He walks by her to his desk and takes a piece of paper writing down some books titles. "I'm very aware just a book is not the only reason why my kind is seen one way or the other, but it does insist on certain ideas that only hurt us more" he gives her the paper "I don't want the bad things to be forgotten, but I wish the good things could be seen as well" he shrugs "again I don't blame everything on the bible, I blame God too, Satan even, I blame people who take things out of context or interpret things to divide instead of uniting" he sighs "but then again I'm not free of sin I guess" he touches his hair again nervously.

Quinn reaches out, taking the paper almost tenderly, unsure even while she'd asked for it. But she takes it, holding it gently between shaking fingers. "A whole and accurate history isn't a bad thing to aspire to. Nor is it unfair to ask." She offers quietly, accepting at least that much, taking a step that shocked even her. "We should..." She started, trailing off in a frustrated breath. "We should talk, after I've had time to research, when I'm not..." Falling apart? Questioning her existence, family, beliefs? "This." She gestures at herself uselessly, hoping he would understand, then wondering at the fact that she cared about his understanding at all. She steps away from the space he'd filled when he offered the paper, putting distance between the two of them once more. "It's been a long night."

Elliott nods looking down awkwardly for a moment "Yes, we should" he isn't sure what she is going through, though he can imagine is confusing as fuck, and he doesn't want to overwhelm her with his thought on religion right now, as much as he wishes to discuss more things with her, it can wait for now "Yes, it was, you must need to sleep" he says showing her a more friendly expression "Let me know when you are ready, and we can have that conversation" he nods again.

Quinn wonders if she has his number (she does), or if that's even a concern (somehow it is). Instead of voicing it, she nods, backing up until her back hits his door, and her hands fumble briefly with the doorknob. "I'll let you know, I'll text." Aether, she actually means it. It's too much, Elliott caring, Elliott treating her with something like kindness; although, it's not the first time. She's always been the one to lead with hate, hasn't she? "Good night, Elliott." She says in a rush, pivoting to leave the room in a rush.

Elliott nods, not sure if she actually has a number to text to, maybe she does, at this point he may as well have hers too. Technology would always be hard for him. He nods noticing her urge for leaving and not making any efforts to make her stay "Good night, Quinn" he replies as she leaves.

#wingedfabray #p: hey we need to talk #//im so original with title lmao

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zaney-hacknslash · 6 years ago

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FallOut Prequel - Cover Up

Ide offered to drive, but I wanted to, because, if nothing else, getting behind the wheel of the car would give me some temporary control, and I desperately needed that.

Everyone looked grim, and no one spoke. Of course, no one had said much on the way in either; I’d been driving myself crazy, worrying about what we were heading into, and Ide, since he couldn’t reassure me in front of Light, had mimicked my silence. Kira, of course, had been sitting right behind me, plotting, eagerly awaiting the moment he could see Near, and the four of us, dead.

Only Matsuda had spoken, though not very much, since no one would respond to him, wondering about the meaning behind Near’s meeting, expressing how insulting and ridiculous it was that anyone could suspect Light of being Kira. There’d been something pointed in that, I’d thought, directed at me, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Matsuda’s loyalty to Light had blinded him, and I’d known it was just a matter of time before he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.

I had known that realization could be devastating, but I wouldn’t have thought in a million years that he’d shoot someone, especially not Light Yagami.

Now here we were, leaving the wharf, and Light, behind, carrying a burden I hadn’t expected any more than Matsuda’s attempt at murder. Occasionally, I glanced in the rearview, not entirely convinced I wouldn’t see Light gazing back at me with his sharp eyes, and the idea that he was dead felt so unreal, my mind kept trying to convince me we’d find him at the station.

Even if we did, I’d have a lot of choice words to say to him. After all, he could have gone ahead with his plans as Kira without dragging the four of us through hell; he could have gone head to head with Near without toying with our emotions and manipulating our loyalty and respect for the Yagami family. At least that way he would have spared himself the pain of being shot.

In the end, it was just as Near had said—we weren’t an important part of the case, he’d never needed us to catch Kira, and, in many ways, we’d been an obstruction. Knowing all that, I couldn’t help feeling bitter towards Near. Having the notebook was good enough for him; it had been all I could do to convince him to help us manage even a little of the fallout, and we were the only ones who had to try and make sense of the aftermath.

As the station came into view, my chest tightened. In the past, it had always looked secure and inviting, a place where I knew I had friends, but tonight its lights seemed austere, its form rigid. It had been built to uphold justice, and I was afraid to find out which side of that line tonight’s events might have thrust us to.

In the parking garage, I whipped into my reserved spot, staring a long moment at the sign ahead of me, at my own name—Captain Shuichi Aizawa—not knowing if that would be my spot, my name, my title in the morning.

Come what may, I had to shake off the bloody memories and focus on what to say.

Ide muttered my name, and I knew, whether I lost the title of captain or not, the three of them were still looking to me to lead them.

“Everyone let me do the talking,” I instructed finally. These events were already muddy enough without all four of us giving contradictory facts.

Internal affairs would look into it—they had to. Kira was dead. One of us shot him. Light’s death, at the very least, couldn’t go overlooked. Once they separated us and started digging, contradictory facts wouldn’t matter. I simply didn’t know how to hide the truth.

No one argued, though, as they followed me inside, clustered closely together, marching in sync, but the moment I stepped through the doors, I realized this was going to be much harder than I thought.

All eyes were on us; at first, I thought it must be my imagination, but people whispered to each other, some turned around, some stood up, staring at us as we passed, and the station stayed completely silent except for the sound of our footsteps. I caught glimpses of bewilderment and even horror in the faces around me.

One glance back at the others, and I didn’t have to wonder why. We looked bad. Ide had taken off his blazer, all but letting it trail by his side, where Matsuda kept stepping on it and was beginning to look annoyed that it was there at all. Ide either didn’t notice or didn’t care, though. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the ash on the end already more than a centimeter in length, and he didn’t seem to be actively smoking it. Normally alert and stoic, Mogi appeared to be in a daze, frowning fiercely at whatever was directly in front of him—it happened to be me—like he wanted to throttle someone. He’d jerked his tie loose and ripped open the top few buttons of his shirt. Meanwhile, Matsuda looked like he was overly aware of everything around him, a sudden contrast to how he’d been at the scene of Light’s death, eyes glazed but darting, sometimes searching the faces of those we passed, distrustfully, sometimes glaring down at Ide’s dragging blazer and then at Ide himself. His face was white, and he’d gotten blood on the collar of his shirt, but that was nothing compared to the bloodstains mottling the blazer I clutched in my arms, and I wished I’d thought to leave it in the car.

Collectively, we looked like hell.

All the more reason, I told myself, I needed to handle this with the utmost delicacy.

That’s really not my strong suit…

At the desk, a young officer named Endo had been assigned to filing reports, but I doubted he had much to do these days, and accordingly, he sat back in his chair, shoes up on the desk, talking into his phone.

When he saw us, though, he suddenly sat up straight and stared, nostrils flaring with alarm.

“Put that phone away, Corporal,” I snapped, automatically.

Matsuda jerked like he thought I was talking to him—it was something I said to him often enough.

Hanging up on his call, Endo practically threw the phone onto the desk, and his eyes widened. “C-captain Aizawa—”

“And I know I didn’t see you with your shoes on that desk.” I glared at him.

“N-no, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“If you have time to sit here, making personal calls and putting your feet up, I can give you more to do.”

“N-no, sir,” he stammered. “My mistake, sir. It’s just been so slow, sir.”

I hesitated. Given the circumstances, I shouldn’t be marching in here, barking orders like I owned the place, but I’d fallen into my role as captain, naturally, during my desperate search for control.

Fidgeting, Endo waited for me to say more, and I knew the hesitation looked suspicious.

“Well, that excuse is about to expire,” I grunted. “Kira is dead.”

I hadn’t thought the room could get any quieter, but suddenly it turned still as a graveyard, as all murmuring and shifting of papers stopped, and I even imagined I heard a pin drop somewhere. Endo’s eyes popped, and he swallowed very hard. “Kira?” he gasped.

“Don’t sit there looking stupid, Corporal, I’m here to report.”

“Y-yes, sir.” He scrambled for his keyboard.

While I waited for him to fill out the particulars of time and date, my name and rank, I drew a deep but silent breath.

“At approximately 1:30 pm, the five of us—Captain Aizawa Shuichi, Lieutenant Ide Hideki, Sergeant Mogi Kanzo, Corporal Matsuda Touta, and Detective First Class Yagami Light—met with L in a restricted location to confront Kira—”

“Sorry…sir,” Endo interrupted, “Where was this location?”

“It’s restricted.”

Questioningly, he stared at me, but I went on.

“Kira was there, as L predicted. We had him outnumbered and surrounded; we managed to apprehend him, but he became desperate. We had no choice but to shoot him.”

“Ah…” Endo took his fingers from the keys suddenly. “Excuse me, Captain… I’m sorry. Could you please be more specific? Did Kira try to run? Do you know yet what Kira’s real identity was—for the report?” He scanned us. “What do you mean he became desperate, and who shot him?”

“He didn’t try to run,” I corrected. “He tried to kill us and had to be shot. Furthermore…” I drew an even deeper breath, struggling to squelch my anger and anxiety. “Detective Yagami was killed in action.”

This time, I really did expect Endo’s eyes to burst from his skull, and he looked through us again, like he thought he’d see Light somewhere. “How did that happen?”

“Kira killed him.”

“Yes, but how—”

“People die, Corporal,” I answered, coldly.

Suddenly drawing himself up, Endo sat back and folded his hands politely on the desk, and his expression took on a stern tone, voice turning almost soothing. “I apologize, Captain. I can see you’re shook up, so perhaps if you’d like to come back and file an official report after you’ve gotten some rest—”

“This is the only reason I came here, Corporal,” I snapped.

For a long moment, Endo read through the pittance of information he’d typed out, one eyebrow arched, as if he couldn’t understand how what I’d said was possible, and behind me, the others began to shift and nudge at each other, but I made a point not to glance back at them. They’d just better know enough to keep their mouths shut.

“Excuse me, Captain,” Endo tried again. “I suppose, what I meant to say, if the information regarding Kira is so highly classified that I’m not allowed to know the details—even to make the report—perhaps you should return tomorrow, when the commissioner and the director are in, and then you can report directly to them—”

“Well, what a good idea, Corporal,” I said irritably. “No, I’m telling you exactly what I would tell them. This. Is. My official. Statement.”

From the way his mouth dropped open and his eyes darted first to Ide and then to Mogi, on my right and left, respectively, Endo thought I’d snapped and expected one of them to step in and file the report properly.

Ide simply sniffed, “Listen to the captain, Endo.”

“Also,” I proceeded, “Kira had an accomplice with him; that man is dead as well—he killed himself.”

“His name?” Endo asked, but uncertainly.

I shook my head, and then I mentally kicked myself. I shouldn’t have mentioned Mikami. Maybe we could have passed him off as Kira. But fuck. Even that couldn’t vanish the bullet holes from Matsuda’s gun. And anyway, now that I thought of it, Mikami’s vehicle might be somewhere near the site where he’d died. Unless L—or I—disposed of it, someone would find it and put together the fact that he’d been there.

“That’s all,” I grumbled, finally, turning to go.

“Now, wait just a minute!” Endo cried, lurching to his feet. “You actually expect me to file a nonsensical report like this as if it’s official?”

“That’s your job,” I informed him, stiffly.

“Lieutenant,” he called out, exasperated. “Sergeant. I need all four of your statements!”

Ide shrugged at him. “Captain says you don’t.”

Around us, the squad stared and exchanged looks. Murmuring voices picked up again, wondering at it all.

Endo shook his head, looking almost frantically at me. “Captain, why wasn’t someone called out to the site? You should have—”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” I growled, automatically.

Next to me, Matsuda suddenly gave a nervous laugh.

“Of course not, Captain.” Endo gave a bow. “But… Protocol. I should at least get statements from the rest of your team.”

I shook my head, glaring back at him. “It’s my statement, or none at all. If the higher-ups have additional questions, they’ll have to ask me directly.”

A long moment passed, and Endo stared me in the eyes, like he could change my mind, and then he swore under his breath. “I’d better not get in trouble for something this sloppy.”

“Keep your damn shoes off that desk, and I’m sure you won’t.”

Frowning, he sank back into his chair, shook his head, and finally broke eye contact.

I turned to the others. Mogi and Ide were both giving me twin looks of slight concern, but Matsuda looked like he’d sank back into his own, little world. At least for tonight, I’d kept him out of lock up, but I didn’t know how or if I could prevent that forever.

Gently herding him in front of me, I started back the way we came, this time ignoring all the openly gaping faces that watched us pass. None of us spoke until we’d gotten back into the car and were driving away from the station.

“What now, Shuichi?” Ide wondered, faintly. “The higher ups won’t be satisfied with that report.”

I leaned hard back in my seat, barely keeping my grip on the wheel. “We had to report. All we can do is take this one step at a time.”

“We need to talk more about it,” Mogi decided.”

“He’s right,” Ide agreed. “We need to hash out exactly what we’re going to tell internal affairs. Tonight.”

“Damn bureaucracy,” I grumbled, wishing that, somehow, the higher ups could just accept that Kira was dead and not trouble me about it.

I frowned in the mirror at Matsuda, who stared out the window, blankly. Ide and I were almost always on the same page, Mogi was smart; I knew the two of them could talk to internal affairs without a problem. But Matsuda’s statement would be, no doubt, disjointed and guilt-ridden. He might simply confess. Without the death note, even if they believed Light had been Kira, he’d inevitably be indicted for murdering a fellow officer.

“Let’s get a drink,” Ide suggested in a moment. “I know I could use one.”

“Yeah, alright,” I agreed, without really thinking it through. Whiskey sounded good—just one—before going home to Eriko and facing more questions I didn’t have answers to.

I drove us to a bar in Kabukicho that Ide and I had frequented a lot in our younger days. For a Monday, it was surprisingly lively, so we picked a table in the corner and avoided the looks of other patrons while we waited for the server to come around.

She was all smiles, carrying menus, young and just trying to make it, with streaks of blonde in her hair that reminded me of Misa Amane.

Shit. Amane. We still hadn’t told her or any of Light’s family, and that sounded even harder than filing the damn report.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” I told her, glancing around at the others. “Four?”

“Make mine a double,” Matsuda interrupted, mechanically. “Neat.”

I stared across the table at him as he tore off his tie, and then his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and frowning ferociously into the polished table.

But the girl smiled, brightly, and touched his shoulder. “You got it.” She clipped away.

Whatever he drank, it wasn’t my business.

“Let’s review,” Ide decided as soon as she’d gone. He lit a new cigarette—I couldn’t believe how much he was smoking today, especially since I’d thought he was trying to quit—and took a long drag. “The shinigami and the notebook?”

I shook my head. “Completely off the table.”

“Shuichi,” he argued, in a wheedling tone. “That’s ridiculous. None of this makes sense without that.”

“Near said so.”

“So what? Last I checked, his ass isn’t on the line, and ours are.”

“If we want his help covering any of this up, we have to do what he tells us.”

His brow furrowed. “Okay. What are we supposed to tell the higher ups?”

“You tell me,” I muttered.

“Possibly,” Mogi murmured, looking carefully around to make sure no one was nearby to overhear, “no one would believe about the notebook anyway. Without a demonstration, it might as well not exist.”

Several minutes of despairing silence passed as those words sank in; I’d known that was true, but hearing it out loud made our situation seem all the more dire. While we sat there, each of us thinking hard about it, the girl brought our whiskeys.

“Well, anyway,” I said quietly, lifting my glass, “here’s to the end of the case. And all that entails.”

Delicately, Mogi and Ide touched their glasses to mine, but Matsuda all but smashed his in, slammed it hard on the table, grumbled, “Kanpai,” and downed the whole thing while the three of us stared at him. Then he winced, like the whiskey was the nastiest thing he’d ever had, and scowled across the room at the server, apparently blaming her.

“Anyway,” I picked up again, sipping from my whiskey and trying to ignore what he’d just done. “Without the notebook, where does that leave us?”

“We have two bodies on our hands,” Ide expanded. “Light’s and Mikami’s. But we’re saying three people are dead. No one’s going to overlook that.”

“We could say Mikami was Kira,” Mogi suggested. “That could explain why he killed himself. But.” He sighed. “That wouldn’t explain why Light Yagami was shot five times with police standard issue ammo.”

Inevitably, we all turned to Matsuda.

In a way, my mind still couldn’t make sense of what he’d done. He hadn’t really been Matsuda at the time, and he didn’t really look like Matsuda now, scowling so persistently, the tumult of his emotions turning his eyes dark and dull.

He ignored us, lifting his hand way over his head to shout, “Miss!” He tapped his glass loudly against the table. “Another double, please! Top shelf this time!”

We watched, dumbfounded, as the girl poured him another drink, and he shot-gunned it just as ferociously as he had the first one.

“The only thing we can do,” Ide decided, slowly, watching Matsuda and taking a sip of his own whiskey, “is stick to the story that Kira was shot and killed by the NPA. That’s the only way to explain the fact that all five of us are missing rounds from our pistols.”

“If we do that,” Mogi said, “we’d have to keep it from everyone—even Sachiko and Misa—that Light was shot at all.”

I nodded. “Near says he can handle prepping the body so that no one ever sees its wounds.”

“And what?” Ide snorted suddenly, through a cloud of smoke. “What about the rest of us? Just pretend we don’t know what really happened? Just lie about how Light was killed? Insist that we can’t disclose that?”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Hideki.”

“Well, that’s just mad. No one’s going to believe us.”

“No,” I agreed, stomach knotting. “We might even lose our jobs.”

“Then what about our other option?” Ide demanded.

To my bewildered look, he added, fiercely, “The truth, Shuichi.”

“The truth? What? That a shinigami brought a book of death to the human world—”

“No.” He matched my outraged tone. “You know.” He looked meaningfully at Matsuda. “Light was Kira. One of us killed him.”

I couldn’t look at Matsuda. He was busy ordering another double anyway, and this time he told the girl, “Just leave the bottle,” and threw a wad of cash on the table. “Keep the change.” Apparently, he had every intention of leaving here absolutely plastered.

“It’s too bad,” Ide insisted, “it’s too bad, Shuichi, that dumb ass couldn’t control himself, but he shot Light, and that little, annoying detail is a huge plot hole in this whole plan about lying to the NPA.”

Reluctantly, I finally turned to watch Matsuda, already kicking back his fourth shot, by all appearances, pretending he couldn’t hear us.

“He might get in trouble, I guess,” Mogi murmured, quieter than Ide, also watching Matsuda with a worried expression. “But…not if he shot Kira.”

“Do we really want the world to know that Light Yagami was Kira?” I wondered, honestly not sure. “What about Sachiko? And Misa and Sayu? What about us, working side by side, for six years, with the man we were trying to catch?”

“Could trash our careers,” Mogi agreed.

I shook my head, disgusted. “No good deed goes unpunished, I guess.”

“Light’s grave, though… They’d make it a shrine. Or deface it. Both. The Yagami family would never have any peace, not for the rest of their lives.”

“Pros and cons then,” Ide said dryly, when we’d taken a pause to watch Matsuda slam yet another shot. “We tell them Light was Kira and Matsuda shot him; it costs us our jobs, probably, his grave becomes a public site, and it, for all intensive purposes, ruins the lives of Sachiko, Sayu, and Misa Amane. Those are the cons. Pros: we don’t have to stress over a shoddy cover up, and the three of us won’t have to spend much time in the public’s eye.”

Again, simultaneously, we all looked at Matsuda. Without a doubt, all the press and media coverage would focus on the man who’d shot Kira, letting Ide, Mogi, and I sink into the background without mentioning much more than our names.

“Hey,” I said, when he didn’t acknowledge us. “Want to weigh in here, Matsuda? This affects you. A lot.”

“Hmmm…” He sloppily poured himself another shot and gulped it down before saying, much too loudly, “We should just tell ev’ryone we weren’t there at all, Aizawa! It’s genius. I wasn’t there, you weren’t there, nobody was there except Light an’ Near. We don’t know what happened. We were all at home.”

It was so stupid, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say other than, pragmatically, “And when they investigate the sudden death of Light Yagami and find bullets from your gun, you’re going to jail, and I won’t be able to help you.”

“Not if I file off the serial number, toss it in the ocean, an’ hop on a plane to some place that doesn’t extradite.”

“Are you just being absurd on purpose?” Ide asked, irritably. “We’re trying to solve a real problem here.”

In answer, Matsuda took another shot.

“Fine,” I grumbled, “forget it, Matsu. Just take it easy on the whiskey, all right?”

“Or at least share it,” Ide amended, shoving his glass in.

Spilling all over the table, Matsuda refilled us, unevenly, and topped off again.

Mogi met my gaze. “Ide might be right, Aizawa. We can hide the notebook, we can even hide Kira’s identity—at least for a while. I’m worried about him.”

“Me, too,” Ide whispered. “What’s going to happen to the man who shot Kira? Think about that. Even if some people might think he’s a hero, that’s subject to change. Or he might get harassed for the rest of his life. Depending on how things go, the NPA will always have a good option for a scapegoat.”

Again, my guts twisted, and I winced as I studied Matsuda, muttering under his breath and turning the whiskey bottle around in front of him, fascinated by the label. For a long time now, the NPA had been bowing to Kira, so even if Director Boko agreed to help us cover up Matsuda’s actions, there was no telling when some fanatic might get a job, discover that information, and use it for their own agenda.

Obviously following my line of thought, Ide insisted, quieter than ever, “It would be better for him if there’s no official record of it at all.”

The fate of the Yagami family and our jobs might be inevitable at this point—just one more thing destroyed by Kira—so if Matsuda was the only thing I could protect through all of this, I suddenly felt that I had to. No matter the cost.

“All right,” I grumbled, and suddenly reached over to clamp my hand over his glass before he could pour another shot. “Hey, you. Listen up.”

Bleary-eyed, he blinked at me, as if he’d forgotten I was there.

“First of all, that’s enough of this.” I pried the whiskey bottle away from him, dismayed to find so much of it gone. “Second of all, I need you to understand that Kira’s identity and what you did today go hand in hand. Do you know what I mean?”

Matsuda jerked his head no and stared away, out the window at the passing crowds of night-lifers.

“I mean, if anyone finds out you shot Kira, they’ll be able to find out Light was Kira. And vice versa.” I gesture to myself and the others. “We just finished deciding that’s a can of worms we’d rather not open. You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t give much of a damn right now, but assuming you wake up tomorrow and change your mind, no one can know what happened today. Kira was apprehended, Light was killed in the conflict, and we’re not saying who shot Kira. It’s classified information, we’re under orders from L not to say anything about Kira’s identity, the location of the conflict, or what Kira’s power was—in fact, it would be smartest to say we don’t understand Kira’s power, even now. We know he killed Light. And then we killed him. That’s all we know.”

Matsuda nodded heavily, like he completely understood, but I still felt the need to clarify, “Keep your mouth shut, Matsuda. Okay? No matter what happens, no matter who asks, no matter how you feel about it, you have to keep your mouth shut.’

A sardonic smile curled suddenly on his lips, and he locked gazes with me. “How’d I know you’re gonna keep your mouth shut, Ai?”

Astounded, we all stared at him. Ide choked and suddenly put his cigarette out, cursing to himself.

“It won’t do me any damn good to implicate you. It wouldn’t benefit any of us.” I stared hard at him, wondering where the distrustful thought had even come from. “You need to get that idea out of your mind right now, Corporal.”

For a little bit, he looked back at me, testing how much I meant any of that, and then he shrugged, all too flippantly. “I just don’t really think it matters, Ai.”

“Great,” Ide muttered. “He’s completely loaded.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?” I demanded.

Again, Matsuda just shrugged. “Well, ‘cause Kira’s justice an’way, right? He kills evil people, an’ I shot ‘im. Tha’ mus’ mean I’m evil.”

“That’s not exactly how that works.”

“But,” he went on, like I hadn’t spoken, “that means nobody’s gonna care wha’ happened ta Kira or who shot ‘im. They’ll all ‘sume he’s comin’ back ta punish me, so it doesn’t matter. If they know. If they don’ know… Who really cares?”

“Matsuda,” I said firmly, “Kira is dead.”

“I know that, Aizawa,” he said with a tone of great sobriety. “But as long as we’re gonna hide what really happened to him, we’ll always be the only ones who know it for a fact.”

It was a strangely astute observation for him to have made, and it kept us all silent for a long while afterwards.

Matsuda jerked the whiskey bottle back from me, muttering, “And I paid for this,” as he filled his glass to the brim, but I noticed his hand was shaking.

“So,” Mogi said in a little while, softly, and finished off his whiskey, “plead ignorance on all accounts.”

“I don’t know how we can manage it,” Ide groaned as he lit another cigarette.

Dully, I said, “For now, we just have to try and maintain.”

Mogi looked seriously at me. “Let’s assume there’s a scenario in which we have no choice but to tell people which one of us shot Kira.” He slid a look at Matsuda from the corner of his eye. “That is…if we have to tell them one of us shot Kira, there may come a day when we’re forced to disclose the truth. What then?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, at a loss. “We have to assume Near won’t go to great lengths to cover for us. Nobody deserves to take the fall for Matsuda’s mistake…”

I lingered over that word, trying to decide whether or not it truly had been a mistake. Obviously, he’d been overcome by anger—righteous anger—and Light had been trying to kill us. One might even call that self-defense. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let Matsuda be destroyed over something like that, but I had very little power when it came to protecting him. “I guess,” I said finally, “in the event that we really have no choice, admitting that it was Matsuda is the only decent thing to do.”

Those words felt like bricks as I spoke them. I had to admit, I did want to protect him.

Ide ashed his cigarette and said, gravely, “I think that’s the best we can do, Shuichi.”

A little while longer, we sat there, the three of us finished our glasses, and Matsuda polished off the bottle he’d purchased; I’d lost count of how many whiskey doubles he’d drank, but by the time we decided we couldn’t hash out anything more and that the rest would have to be played by ear, he was stumbling drunk, making a fool of himself.

First, he fell off his stool, laughing and writhing on the floor, like he couldn’t manage to pick himself up, and by the time I went around to offer him my hand, and Mogi was grabbing him under one arm, the bouncer came to eighty-six him.

He was a giant, muscular man with a permanent scowl, apparently not in the mood for any nonsense. Heaving Matsuda to his feet, I got in his way. “We’re leaving,” I told him, thinking to myself I wasn’t in any mood to watch some ape toss my corporal into the street.

From there, Matsuda stumbled outside and shambled down the sidewalk, chatting to himself some indecipherable nonsense about how he hadn’t been out like this in a really long time, saying we should hit the next bar we came to and just stay out all night, like a damn college kid.

So that he didn’t wander out into the street like an idiot, I kept a close eye on him. For six years, he’d been easy to manage. He said a lot of stupid things without thinking, and he put a lot of dumb plans into action without running them by anyone, but he was an ideal subordinate in that, usually, a stern word got him back in line with very little effort. But he’d surprised the hell out of me more than once today, and, I had to admit, I wasn’t sure how to deal with him when he was like this.

“Drinks were a bad idea,” Ide decided, lighting his newest cigarette. “I didn’t know he was going to go so over the top.”

Maybe we should have known. He was obviously disturbed by what he’d done, and so was I. I never would have thought cheerful, dip shit Matsuda could be capable of such rage and violence, but as much as I wished he hadn’t shot Light, I wondered what would have happened if he didn’t. Possibly, one of Near’s people would have intervened; I’d noticed they were armed. But I wondered if Near had had a back up plan for that piece of the notebook Light kept hidden in his watch. Possibly, without Matsuda’s reactionary thinking, Near would have been killed.

I’d almost sacrifice that, I thought. Sure, it wasn’t right, trading someone’s life for my own peace of mind, but we had a real problem now, and I wasn’t even sure Matsuda completely understood that. Besides, I had to admit, his behavior worried me.

We reached the car, but Matsuda stumbled a ways past it before I called, “Hey! Slow down!”

“Hell,” he slurred, turning to me and walking backwards, blazer slung over his shoulder. “All day it’s been, keep up, Matsuda, now ya tell me ta slow down?”

“You passed the car,” I told him, jogging out to retrieve him and haul him back. Stashing him in the back seat, I went around to the passenger’s side.

“Better take him home,” I told Ide, as he started down the street. “He’ll have to pick up his car later.”

We drove a moment in silence before he acknowledged that I’d said anything, and then it was just to murmur, much gentler than I was used to after twenty years of listening to him be cynical, “Someone just tell me it’s over. I…need to hear that.”

“It’s over, Hideki,” I assured, matching his tone. “For the most part, at least.”

He sighed. “I didn’t know what we were getting into today. I knew Light could be Kira…but I really didn’t want to think he was.”

Behind me, Mogi said, “No one wanted Light to be Kira.”

“No, but I feel like I wound up on the wrong side of history today.”

“Could be worse,” I told him, matter-of-factly. After all, Ide hadn’t felt angry enough to kill somebody.

Maybe I could have tired harder to convince the two of them that Light was Kira; I hadn’t seen the point at the time—after all, they weren’t looking at the evidence in the same light I was—I hadn’t wanted to actively try to turn my teammates against Light, especially not if I turned out to be wrong. Still, maybe if I’d done things differently, we could have avoided today’s bloodbath, and at least then our cover up operation would be twice as easy. Those damn bullet wounds were going to make my life miserable, I just knew it.

Getting Matsuda’s address out of him was hard enough without also getting the directions. Once, he gave us an old address, and we drove more than halfway there before he jerked upright in his seat and practically shouted, “What are we doin’ over here? I haven’t lived in that place for three years.”

Ide drew a sharp breath, and I knew he had to try pretty hard not to lose his temper as he explained, “This is the way you told me to go.” And then he had to whip a u-turn, while Mogi asked a number of times to get the correct location.

By the time we reached his apartment, Matsuda had all but passed out in the back seat, barely mumbling when we tried to talk to him, so we sat a moment, still wrestling with the day’s events.

In time, I said, “After I get the word from Near tomorrow, I’ll let Light’s family know…” It felt wrong not to tell them tonight—my duty conflicting with my sense of compassion and the unusual situation—but until the body was presentable, we didn’t dare hand it over to Sachiko. “Until then, nobody say anything to anyone.”

Ide and Mogi muttered their agreements.

“Matsuda,” I called, when he didn’t speak up, “go home.”

“I think he’s unconscious,” Mogi explained.

Grumbling to myself, I got out and went around to Matsuda’s door, but when I opened it, he just blinked and looked around like he had no idea where he was. “I’ll be right back,” I told the other two, as I took hold of his arm and dragged him out of the seat. And then, the whole way up to his apartment, I had to fight to keep him upright and not let his weight knock me over.

Just when I was beginning to finally feel extremely irritated with his irresponsible behavior, he suddenly blurted out, “Hey, Aiz’wa?” and even jerked, like he’d just woken up.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I…I shot him… I can’t believe it. But I did. I shot him.”

That, I had to admit, doused most of my annoyance outright.

“I know,” he went on, slurrily, “we’re fucked ‘cause of it… I dunno…wha’ happened. How I could do that.”

“You were angry,” I said, far too dismissively for the subject at hand.

Matsuda whispered, “Yeah… But still. How could I do that? I completely lost control…now he’s gone. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

One arm still around his waist, I pulled him a little closer, telling myself it was just to balance him better, not because I felt sorry. “It’s okay, Matsuda. It’s over.”

“’S’not okay,” he argued, drunkly. “I shot him. God. Why’d I do that?”

“It’ll be okay,” I told him again, even though I knew it wouldn’t. I just didn’t know what the fuck else to say.

At his door, it took forever for Matsuda to locate his keys, and then he dropped them, but finally he got it open, letting us into a small, surprisingly neat apartment, where the only signs of living were the mug on his coffee table and a blue, Wacko Maria jacket draped over the back of his couch.

Somewhat surprised, I turned to study him as he kicked off his shoes, braced dizzily against the wall. “You live here alone?” I wondered.

He blinked at me. “Yeah?”

I didn’t know how to tell him I’d really expected to find dirty underwear and empty pizza boxes scattered everywhere, and it made me realize I’d never given him enough credit, not from the beginning. Today, he’d blown a pen out of Light’s hand, and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d expect to be able to do that, especially not in the heat of rage.

Whether he was proud of it or not, I felt deeply impressed with him.

“C’mon.” I jerked his arm back over my shoulder and half carried him down the hallway, where I assumed the bedroom must be.

“Aiz’wa…” he muttered. “What’re we s’posed t’ do now?”

“What do you mean? The investigation’s over.”

“’Xactly. No more goin’ to headquarters. No more huntin’ Kira. No more Ligh…”

“That’s a good thing.”

I’d tried to say it optimistically, but Matsuda shook his head. “It’s fucked up,” he whispered. “No more Kira…tha’s good… But no more Ligh… That seems bad.”

In a way, humanity had lost a great asset, and I just felt so furious that Light had to waste his life playing god and killing people when he could have been out there making a difference, the way his father had.

Shoving the door open, I slung Matsuda, carefully, onto the bed, and he collapsed into the pillow like his head weighed a ton, still mumbling about Light.

“Look,” I sighed, jerking the blankets up over him more out of habit than anything, “it’ll be okay, Matsu… Just…get some sleep.”

Already, he seemed to have passed out, so I turned to go, but halfway down the hall, I hesitated to look back, and something troubled trembled inside me, inexplicably, like ripples through deep water. For a moment, it even crossed my mind that maybe he shouldn’t be alone, that maybe the bizarre and morbid things I’d seen him do all day were only the tip of the iceberg, and his mind might be even messier than I realized. After all, if angry Matsuda could so unforgivingly gun down a friend and profess that he wanted, without question, to kill him—not for justice or a sense of duty, but out of pure vindictiveness, fury, and hurt—what might he turn to assuming he became depressed? It might be good if I stayed and talked with him tomorrow, when his mind had cleared some, and assessed his real condition.

Then, though, I decided, that was just the cop side of me talking, trained to detect danger, more than used to talking people down from ledges. Surely, Matsuda would be fine.

Who knew, though?

I desperately wanted to see my family after a day like this one, to remind myself that there was still good in the world.

He might need me, and that was a feeling I couldn’t ignore.

Heavily sighing, I went back to the bedroom to shake his shoulder.

Barely awake, he turned over to stare up at me. “Nnyeah?”

“Hey,” I said quietly, trying not to be Captain Aizawa for a moment, trying to be just Shuichi. “Look…it’s gonna be okay, all right?”

“Mmhm,” Matsuda agreed, closing his eyes again.

“But, if for some reason it’s not…if you need me…call me. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled against the pillow.

I’d call him tomorrow anyway, I told myself. This was bad, and I’d be a fool to let it get out of hand.

“Okay,” I said again.

Touching his shoulder one last time, I turned and left.

#writing #fanfiction #death note #touta matsuda #matsuda touta #shuichi aizawa #aizawa shuichi #i'm drunk #drunk editing

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sofreddie · 7 years ago

Text

The Winchester Way - Part 17

Summary: Dean/Bobby and Benny/Reader discuss the history of The Way and The Five Tenets.

Characters: Dean, Bobby, Reader, Benny, John

Word Count: 3,109 (Sorry, but it couldn’t be broken up)

Warnings: Angst, Mild Torture, Mentions of Injury

A/N: HEED THE WARNINGS!!! Every “society” has a basic set of rules to live by. So I made a set of rules, pulled from several different sources, and present The Five Tenets of The Way. I didn’t want to just “spit them out”, so I tried to convey it in a way that was informative, entertaining, and also showed growth and passage of time with the characters as they learn to apply The Tenets in practical ways. (I’m overly ambitious, leave me alone! lol). As always, feedback is appreciated. : ) If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee.

Series Masterlist

Previously…

“It is, and we don’t have much time. From what Sam and Bobby told me, things are getting really out of hand since the Gauntlet. We need to make sure you can handle whatever comes. Your the last Y/L/N Elite, Y/N...we can’t afford to lose an entire legacy bloodline. Unless,” he added, “that’s what you want.”

Y/N suddenly felt the overwhelming pressure. The pressure not only to survive and escape this Hell, but also the pressure of living up to her name and legacy. Benny was giving her the chance to choose in or out, and she had run out of time to decide. She remembered her father in the arena. She remembered John killing him in front of everyone. The images playing through her mind in slow motion. She remembered her last words to him, and her promise at the Gauntlet. No matter how much she wanted out, the right thing to do was to stay. To fight. To do what her father couldn’t, wouldn’t do.

“I’m in, Benny.” She sighed, looking him in the eye. “Where do we start?”

“Y/N, Sugar, you okay?” Benny asked, standing across the motel room from Y/N. They had just returned from a hunt, Y/N’s first, and she wasn’t taking it too well.

“Okay? OKAY?!” She shouted, spinning around to face Benny, her face red with rage. “We just killed a werewolf. A freakin’ werewolf! And you!” She screeched, trying to catch her breath.

“Right, so I know it’s all a bit shocking-”

“Shocking?! I expected it wasn’t going to be pleasant fighting creatures. I expected it would be painful and scary and that I’d probably get hurt. But what I didn’t expect was the Hunter I was working with to spin around after the kill with a mouthful of fangs! You’re a-”

“A vampire?” Benny finished for her. He sighed, taking a seat at the small table, opening a box and removing first aid items. “No secret, Sugar.” He sighed heavily, looking over at Y/N. She stood uneasy, her arms wrapped around her in a protective gesture. “Come on, sit, have a drink. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” He held his hand out, gesturing her towards the table. She hesitated, glancing between his hand and the empty chair across from him.

She walked across the room slowly, making her way to the chair. Benny moved his seat next to Y/N’s, sliding the supplies over with him.

“I-I can do it.” She muttered, trying to move back from Benny. He flashed her a glare before grabbing her left arm and cleaning several of the cuts and scratches. He continued in silence and Y/N could do nothing but watch him. He reached for her right shoulder, where there were deeper cuts and winced in empathy.

“These need stitches.” He grabbed a bottle, slamming it on the table in front of her. “Drink, it’ll help with the pain.” Y/N’s eyes went wide realizing she was about to experience “field medicine”. She had studied it briefly in the library, Kevin always telling her she never knew when it would come in handy. After several swallows of the harsh and strong liquor, Benny grabbed the bottle and splashed some over her open gashes. She gasped in pain. As it began to subside, Benny started in on the stitches.

“You’re tough. I’ll give you that.” He offered, focusing carefully on his task. “You did good. You followed instructions, naturally understood formation and positioning.”

“Why-” Y/N started, unsure how to word thoughts. Benny stopped for a moment to smile and nod, urging her on. He continued with stitching the second of three gashes. “Why did you do - what you did - after -”.

“You mean after we killed the werewolf?”

“Yeah. I mean, you knelt down and took your cap off. It was like you were paying respects to a friend.”

“Act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures.” He spoke in reverent tones. “The second tenet of The Way.”

“Tenet?” Y/N had never heard of such a thing about The Way. Benny sighed, finished his work, and cleaned the mess.

“Your probably familiar with Winchester law.” He scoffed. “Hunters do not kill other Hunters. All enemies, especially enemies of The Way, are met with swift justice. And,” he thought for a second, worrying his bottom lip as he tried to recollect, “oh, and Winchesters are the final authority in all matters. That about sum it up?” He raised his brow, frowning when she nodded.

Benny let his eyes wander over Y/N’s features, his gaze tender. “Many, many years ago,” he smirked playfully, “I was a new vampire and I was part of a nest. I had a falling out, let’s say, with my maker. They were going to kill me. Then a pair of Hunters broke into the nest and killed everyone, every vampire.” He paused, seemingly letting himself remember it all. Y/N swallowed hard, eager to know more.

“So what happened?” She pressed. Benny shook himself from his mind and smiled at her once more.

“Uh, well, I watched in silence. They hadn’t seen me in the cage. They both knelt beside each body with a moment of silence before setting to clean the mess and destroy the evidence. I got their attention then. One of them came over to me, the other stood at a distance, ready to defend his partner if necessary. All really textbook actually…” He scratched his head and shrugged. “So the first Hunter opened the cage, saw I was a vampire and questioned me. I told them what happened. And then...” Benny laughed. “Then he introduced himself and offered his hand to me.”

Y/N’s brows raised in surprise. “He knew what you were?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he knew. He let me go. Said it wasn’t a fight between them and I. Told me not to get caught, by Hunters or creatures, and let me go.”

“They let you go?”

“Yeah. I ran into the first Hunter later on.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” She practically pleaded in a whisper. Benny was hurt but also understood why she might feel that way.

“No, I didn’t. I saved him. He was under attack and I helped him. He thanked me and introduced himself as William Y/L/N.”

“But that’s-”

“Your great-grandfather.” Benny finished. “He taught me about The Way, about the life of a Hunter. He took me under his wing and guided me. I’ve been working for The Y/L/N and throughout this region since.”

“So, the tenets?” Y/N was managing to keep up, surprising even herself, if not a bit overwhelmed by it all.

“When John was first named as Leader, after passing The Trials, he was humble. He was dedicated to The Way, to making it stronger and better than before. He was promising.” Benny rubbed a hand down his face and let out a breath. “Then Mary went all crazy after a hunt. John changed. His light and spirit seemed diminished somehow. And Allen left. None of the Elites had ever just, left. John was lost without him for a while, to be honest.”

Y/N felt ashamed. Ashamed for her father, for his abandoning The Way. There was something to be amazed by, this whole other world. To have a family legacy tied to something that was once so great and pure seemed like a dream. The more she learned, the more she wanted it, believed in it. The way Benny believed in it. Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter what he was, just who he was. He was a brave and wise man.

“When John changed, the rules changed. The old tenets were erased, removed. The Way was changed from a noble cause to being at the whims of a sadistic tyrant!” Benny tried to compose himself, fighting back the outburst and the remaining rage he held within. “The tenets are our way of life.”

“What are they?” Y/N leaned forward on her seat, eager to learn more. Benny smiled in spite of himself at her strength, courage, and willingness to learn.

“What is the first tenet of The Way?” Bobby asked, waiting for Dean’s answer. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness. In his delay, Bobby gave him a small shock, snapping Dean’s to attention. He growled and glared at Bobby and adjusted in his seat.

“Hunters do not kill other Hunters.” Dean spat.

“Or?” Bobby pressed. Dean’s eyes went bath and forth as he searched his mind.

“Or cause them harm through action or inaction.” Dean finished.

“Good. Now, what’s the second?”

“What are you getting at here? I know John’s laws!” Dean clenched in pain as Bobby sent a hard shock through the collar.

“There’s five original tenets.” Benny spoke to Y/N as they drove to the next hunt. “You already know the first. The second, which I mentioned is ‘Act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures’.”

“So that’s why the Hunters helped you. Why you do it too.” Y/N understood. A way of honoring all life. So contradictory to what she had seen exhibited at The Bunker.

“Just because we hunt, we kill, we save people, doesn’t mean we have to be heartless. Doesn’t mean we can’t offer some level of respect.”

“Like how warriors would honor their fallen foes in battle.” Y/N whispered, more to herself, in awe. Again, it made sense. And again, it made her glad she stayed.

Dean was desperately sleep deprived, beyond exhausted. Every time he would fall asleep, Bobby was there to wake him with a mid-range shock. The room was unusually warm, the light bright and harsh, stinging Dean’s eyes.

A few days after Bobby had collared Dean, Dean had cracked. Bobby riddled him with information. The histories of The Way, the tenets, the way things were supposed to be. He told Dean truths he didn’t know. About hunts, his father, vile things John had done in the name of The Way for his own personal gain. Dean’s guilt began to eat at him and then Bobby reminded him of every time he spoke up, every beating he took. He reminded him of being locked away, of what John had done to Y/N and others. And what he did to Sam.

That’s when he broke. After Y/N broke the necklace and Sam got his Soul back, Bobby talked to him privately. Sam felt, for whatever reason, that he could trust Bobby. So he told him all he remembered. That’s what made up Bobby’s mind that enough was enough. It’s also what cracked Dean and made him agree to intensive training at the hands of Bobby, to better prepare him to be the leader they all needed him to be. Dean had done his fair share of questionable things. But he never betrayed family. He would never do something like that if he were lucky enough to have children. Even in his darkest mind set, some things you just don’t do. And stealing the Soul of your son to make him compliant and controllable? To Dean, it was unforgivable. It was enough to shock him back to the reality in which they were facing.

“What’s the third tenet?” Bobby demanded. Dean’s mind was groggy, he couldn’t focus. He could only yearn for sleep. Dean muttered something incomprehensible and Bobby issued another minor shock.

“Ugh,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth, “Compassion, widsom, a-and justice,” Dean’s head lolled to the side as his mind desperately tried to shut down for sleep. Bobby shocked him again and Dean jolted to attention once more. “Compassion, wisdom, and justice should always prevail over the written or spoken word.” Dean spat out as quickly as he could. After which, he let out a long breath, his body going lax in the chair to which he was bound.

“You’re a little late to the party!” The male Hunter sneered, addressing Benny and Y/N. They had found the location of the Ghouls taking residence in a small town. Just as they arrived, the other Hunter had finished killing the family of three.

“Bill! Good to see you’re doin’ well.” Benny offered, shaking the man’s hand. “This is Y/N.” Benny gestured to Y/N as she too shook Bill’s hand. “Y/L/N.” Benny added with a glare, noting his friend now hungrily eyeing Y/N. Bill took a step back in surprise, nodding between her and Benny.

“Need help?” Benny offered, gesturing to the corpses. Bill shook his head, kicking one of them in the torso.

“Nah, I got it.” He smirked. Y/N growled.

“Act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures.” She confidently recited to Bill. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. Y/N glanced at Benny who lightly shrugged and looked at her, waiting for her action. Y/N lunged forward, grasping Bill’s arm, twisting it behind his back, and forcing him to kneel beside the corpse.

“You will show your respect to your fallen enemies.” She ground out. Bill relented, closing his eyes in a moment of silence. Y/N released him and stepped back to Benny’s side. Benny nodded at her and she looked back to Bill as he rose.

“It’s a new era, Bill. A return to values.” Benny cheerily stated. Bill turned his attention to the corpses and Benny and Y/N walked back to the truck and climbed inside.

“Friend of yours?” Y/N joked, smirking at Benny. He smiled back, always enjoying their conversation and Y/N’s company.

“That was pretty impressive, I must say.”

“See what is right and fair, or the converse, in the behavior exhibited by others, and uphold the righteousness and the moral disposition to do good.” Y/N quoted the fourth tenet with pride, smiling to herself. In the three weeks since she’d left the Bunker, she had changed completely. Benny taught her The Way, the tenets. He guided her in hunting and would critique her after. He was kind, intelligent, and very skilled. He inspired her to want to live up to The Way, to be a part of something greater than herself. She wanted this, believed in it. She smiled at Benny again as his attention was on the road. She let her gaze wander over his crisp, blue eyes and the salt-and-pepper scruff on his face. She felt grateful, and lucky, to have him by her side.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Dean complained to Bobby, holding his head in his hands. “Nearly every day I have to face him, to pretend that I don’t care, that I’m disconnected. And every day he says or does something else that make me wants to, to-” Dean was going red with anger, struggling to formulate his thoughts.

“John needs to believe you’re still in his corner. The element of surprise is all we have on him right now.” Bobby added. “He will pay for his crimes against The Way, according to The Way.”

Dean nodded and let out a breath. “I know. I know, Bobby. But how much more chaos and cruelty are we willing to accept until we strike?” He passionately argued.

“Right now, our focus is on making you the best leader The Way has ever had. To lead the next generation forward. To continue making the world safer.”

Dean shook his head and frowned. “I’m no leader.” Dean stated. “The community deserves far better than me.” He whispered under his breath. Bobby stood, placing a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“That’s exactly why you’ll be a good leader, Dean. You’ve seen the dark, you’ve seen the light. You believe in The Way now. You’ll carry the traditions forward and bring The Way back to its former glory. You, Sam, Y/N, and all of the other next gen Elites.” Bobby moved behind Dean, unlocking the collar that Dean had wore for the past month. Dean rubbed at his neck, the absence of the collar unfamiliar.

A knock and the door swung open. John entered closing the door behind him. He walked over and shook Bobby’s hand with a smile, then turned and looked over Dean. Dean immediately stood from his chair at attention, awaiting his father’s instructions. He felt a ghostly pinch on his neck and did his best to not acknowledge it.

“How’s our boy doing?” John asked, almost cheery, as he wore clear exhaustion on his face.

“He’s ready to start training for The Trials.” Bobby offered, crossing his arms across his chest. Dean could feel the stares from both men. John moved to Dean, standing in front of him and placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders.

“Just eight months and my son will take over leadership of The Way.” John beamed with pride. “Tell me Dean,” John said, stepping back and tugging on his lip in thought, “what are the laws that you will be sworn to uphold?” John raised his brows, waiting for Dean’s response. Dean fought off the ghostly feel of pinching in his neck and the churning of his stomach.

“Hunters do not kill other Hunters.” Dean stated, flashes in his mind of John killing Rufus and Allen. “All enemies are met with swift justice.” He gritted his teeth, trying to sound as though he believed what he was saying. “Winchesters are the final authority in all matters.” Dean wanted to pounce on John, spring on him like a lion and scream of how he violated The Way. How he violated his own laws. But he couldn’t. He needed to be patient, to bide his time. It wasn’t only his skin on the line if he messed up. It was him, Sam, Y/N, Bobby...justice would have to wait.

“We’ll start study and training for the trials soon.” Bobby chimed in, drawing John’s keen attention from Dean. John smiled again, all teeth, as he hugged his friend and went on with his day.

“You ok there, Son?” Bobby asked, eyeing up Dean. Dean glanced long at the closed doorway, his heated gaze practically burning holes through its surface.

“We do not recognize an authoritarian hierarchy,” Dean chanted to himself, “but do honor those who teach,” his voice became more steady and sure as he spoke, “respect those who share their greater knowledge and wisdom, and acknowledge those who have courageously given themselves in leadership.” He finished, squaring his shoulders. Bobby drew Dean’s attention once more.

“Are you ready to give yourself to your people, Dean?”

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