#and vaccines are a work of the devil

[storyuntrue]

my energy is minimal, so i come here, i report bot blogs, i scroll a bit and i leave.

[greasedcowboy]

Choice paralysis is killing me. I want to write,,,, but what to write. I'd started a bunch of lil fics for serennedy week which I never got finished in time and they're all haunting me from my docs aaaaagh.

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 1

Content: Violence, Murder, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Kidnapping, Threats, Mild Pet Play, the One (1) use of an ableist slur

It’s the middle of October when Soap convinces you to go camping.

Autumn has sunk its teeth deep into the countryside, bleeding green from the trees and leeching warmth from the days. Deep shadows and lengthening nights are cold enough to condense breaths into pillows of steam. All of the little critters are fattening up and bedding down for a frigid winter, prepared to be snowed into burrows and dens until spring pries away the ice.

Your hip already aches through the first half of your morning exercises. The ghosts of splintered shrapnel prick beneath tender scar tissue until the rust of sleep flakes away. Lying on hard, cold ground sounds like a one-way ticket to agony. You’d much rather be one of those fluffy bastards curling up to hibernate. You tell Soap this on Monday when he initially proposes the idea.

Besides, you add, trying not to chug your coffee, Soap’s in no condition to be fucking about in half-frozen woods either. Not with his finicky nerve pain.

On Wednesday, when you meet up again, he takes a different route. It’s been too long since you two last dipped into a civilian-appropriate but military-adjacent activity. Paintball, knife-throwing, base-jumping…

Your bed is starting to feel too soft and too big again. The city is loud but not the right way. The tedium of self-imposed routines is starting to grate on nerves still tuned for combat. If you don’t get out before the trap of winter snaps closed, you might go mad. You can see it in Soap’s eyes too, a manic glint behind glass blue.

But still. Camping feels too much like what you’ve just left – the shrinks probably wouldn’t approve. Not that you’d ask them.

On Friday, Soap offers a compromise. His grandfather (“Seanair”) left him an old hunting cabin out in the countryside. Nothing luxurious, but it’s got a fireplace, cots, kitchenette, bathroom. It’ll be more like holing up in a safehouse than roughing it for a mission. More importantly, it’ll be gentler on your battle-worn bodies.

That next Monday, you meet him at the café with supplies packed and an honest anticipation for a week off the grid.

*

“Yoohoo! Any murderers about?” Soap calls. “Any armed psychos? An angry raccoon, perhaps?”

You scowl, caught behind him in the doorway. “I thought you checked it out already?”

“Aye, but ye ne’er ken,” he reasons, shrugging. He shuffles in as you nudge him. “We’ve the luck o’ the devil, you an’ I.”

You snort as you start kicking off your shoes. “True enough, I s’pose.”

“Course, I like our odds against any weirdo wi’ a knife, don’ you?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Not so sure about a raccoon though. Think we’d be fucked.”

“Och, tha’s right. I remember your lectures about rabies.”

“Good.”

You snicker at his grimace, likely feeling the phantom sting of vaccines.

The cabin is cute, honestly. There are only three rooms – the living room/kitchenette, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom is small enough that you could stretch your arms across the width of it and touch both walls, but it’s got a working shower so you’ve no complaints. The bedroom has a dresser and a nightstand, plenty for you and Soap.

While you set to work putting the groceries away, Soap putters about opening windows and making up the beds. The two of you don’t immediately have much to talk about, considering how often you see each other and the long drive out. It’s alright, though, you’ve long grown comfortable in stretches of silence together.

Once settled in, you suggest a walk to explore the area. Part of it is genuine interest in appreciating nature before the sun sets early. But there’s also a large, paranoid part of you (sounding like your old captain) that demands you get your bearings. Just in case.

There’s a loch about a mile from the cabin, a beautiful sheet of dark glass big enough for decent fishing. You’re able to see the row of holiday homes on the other side but wouldn’t be able to see any people on their docks out there. You and Soap follow a deer trail for a way, exchanging stories of your respective childhoods.

No surprise that John MacTavish was a wild child with a rebellious streak that got him in trouble more often than not. He gets you laughing bright and easy before long, and for once it doesn’t feel like playacting as a Normal Functioning Person.

When the sun starts to skim the evergreens, you return to the cabin. You start up a pot of cheesy mac while Soap gets the fire going, pyromaniac that he is. Once it’s burning nicely, he starts closing up the windows. Not too soon either – the temperature is starting to dip and twinging at your hip, unhappy from sitting in the car so long.

The two of you hum over empty carbs and excess dairy by the fire, a glass of scotch for each of you. When you’ve had your fill, he washes the dishes, you pour another round, and the two of you settle together on the old sofa.

“Almost been a year,” Soap says after a while.

You sigh through your nose, stare into the dwindling pool of amber in your hand. “Three more weeks.”

“You miss it too.”

Against your will, your eyes slide sideways, to the hand he’s clenching and unclenching on his thigh. There’s a wicked line of scar tissue beneath the sleeve of his shirt where the surgeons salvaged what they could. Mostly successful too, apart from the damaged radial nerve that ruined his career.

“So much, Soap, fuck.”

You didn’t mean to say that. You’re supposed to be the healthy one here, encouraging this necessary and healthful change to your lives.

As if reading your mind, Soap hums, bumps his elbow into your ribs. “No shame in it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know what I miss.”

“Feeling useful, I reckon. Feeling… necessary,” he muses, subdued.

It’s insightful but too accurate. Too selfish. You rub your thumb over the lip of your glass.

“I hate that I can’t keep an eye on Price and Gaz,” you say. “Feels like I’m always waiting to hear the worst, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “I ken.”

*

The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch. Soap, sitting up with his sketchbook, and you folded into the corner against the arm, book pages fluttering between lax fingers. At some point, the cramped position aches enough to wake you. Your eyes flutter open, low fire throwing long, deep shadows across the wooden wall.

Something is watching from the window.

You jolt up, hand reaching for the gun you no longer carry on your thigh. The movement jostles Soap awake as well. It involuntarily draws your eye, just a fraction of a second. But the haunting shadow is gone by the time you turn back.

That’s not enough for you. You roll to your feet, hiss as your knee threatens to give. But you manage to get your balance and snatch your combat knife from your boot as you storm towards the door.

“Kit? Kit! The fuck is going on?!” Soap calls.

“Saw something!” you reply.

There’s a flashlight hanging by a hook next to the door. You grab it as you burst out into the chilly air, tensed for a fight. A quick sweep of the front yard and immediate tree line reveals nothing. Steps soft and careful, you approach the side of the house, expertly gripping your knife.

“On your six,” Soap breathes behind you.

“Copy.”

You round the corner, eyes scanning the trees, the brush. There’s no movement, no suspiciously rustling branches. You tilt your head, listening for anything past the normal sounds of the night. But there isn’t even an unusual silence in the dark world around you.

“Just a dream, then,” you sigh.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Unusual, though. Your nightmare-induced hallucinations usually conjure guns in your face or teammates bleeding out on the floor. Not strange figures at the windows. Still, you can hear the explanation of your shrink trying to soothe you. Middle of the night after drinking, in a new and atmospheric environment. Plus, there’s been all that fuss on the news about a serial killer; nowhere near you and Soap, mind, but still. Subconscious or some shite.

“Let’s do a sweep anyway,” Soap says.

Your chest warms. “Alright.”

Naturally, there’s nothing. Soap only gives you a one-armed hug as you return to the cabin. One final check of the interior – since you did leave the door open when you rushed out – and then the two of you turn in for bed.

*

The next day starts lazy and slow. A strange reprieve from your body’s military-trained urge to wake early. It’s nice, though, to snuggle beneath the covers with Soap’s soft snores only a few meters away. You play pre-downloaded games on your phone while you wait for him to wake, enjoying the lie in.

Breakfast is enjoyed on the little porch out front; you bundled up in a woolen throw while you sip coffee. It’s shaping up to be an unusually sunny day, and you agree to a longer hike around the loch before lunch. When you return, you settle on the porch again to read while Soap chops wood.

Which, well.

You don’t mind a bit of entertainment between pages… or paragraphs… or…

Soap hasn’t neglected his physique at all since the discharge. All corded muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. Watching the bunch and release of his arms has always been a guilty pleasure of yours, and so blessedly indulged during training sessions in the 141.

You try not to sigh and drool over it (him) like a repressed Victorian.

“Ach, fer fucks…”

You snap to attention, book set aside. “Is your arm acting up?”

He’s set the hatchet down, grabbing at his elbow with a pinched expression.

“Aye,” he grumbles.

You trot to his side, pleased that he still instantly submits to your care. He lets you manipulate his arm, prod along the nerve pathways and bunched muscles that are spasming in pain. His groan has no business being that low or rough or close to your ear. But you ignore it like you always have, focus on getting him right. Barely even register when he sets his jaw on top of your head.

A few minutes pass in silence while you try to massage away the worst of the flare up. When he finally sighs, slumping into you a little, you gently squeeze his forearm.

“Bampot,” you huff.

“Aye, I ken,” he mumbles.  “’S why I have you.”

You click your tongue. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive. Next time let me help.”

“Not on yer life.”

You pinch his side, grinning wickedly when he yelps and jerks away. Little shit. Your favorite little shit, damn him.

He allows you to help carry the firewood to the rack next to the tiny shed. It’s round back of the cabin, covered by an old blue tarp. Soap is in the lead and sees it first.

“Oh, well isn’t that pure dead brilliant,” he huffs.

“Hm?”

You peak around him and blink at the rust-colored splatters decorating the side of the shed. There’s a dark patch in the scraggly grass as well and drag marks into the trees. Clearly, some prey fell victim to the circle of life here. Recently, too, from the color of the blood.

“What do you think it was?” you ask. “There aren’t wolves here.”

“Nah, but coulda been a fox.”

You scrunch up your nose. “This close to us? Usually foxes steer clear of humans.”

“Feral dog, then, maybe.”

Maybe.

It’s a lot of blood for anything a dog or fox would risk taking down, though. Even a feral one.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. Need a coupla pills ‘fore mah arm starts taking the piss again.”

You help him stack the firewood and then follow him back to the cabin. And if you linger on the blood, your random dream, and the lingering sensation of eyes on you… well, nothing new for you.

*

It pours all of the next day. Soap says it’s good timing, that he won’t have to wash the shed himself. Both of your injuries are acting up, though, and you spend the day trying to find different positions to appease the ache in your hip. At one point, he has to help you to the shower, your leg feeling too weak to support your weight. It’s frustrating, but you’ve had nearly a year to learn to cope.

Soap lifts your spirits, though, like always. Convinces you to play Scrabble and keeps insisting that he’s just using Scottish words. It ends the way it usually does – you and him wrestling like children, trying to trap the other to determine the winner. You only just manage to get a hold of him, though he puts up a good fight. He eventually admits that “daylich” isn’t actually a word and he didn’t deserve the triple word score.

Then he breaks out a pack of biscuits as a peace offering and all is forgiven. The two of you nibble on those while watching a movie on your laptop and then shuffle off to bed.

Long after Soap has fallen asleep, you’re awake. The memory of his body against yours always leaves you feeling branded. Like the heat of him burns right through your clothes. It’s been… probably too long since you last got off. Way too long since someone else got you off. And yeah, you had a couple of shameful secret wanks around teammates back in the day, but things are different now. You’re not high on adrenaline in the military anymore. No excuse for shoving a hand down your pants.

Still, your thoughts spiral as you finally start to doze. Rough hands on your hips, your thighs, your throat. Gentle but teasing at the true strength they possess. A hot tongue along your cheek, treating you like something to savor… or to devour. A shadow looming over you, dwarfing you. Phantom sensations that you crave as much as you shy away, wanting it but knowing you shouldn’t.

The throbbing between your thighs rouses you. Sleep-addled, you give in. You’d be embarrassed of how wet you are if anyone else were to know. And of the soft, needy noise you make when your brush your fingertips between your thighs. But Soap is still snoring steadily, and the pounding of the ongoing rain makes you brave.

You stroke slowly and gently over the bundle of nerves at first, mimicking those dreamt touches. It’s almost as maddening even when it’s your own hand. Sleep is half-dragging at you, though, and you speed up, drawing tight little circles at the top, teasing lower to stoke the heat burning in your gut. Your breathing picks up, little breaths past an open mouth.

It’s really not going to take much. Not with how long it’s been, how much you want it, vague thoughts of your darkest fantasies flickering through your hazy mind. You tilt your hips down, get the pressure of your heel against your empty, aching hole. You rock a couple times, high-pitched noises caught at the top of your throat.

You come imagining a big hand around your neck choking off those sounds. Have to slap your free hand over your mouth as you shake and writhe through it. Drag your nails up your bare thigh just to balance out the unbearable pleasure. And then you go limp against the pillows, panting and shuddering through aftershocks.

When you extract your hand from beneath the blankets, you blink at the wetness coating your fingertips for a moment. If someone asked, the excuse you’d give is not touching anything with your wet hand. But truthfully, you’re just indulging in impulsive hedonism as you suck your own fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the shadows.

Then you climb out of bed for a proper cleanup, ready to finally fall asleep and definitely not think about how much quicker you came knowing that Soap was right there the entire time.

*

It’s raining on and off the next day. You and Soap take a little walk during one of the dry patches, though it’s cut short with how sore your hip still is. Soap collects more firewood from the shed, keeps the flames well fed while you putter about. Nap for an hour, start rereading one of your favorite books, watch a scary movie with him, make American flapjacks just for the sake of it.

Even though you should be feeling stir crazy, Soap has always made for good company. The day passes pleasantly into an early night, the sun standing little chance against the thick cloud cover.

You and Soap are settling in with scotch when frantic knocking interrupts the peaceful quiet.

“Help!” a ragged voice screams. “Someone please help me!”

You hardly exchange glances before the two of you are up. Soap goes for the door, gun in hand. You scramble for the ever-present medical kit that earned your call-sign, left out on the counter.

Soap yanks the door open; a man tumbles in. Middle aged, lanky build, bleeding from a long cut on his forehead. His ankle is twisted at a damning angle. You scan him for obvious weapons, but his t-shirt and muddy boxers reveal nothing but bruising and scraped skin. His hands are empty as they scrabble at the floor, trying to drag himself inside. Soap slams the door closed and locks it.

“Please!” the man cries again. “You have to help me!”

You drop to your knees beside him, already popping your kit open.

“We’re going to help you, sir,” you say evenly, “but you need to calm down.”

“You don’t understand,” the man gasps as you help him sit up. “H-He… he’s out there.”

“Who?” Soap asks, grip shifting on the gun.

“S-some psycho,” the man answers. You work easily past his shaking, getting a look at his swelling ankle. Definitely broken… with force. “In a mask.”

You blink, shoot Soap a look. Have the two of you fallen into some weird horror movie by accident?

“What did he do?” Soap asks.

“H-he attacked us with a big bloody knife.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” you ask. “Who else was with you?”

���The lads – my friends – my brother. Oh, god…” He pales further. You brace him, eyeing the packaged shock blanket peeking from your kit. “Danny is dead. There was so much blood.”

“How many?” Soap asks, voice hard. “How many of you are still alive?”

“I-I don’t know. I barely got-got away. Oh, god—”

He dissolves into tears and whimpers. You rip open the blanket and drape it around the man, then scoot down to his ruined ankle. Over his head, you frown at Soap. Something is missing here. This man was with at least three other people, but one man attacked them? There’s something to be said for shock and surprise and fear, but still…

“Soap?”

“Gonnae see if I can find survivors,” he says. “I’ll send ‘em your way if I find any. You stay here, take care of this ‘un.”

“That’s stupid,” you argue. “You can’t go by yourself!”

“No different than recon, aye? Not gonnae engage, but we cannae leave anyone bleedin’ out there.”

Your mouth twists. No, no you can’t leave civilians potentially wounded with a killer out for blood. Discharged or not (war criminals or not… and you both are, technically) you’re both too dutybound for that.

“RV here in ten and I’ll have the car ready for exfil.”

“Affirmative.”

He crosses to you, knocks your foreheads together – a pre-mission gesture you never thought you’d receive again. You close your eyes for a second, squeeze the back of his neck. Then send him off with a firm nod.

You lock the door after him, then return to the man.

“Are you two military or something?” he asks.

“We were,” you answer, “medical discharge.”

“Oh brilliant! You’re telling me that my only hope is a couple cripples?!”

You level him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m a medic with more kills than you’ve got chest hairs, understand? Shut up and brace. I need to wrap your ankle.”

He whimpers and whines and curses while you set and compress it. Nothing you haven’t heard before, vehement as it may be. Ungrateful, though, you think vaguely. Save a guy’s life and he’s calling you all sorts of derogatory names while you try to salvage his ability to walk.

“You done?” you ask, interrupting his latest stream of expletives. “I need to hear if someone is coming.”

That only shuts him up for a moment before he’s piping up again. “Do you have a weapon?”

You tug your pant leg up to show the knife strapped to your calf.

“Do you even know how to use that?!”

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, so maybe you should stop talking for a while.”

His face twists, brain turning to anger as he tries to cope with his own fear and new trauma. You don’t pay him any heed, wiping off his head and closing the still-weeping cut with butterflies. All you can hear over his wheezing is the rain outside. No footsteps or screams or, most importantly, gunshots.

With the worst two of the man’s wounds seen to, you take stock. You’re not dressed for any sort of confrontation in lounge pants and socks.

“Here. Start treating your legs and arms,” you say, pressing gauze and wound wash into the man’s hands.

“Where are you going?!” he protests.

“Need to prep to leave,” you explain. “Shout if you hear anything.”

He doesn’t look thrilled, but you’re already up and hurrying to the bedroom. You climb into a thick pair of cargos – relieved that your fashion sense hasn’t improved since the army – and a thermal shirt. Your pistol is waiting in the side pocket of your duffel, loaded and holstered. The weight of it is comforting against your thigh; you’ve missed it.

You grab the bags and carry them back to the door, check your watch. It’s only been four minutes. If Soap isn’t back in another six, you’re going out to get him yourself, injured civilian be damned. Everything you’ve gone through together; you’re not going to lose your best friend to some overdramatic wanker with a knife.

“What are you doing now?!” the man asks.

You give him another once over. He’s done a decent job prioritizing the worst scrapes and cuts, they look clean enough. Most importantly, he seems less faint than when you left. Giving him something to focus on must have helped.

“Checking the car. We’re leaving as soon as Soap gets back,” you answer.

“A-at least give me something to protect myself with!”

You try not to sigh in annoyance. What good would he even be, unable to walk and shaky on adrenaline? Still, you take pity and tug the knife from your boot, offer it to him handle first.

“Not the gun?” he complains.

“No.”

You jog out to the car, gun in one hand and duffels in the other. It’s raining again, getting harder by the moment. There’s a steady, sharp pain radiating throughout your leg, threatening to knock it out from under you. You grit your teeth as you toss the bags in the backseat and move to the ignition.

And the car doesn’t start.

“Shit.”

You don’t waste time trying it again. It should be in perfect condition; it must have been tampered with.

When you approach the house again, you hear shouting from inside. You pick up the pace, nearly skid across the wooden floor when you get there. The man is huddling up by the couch, white knuckling the knife.

“I-I heard something!”

“Where?” you demand, scanning the immediate area. Thank fuck that Soap’s seanair believed in minimalism.

“In the back.”

You frown. “The only way in is through windows back there, and those are locked.”

Right?

“I know what I heard!”

“Stay here, then.”

You click the safety off and pad the short hallway to the bedroom. Don’t bother announcing yourself, or any idiotic “who’s there”. You kick the unlatched door open and sweep through the room just like you would for a raid. The tiny lamp on the nightstand is still on, illuminating the sparse space.

You check under the first bed, then sidestep and tilt your head to check the other. Nothing.

“There isn’t—”

The window is open. The window is fucking open. How?!

You spin on your heel, just in time to see a hauntingly familiar mask bent over the gurgling body of the man. There’s no hesitation as you raise the gun and fire twice, but the killer has already rolled out of the way. Well fuck that.

You rush from the bedroom, fire another two into the couch as you round the corner. He’s a fast fucker, waiting by the wall adjacent to the hall as you exit. And he’s fucking big. Slams into your side – your bad side – like a tank. It fucks your balance, and you go down with a snarled curse, winded as all his weight lands on your much smaller frame.

On training and instinct, you slam your elbow back. There’s a crunch, a grunt of pain. But damn him, he doesn’t let up. A big hand finds yours on the gun. You yelp as he squeezes hard enough to feel the bones bend. The gun fires – bang, bang, bang. His head is right by yours, the hard edge of his mask pressing into your temple, panting in your ear.

You lash out with your other arm, though your aim is off. Instead of hitting his throat, you get his jaw instead. You plant your boot on the floor and push, trying to get out from under him. Instead, he rolls with your back against his chest. The gun clatters as he snakes a thick arm around your throat. You grab at his forearm, but you know you have no hope of matching him in strength.

You scrabble for the knife in your boot, but it’s gone.

Fuck, you gave it to—

The cabin ceiling is getting spotty.

Your fingers brush the killer’s leg, find a familiar shape tucked at the side of his boot. You snatch up the knife and drive it into his calf. He growls, but the arm on your throat blessedly disappears. You suck air, blinking past dark edges. Twist onto your front and blindly fumble for your gun.

Manage two shots right to his chest. He falls limp. You wait a beat, two. He doesn’t move again.

You click the safety on and holster the gun. And then, out of morbid curiosity, crawl closer to the body.

“Holy hell,” you breathe as you get a good look at the mask.

He’s wearing a skull over a black balaclava. Not just a prop either you realize when you tap at it. It’s real. Human. Thin cracks spiderweb along the front orbital bone, the corner of the eye socket – from where you elbowed him, you think. Beyond them, his eyes are closed and still, the skin painted black.

“Big scary fucker,” you murmur. And if you’re a bit admiring… well, it between you and a dead body. A couple dead bodies. Can’t forget about the other guy. “That was almost fun.”

“Kit!”

You jolt, barely able to hear Soap’s voice over the pounding rain, but relieved to hear it. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you get to your feet, hip protesting. You have to grab at the couch to catch your balance. Then brace yourself and walk carefully towards the door.

Your fingers are just centimeters from the doorknob when an arm wraps around your neck again. You flail, try to kick off the door, but it hardly even makes him stumble. Then there’s a sharp pinch in your arm, sibilant shushing by your ear, and the world goes dark.

*

The world comes to you in bits and pieces.

Something soft under you. A slight ache in your hip. Fabric around your bare legs. Voices? You think you recognize the rumble of Soap’s brogue, but not whoever he’s speaking to.

Soft golden light creeps past your fluttering eyelashes. Soap is sitting across the room on… a big floor cushion? You blink a couple times, adjusting your slightly blurred vision. But yep, that’s him, sitting on a gigantic pillow. And… is that his throat mic?

“Mm… John?” you call, rubbing at your eyes.

“Aye, Kit. Nice ‘n slow now. We’re alright.”

You hum and push yourself up, limbs heavy. Once you’re sitting, Soap speaks again. Gentle and calm.

“You remember what happened?”

You pause, frown. It comes to you in a slow trickle. The trip, the forest, the cabin… and then it floods back. The injured man at the door, the killer, the struggle. The ambush as you were going to meet Soap at the door.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Aye.”

You give him another once over. That’s not a throat mic; it’s a collar. A thick black leather thing, complete with a silver chain that trails off somewhere behind him. You stare for a second, bewildered.

“Don’t be jealous. You match.”

Your head whips around to the hulking figure in a doorway to your right. He’s just as imposing as you remember, tall and fucking built, dressed in all black and mask still on. The soft lighting casts spooky shadows across the eye sockets.

The words process a moment later and your hand darts up to your neck. Sure enough, there’s a wide leather band around your neck. You’ll give it this, though – you didn’t even notice it until he said something. Not too tight, comfortable even. Clearly made with long-term wear against skin in mind. There’s a chain attached to yours too and you follow it to an anchor in the wall.

“If it’s any consolation, ye look right bonnie,” Soap calls.

You snort. “’Course I do.”

The killer shrugs off the wall. You watch as he saunters closer in long, heavy strides. No point in scrambling away or trying to run – you’d have a limited radius of escape if he didn’t grab you first. Besides, you’re not about to cower to some spooky bastard with a couple dirty tricks up his sleeve.

He crouches down well within your reach, clearly not concerned about you lashing out. You tilt your head in defiance, meeting his eyes for a moment before he flicks his gaze down. He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. Not hard, but firm enough that there’s no arguing when he tilts your chin up.

Fabric brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, above and below the collar.

“Pretty kitty,” he purrs. “Glad I didn’t bruise this lovely neck.”

Two fingers press against one side a little harder, edging beneath the leather. You recognize the gesture as you swallow. He’s checking your pulse. You’re proud that it’s still steady and unhurried.

“Not scared?” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

You arch your eyebrows. “Should I be?”

His eyes flicker. “Not if you behave.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, resisting a sneer. Past his shoulder, Soap is watching with a smirk. Unharmed, you note again. He’s fine. You’re fine, despite slight soreness from the brief struggle. If there was something to be concerned about (apart from the obvious) he would have let you know right off the bat. So, you take a calculated risk.

“Yeah? And what do you consider behaving?” you ask.

The corners of the killer’s eyes crinkle. You knew enough masked men back in the military to recognize a hidden smile. He’s amused by your snarky question. Another good sign.

“Good pets obey their masters.”

You blink, breath leaving you in a soft rush. It… makes sense. Just not the answer you expected. Stupid, maybe, given the collars, leashes, and dog beds. You’ll have to blame the lingering drugs.

“There are so many shelters, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt, bewildered.

The man snorts, hooks a finger under your collar and gives an almost playful tug. An entirely instinctive part of you catches its breath. You’re glad he’s not measuring your pulse anymore.

“Those can’t talk back,” he answers simply, shrugging.

Soap barks a laugh. “Well, you’ll get what you asked for with us then.”

You grin crookedly, showing all your teeth. “And then some,” you agree, reaching up to tug the hand from your collar.

He jerks harder this time, unbalancing you towards him. You catch yourself on both hands, feel a blaze of heat across your nose and glare up at him through your lashes.

“No touching, kitten,” he says. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You try not to roll your eyes, not quite willing to push your luck too far yet. But it’s a near thing.

“Sure, let me get right on that,” you scoff dryly anyway.

He clicks his tongue, but no further retribution comes save for one last warning tug. Then he’s standing, towering over you again.

“I need a shower. You two settle in.”

And he just walks off. Like he didn’t just take two former SAS operatives as human pets. You wait until you hear distant water before turning to Soap.

“What happened?”

“Ambushed me,” he grumbles, sitting back against the wall. “Snuck up as I was trying to get you untied. Bastard is trained.”

Soap’s pouting, even though there’s an entire police case of victims who weren’t as lucky as him.

“Trained like us, you mean?”

“Aye.” Soap pauses, looking at the floor pensively, brows furrowing. “Means he had every reason and way to hurt us.”

You nod. “He had me in a hold and his knife hand free. Could have done anything with it. Let me stab him instead.”

Soap hums. “And, well, there’s a basement. Could have brought us there too, I reckon.”

He glances at the doorway the killer was lingering in when you woke. You get what he’s saying – or not saying, as it were. The two of you are hale and whole only because the killer decided to make it so. Because, as all evidence seems to suggest, he wants pets.

“You figure he means it? About… us?” you wonder.

Soap shrugs. “He’s no reason ta lie.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

“News says he’s a sadist,” you point out. “His idea of a pet might be...”

“Aye, but then why do all this?” He gestures to the big soft beds, which you know must have been a bit expensive for their size and comfortability, and the well-made leather collars. You’ve even got a blanket at your feet for the cool air. “Nae, I think even sadists miss a bit ‘o companionship now n’ then.”

You hum. Makes sense, in the part of you that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and risen up to greet it. You’ve seen plenty of shit, plenty of people, and the things they’re capable of. But even “monsters” go home to family, to hobbies, to entirely wholesome things that they enjoy just because.

That’s the hard part about war. Seeing the most depraved and evil examples of humanity and reconciling that they have qualities one can recognize in themselves.

“The plan, then?”

“Say we go along with it for now,” Soap says, shrugging. “Not like we could get free as we are anyway.”

You hum in agreement. The chain is clipped to the wall anchor by a thick padlock, and feeling at the collar earlier, you know it’s the same on the other side. The collar itself is too high-quality to come apart without something sharp. So you’re stuck. Even if you did will a lockpick into existence, you’ve no intel on the rest of the house or even where you’d go from the house.

“But listen, Kit, I’m no’ gonnae let anything happen to you. If this gets violent, I’ll tear the walls apart with my hands if I hafta.”

You smile, wish suddenly and fiercely that you could hug him. He looks like he could use it; god knows you could.

“I know, John,” you soothe. “I will too.”

He nods, jaw twitching, then sighs and sits back again. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the plan. You take an actual look at the room you’re in – a den, it seems like. A fireplace in one corner, a decent sized couch to your left. Beyond it, you can see a clean and modern kitchen. There’s a coffee table, end tables, lamps, a goddamn rug. It’s downright cozy; like something out of a magazine.

“Nice voice, though, aye?” Soap chirps suddenly, snapping your gaze back to him.

“Soap.”

“Och, don’t ‘Soap’ me,” he grumbles. “You look me in the eye and tell me tha’s no’ a voice made fer sex.”

And damn him, you can’t.

“Can’t say I was thinking about his voice when he was waving a big knife at me.”

“He can wave his big knife at—”

“I’m gonna kill you myself—” You snarl, balling up your blanket and chucking at his stupid, wiggling eyebrows.

“Oi, you two,” aforementioned sexy voice chastises from the hallway.

You wrinkle your nose as Soap grins at you, a shadow in the corner of your vision as the killer comes into the room again. He brings a cloud of clean water and bergamot. He smells good.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you hiss, dismayed.

“Problem?” the killer asks.

He’s got the mask on again (or still? You hope he doesn’t shower with it on, that’s unsanitary) but you can hear him arching an eyebrow. Stubbornly, you turn away to glare at Soap some more. It’s obvious he realizes what you’re referring to from the way he smothers a snicker, though.

Shithead.

You don’t get away with it for long before a hand is pulling your jaw up. Rough only because you resist for the briefest fraction. Once he’s got your face where he wants it, though, your captor’s grip isn’t painfully tight.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, kitten. Understood?”

Your hand twitches to grab at the hold but remember what he said about touching without permission. Stubborn as you may be, you’re not actively trying to incite violence against you or Soap. The plan is to go along with… whatever this is. So you swallow a bit of your pride.

“Understood.”

He hums like that’s not quite the answer he wanted, but it’s acceptable for now.

“Now, is there a problem?” he asks again.

“Apart from the kidnapping?” you snip. “Everything is right as rain.”

He snorts, smooths his thumb over your chin, slow and dangerous. You go still, refuse to falter but careful not to provoke further.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he muses almost to himself.

“Must have expected it,” you reason honestly, “know you watched us for a few days.”

He tilts his head, eyes eerily unblinking within the unholy shadows of the skull. “Longer’n that, pretty thing.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. Longer than the days at the cabin? How long? And how did you and Soap not notice?

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by fabric gliding over your bottom lip. His thumb threatening to slip past. You snap your jaw closed, nearly catch the tip of his finger in your teeth. He chuckles and finally releases you, making for the nearby couch.

He settles in with sigh and flicks on the TV. There on the screen is a flashing headline:

Another Ghost Victim Found.

Next

Masterlist

[hannahbarberra162]

A Negative Outcome

Oops I accidentally a one shot that's been rolling around in my brain for a while. (Edit: but wait, there's more)

On Ao3

GN!reader, Marco (no smut).

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: You go to a pirate doctor’s office hours, hoping to get help for your ankle. You get a lot more than you asked for.

CW: All hurt no comfort. Discussions of blood.

Note: I know this isn’t really how viruses work. Get vaccinated.

You sat in the makeshift waiting room, finally finishing all the paperwork you’d been handed. Putting the pencil at the top of the clipboard, you rose and limped over to a nurse wearing a micromini pink dress and thigh high leopard print boots sitting behind a small desk, handing her the forms. They’d been way more extensive than any other doctor’s office you’d ever been to, but it was only a few more minutes of your time. 

“Thank you, the doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse said, scanning your paperwork. She flipped through the first few pages quickly, continuing to read as she took your forms with her through a doorway. You sat back down on the uncomfortable chair and took your book out of your bag, flipping it open to where you'd left off. You’d been to pop-up pirate clinics before, they were a little weird but a lot of people liked them. It was an easy way for pirate crews to make money - they’d stop on an island, the crew doctor would hold office hours for cheap, and they’d be on their way after a couple of days. It was especially beneficial to islands like yours that lacked medical resources and had to do with home remedies most of the time. It also helped pirate crews maintain good relationships with islands they wanted to come back to, instead of just looting. Some people were wary, saying it was foolish to trust pirates with anything. But you’d been to one before with Dr. Trafalgar and it had been completely fine, so you hoped for the best. You’d broken your ankle the previous year and thought it healed wrong. It was hard to walk on and hurt constantly, you were hoping the doctor could fix it, or at least confirm your suspicions.

You sat patiently, not caring about the wait time. There were a lot of people waiting, most with concerns more dire than your own. You had your novel and time on your hands, as long as the doctor saw you today you couldn’t complain. You’d heard a lot about this particular doctor, Marco The Phoenix. People raved about his medical skills and knowledge, maybe even more than Dr. Trafalgar. You thought he had an unfair advantage, since his Devil Fruit power gave him the ability to heal others. Though, truthfully, you didn’t care either way. As long as he helped you, or at least tried to, you’d be happy with the result. You sat back and waited for your name to be called. Soon, the nurse working the reception desk called your name, and you followed her through the doorway. You were surprised that you were being seen so quickly, given how non-emergent your situation was, but you weren’t going to complain.

The Whitebeard doctors weren’t operating out of a real medical office, they were borrowing a house and converted it to a clinic for a few days. You had been sitting in the living room and followed the nurse to a bedroom that now had medical equipment inside. You sat down on the disposable paper covering the bed, raising your foot alongside you. Keeping it elevated sometimes helped, but not always.

“Hi, I’m Bethany, I’ll be your nurse today.” She had a blood pressure cuff in her hand and you took off your long sleeve shirt. Bethany seemed pleasant enough as she took your blood pressure, recorded your height, and followed up on your medical history. You grew up on on an island very close to Reverse Mountain on the Grand Line. As a consequence, every virus that was endemic to different Blues came through your island. And unfortunately for you, as a kid you’d caught nearly all of them. You’d spent a lot of your childhood confined to your room, which was part of the reason you loved reading so much now, since you’d spent so many hours poring over books as you lay sick in bed. You confirmed to Bethany that yes, you'd had East and West Blue Nile virus, that you’d had Sea King flu, as well as North Blue Pox and South Blue Foot and Mouth. Fortunately, that meant you had immunity to all of these viruses as an adult and hadn’t been sick in a decade. Bethany finished up her questions and routine procedures, handing you a cloth gown. 

“Go ahead and change, the doctor will be with you shortly.” You took the gown but gave her a quizzical look.

“Are you sure? My problem is with my ankle, I don’t -” Bethany smiled and cut you off. 

“Marco is a thorough doctor. Change into the gown, please.” You shrugged and agreed. Maybe you’d get a physical and orthopedic appointment for the price of one. You changed quickly, not wanting Marco to catch you half dressed, and sat back down on the bed, fiddling with the hem of the gown. You didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” you replied. A man with a mop of blond hair at the top of his head and red glasses on his face poked his head through the door.

“Good morning yoi,” replied the physician. He was just as good looking as he was in his wanted posters, you thought to yourself. He had your papers in his hands and was flipping through them much like the nurse before. “Wow, quite the list of illnesses. How are you feeling now?” He sat on a chair that was too small for his tall stature, looking at you over his glasses.

“Pretty good. I don’t get sick anymore, since I’ve had basically every virus in the world,” you joked. “But I broke my ankle last year and I don’t think it set right. There wasn’t a doctor on the island at the time and the barkeep that did it -”

Marco looked at you askance, tutting at you. “You let a barkeep set your ankle yoi?” 

“Well, yeah. There wasn’t anyone else to do it and besides, he sets everyone’s bones. I think it turned out wrong. I can’t walk that much before it starts hurting.” Marco looked at you more closely than before and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t thinking about your broken ankle. Marco set the clipboard down on the bedside table that was doubling as a medical stand and unwound his stethoscope from around his neck. You shifted backwards slightly, suddenly uncomfortable, though you couldn’t say why. You felt the urge to bolt and leave this room behind but you squashed it down. Marco had done nothing unprofessional so you forced yourself to relax. Maybe just being in the presence of a notorious pirate had you on edge, you rationalized to yourself. For his part, Marco didn’t react or mention anything and put the buds of the stethoscope in his ears and put the diaphragm of the stethoscope on your chest. 

“Deep breaths yoi,” he said to you soothingly. Your heart was racing but he didn’t remark on it. He hummed and made a note on your paperwork then moved the diaphragm to your back. The gown was partially open in the back by design, so you felt his bare hand graze your skin. You shivered, wishing you were still in your own clothes. Marco made a few more notes and wound the stethoscope back around his neck. 

“Heart and lungs are healthy,” he remarked, putting on medical gloves. Marco reached to open your gown at the back and you jumped back in surprise.

“No need to worry, just checking you for scoliosis, rashes, and palpating some organs.” You didn’t need those things, you knew you didn’t have scoliosis or a rash. But you let Marco run his fingers over your spine, check your skin, and feel your lower back and side.

“Kidneys, liver, and skin are all healthy.” Marco said after grabbing a phlebotomy kit. He opened it and arranged the vials and needles on his makeshift tray. 

“I’m glad to hear that but my ankle is what -” Marco stopped his movements, looking down at you from his superior height.

“Where do you work yoi?” Marco asked evenly, putting a vial down gently. You had a feeling this wasn’t just for casual conversation.

“Oh, um. The cobbler shop.” Marco nodded.

“I see. And when customers come to the cobbler, do they get to tell the cobbler how to fix shoes? Which tools are needed for every repair?” Your throat was dry as you answered.

“No.” Marco nodded again.

“That’s correct, they do not yoi. So just like I don’t come into your work and tell you how to fix shoes, you don’t know what’s needed in this medical appointment. Right?” He said the last word with a smile but it felt like he’d just gutted you with his words.

“Right,” you echoed back to him. He’d get to your ankle when he got to it, you guessed. Marco warmed back up after his comment and prepared you for a blood draw. 

“And you have A negative blood type, right? Pretty rare yoi. Only about 6% of people have it.” Marco tied off a tourniquet and was prodding his fingers at your veins, determining the best one to draw from. You’d always been told you had good veins, he would be able to stick you easily.

“Yeah, A negative. Is that a problem?” You didn’t know much about blood types. Sometimes you donated blood during blood drives but that was about the extent of your knowledge. 

“No, no. Not a problem yoi. A negative is the universal platelet donor type. The platelets from your type of blood will be accepted by every other type.” He was wiping down the inside of your forearm with rubbing alcohol. 

“That’s cool.” You’d never thought about it before, but that was good to know. Maybe you’d donate at the next drive, then. 

“Mm, very. Hold still.” Marco stuck you with the needle, getting into your vein on the first try. Or you assumed he did, you closed your eyes for his part and didn’t feel him redoing it. You felt the tourniquet loosen as Marco took your blood. Sitting there for a few minutes, you wondered what was taking so long. Cracking open an eye, you saw Marco had a large handful of tubes he was filling. You closed your eyes again.

“Squeamish? That’s OK, a lot of people are yoi.” Marco was filling yet another tube.

“Just a little. That’s a lot of samples,” you commented, hoping he wouldn’t snap at you again.

“Almost done, just a few more.” Marco hadn’t told you what they were for, but you figured he would when he was done. Finally wrapping up, you opened your eyes as Marco removed the needle and pressed down on the puncture site with a cotton ball. “Hold this here a moment,” he told you, indicating the cotton. You did as you were told, watching Marco deposit the vials into a container. He grabbed a bandage and removed your hand, securing the cotton ball. He called for Bethany, and gave her the vials when she appeared in the doorway.

“Full workup,” was all he said to her as she walked away. Nice, it was a full physical for you. At least you’d know your numbers. “All right yoi. Let’s check that ankle.” Finally, you thought to yourself. You showed Marco your ankle and where you thought it healed wrong.

“See, it doesn’t look right. And I don’t have my full range of motion.” You tried moving your right foot to the right, but it only went over so far. Marco picked up your foot, rolling it gently. As he manipulated and poked at your ankle, you realized your foot was smaller than his hand. He started twisting your foot slowly to the right.

“Tell me when it hurts yoi,” he murmured, continuing to move your foot.

“Ow! There, please stop.” Marco noted the angle of your foot in relation to your ankle. He sighed, picking your papers back up off the stand, making a few notes with the pencil he’d stuck behind his ear.

“I have some bad news. You’re right, your ankle didn’t set correctly when you broke it. It’s called malunion and if you don’t address it, it will only get worse. More than that, if you want it to be fixed, it’s going to have to be rebroken.” You paled. Breaking it once was painful enough, you didn’t want to break it again on purpose. 

“Oh, um, okay. I guess I can find someone to do it?” You bit your lip from stress as you started putting a plan together. You didn’t know anyone who could do that for you on this island, you’d have to leave the island, you didn’t have enough money right now for a trip…

“I can correct it for you but I don’t have the supplies here yoi. You’d have to come back to Moby Dick with me,” Marco said, frowning. “Normally I wouldn’t take civilians there, but this is a special case. The tools I need are there, I can take you now and we can resolve this quickly.”

“The Moby Dick? Like, Whitebeard’s ship? He’ll be there?” You hadn’t spent a lot of time with pirates, and especially not Emperors. Marco smiled at you like you were a small child.

“It’s his ship, of course he’s there yoi. If you want your ankle fixed, we need to go now.” You didn’t think it was a good idea to go unaccompanied onto a pirate ship, but you also didn’t want to live a life of pain when you walked. You hesitated, and Marco put his large hand over your knee, squeezing lightly. “If you’re worried about the pain of rebreaking, don’t be yoi. We can put you under for that part of the procedure.”

At that moment, Bethany poked her head through the doorway. “All set!” she said brightly. “No reaction, no rejection.” You were guessing she was talking about another patient’s case, since none of that meant anything to you. Marco smiled at you again, and the urge to run returned even stronger. This time, you seriously thought about leaving this weird medical office, going home, and forgetting any of this happened. Refusal was almost on the tip of your tongue when Marco gripped your knee even tighter, nearly to the point of pain. 

“Let’s go. Get changed.” Marco handed you your stack of clothes.

“B-but what about all the other patients?” Surely he wasn’t dropping all those other cases for an old broken ankle?

“We have another doctor from the crew here yoi. They’ll get care too. Such a nice thought, caring about others. That attitude will serve you well. I’ll be right outside the door, let me know when you’re dressed.” You gulped as Marco left the room. You looked around, half thinking you should jump out the window. But you took off the gown and put your clothes on, knocking to let Marco know you were changed. You hobbled for a few steps before Marco scooped you up in his arms. You blushed a little at the embarrassment of being carried but you were also happy to keep weight off your ankle.

“Don’t have a wheelchair here yoi. This will have to do for now,” Marco said, referring to himself. You laughed lightly. After carrying you out of the house, Marco set you on the ground. “My turn to change,” he said with a grin. You watched in amazement he turned into the Phoenix, resplendent in blue and gold. The Phoenix was haunting in its beauty, but you didn’t have time to admire it before it grabbed you with one large talon around your middle. 

“Wait, I don’t -” you didn’t get to finish your sentence before Marco took off in flight. You shrieked as you ascended to the skies, hearing the flapping of wings and watching the ground recede before your eyes. You clutched at the talon gripping you, hoping the flight to the ship was short. You felt his sharp talons pricking at your skin through your clothes, you hoped Marco knew his own strength. Flying was colder than you expected, the wind whipping at you from all directions and Marco’s leg providing you little protection. You were pretty sure Marco wasn’t planning on dropping you but you worried about it nonetheless. The largest ship you’d ever seen came into sight and you clutched tighter at the leg holding you.

Soon you were deposited, none too gently, onto the deck of the Moby Dick. It was immense and filled with dangerous looking pirates, some of whom stopped momentarily to glance at you while they loaded crates. You felt small and weak, like a sheep put into a den of wolves. You turned to see the infamous Whitebeard, sitting on a gigantic chair. He was flocked by nurses in the same garish uniform as the one on the island. Of course you’d heard of him and seen his posters. But right now he looked tired. He looked old. He was resting his eyes as his nurses attended to him. Marco’s hand landed heavily on your shoulder, startling you from your thoughts.

“Let’s check out that ankle hmm?” You’d nearly forgotten about the reason for your visit to the ship. Marco picked you up again, carrying you to the stairs quickly. The hairs on the back of your neck rose but you were a little stuck. Hopefully the healing would be quick and he’d take you back to your island. You were taken to the infirmary, to a private room. There was a lot of different medical equipment in the room, including a fancy looking machine with more tubing and empty bags hanging from it. Marco shut the door behind him and put you on the medical chair. It had padded arms with straps - you hoped you wouldn’t need anything like that.

“Before we begin, I’m going to give you two injections. For vitamin deficiencies, promoting healing, that sort of thing yoi.” Marco didn’t wait for your response, putting on some latex gloves. He took two different vials and two syringes, placing them on a metal tray near the bed. Filling one syringe, he looked at your nervous face and smiled in an approximation of warmth.

“This one is B12, you’re a little on the low side. It should help you feel better generally yoi.” You nodded, presenting your arm. You turned your face away as he gave you the injection. You didn’t know what B12 had to do with your ankle but it couldn’t hurt. Marco put the empty syringe on the tray and took the other, filling it from a vial containing a clear liquid. This time Marco didn’t say anything, just injected your other arm.

“What’s that one for?” you asked. You suddenly felt drowsy, maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

“You don’t want to be awake for the re-breaking, do you? I thought it might be easier this way,” Marco replied evenly. You felt an undercurrent of panic as your eyelids drooped closed. You didn’t think you'd fall asleep so quickly or that Marco would anesthetise you without warning. But you couldn’t fight the overwhelming urge to sleep that overtook you like a tidal wave. 

You woke up some time later, rolling your head around on stiff shoulders. It took a moment for you to register where you were any why. Your ankle felt great, better than it had in over a year. You looked down but didn’t see any cast, stitches or even bruising. You tried to swing your legs around and stand up but realized you were hooked up to the fancy machine from earlier, arm strapped to the padded armrest like you'd seen earlier. The machine looked like it was taking blood out of your arm. Looking closely at the bags hanging, one had a yellow liquid and the other red. You jumped as the door opened without warning. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon yoi,” Marco said, holding paperwork in his hand. You chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I um..my ankle feels great! It doesn’t even feel like anything happened to it, just that it’s better.” Marco smiled condescendingly at you, sitting beside you on a rolling stool.

“That’s the power of the Phoenix. Your ankle is all healed like nothing ever happened.” You nodded.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I didn’t think I would have a positive outcome like this. But um, did I need a transfusion or something?” you asked, gesturing to the tubing coming out of your arm. 

“Not exactly yoi. How appreciative are you?” Marco asked, tilting his head. You felt like you were treading on thin ice, and tried to think of the right answer. You were on an Emperor’s ship, in a room alone with his First Division Commander, you needed to play whatever games he wanted in order to get out of here.

“Um, very? I don’t know how I can repay you.” That seemed to be the right answer as the corners of Marco’s lips quirked up.

“Interesting you say that. Would you like to know a secret?” You nodded hesitatingly and Marco continued. “There’s an incredibly well kept secret on this crew yoi. Whitebeard has cancer. He’s being treated with chemotherapy and it’s going well. But his platelet count is low, he needs frequent transfusions.” You were very uncomfortable, shifting on your chair. Surely this was one of the most guarded secrets on the seas, why was Marco telling you this? Your heart sunk, you had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

“We’ve been looking for a donor to keep Pops supplied with fresh platelets yoi. It’s harder than you think to find someone in good health with an A negative blood type, the type for universal platelet donation. But it’s the duty of the son to help the father, no matter the cost.” Marco looked at you expectantly. “Not only do you have the right blood type but you’ve built immunity to an incredible amount of viruses from all over the world. It’s like the seas themselves sent you to us. While you were under, I took the liberty of extracting some of your blood for platelets. You don’t mind, do you? After all, I did fix your ankle.” Marco said, patting your hand. You felt cold sweat gathering on the back of your neck.

“N-no, I don’t mind. Did you get enough?” You hoped this was the end of the platelet conversation and you’d be free to leave soon.

“Pops is about four times your size. So we got enough for one dose, but we’re going to need three more for today yoi. Each dose takes about 90 minutes to two hours to extract from the body. Luckily, Pops had a great reaction to the first round. Said he feels better than he has in months. We're hoping your blood boosts his immunity to viruses while he recovers from his medicine. Isn’t that wonderful?” Marco was staring at you without blinking. Small wisps of blue flames were gathering around his shoulders, giving him a threatening aura.

“Yeah, t-that’s wonderful. I’m glad I could help.” You weren’t, you wanted to rip the tubes out of your arms and jump out the small window.

“I’m glad you see it the same way yoi,” Marco said, now holding your wrist tightly in his hand. “I knew you’d be open to helping us the same way I helped you. You’ll need to stay hooked up to the apheresis machine for another 3 hours. I’ll heal you part way through and replenish your platelets. That way we can have as much as we need for Pops. I even brought you the book you were reading earlier.” Marco placed your novel on your lap as you felt the blood drain out of your face. You didn’t want to be used as a living blood bag, no matter how much reading you could get done.

“B-but after that I can go back home, right?” Marco smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He moved his large hand so it settled on your throat. He put some weight on it but didn’t restrict your breathing. He didn’t need to, the threat was clear.

“Platelets go bad after about five days yoi. And Pops needs a new transfusion daily when he’s receiving his medicine. So, no. You’ll be staying here, with us. It's only about six hours of your day, can't you do that for an Emperor? Aren't you happy to be helping someone as strong as Whitebeard? Besides we’ve already left your island, we set sail about three hours ago. ” He squeezed the column of your throat lightly, baring his teeth. You couldn’t look away even as tears welled in your eyes.

“Life is such a delicate thing. The smallest things can upset the balance yoi. One could become quadriplegic with only a tiny injury to the spine. Or you could wither away for years, given the bare minimum of food and water to maintain health. And so little is needed to keep someone technically alive. All you need is some lower brain function, could be in a coma. Little more than a breathing bag of organs, but alive nonetheless. Don’t you find that interesting?” Marco’s eyes bored into your own, forcing you to listen as his hand still rested on your throat. He was demanding an answer, demanding you understand exactly what he was saying. 

“Yes,” you whispered. Marco removed his hand from your throat, cupping your cheek. He rubbed his thumb along your cheekbones, almost tenderly.

“But I don’t think any of that would happen to us, would it? We’re going to help each other for as long as it’s needed, isn’t that right?” Tears fell down your cheeks as you nodded, sealing your fate.

[xamaxenta]

Marco having a jar of candy or a bowl of sweets in his office, as a treat for sitting through the nerve wracking process of seeing the doctor

Ace however helps himself whenever he sees fit

Saunters right on in and sticks his dirty mitts in the candy bowl, pops a hard boiled candy between his teeth and grins at Marco before crushing it with a snap of his jaw

Marco doesnt give him much reaction, lest he provoke further bad behaviour

If Ace is looking to persuade a rise from him, he wont find it here

Until the sweet jar gets refilled with lollipops, round cherry flavoured suckers and Ace incinerates the wrapping with a cheery hum and sticks the candy into his mouth, situating it along his left cheek whilst he makes himself comfortable on Marco’s nice chaise, for patients

Hes waiting

Marco likes the game but is vaguely infuriated at how intent Ace seems to be on winning, if he wanted something he wouldve asked by now, theyre well enough into their relationship to have that kind of ease

“Dont you have work to be getting on with?” Marco asks, terser than he wouldve liked to admit

Doesnt look over when Ace pulls the lollipop out from between his lips with a wet slick pop, the sound may as well have echoed within the confined space of the infirmary

“Yea.” Ace affirms, hard hot molten candy clicking against the enamel of his teeth as he leisurely enjoys his stolen treat, “Im on break though.”

Marco cant argue with that, breaks were important after all.

“When’s the last time you moved?” Ace speaks up before Marco can put voice to any of his further thoughts.

He hesitates, caught out by the question, “about an hour ago.”

“Youre a shitty liar.”

For some reason the instantaneous response prickles at Marco’s skin in a manner he didnt have time to unpick just yet, all he knows is Ace can read him, better than anticipated and he’s unsure about if he likes that or not.

“And you are being a disruption.”

“Since when has that ever bothered you.” Ace retorts, sucking noisily on his candy.

“Since today, I’d say I’m a little bothered yes.” Marco recognises his migraines, his phoenix will only suppress so much and he’s worried about the dual flu season incoming, theres been a shortage on the vaccine supply making it incredibly difficult for Marco to source any from a neutral vendor.

Ace kicks his desk.

Marco jumps and shoots the logia a warning glance.

Ace ignores this and kicks his chair instead. And then proceeds to blink and twirl the stick of his dwindling lollipop between his teeth, lips stained dark red from the dyed sugar.

“Ace.” Marco warns, exasperated and not in the mood to play whatever game he was after.

“Are you sufficiently bothered yet?” Ace ignores him again.

Marco frowns, sets down his pen. Ace raises his leg again, foot poised. Marco thinks he looks ridiculous like this, half reclined with his legs spread open like a—

For fucks sake.

Ace kicks out again with intent and Marco catches him by the ankle, grasping him in full and yanking him in, the legs of the chaise screeching along the floor as Ace takes the furniture with him lest he fall off.

Marco glances between the spread of his legs to the dark sugar red of Ace’s mouth, the brazen look in his eyes and back to the heave of his ribcage, surprise shorting out his breathing into something fluttery and new

The phoenix recognises trapped prey and Marco allows her to clip instinct over his humanity

“And you thought seducing me was the best course of action.”

Its rhetorical

It worked

They both know it did

Ace grins, crunches down on his treat and spits out the little plastic stick to claim his prize

Kissing Marco tastes like cherries and salt and something they’d both like to surmise is due to their devil fruits, bitter and astringent, ozone if it could be tasted, fire if it could be anything other than spicy

“Mm, so are you bothered yet cuz you kinda feel—“ Ace mumbles over the press of Marco’s lips to his own, Marco bites at his lip

“Shut up.”

[maxispremades]

One day of Vidcund Curious's life

poses by @katverse (just life), @simsxen (only a memory), @simmireen (uneasy)

Early Sunday morning, Vidcund Curious woke up with thoughts of Circe, a never-to-be-forgotten love. Inspired by his dreams, the man rushed to the chemical analyzer. His work goes well, and he decides that today might be his lucky day. After informing his brothers that he needs one more shot of a bizarre plant, Vidcund heads to Strangerville, hoping to find his beloved. He hopes that today will bring him luck and he will meet Circe accidentally. 

"How's Mrs. Beaker?" Vidcund asked Nervous Subject, trying to sound carefree. Nervous lowered his voice and said, "Buzz Grunt has eyes and ears everywhere here. I don't want the military to know about my masters' classified research." 

Nervous's paranoia has a real basis. Speak of the devil — Buzz Grunt is here. Since elementary school, Vidcund has hated this rude bumpkin. Buzz is unhappy with everything — aliens, plants, scientists, and the vaccine… Listening to the general's angry speech, Vidcund suppresses a rush of nasty school memories and regrets his visit to Strangerville once again.

русский текст под катом

Ранним воскресным утром Викунд Всезнайко просыпается с мыслями о незабвенной Цирцее. Окрыленный мечтой, парень опрометью бросается к химическому анализатору. Работа спорится, и Викунд решает, что сегодняшний день должен принести ему удачу. Сообщив братьям о том, что ему позарез нужна очередная фотография странного растения, Викунд отправляется в благословенный Стрейнджервиль. Вдруг сегодня ему повезет и он случайно встретит любимую?

«Как поживает госпожа Колби?» — спрашивает Викунд у Типуса Нервуса, изо всех сил стараясь придать своему голосу беззаботное звучание. «Здесь повсюду глаза и уши Базза Гранта, — понизив голос, говорит Типус. — Не думаю, что военным нужно знать о секретных разработках моих хозяев».

Паранойя Типуса имеет под собой реальные основания — генерал Грант легок на помине. Со времен школы Викунд на дух не переносит этого грубого мужлана. Базз недоволен решительно всем — пришельцами, растениями, учеными, вакциной... Слушая гневный спич генерала, Викунд подавляет наплыв отвратительных школьных воспоминаний и в очередной раз жалеет о своем визите в Стрейнджервиль.

[chelseeebe]

wherever you stray (i follow)

more apocalypse au! yayyy

i actually really am enjoying writing this bc it’s so different.. i haven’t really decided if it’s zombies or UD related but i guess it’s not explicitly mentioned yet.. anyway, there may or may not be an appearance from someone from steve’s past.. we’ll have to see

i’m sorry everything is taking so long.. it’s the festive period and i am working like crazy while also trying to see my friends and acc enjoy the time so my writing time is limited

as always, 18+.

₊ ⊹

steve had never expected life on the road to be so.. fun?

he feels weird even thinking about it because in all honesty, the shit you’d both endured while on this journey had been anything but fun. he thinks, or rather knows, that if it were anyone else but you, he’d have turned back a long time ago.

you’re not easy on him by any means, coaxing him into walking to the next town over after he’d already proclaimed he was done for the night and making him open the scary doors while you stood poised. nevertheless, he enjoyed it.

that was until now, when everything was flipped on its head and you were the one begging to call it a night.

‘steve,’ you warn from somewhere behind him. he barely glances back, keeping on hobbling forward. his leg was throbbing, the pain searing up to his thigh, but he’d never tell you that.

steve had got caught up in some barbed wire a few days ago, the sharp metal had torn his leg to shreds. it was an almighty wound that had set you back a couple of days in the schedule. you’d been petrified of tetanus, asking him hourly if he was sure that he’d had his vaccinations, tenderly prodding the painful area as you muttered a plethora of symptoms of infection.

there wasn’t really much he could do except bandage it up and hope he didn’t die. maybe a few years ago he would’ve freaked the hell out over it but now he’d realised that that never helped anybody. it especially would not help you.

‘i’m fine,’ he grits, stopping to turn and look at you. your face painted with the deepest frown, arms crossed over your chest. it was reminiscent of his mother, how she’d stand a the kitchen table when he’d come home with yet another black eye. except he felt you actually cared, she had just wanted an explanation.

‘no you’re not,’ you assert, as if you knew him better than himself. hey, after this maybe you did. ‘there’s a perfectly good house here.. we can rest for a while and i can check your leg,’ you bargain with him, trying the puppy dog eye technique that very often won him over.

steve holds his hands up, he wasn’t going to let you win this one, not after he had been the sole reason you guys were so behind. ‘i’m okay.. i don’t need to rest, i’ve got at least another two miles in me,’ toothy grin on full display.

‘i’m not going back and forth with you, we’re stopping here for the night.’

he sighs as you stomp angrily up to him, ‘i am fine.. no we’re not. why don’t you just believe me?’

steve thinks he sees hell in your eyes, the scorn of the devil written all over your face, ‘because i love you and i don’t want you to lose your fucking leg for the sake of two extra miles,’ your brows knotted together in pure rage.

he doesn’t respond, decides it’s better for his health not to. rather just nodding, letting you guide him towards the, hopefully, derelict house. your words ring around his head, echoing loudly as you do all of the heavy lifting, checking the house and ensuring there were no nasty surprises.

love.

you said you love him.

he wouldn’t ever admit to it, but he’d been toying with the same thought for at least two weeks now. deciding over and over again that it couldn’t possibly be love, it was too soon. he was just.. infatuated, or something.

but hearing the words straight from your mouth solidified his feelings.

the moment you clear one of the upstairs bedrooms and bundle him inside, his grin is unstoppable. reaching his eyes as he just stands staring, waiting for you to finish barricading the damn door before he speaks.

‘what?’ you question, startled by his stillness, ‘what are you looking at?’

‘what d’you say outside?’ he doesn’t take his eyes off of you even as you rush around, checking the windows and then slinging the heavy bag into the floor.

you blink back at him until it clicks, ‘wha- oh,’ your cheeks burn, suddenly much more interested in the room than him, ‘please don’t.’

‘you said you love me,’ steve beams, ignoring your warning though he’d probably regret it.

‘steve, i didn’t-,’

he cuts you off before you can even finish, not allowing you to play the bashful game, ‘you didn’t mean it? i don’t believe you,’ his unfaltering smile still occupying his entire face, right up to his eyes.

you punch his arm, now stood directly in front of him, ‘i didn’t mean to say it like that,’ your own smile inches onto your lips, he’s almost begging you to let it out, ‘i thought it’d be a little more romantic than this,’ gesturing towards the rundown house you stood in.

‘i don’t think romance exists anymore,’ his arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer as you use his shoulders for leverage, ‘say it again.’

you groan, hands coming to connect around his grubby neck, ‘do i have to?’

‘yes.’

steve adores how diffident you become, ducking your head down before the words form and the very quietly squeaking out a tiny, ‘i love you.’

it’s enough for him, his grin growing tenfold, ‘i love you too,’ bumping his nose against yours, drawing your attention back to his face rather than the splintered floorboards.

what’s left of the pale sunlight reflects off of your eye, practically glimmering at him, ‘i know,’ you giggle quietly, ‘you said it in your sleep the other night..’

his smile drops, ‘what? you weren’t supposed to find out like that,’ sighing softly, his stupid, drugged up brain had let it slip before he even had the chance to.

you respond by pressing your sweet lips to his, god he wishes he had some chapstick. you deserve more than his cracked lips.

far more than this world could offer you.

though he would certainly try his hardest.

-

steve normally took first watch because he knew if he didn’t, you’d never wake him up for his shift, rather letting him sleep all night but tonight he doesn’t argue. his leg hurts too much to waste time going back and forth with you.

it’s only when he wakes up to a room full of sunlight that he starts to question how long he’d been out. there’s an echo of his name coming from somewhere, still too encompassed by sleep to figure out what the hell was going on.

‘look who’s finally awake,’ the voice starts but it’s not you.

you’re not next to him either, his arms cradle the pillow where your body should’ve been. that’s when he turns, the bedroom door flung open and a familiar figure looms in the doorway.

‘tommy?’ he croaks out, sitting up against the headboard.

what the hell was happening?

you’re nowhere to be seen, the makeshift barricade pushed back against the wall rather than where it should’ve been. his mind instantly flashes to the worst case scenario, you’ve been taken or tommy has done something to you.

holy shit.

‘stevie! i didn’t know if you’d recognise me,’ tommy leers, still lingering in the doorway, hand poised on his gun.

steve hadn’t seen the boy in years at this point, not properly. they passed each other in the halls but after the whole ordeal with jonathan in the alley, they hadn’t spoke since. which steve was eternally grateful for, the red head was in simple terms, an asshole. there was no part of him that wanted to be involved with people like that.

‘what the hell are you doing here?’ steve questions, voice still heavy with sleep.

god he hopes this is just a bad dream and any second now, he’ll wake up and you’ll be by his side.

tommy’s face drops in faux-offence, ‘c’mon man, is that any way to treat an old friend?’ the side of his lips curling up. he always was a horrible person, provoking people til they had no choice but to respond.

‘how’d you know i was here?’ he asks, deciding not to mention you on the off chance you had just run off and tommy had no idea of your existence.

‘i was searchin’ houses.. thought you’d be smarter than this man, sleepin’ with no protection,’ his eyes fall to steve’s leg, eyebrows raised with opportunity, ‘and you’re hurt,’ the boy tuts, ‘this should be easy then.’

steve stiffens up, his bag was on the floor next to the bed, there’s no chance he’s faster than tommy.. he’d never get it in time.

it’s then that steve’s eyes flit to you, appearing silently behind tommy in the doorway. his heart drops. you were alive. tommy clocks on immediately, eyes following steve’s gaze to your looking figure behind. but before he can turn around fully, the baseball bat connects with his cranium, his body falling to the floor with a mighty thump.

you stand staring at the lifeless body for a moment, chest heaving as you step over him and over to the bed. wide-eyed and trembling, god knows how much of that you heard.

‘oh my god you’re okay,’ steve starts, reaching up to hold onto your cheeks, ‘i thought something had happened.. jesus christ where were you?’ he’s trying not to sound like such an overbearing mother but it’s not exactly working.

‘your leg was hot.. i went to go find medicine, i barricaded it from the other side but i didn’t think that asshole would show up,’ your hand caresses his atop of your cheek, ‘i got the medicine though,’ you look somewhat hopeful, pulling the bottle from your pocket and presenting it to him.

once steve has calmed down a little, he takes two of whatever it is, looking nervously at his ex-friend still on the floor, ‘i can’t believe you killed him..’ he trails off, even if he didn’t particularly like tommy, he didn’t want him dead.

your face screws up, pausing as you shove your belongings into your rucksack, ‘he’s not dead steve,’ you state, features contorted as you glare at him.

‘oh,’ he chuckles awkwardly, relief washing over him. ‘well shit,’ a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, taking over when you shake your head in disappointment. look, he wasn’t the brightest, never had been.

‘he’s probably gonna wake up soon so we need to get the hell outta’ here,’ you frown, glancing at the lifeless body.

you trundle over, taking the man’s gun from his hand, patting his pockets for anymore concealed weapons he may have. pulling a small switchblade from his back pocket, steve recognises it immediately. he’d been there when tommy had carved his and carol’s initials into some old tree in the woods by school. he wonders if it’s still there now.

‘how d’you know this guy anyway?’ you ask, slipping the knife into your own pocket. he watches dubiously, he’d never been a thief.

‘we were best friends..’ he swallows, maybe he had left some things out about his life before the end of the world. there’s no way to explain why they drifted apart other than to admit to how cruel he once was. ‘just drifted, you know?’ it wasn’t exactly a lie and he’s not sure you’d even care but now didn’t feel like the appropriate time to admit to all of his wrongdoings.

you nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder, ‘sucks.. but i’m not gonna lie, he didn’t seem like a great person,’ shrugging as steve finds his feet, getting off of the bed for the first time in hours.

‘he wasn’t,’ again, not a lie.

you hum in response and steve looks to the floor. he wasn’t keen on discussing the ins and outs of his friendship with tommy hagan right now. or ever really.

-

the rest of the journey up here had been pretty non-eventful. his leg was healing nicely and he was able to walk for at least another hour without complaining out loud. most people had obviously found communities, not daring to go out in the road anymore.

without mention of the run in with tommy, it had just been just the two of you. well you and the grotesque, rotting monsters that roamed around the forest. he thinks the cold must slow them down as your gun goes, mostly, unused.

steve has never seen you look quite so excited. the moment you’d crossed the boundary into your town, you’d been babbling nonstop about where you grew up. pointing out important locations and silly details about things he couldn’t even picture. his eyes instinctively roll when you mention the now decrepit diner you had your first date. he can’t help it.

it’s only when you near what he assumes is your neighbourhood that you quiet down, holding onto his hand with an iron clad grip. your nails dig into the grime covered skin when you spot the gargantuan make-shift wall up in front. he doesn’t squirm or pull away, instead he whispers a small it’s okay as you near the cul-de-sac.

‘what if they’re not there?’ you ask, shrinking into yourself.

he doesn’t have the right words to assure you but he’ll try his hardest, ‘then.. then we’ll find them.’ he hasn’t a clue what lies on the other side of that wall, perhaps the people behind it weren’t friendly and you’d never find out or maybe there weren’t even any people left.

but you’ll find out together and that’s all that matters.

someone’s head pokes over the top of the wall, gun poised at steve’s head. they must be stupid if they think he’s the one they should be scared of.

‘stop right there, don’t come any closer,’ the heavily armed woman shouts down, ‘what do you want?’

steve looks to you, unsure if he should even attempt to speak right now. his fingers squeeze yours for silent reassurance, there’s a voice above but he can’t see who it’s coming from, tucked behind the wall as they inevitably discuss your fate.

‘i used to live here,’ you speak, just loud enough for the first woman to peer down at you. she looks back towards the other mystery voice and then another face appears, eyes like saucers when they spot you.

‘open the gate,’ she orders, ‘open the gate now!’ barking at the other lady who jumps to it.

steve stands in quiet wonderment, glancing back at you with your mouth hung open. so you must know each other. or is that your mom? now he truly understands how you must’ve felt coming out of that nurses office to a bunch of strangers.

but you don’t let go of his hand when the gate creaks open just enough to let the two of you through. the houses are all more or less how he imagined they’d looked before everything started.

‘oh my god,’ you sputter out, dropping his hand to jog over to the faceless woman, throwing your arms around her neck as she pulls you in.

you don’t look particularly similar but steve has no idea what your parents look like. he wasn’t quite so prepared to meet the parents though he’d had weeks and weeks to think about what to say.

who even is he? not your boyfriend. yet. maybe it just wouldn’t be brought up in the midst of all the reunions.

he knows you love each other, you’d said that much, that he’d hobbled across state lines for you and would do just about anything to make sure you were safe so, did labels even matter in the apocalypse?

‘i can’t believe you’re here,’ the lady cries, still wrapped up in your arms. the locals are looking on with a mixture of confused and joyous looks on their faces.

‘neither can i,’ you sniff, pulling back and looking at her, hands still firmly on her arms. ‘are they here?’ you rush out excitedly, full of hope.

the woman’s, who is still yet to be introduced to, face falls, her voice dropping an octave as she speaks, ‘baby..’ she tremors through the sentence. ‘they left to go and find you.. i don’t- they haven’t come back..’

your smile drops immediately, steve’s heart sinks. he couldn’t begin to imagine how you felt. the pair of you had made it across multiple states, lived through steve’s injury and evil past friends for nothing.

he supposes that it wasn’t for nothing exactly. despite the bickering and rumbling stomachs, it had brought the two of you closer.

now his heart breaks the way yours does when you bury your face into his chest, shoulders shaking as you wet his already ruined shirt.

-

the next few hours are a blur of introductions, meeting people you called neighbour not so long ago. the now-identified woman was called janet, who had told him all about how they fortified the neighbourhood and their efforts to keep everyone alive. they’d done something similar to the school, kept the water system running so they could clean and drink and hoarded supplies the second they realised the army weren’t coming for them.

this was followed by a tour of the place and then your house. it had been left untouched in the hopes that your parents would come back eventually. dusty pictures of you in school, at college and one he particularly likes of you at christmas, nose scrunched up as you grin into the distance.

maybe he’d snag that one for himself.

it’s only when you bundle him into your room that you really let go. sobbing in his arms on your bed. surrounded by a time capsule of the past. if it felt weird for him, it must be utterly awful for you.

‘i thought they’d be here,’ you choke through tears, ‘they were supposed to be here,’ fingers grabbing at his biceps.

steve’s not known for his quick thinking but he realises there’s not much else he can say. the situation would seem hopeless to most but he wasn’t letting you give up now. not after you’d dragged him thousands of miles to get here.

‘you were at college in indiana, right?’

it’s enough for you to stop crying and look up at him through your wet lashes, ‘yeah.. why?’

you had never really spoken about college. he knew you went to college in indianapolis, that was obvious from the ratty letterman jacket you’d been wearing when he stumbled upon your camp, but that was about it.

‘so we go back to indiana,’ his fingers tangle in your hair, unsure if a smile would be completely inappropriate.

‘steve.. we-,’ you go to object but he can see the cogs turning in your brain, it’s the only sensible suggestion either of you had. ‘you would do that?’

this is where he smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, ‘of course,’ he’s not even sure why it’s even a question.

he’d do anything, traipse after you to the ends of the earth if you asked. hell, he’d do it even if you didn’t.

he continues on, ‘we’re in this together now.. like, forever,’ pressing his forehead to yours, thumb coming to swipe over your sodden cheek.

there’s hope, or at least a tinge of optimism back in your eye, ‘forever?’

steve nods, caressing your dirtied face as if it were precious porcelain, ‘is that alright with you?’

maybe, in a roundabout way, that was him asking you if you’d be his girlfriend. he knows he probably should ask properly but he’s sure you know.

it’s contagious, his smile, your lips curving as you blink slowly, ‘sounds good to me.’

that night, you’re fully relaxed, a kind of placid state that steve hadn’t seen since the school. normally, you’re on high alert even in bed. your muscles stiff as you let him sleep. but this time, he lets you drift off first.

his fingers glide through your now clean hair, eyelids fluttering shut on his chest. he thinks you might even start purring.

instead, your breaths get deeper, and slower until you no longer even murmur in response to whatever he was saying. and eventually, steve drifts off too. relieved that you can both sleep tonight, both feeling a sense of security that hadn’t been there for weeks.

-

steve awakens suddenly at what he determines the middle of the night, your palms clammy as they grab hurriedly onto his chest. you’re panting, desperately trying to steady your breath when his arms tighten around your shoulders.

‘what’s wrong?’ he asks, still in that confusing transition between sleep and awake, his eyes struggle to adjust to the dark room.

you exhale, the outline of your face suddenly begins to form, ‘i had a bad dream, i’m sorry,’ chin pointed upwards. your face is wet, eyes glossy with tears.

‘it’s okay.. it’s okay,’ he soothes, heart still pounding rapidly even after he knows no creatures have mattered down the door and had a chomp on your leg.

you swallow loudly, still gazing up at him when his head rests back on the pillow. ‘i love you,’ you squeak into the quiet night, the third time he’d ever heard it tumble out of your lips.

it mostly went unspoken. coming through in little gestures, feeding him his medicine or scratching your nails into his scalp the nights the pain was too much to sleep. he liked it that way. as if your love was only for the two of you.

this world didn’t deserve to witness that.

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 11 - Screams in the woods

master list

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part9, Part 10,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Includes many other characters from Fallout

Synopsis: Lucy reaches for him, “Don’t let go!”

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal/people death, dead animal mutilation, general horror, religious themes, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Older Man/Younger Woman,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

**Strap in and get ready for a ride kiddos**

Harris and Margie are looking between Cooper and Lucy, the Bible between them. Lucy had brought it over to show them and ask questions about the names on the front page, but she was now being stonewalled. The whole thing felt ridiculous, Lucy was still doubting the validity of any of what was happening.

“I don’t know about these names,” Harris said, looking over the names, his glasses making his eyes look huge. The large man had been on edge since they arrived, his shoulder scrunched body tight.

Lucy blows some air out through her nose, “You said you were lookin’ for the bible, the night me and Cooper got attacked.”

Margie glares at Harris, “Harris, for Saint Peter’s sake, just tell the girl what you know. Or I will piece together what I can, and give her what I know.”

Harris sighs, Cooper looking at Lucy trying to figure out what the heck was going on. Lucy shrugs at him, fiddling with her cup, her fingers itching for a cigarette. It had been a bad idea to start that up while all this stress was happening.

“Margie, you know I was never close with my Dad. Anything he knew about the bible was passed to Tim. Not to me.” Harris was still trying to skirt the subject, fingers twisting around each other as he looked at everyone. 

“Oh, horseshit!” Margie hollered, the little woman’s face going red, as she glared at him. Lucy was taken aback by the sudden outburst. “Fine. Fine.”

Margie stood up grabbing a black jar and pouring a tall glass. “None of you get any, 'cause I sure ain’t in the mood.” 

Harris, Lucy, and Cooper both cringing back as if being scolded with a belt. Lucy’s heart pounding as she tries to keep herself composed, hoping against hope she gets some answers. 

“Now, the MacLean’s have always had secrets. Their crops always good, and cows are always plump. Back in the day before vaccines, they barely ever lost a child. Heck, I barely ever saw any of them get sick.” Margie took a sip of her black drink. “Now we all had theories, all wondered what they were doing. They never cut back more forest than they needed, and always leased at low rates. Yet they wanted for nothing.”

Margie takes a moment to look at everyone, at the table, before she continues. 

“Then Albert died, and Tim took over. What Harris won’t tell y’all is that the whole family had been practicing devil magic.” Margie states no venom behind her words. “Bring offerings to this forest spirit, god, whatever. Not for me to judge.” 

Cooper fiddles with the edge of his cup, his shoulders moving forward, as he makes himself smaller. Lucy felt her stomach twist, she had never been religious, but calling it devil magic seemed too harsh. Even with the Anton Lavey quote in her Grandpa’s handwriting. 

“Whatever Tim did, it worked. But your Grandma was raised in the church. I loved Shirley and she put up with a lot of stuff. When Tim wanted to bring Hank into the fold.” Margie looked over at Harris.  “She said no. Said all of it had to stop, wasn’t going to be a part of it passing down.”

Harris shifts, taking his glasses off and putting them on the table. “As soon as Tim stopped, things started to go south. It wasn’t instant. It was little things, minor flooding in a field that had never flooded before. Seeds not taking as well as they should. Losing more calves than normal.” 

Margie nods, letting out a sigh, she got up and brought some glasses over. Pouring small amounts for each, before sitting down, still glaring at her husband as he speaks about his family.

“We wrote it off as a bad year.” Harris sighs, fiddling with the cup but not taking a sip. “But it kept getting worse, and worse. Blanche kept telling Harris that he needed to start doing the offering again.” 

Lucy took a sip of the black drink, it was bitter, but also strangely sweet, most likely gooseberries. 

“Shirley kept saying no, and then Blanche died.” Harris swallows, “Found her lying right by her chickens.” He finally takes a drink, wincing at the sweetness. “All her chickens were gone, and the thing had taken her eyes.” 

Cooper looks pale as he stares down at his cup, Lucy finishing hers in a quick swig. She rubs her hand along his knee hoping to help ease him. The thought of her great grandma laid out dead by her prized chickens was horrid.

“So, Tim decided it was time to start up again.” Harris says, “Shirley was beside herself, thought her husband had lost it. “

“But it worked,” Lucy spoke, “Things got better, crops grew, cows birthed easily, no one got sick anymore.” 

Harris nods, finally sipping the drink, “I didn’t want to believe it either. How could bringing a loaf of bread, or bundle of herbs, make the ground seem so much richer.” 

“Why didn’t you tell Lucy?” Cooper interjects, fingers running over the rim of the glass in several circles. 

Harris leans back, taking another small sip of the liquid, Margie pouring everyone a little more of the makeshift brew. 

“Tim said it ended with him.” Harris finally spoke, “When he came to tell me he was dying.” The man looked out into his yard, eyes glassy as he spoke. “He was different, it was the first time I’d seen him look so content with life. Tim kept going on and on about how it was finally going to be over. That he would finally be free, the whole family won’t have to worry anymore.”

“We should have told you Lucy, should have been more forward about the whole situation. But Tim was adamant it was over,” Margie adds, Lucy feels a cold spread of anxiety spill from her ribs out into her stomach. 

“But then we found the coyote head, us being attacked in the trailer,” Lucy states, “But you still kept it from me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be ready for this, especially after what happened. We wanted to give it some time. So you could heal before we dropped the family past on you.” Harris replies, reaching to squeeze Lucy’s hand. She pulls away, a feeling of betrayal still sitting tight in her chest. 

“You’ve barely been here two months,” Margie states trying to calm the room. “We know now, and we can help make it right.”

Lucy shakes her head, “We don’t even know what we need to make right.” She slides her chair backward. “We are going to go help John this afternoon. After that, we should all sit down and go over the journals and bible together, maybe?” 

Harris’ brows furrowed, “Lucy, I don’t think it’s wise to go in there. I know you want to help-”

“It’s my land, my property, my problem,” Lucy states as she stands up, “I am not sitting on the sidelines anymore.”

***

Lucy, Cooper, John, and Bert stand at the edge of the forest, Lucy had done up a crude map of the trails she could mostly remember. She had photocopied them so each person had one, radios, and compasses were passed around. Each ATV was checked over making sure fuel tanks were full. Guns carefully strapped into place, along with extra clips. Lucy hoped they wouldn't need them. On top of that they strapped on crates with rope, knives, tools, and first aid kits, along with anything else they might need. 

“So we each take a trail, stick to the path, mark it as we go so we can find our way out. The yellow fence line is parkland, we won’t go past that. Barbwire is either John’s land to the west or Cooper’s to the east. If you make it that far there should be gates that you can use to circle back up to the road. See anything-” Lucy stops her speech for a moment collecting herself. “I mean anything, weird, strange, cow, whatever, you radio. There is no point in any of us getting hurt. Sunsets around nine, but we should try to get out by no later than eight.”

The men nod, at her words, Lucy surprising herself by how calm and level-headed she felt. Not to mention the men listening to her, and not arguing with what she had to say. It felt odd being the one in charge, but this was also her land. It didn’t feel like hers, it didn’t feel like anyones, but if there was anyone who needed to be held accountable for it it was Lucy. She was tired and scared, but she was not going back down, not now.

“The radios we have should cover the whole area without an issue, if you run into issues and can’t get a hold of us come back here,” Cooper adds, making sure everyone nods. “All the families have been told if they don’t hear from us by nine to send emergency crews in.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Bert chirps, looking out towards the gaping mouth of the forest. 

Lucy inwardly cringing, she and Cooper had decided not to fill in the others about the supernatural possibilities. Having people scared would help no one. Lucy wasn’t even sure she fully believed any of it. Was something really haunting the woods? Was her grandfather really feeding it? Had it taken her Dad? 

“It’s just precaution,” John adds, peering towards their destination and waking Lucy from her musing. “Never know, better safe than sorry.” 

“Well, let’s get going.” Bert smiles, jumping onto the four-wheel, he starts it up and takes off towards the trees. 

Lucy feels her heart clench in her chest, a low ringing buzz just above the sound of the engine. She takes off after Bert, heading down southeast, Cooper goes directly east, Bert goes southwest, and John goes west. The trees had fully flushed out, leaves defusing the light, and the trails were clear despite having not been used much. She rode at a good clip, fast enough to keep moving but slow enough to take in what was around her. 

The radio sits on her handlebars crackled occasionally, Lucy wanted to stop every time it made a sound, but made herself continue. Every shadow, discoloration, and movement had her head turning. The further she went, the darker the place seemed to get. The hair on her arm starts to stand up, even under the heavy sweater. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, feeling like something was following her. Something was watching her, just on the other side of a tree or bush. 

Lucy stops as the radio crackles, her heart pounding in her chest, waiting to hear anything. When nothing came Lucy went to start up again, when a twig snapped to her right. Head turning almost painfully fast to look that way, nothing. Another snapped behind her, hair prickling at the back of her neck. Turning slower this time, Lucy nearly screams, as a black shadow slinks away behind a tree. 

Her hand is on the radio now, tensed up in a panic, her shoulder gathered up against her ears. With no other movement, she goes to turn the machine back on when it crackles.

“This is John, did someone else go directly west?” John’s voice crackles across the forest. Lucy grabs her compass from her pocket seeing that she is still pointing mostly southwest. 

“Lucy here, I am heading southwest,” Lucy replies, Bert comes over the radio saying that he is also mostly south. It was a tense moment before Cooper replies that he had turned so that he was going northeast. 

“Alright, umm, guess we’ll call that weird then. I am gonna start heading up the northwest side towards the gate.” John radios, before it goes silent again. She couldn’t help but hear the hesitation in his voice, whatever was out there had spotted them.

Lucy takes one last look around her, eyes narrowing in on the grey flesh of a stripped tree stump. She gets off her ATV and walks towards it, her heart thudding against her ears. The image of a fresh coyote head on top of stripped wood flashed in her mind. As she walks up to it she can see bones lying around. If you weren’t looking for it, it would have just blended into the forest. She stops a yard or so from it. The tingling feeling of anxiety rushes down her neck like cold water. 

Turning around in a full circle Lucy could just see further another stump. She would bet money that it was also surrounded by bones. Walking quickly back to her ATV she pulls out the map and marks it approximately. How many were out here?  Was this like the stumps that were in the bible? The illustration had shown sigils or ruins, but now they were worn from years of wear.

She turns her ATV on and continues southeast, eyes peeled for any other out-of-place signs. As she drove she would stop and note down other stumps, if she went and stood at one looking west she could see all of them in what was becoming a half-moon shape. Four total, Lucy’s gut feeling was there would be thirteen, one for each month. Placed on purpose, spaced evenly, all surrounded by bone. Every single one made her skin crawl and made her wonder if she was losing her mind. 

The radio crackled again, Lucy stopping immediately and listening. More crackling, muffled noises, then nothing. Her heart lurched, stomach twisting as she waited for any word. 

“I think-” Interference, “A cow,” It was Bert, “Least what’s left off it.”

“Where are you?” Lucy asked, already turning the machine around so that she could head in the right direction. She’d start to head west and hope that she could find Bert.

“If you head to the main trail-” Static, Lucy fires up the ATV keeping the radio turned up. “Southwest-” Lucy strained to hear, “-go directly south.” His voice seemed softer and softer and Lucy roared towards him. “next fork - west“

“Roger, roger,” We are heading your way, Cooper's voice rang over the radio. She felt her heart clench knowing that he was not far away, it was both comforting and concerning. 

“Shouldn’t be far,” John added, Lucy's heart thundering in her chest, fingers aching from holding onto the handlebars so tightly. She kept looking over her shoulder, searching for something in the woods she couldn’t see. The bumps and jumps of the machine propelled her forward. The trees opened into the middle clearing, Lucy skillfully following down southwest. Behind her she could make out the roar of another engine, looking back she could just make out Cooper’s white hat. 

It was a comfort knowing that he was close behind her, hitting the fork she went south. Her radio crackling but nothing, she continued along the path ducking past brushes as they slapped towards her. Mouth dry as she tries to urge the thing forward. A burst of static echoed louder than the previous almost stopping Lucy. 

“HELP,” 

Lucy grabbed the walkie doing her best to continue to drive one-handed. “BERT.”

“It’s here,”

“What what is it,” John calls out over the radio. “I am not far, Bert. Hold on.”

“Oh god,” 

“Oh god.”

Lucy clipped the walkie back on, riding as fast as the old ATV would go, she could hear Cooper not far behind her. As she hit the fork to head west a scream rang out, Lucy felt her ears ring. Her eyes blurring as the world spun, she blinks several times trying to make her eyes work. 

“Bert, Bert,” Cooper called over and over, Lucy hearing his voice behind her and in front of her as they roared towards their destination. 

Lucy spotting John flying up coming to join the west trail, his hat had been lost somewhere along the way. Lucy slows down to let him go ahead, Cooper now only a dozen yards behind her. Bushes and trees slap her face as they road toward Bert should have been.

As they came up over a hill Lucy had a split second of red lights warning her as she skidded to a stop just beside John. The man was off his ATV, gun in hand as he made his way over to the empty four-wheeler. Lucy parked hers, grabbing her gun and extra clip in her pocket. Cooper is skidding to a stop a moment behind them, the three of them gathering at the empty ATV.  There are skid marks behind the machine, a few scuffs in the ground, and his gun was gone. 

“Bert,” Lucy calls out, his name echoing through the tree, her voice bouncing around like she was in a funhouse. “Bert! Come on, answer us!”

“No sign of the Bert, or the cow,” John says, looking around the place, all of them naturally staying close to each other. Lucy faces one way, and Cooper faces the opposite of her. A perfect triangle as they move. “No sign of anything really.”

Cooper moves over, Lucy watching him as he walks past the ATV. Her eyes spotted what he was looking at, another stump, stripped of bark. Some of the symbols were more pronounced on this one, almost looking fresh.

“Is that another stump?” Lucy asks, moving towards where Cooper is now crouching down. He’d take out a knife to uncover some bones that lay covered in dirt around it. Lucy reaching out to trace over the ruins, the ringing in her ears stopping as she followed them all over the stump.

Cooper looks up, his hazel eyes barely visible under the shadow of his hat, “I saw some when I was driving around. All had bones around them like this.”

“W-w-what are those?” John’s face was pale, his hand fiddling with the stock of his gun. He had walked over to stand near the other two. 

“I am not sure. I don’t remember seeing this many before.” Lucy replies, trying to keep her voice level and calm. Her mind played over all the different illustrations of symbols, people standing around a stump. The face of the coyote flashed behind her eyes. 

“But these are old. Like really old.” John points out, jumping when a twig breaks, his breath is ragged as he looks around. 

Lucy and Cooper both stand looking towards the noise, Cooper swiftly pocketing the knife to replace it with the rifle. They all stand for a moment, the silence swallowing them. 

“Bert! Bert!” Lucy calls out again, hoping that it was him walking back towards them. “Where are you? Call out so we can come get you.”

John was now backing up towards his ATV, Lucy could see that he was shaking as he looked out towards the forest. It felt darker, much darker than it should have been for mid-afternoon. It was as if all the light was slowly being sucked out from around them. 

“Somethin’s wrong,” Cooper murmured, making Lucy jump as his hand clasps her shoulder. He was starting to push her towards the four-wheelers, she could feel her heart start to hammer in her chest. 

“We should call Harris,” Lucy says the dread had now seeped into her bones. Cooper was right, Bert wasn’t replying and there was no sign of him.

“No signal this deep in.” John replied phone in a shaky hand, “Probably thirty minutes from anywhere that would have a signal.”

Another twig snap had them all whirling, again facing nothing but trees and bushes. 

Lucy

Ringing splitting Lucy’s head as her name came spilling from every direction. Double over she covers her ears, trying to get it to stop. Cooper is in the same position, forehead creased as he groans. John stares at both of them as he stands perfectly still, eyes wide, phone dropping to the ground as his mouth falls open.

Cooper

John swings around, clearly hearing what they are. Lucy slowly tries to right herself, her eyes blurry as she tries to focus. Cooper leaning heavily against the stump, the forest is spinning past them. She falls and hits the ground, her body screaming at her to keep moving but it feels like someone has put a lead blanket across her body. 

“John,” Lucy croaks, trying to get his attention. He looks like he is miles away, a small pin prick in the distance. “Go, get Harris.”

John is stooping down behind herm helping Cooper up. “No, I am staying with you.” He is beside her now, his hands under her arms as he hoists her against the machine. 

Lucy - Cooper - John

They all stood now, heads as clear as possible the sound of their names coming from all directions. The echoing impossibly around them as if it was coming from hundreds of different voices, tones, and places. The place is so dark they might as well be in a cave, not able to see more than a few yards ahead of them. The wind picking up moves trees above, sending shivers across all of them, the only noise beside their panting breath. 

“That-what- what the fuck,” John states, eyes wide as he looks around. Lucy barely kept herself standing, her legs wobbly as the voice kept screaming their names

“Lucy!” Bert’s voice carries, this time sounding less like static ringing and more human. 

Lucy moves towards it, her feet moving without thought, Cooper immediately grabbing her arm. “Lucy, we can’t. We don’t know what that is.” 

“It’s Bert,” Lucy protests, trying to move away from him, Cooper’s grip only tightening further. He was right, she knew that, she knew it didn't sound right. Yet she wanted to go to them, she needed to go to them. 

“Lucy, think about this. We need to stop and think.” Cooper demands, somehow breaking through the fog. “We gotta stick together. Can either leave and get help, or we all go look for Bert.”

A screech breaks through the air, right in front of them as John’s body falls forward, something grabbing his ankle and starting to drag him backward. Lucy is stunned for a moment before she jumps forward, gun abandoned as she chases after John. His face rubs against the dirt hands desperately trying to grab onto anything and everything he can. A shot rings out in the air, Lucy instinctively duckling down. Her knees hit the ground and she rolls for a second before she is back up. John continues to scream as he grabs for purchase onto a tree.

Lucy reaches for him, “Don’t let go!” Her hands find his, his eyes wide as he screams.

Part Twelve

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*I I know I know cliff hangers, but what's a horror read without a cliff hanger?

*want to be on the tag list? add your name below

@toogaytofunctiondangit , @hiddlebatchedloki @whatsorceressisthis @dichromaniac @autumncryptids

@therealcozyaxoltol

[clayderogatory]

one of the things i think about is that luis maybe has a little bit more of a chance of living, he didn't actually get blown up. where he was technically was underground in the mines, not the island! the island was the only portion that ever got blown up as far as i'm aware, and luis was deep underground the castle (completely farther away from the island itself.)

with that being said, and maybe me being at least a little delusional—if he lived then all he would have to do to get out was just go back from where they came.

and also on that note, why DIDNT they let luis live??? his character is so incredibly interesting and he could have done so much post re4. either he could have worked to help create vaccines or work on helping people....just......something!!!

luis is such an interesting and amazing character in remake...i think he was done dirty with his death, but they definitely improved on him since og. i also love how much hes in separate ways in remake too, in the og he had like....3 cutscenes, and a portion of them were already just from the base game!!!!

also another thing, there is a complete difference in luis' goals that he at least tells ada in og vs original. in og he says that he wants saddler and the cult dead and gone after ada doesnt say who shes working with—same scenario in remake, but he says that "you could work for the devil for all i care, as long as i can get out of here" which is interesting because i wonder if that taps into the part of him that runs away from his problems instead of trying to change and do better or not.

or maybe he really was starting to try to change once he came across leon and ashley, and ada just so happened to be infected too! im not sure since he says that line after he meets the two, so he either maybe has some really interesting revelation or he isnt telling ada the whole truth. idk!

i love you anywahs luis serra navarro they could never make me hate you

[natalievoncatte]

This isn’t really a ficlet. It’s more of a screen test. If I like it and you like it, this might be my next project after my SCBB fic is done. I’ll start posting excerpts of that soon!

CW: Mentions of death and dying, and loss.

Of all the things to kill Lena Luthor, it was a heel shearing off her shoe. It wasn’t even a proper high heel, just a two inch rise on a pair of rather stately shoes from a designer of no particular note. Lena had since passed on the Louboutins, and had long adopted more conservative cuts for her suits and dresses. She’d given up her title as CEO decades ago and now fulfilled the role of director emeritus of L-Corp’s research and development division.

It had been a good life, except for one glaring exception. She’d cured over twenty types of common cancers, developed vaccines, and almost personally reversed global warming. She had only one regret as the heel sheared off her shoe and she went tumbling down the stairs to the floor of the L-Corp lobby.

Curiously, she was only dimly aware of the pain. It was something distant, like it was happening to someone else. She heard more than felt a crushing blow to her hip and when the marble rushed up to fill her vision, the world simply went explosively white and the only thing she felt was cold.

The world stayed white, which had perplexed her. Lena had never believed in any sort of life after death, even though she had a vague sense of the supernatural. Her mother was rumored to be a witch in the Irish village where she grew up, and she’d been told as much when she visited as an adult to seek out her roots. She expected, well, nothing. Not even an awareness that there was nothing, just an absence. As she grew older, on those nights when her mortality came crashing down around her in the fitful depths of the early morning when sleep rejected her, she would rationalize death as simply not having to get up tomorrow.

She did not expect to find herself standing in her old office, the one from a lifetime ago. Her stark minimalist desk dominated the room. Without knowing why, she ran the pads of her fingers along its cool length, a ghost of a sad smile dusting her lips.

The sofa was there, too. She could barely bring herself to look at it. After Kara’s betrayal, she had disposed of it thoroughly and rearranged the office. She’d eventually be driven out of the room entirely by grief and settled into another office on a lower floor and began spending more time at home, but the penthouse gave her no solace, either, and she ended up selling it and ultimately moved the research and development department back to Metropolis and worked there.

Lena’s breath caught at the sight of a familiar photograph on one of her bookcases. She took it in trembling hands, knowing then that this must be an illusion or a dream, because she’d smashed the frame and shredded this photograph in her own two fingers.

It was her and Kara, faces pressed together and grinning, their eyes so radiant with joy that it burned Lena’s heart to see and she immediately hurled it across the room, hurling it at a vase of rare plumerias that Kara had brought for her, leaving behind a full belly and a soaring heart.

A hand plucked it casually from the air and set it on an end table near the sofa. Lena stood her ground, though her legs began to tremble.

Standing in her office was a man she didn’t know, dressed smartly in a black suit that would have been in fashion all those years ago. He had a curiously calm air about him, reserved and almost peaceful.

“Who are you?” said Lena. “I’m dead, right? Are you God? The Devil?”

“I am not a god, nor am I one of the true immortals, though it is said that in strange æons, even death may die.”

“Then who are you?”

“My name is Mxyzptlk. Kara might, perhaps, have told you of me.”

“No.”

He snorted softly.

“Typical. I am a very long lived being, Lena Luthor. My kind measure our lives in eons, and as a wise human once said, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. For the last ten thousand years, I have been a troublemaker and an imp. Now I shall be something else. I have decided I shall be grand and wise.”

“What does that have to do with me?” said Lena.

“Not you. Kara. I still owe her a debt, and I must balance myself before I truly transition into my next iteration. I am here to balance that debt.”

“How?”

“By giving you the opportunity to give love one last chance.”

“I was never in love with-“

“Do not lie to me.”

Lena took a half step back, grabbing the desk for balance. Mxyzptlk took a few steps closer.

“I am as far beyond you as you are beyond an ant, the very forces of chaos and entropy heed my command. All time is an open book to me. Whether you admit it to yourself or not, you never married because you were hoping they Kara would stop giving you space and time to heal like you said you wanted, but never did.”

“How dare you? You don’t-“

“What Kara did to you, the way she manipulated her identities to confuse you, was cruel. Lying to you for so long was cruel.”

“Then why should I take you up on whatever this is?”

“A do-over. You’ll go back with your memories intact. You’ll have the chance to set right what once went wrong, and so will she. Or you can avoid her entirely and seek happiness elsewhere. You can leave National City behind or refuse her lunch invitations or whatever it is you think you wish you’d done. I’m not here to force you to love her. I’m giving you another chance, in truth, on her behalf. One she would pigheadedly refuse out of some misplaced sense of morals or decency.”

“Have you offered this to her?”

“No. Where she has gone now, I cannot follow. I can’t even show you where she is: her god has taken her home to his warm light. She rests in the lush fields of a prehistoric Krypton she never knew, spending eternity with her family. Rao has even used his strength and purpose to talk Mother Sol into allowing the Danvers into his domain.”

Lena’s voice cracked. “What?”

“Kara passed earlier today on Argo, from old age and cumulative injuries from her time as Supergirl, without a yellow star to protect her from them.”

“It sounds like she’s happy,” said Lena, turning away. “I… I still want her to be happy.”

“Rao is a bold god, a strong and protective one, but he is an honest lord. He does not give her the gift of forgetting, and perfect memory of love lost can be make a hell of heaven.”

“She loved me?”

“As much as you loved her. Enough to let you go.”

Lena’s hands began to shake. “It’s been so long. How-“

There was a knock at the door. Lena jumped, almost falling.

Mxyzptlk flashed to her side, crossing the space without moving.

“Choose now.”

“Who’s out there?”

“I don’t know. Whoever has the strongest claim over your soul, I suppose. You must choose now; to delay a true god is beyond even me.”

Lena swallowed, hard.

“Do it,” she whispered.

The world went mad. Everything was spinning, and trying to throw her stomach out of her body through her nose. The acrid smell of jet fuel and burning electronics stung her nose. The pilot beside her was unconscious.

And then…

The spinning slowed, and she was no longer falling. A gentle sense of lift raised her into the air, the city falling away from the cracked glass in front of her. Very gently, the helicopter came to rest on the roof, and she glimpsed a familiar figure in a cape and skirt, and her heart nearly exploded in her chest. There was a gust of wind that rocked the chopper and ice crystals crawled over the glass, crackling in the National City sunshine.

Then, she was there. Kara tore the door loose in a single, fluid motion and climbed inside, pausing to check the pilot, peering through flesh and bone to asses his injuries.

Then she looked at Lena.

Kara’s breath caught, and her pupils blew wide. Kara stared at Lena like she was something knew, unknown and wondrous, the edges of her lips curling just so despite the self serious tone as she asked if Lena was okay.

It was her. Alive, here, now. Lena couldn’t help herself; she lifted a trembling hand to cup Kara’s soft cheek, without thinking. Her throat nearly closed and no words escaped her lips. She just felt that warm, soft skin and stared right back into Kara’s otherworldly eyes, savoring the tickle of Kara’s loose honey curls slipping over the back of her hand.

“Miss Luthor,” Kara said. “Your heart is racing. We’d better get you an ambulance.”

“You saved me,” Lena whispered.

“That’s what I do,” said Kara, winking at her.

Lena almost died again.

[poorrichardjr]

Threats

Sometimes it can be very frustrating to live in a place so heavily populated with conservatives. Most everyone I run into plans on voting for Donald Trump because they believe he was sent by God to save them. He is what's best for our country, and it doesn't matter what he says or does, nothing is going to shift their belief in him.

I know a lot of these people have no idea what Trump really says. I know most of them have no idea what the results of his hatred for immigrants, the media, or liberals will really be. Mostly because they don't believe what he will do is really that extreme, and also because most of them really can't be bothered to actually do a bit of thought or research to understand the threat. Nope, they are die hard republicans and voting any other way is voting for the devil and the destruction of the country.

The thing is, I know a lot of these people aren't stupid. And though they say that they aren't hateful or racist people, it sure seems hard to believe them when you watch how they respond when they are told about how Trump wants to send troops into American cities on day 1 to root out every single immigrant and deport them. It's as if they can't put it together that if we suddenly remove a few million people from our economic system that we are going to have massive upheaval. No, these people aren't all collecting government checks that are so large they live better than you. These same people aren't taking your job. They are doing construction jobs, agriculture jobs, and meat packing jobs that a lot of Americans will not do. Many of them are paying taxes.

Don't get me wrong, there needs to be a better system in place to root out the criminals that sometimes slip through the cracks. There also needs to be a way for these people who are dedicating their lives to getting better and working hard to become citizens. We all know that suddenly deporting millions of people is going to adversely effect our economy. Adding in tariffs will significantly increase the costs of everyday items and cause a massive recession or depression. Tariffs have a place and a point, but Trump doesn't know what it is, and that's why he had to pay trillions of dollars to farmers and agriculture companies just to keep them afloat after he started his trade war.

But, this isn't about economics. As bad as Trump is on economic issues, you will never hear a bad word about it in the right-wing media sphere which is where the vast majority of these upper lower class yahoo's get their information from.

No, what I'm really getting to is that Trump, and by extension the Heritage Foundation, is planning to use every tool at their disposal to completely upend our society in every way imaginable. For people who seem constantly obsessed with conspiracy theories about democrats murdering newborn children, children using cat litter boxes in schools, or the government pushing vaccines on people to track their every movement, they don't want to consider the possibilities of giving a man who is deemed to be untrusty by every reasonable measure the tools to do whatever he wants.

You say you love your freedom. You say you want your guns, your free speech, your religious freedoms, and every other thing you know you are entitled to by our constitution. Yet, you can't understand that a man willing to send the police and military through the streets to root out undesirables isn't going to suddenly decide one day that even your freedoms are too much. You shouldn't have your guns because some idiots tried to assassinate me. You shouldn't have any right to protest because you don't like what I did. Maybe I will send the police and military into your town to round you up next and stick you in concentration camps.

I know you believe that will never happen. Oh, my representative wouldn't allow that. Yes they would. They are all cowards who have repeatedly bowed down to let Trump say and do whatever he wants. Are they suddenly going to grow a spine and try to say no just because your lily white ass is now on the line? Hell no, they won't because like every coward they are far more worried about their own lily white ass.

Trump and all of his enablers are a threat to the very foundation of this nation, and I am so sorry that none of you are able to see it. I still believe there are enough people of good moral judgement and conscience that Trump is going to lose this election. I can't guarantee that though. There are people in place to gum up the works and there are others who plan to not certify the vote if Trump loses. I don't expect Trump to walk away if he gets blown out, and I don't expect the right wing bubble to do anything but try and say how everything was stolen from them. They have also proven over and over that they are willing to say anything to get their way.

My faith in my fellow countrymen is waning. I want to believe you are good and honest people. I want to believe you are who you say you are. But I see your actions. I hear your words. You aren't the Christians you think you are. You aren't the good people in this story. I don't want to blame you. I know you are being lied to. I know you are struggling and doing your best just to get by most of the time. I also know that you are being poisoned and brainwashed on a daily basis when you listen to anyone talk about how awful our country is. There are problems, just like there has always been, but we are nowhere near as bad as we have been in other times.

Our whole way of life is on the line. I hate to say this because most everyone is tired of hearing how "important" this election is. But, it's true. A man who is given absolute immunity to do whatever he thinks he should for the good of the country isn't going to stop at "illegal" immigrants. Next they will come for the trans people. Then the gays. Then the "left wing media". Then anyone who doesn't support him and his every lie.

Sooner or later they will get around to you and your friends. Someone like this can't stop no matter how far they go. There will always be a new enemy. You have the chance now to stop this madness before we walk down the same road as Germany, China, Rwanda, and so many other nations. Can you, as a concerned citizen do the right thing? Will you? I guess I'll get my answer in a few weeks.

[agentmanatee]

OK, so here me out:

AOS season 5B storyline where The Devil Complex doesn't happen, at least how it does. There are so many first trying (and often not well) to address what happened to Daisy, but I haven't seen any that explores what if Fitz actually told her that her powers were the only solution he could come up with.

The scene could parallel Fitz telling Daisy that she's changed in season 2. He could promise her that he'll keep trying to work something else out but that she needs to know that her powers are the most feasible way with their limited resources. He could get more insistent as the story goes on.

Daisy also gets some much needed agency in regards to her powers and can explore her relationship with them and her identity as an Inhuman. This is a different Daisy from season 3 pre-Hive Daisy who refused to entertain the possibility of an Inhuman vaccine. But she's also not the season 4 Daisy who hated herself and thought herself worthless. It could be such a wonderful character study.

Bonus points if she discusses her dilemma with various members of the team. They can remind her of how she helped Inhumans gain confidence in their powers and find a place in Shield, how proud she became of her Inhuman heritage, or how many lives she has saved with her powers.

[ad-caelestia]

things to avoid as a new witch ✨

cultural appropriation

don’t try to incorporate the practices of closed cultures into your craft - this includes “smudging,” the use of dream catchers when obtained from non-natives, engaging in practices that are exclusive to poc if you are not a poc, etc.

don't speak on closed practices that you aren't apart of - it's not your place

stereotyping 

don’t buy into the idea that all witches are evil, cisgender, worship the devil, are wiccan, etc.

on the same note, if you follow the wiccan ideology of the rule of three and “harm none” and all that jazz, don’t assume that everyone follows your path because, and this might be shocking to you, we don’t

over-harvesting

refrain from using herbs that are endangered, threatened, or even sacred to some cultures, such as white sage or palo santo unless obtained from an ethical source such as native sellers themselves or those who source from natives

there is always an alternative and an endless amount of herbs you can use in place of the popular ones you see floating around the internet

purposely posting harmful information

before you freak out, hear me out: there is so much awful information out there, and part of me wants to believe that these people just don’t know any better but the other part of me knows that they legit believe in things like essential oils as a cure, and that vaccinations and healthcare providers are evil

don’t be that person

know that science and witchcraft can exist simultaneously and harmoniously in the same world, and that you should not ignore medical advice in lieu of a magical cure

content theft 

even if you’re saving things for your own use at a later date, tumblr has this nifty feature in which you can “reblog” things rather than save them and reupload them yourself - don’t repost, reblog 

also please don’t screenshot popular posts and reupload them to places like instagram, pinterest, or facebook; rather, reblog our posts or find our other social accounts to follow and support the original creators

it may seem utterly ridiculous, but believe it or not, content authors like myself put a ton of work into the stuff we post here - don’t think that because you reuploaded our work elsewhere that you’re “doing us a favor” and “helping to spread information” because you’re absolutely not

if you see content theft, please tell OP so they can report it and help put an end to the seemingly never ending content theft in this community

gatekeeping

know that your path will likely differ from the next witch, and understand that there’s a difference between belittling someone for their beliefs and having a mature, educated discussion about it

the same goes for correcting actual misinformation or information that can be deemed harmful

it’s 100% okay to have different beliefs than what you see presented here on tumblr, just don’t be a dick about it

don’t like emoji spells or pop culture magic? cool, don’t engage. not a wiccan? who cares. perform curses? great!

in the grand scheme of things, we are all users on the same website - what we do with our practice in our own space is our business so, ultimately you should do what works for you but be open to criticism if you decide to post it publicly

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺 𝙰𝙳-𝙲𝙰𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙰

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

did y'all know that my screen name is because my parents were so paranoid about me getting the swine flu that they forced me to stay home from school for a year? They also did this every winter for the flu? It was so important to keep me from getting sick and most likely dying that it was worth socially stunting me and worsening my mental health even when I BEGGED them to let me go.

Isn't that crazy? Isn't that wild? For most of my life it was THAT important for me not to get sick. We took every precaution (except vaccines because those are the devil). I heard (and experienced!!!!) that even a COLD could send me to the hospital, so we made illness action plans and took it very seriously when I got sick with anything, and everyone always wore masks or avoided me if they were sick.

And now!!!!!!! Suddenly!!!!!!!!! It's no big deal!!!!!! It's good for my immune system to be sick!!!!!!! Masks don't work!!!!! Vaccines don't work!!!!! I'm SO paranoid for trying to avoid being sick!!!!!! My immune system would handle covid no problem, I'm plenty strong now!!!!!!

Isn't that SO funny??????

[pascalscoffin]

Away From The Devil pt. VII

Full Pedro Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pt. VIII

Warning: Minors Go Away I Will Kick You In The Forehead. I just don’t want kiddos here. Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns. Reader is around 24, Joel is 56. Reader has inappropriate thoughts about Joel. Cursing. Joel in denial again but ultimately having inappropriate thoughts as well. Probably not much Ellie in this chapter just insight to reader and Joel and where they are in their feelings for eachother. Joel has dirty thoughts and sad thoughts cause the man’s bipolar (not literally but like… literally he doesn’t know what to feel is he scared or is he horny? Don’t ask him and don’t ask me.) kinda implies reader is “short” (she can’t reach a shelf)

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Joel was quiet for the rest of the drive, you guessed he was trying to come up with a convincing story to tell Ellie, because when she finally woke up and asked what was going on and what happened, Joel told her there were more people immune and that they couldn’t make any of the vaccines work, when she asked where her clothes were he claimed raiders came and the three of you had barely gotten out. She’d asked if people were hurt and Joel gave her a begrundged ‘yes’ before staying silent when she asked about Marlene, when she realized he wasn’t going to answer, subsequently meaning you wouldn’t, she turned over and Joel looked at her in the rearview before giving a soft “I’m sorry”

Ellie laid there for a while, not speaking, so you guessed she went back to sleep. You thought about how she’d reacted when Joel mentioned the drugs she was under, it was like she didn’t know, like Marlene had sent her to surgery with absolutely no knowledge of what was happening, and you felt sick.

Being in a car, in silence, meant downtime. Downtime meant you could sit and admire Joel while he drove. You realized it was probably a bad time to do so, even worse when you kept getting flashes of the hospital and instead of diminishing that burning feeling you’d felt since that night in the old photo store, it egged it on, spreading the feeling from your stomach to everywhere else on your body.

It’s sick, really, the feeling you get when you think about his powerful arms wrapping around someone’s throat, those thick fingers squeezing a trigger, or wrapped tight around the handle of a knife just before stabbing someone or slicing their throat.

You tried napping but that just made it worse, your momentarily unconscious mind would be filled with images of Joel, the grunts he’d made fighting and how different they would sound in your ear, just for you to hear. How those thick hands that crush windpipes so easy would be just rough enough to make you lightheaded. Each time your eyes would snap open with a small gasp only to find Joel looking at you from the corner of his eye and then ripping them away. Eventually you decided napping was a worse idea than trying to ignore the thoughts.

“We need to stop somewhere and get her some clothes.” You mumbled, partially because maybe if you could get the hell out of this car, away from Joel’s intoxicating scent, his demanding aura, then maybe you could feel normal for just a few minutes. Joel looked at you with a nod and cleared his throat a little. “Try and find a map of the area we’re in, see if there’s any stores or anythin’ nearby.”

You nodded and dug around before finally finding one. “Don’t know if it’ll actually have anything but there’s a store right on the edge of town. Might have something.” Joel nodded and reached to take the map so he could figure out how to get there. When he pulled up at the store you unbuckled your seatbelt and grabbed your stuff, when you opened your door Joel opened his and you looked at him quickly. “No.” Joel looked at you and frowned deeply. “What?”

“I just- Y’know we should probably just… let her sleep until I come back with the clothes, right? I’ll be fine. Quick in and out, totally silent. If I need anything I’ll scream.” His frown softened a bit, looking more worried. “It’s not.. about the hospital.” You told him. Which was a lie. It was. It totally was. Just not in the context he was thinking. “I just gotta stretch my legs, Y’know? And she’s gonna need.. Y’know undergarments and I doubt you wanna be there for that.” You raised a brow. “Unless you wanna wake her up, let her walk around in risky territory in a hospital gown.”

Joel looked at Ellie in the backseat and then back at you and sighed. “Fine.” He closed his door but stayed outside the car. You closed your door and went to his side. “I’ll be quick I swear.” “Ten minutes and I’m comin’ to look for you.” You put a hand on your hip before nodding and waving that same hand at him. “Fine. Ten minutes.” You rubbed his arm before jogging into the store, knowing your ten minute timer started as soon as you got inside.

There weren’t very many clothes left in the store, a few flannels and tshirts, jeans were a little trickier but you found a couple you thought she could fit, after grabbing shoes you dug around different piles of stacked merchandise before finding some underwear and a sports bra you thought she could wear, then some socks, and made your way out with everything shoved into a backpack you found on the counter.

When you passed by the back office it was pretty much bare except for some cases on a high shelf on the back wall of the room, walking into the room and over to the shelves you noticed they were music and perked up, all you needed now was a way to get them so you could listen to them in the car.

God, the car, you’re gonna be stuck in close quarters with Joel for god knows how long again, smothered in his presence no matter how far you push yourself into the door or roll the window down. He was suffocating, demanding your attention, your eyes, any time you were near him, your fingertips burning to touch him.

The worst part about it all is, it almost never felt like he felt the same way, like he was dying inside to touch you the same way you were to touch him. You wondered if it ever even crossed his mind, even as a fleeting thought. You doubted it. Your age gap didn’t help, sure Joel was a lonely older guy. But older was the key word here, and he didn’t seem like the type of older guy to go for a girl 32 years his junior.

God… 32.. and you were drooling over this man like when you were 15 and running around with Christopher from Silver Lake behind everyone’s backs. There was just something about Joel.. how he can go from vicious and hard to soft and concerned in a matter of seconds was like riding one of those rollercoaster things your mom used to talk about that made your stomach flip and spin around but in the best way.

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Joel, ever stoic, ever grumpy Joel, was quite possibly two of those stupid little wide eyed looks you gave him away from simply exploding into a ball of blood and bones. He’d never let on about it, it seemed Ellie, though, was fully aware that he was most definitely perving on someone young enough to be his daughter, no matter how much he denied it to himself and her.

Thankfully, you seemed unaware. It’s not that he’s concerned you won’t feel the same way. He’s a 56 year old man, after all, he knows when someone’s interested. He’s caught the wandering looks, the times you’d go to say something only to close your mouth or change what you were going to say before you even get the first word out.

So, yes, he’s fully aware the feelings are reciprocated, that all he’d have to do is say something or do something to cross that line and you’d be wrapped together in the throes of whatever the hell followed, passion or otherwise.

While his attraction to you wasn’t immediate, it definitely came fast. He’d been skeptical, a little worried you had some ulterior motive to coming along with them, even after your speech at the fire that night.

But watching and listening to you interact with Ellie had definitely been an eye opener. You weren’t some manipulative raider looking for people to mooch off of before ultimately deciding you didn’t need them anymore and killing them in their sleep, which had most definitely been a very strong worry of his for a bit there. You were just… a lonely kid. Lonely and looking for friends, companionship from someone that wasn’t abusing you or feeding your friends to you.

Then he’d been worried you weren’t capable, you’d spent most of your life, from what he understood, at that resort with that cult David called a community, women were hardly sent out and according to you, you hadn’t been allowed out in weeks. You hadn’t said why, but you’d gotten that glassy look and Joel didn’t want to push it further.

And then, of course, he watched you wrestle a Clicker, unable to get a clear shot, for a second there he’d been sure you’d been bitten or would be ripped apart, and then like fucking magic or something you had the upper hand and were screaming like a Greek warrior at that completely wrecked creature beneath you.

He’d made his way to you cautiously after that, not wanting to make a noise that could cause you to swing that big ass fucking knife into his face. And to make matters worse on the old bastard you had him on his back! Knife held back and ready for round two before he told you it was just him. That wild look in your eyes had slowly melted away and then you looked… lost, confused and looking for something, anything to bring you back down to earth. He decided then that he wanted to be that thing.

He didn’t get more than a couple hours of sleep after that, though. If he wasn’t dreaming of failing Sarah, failing Ellie, he was failing you, letting you get torn apart or shot or whatever horrible fucking thing his brain could mange to cook up.

Joel’s dreams were reserved for failures and fears. His waking thoughts, the ones he shoved all the way to the back because now is not the fucking time to imagine you hovering over him, sweating and chanting his name like a Sunday prayer. Jesus Christ Joel.

Those were the thoughts he was desperate to run from, or maybe desperate to run towards, he couldn’t quite tell. Joel was older, had better restraint than you in this department, so why the hell did his skin hum like a 7th grader every time you touched him? Why did his ears warm up and ring every time you said his name? Hell, a quarter of an inch too close and he was terrified his jeans were going to cut off circulation if he didn’t get himself under control.

It was like some stupid middle school crush, to the point where he’s checked his broken watch three times since you stepped into the clothes store and his body was thrumming just to be around you again, just to hear you say his name or smile that big ass smile that made his stomach flip like that Tower Drop ride Sarah had forced him onto on her birthday.

And then he heard a loud crash and a scream inside the store, he straightened up and was sprinting into the store after one quick look back at Ellie. He ran in and heard you struggling in the back office and ran in to find you waist deep in a hole, which you’d no doubt fallen through, but you didn’t look stressed or uncomfortable- you looked excited. Why the fuck were you excited?

“Joel! Look what I found!” And there it was, that sweet as honey voice singing his name. He wanted to make you sing another way, make his name tumble from your mouth like it was the only part of the chorus you could remember. God damn, Joel, get a grip.

When he made his way over to you, you were waving three disc cases eagerly, smiling widely up at him. “… what the hell happened to you?” You looked down at your situation, one leg completely in the hole while the other was stuck in an awkward ass position that had less than awkward thoughts filling his mind.

“Well- I saw these up there on that shelf and… I wanted to get them for the car.. but I put too much weight on this part of the floor and it caved in.” That smile never faltered, it became sheepish but never fell and your eyes were shimmering like they had in the museum.

He shook his head with a sigh and reached down to pull you out of the hole, mumbling a soft sorry, almost gotcha into your ear when you made a sound of discomfort. “All for some music?” You shrugged sheepishly and held them out to him. “… I thought we could use the distraction.” You were inches away from one another, one of his arms still around you with your faces so close you could “trip” and fall smack right on his mouth. Alas, before you could gather the gumption to do so, he was clearing his throat and stepping away, leaving your waist and hips cold.

He reached for the cases with a hum like nothing happened and looked over them curiously. “Let’s see… Fleetwood Mac. That’s a good one.” He looked at the other two and chuckled. “Metallica…. And Creedance Clearwater Revival.” He hummed.

You shifted on your feet in front of him. “.. are those any good?” Joel looked up from the discs and chuckled lightly. “Yeah they’re good.” He gave them back to you and motioned for you to walk out, watching over you curiously and frowning when he noticed you limping. “Did you hurt your leg?” He grabbed your arm, the two of you standing just outside the SUV.

You furrowed your brows and looked down at your leg, and sure enough your calf was bleeding, not bad and it could easily be stitched up. “Oh. Yeah.” He raised a brow at you and you shrugged. “… okay so maybe I had my knife out and I was trying to use it to get the discs… and maybe it fell and cut my leg.” Joel rubbed his forehead and muttered something. “Sit.” He motioned to a bench beside the street, shaking his head as he started searching for the first-aid kit.

You sat down with a small sigh and watched Joel come over and kneel in front of you. “Hope you got some pants while you were in there.” He muttered before using his knife to cut the bottom half of your jeans off to see the cut. “Joel-“ you pouted and watched him toss the piece of denim off to the side. He gave you a little glare and you bit your lip as you stayed quiet, hissing softly when he pressed an antiseptic wipe against the cut.

“‘S not bad, but you shouldn’t walk around with that shit out and bleeding.” “Wasn’t really “out” until you cut my pants.” Joel looked at you again and you shifted a little before looking down at your leg, frowning at it. “Thanks.” You mumbled softly. “You’re welcome. We’ll get it stitched up later, for now, since it’s not too bad, we can use these.” He pulled out some butterfly bandaids and used them to bandaid your skin back together.

He pinched around the cut and you flinched back a little, a little from the pain, but mostly from how hot Joel’s fingers felt on your skin. The second you felt his rough fingertips your skin was screaming and begging for more more more please more.

His hands were gentle when he laid the bandaids over the cut, soothing the bandaid down softly and slowly letting his hand slide down to your ankle, holding it for just a second, his warm hand heating up the skin beneath his touch, his fingertips rubbing lightly before he was sliding his hand away and standing up. “There you go. C’mon. Let’s get goin’.” You nodded and stood up, grabbing the things you’d sat down next to you.

Joel watched you walk to the car and took a deep breath when you got in, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes before finally climbing into the drivers seat and starting to drive.

He just hoped he could keep himself under control long enough for that burning, aching feeling to go away.

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@romanarose @orcasoul @caitlynsixxx @shotgun-shelby @aspecialgreenie

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Devil You Know

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

The boys and I followed a doctor through a hospital full of very sick patience, putting on face masks to protect us and them. "Check it out...I look like the king of pop." Dean said, as he gestures to his masked face. Sam and I sigh at this while Dean chuckles. "Too soon?" He asked. "Too soon." Sam replied. "Yeah, c'mon, I'm still not over that. Been listening to Thriller nonstop." I grumbled.

"Don't get me wrong...I'm glad the CDC is here, but what we really need is vaccine." The doctor said, stopping and turning around to look at us. "You got that right." I muttered, looking around at all the sick people sitting in the waiting room. "Well, tell me, have you noticed anything unusual about the strain...Any signs of behavioral change, like aggression, maybe?" Sam asked the doctor. "Excuse me?" She asked, confused.

"Have the flu victims shown any signs of, uh, homicidal tendencies?" Dean asked. The doctor look between us and chuckles. "uh...Symptomatically speaking, we're looking at a relatively mild case of swine flu here. Probably add up to a miserable week off of work, and that's about it." She said. "So nothing unusual." I said, questionable. "Hmm. Day and a half ago, we didn't have a single case. Now we're looking at over 70. The infectious equivalent of a briefcase bomb. So, yeah, I might call that a little unusual." The doctor explained as she signs something for another doctor.

"Day and a half?" Sam said to Dean and I. "That's the same time those statues started crying." I said. "Yep." Sam replied. "I'm sorry. What was that?" The doctor asked. "What was what?" I asked. "Did you just say a bunch of statues started crying?" The doctor asked. 

"What?" Sam asked then laughs. "Why, no. No. W-who would..." He said. "Who would say that, huh? Crazy people." Dean said. "Exactly." Sam said. "Yeah, which we are not." I said. "No." Sam said. The doctor looks between us, confused. "Just...Get us some vaccine." She said, we nodded and she walks off with the other doctor.

Later, we were driving down a dark road in the Impala, while Bobby talks on speakerphone. "Let me guess...another steamin'-hot pile of swine flu." He said. "Yep." Dean replied. "Doesn't make any sense, Bobby. Pestilence touched down here. I'm sure of it." Sam said, certain.

"But why is he dealing them soft serve like swine flu when he's got the croatoan virus up his sleeve? I-I-I don't get it." Dean said. "Doesn't matter what the sick son of a bitch is doing. What matters is this is the fourth town he's hit. That we know of and we're still eating his dust. Did you get anything? We got even a snowball at probable next target?" Bobby asked. "Uh, no pattern we can see." I said and Bobby sighs.

"Okay. Hold on." He said, we then heard a squeaky noise from his wheelchair. "Well, far as I can tell, he's still heading East, So...Head East, I guess." He said, unsure. "East?" The boys and I said in unison. "Bobby, we're in West Nevada. East is practically all there is." Dean said. "Yeah, well, you better get to drivin'." Bobby replied and Sam hangs up the phone and sighs.

"Say..." A voice said and I jump, rearing to the left behind Dean as Crowley was now suddenly sitting in the backseat beside me. "I've got an idea." He said. The tires screech as Dean swerves, slamming on the brakes. Sam tries to stab Crowley with Ruby's knife, but only stabs the seat of the Impala.

"Did you get him?" Dean asked. "He's gone." I replied then we hear a tap on Sam's window. Sam pulls the knife out of the seat and we look to see Crowley was now standing outside the car. "Fancy a fag and a chat?" He asked but then the boys and I get out of the car. "You're upset. We should discuss it. Not here, but..." Crowley said, backing up as Sam and I stalk after him.

"You want to talk? After what you did to us?" Sam asked. "After what I...what I did to you?! I gave you the Colt!" Crowley said, now standing in front of Dean. "Yeah, and you knew it wouldn't work against the devil!" Sam growled. "I never!" Crowley said, sounding offended. "You set us up. We lost people on that suicide run! GOOD people!" I exclaimed, angrily. "Who you take on the ride is your own business!" Crowley said.

Crowley then he turns to look at Dean. "Look, everything is still the same. W-we're all still in this together." He said, grinning. "Sure we are." Sam said and he attempts to stab Crowley again, but Crowley teleports behind him. "Call your dog off, please." Crowley said to Dean. Sam was about to advance on Crowley again but Dean grabs his arms, stopping him. "Give us one good reason." I said. "I can give you Pestilence." Crowley replied.

"What do you know about Pestilence?" Dean asked. "I know how to get him." Crowley said and Dean and I look at him surprised.  That's got your interest, doesn't it?" Crowley asked, noticing our looks. Sam looks between Dean and I. "Are you actually listening to this?" He asked us. "Sam..." I try to say. "Are you friggin' nuts?!" Sam exclaimed. "Shut up for a second, Sam!" Dean growled.

"Shut up, the lot of you! Look...I swear...I thought the Colt would work. It's an honest mistake. It's all part of the learning process. But nothing's changed. I still want the devil dead. Well...one thing's changed. Now the devil knows that I want him dead. Which, by the way, makes me the most buggered son in all of creation." Crowley explained. "Holy crap. We don't care." Dean grumbled and Crowley looks at him, offended. "They burnt down my house!" He said, no one says anything. "THEY ATE MY TAILOR!" He yelled, Dean just rolls his eyes.

"Two months under a rock, like a bloody salamander! Every demon on hell and Earth's got his eyes out for me! And yet...Here I am...Last place I should be...In the road, talking to Sam and Dean Winchester and their little sidekick, (y/n) (l/n), under a freaking SPOTLIGHT!" Crowley yelled, then he gestures to the light above us and it explodes. "So come with me. Please." He pleaded after composing himself.

The boys and I continue staring at him, not moving or say anything. "Do you want the horsemen rings or not? Yes, I know all about that. Shall we?" Crowley asked. The boys and I exchanged, warily, looks.

We let Crowley back in the Impala and he gave us directions to an abandoned house. Crowley sighs as we enter the house. "Here we are. My life on the lam. How the mighty have fallen. Single-pane glass, Used contraception in the fireplace." He said lighting the fire with just a hand gesture.

"The water damage alone." Crowley said, turning around to face us. "My heart's bleeding for you. Now, how do you know about the rings?" I asked. "Well, now...I've been keeping a close eye on you lot." Crowley said. "We got hex bags. We're hidden from demons." I said. "All but one." Crowley said, holding up his index finger then points to himself.

"That night you broke into my house, our first date, my valet hid a tracking device in your car. A magical coin that easily trumps your little bags o' bones. It allows me to hear things, too. And, my, the things I've heard." Crowley said before he chuckles then looks at me and Dean. "I'd have to say the little break-up conversation you two had, left me heartbroken. Oscar worthy." Crowley said and my hands start to shake with anger. "Unless you want to keep your tongue, I'd suggest you shut up." I growled and Crowley gives me an impressed look.

"My, my, my....feisty one." He mutters, teasingly, then he turns to Dean. "No wonder you like her so much." He said and I could see Dean clenching his jaw. "So!" Crowley said, getting our attention. "You want to cram the devil back in the box? Cunning scheme. I want in." He said. "You said you could get us Pestilence." Dean said.

"Well, now...I don't know where Pestilence is...Per Se. But I do know the demon who does. He's what you might call the horsemen's stable boy. He handles their itineraries, their personal needs. He's who you want believe me. He'll tell us where Sneezy's at." Crowley explained. "Well, how do we get him to spill? Rip out his toenails?" I asked. "No. Nuts at his pay grade don't crack. We bring him here, then I sell him." Crowley replied. "Sell him?" Sam asked.

"Please. I've sold sin to saints for centuries. Think I can't close one little demon?" Crowley said. "All right, so where's this demon of yours?" I asked.

Later, the boys and I were loading our guns in a duffel bag when Sam turns to us. "Why are we even listening to him, guys? This is totally insane." Sam said. "I don't disagree." Dean muttered. "Me either." I said then Crowley claps his hands together getting our attention. "One big happy family, are we, then? Fantastic." He said. "You ready to go?" I asked him. "Yes. Yes. I am. Sam, keep the home fires burning." Crowley said, we look at him confused.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "Sam's not coming." Crowley replied. "And why the hell not?" Sam asked. "Because I don't like you...I don't trust you...And oh, yes. You keep trying to kill me." Crowley said. "There's no damn way. This isn't gonna happen!" Sam growled. "I'm not asking you, am I? 'cause you're not invited. I'm asking them." Crowley said, pointing at Dean and I.

"What's it gonna be?" He asked us. Sam look at us then back at Crowley, who scoffs. "Lady, gentlemen...Enjoy your last few sunsets." He said, turning and walking away. "Wait." Dean said, getting him to stop.

Dean looks to me and I nod. "We'll go." He said, grabbing the duffle back and throwing it over his shoulder. "What can we say? We believe the guy." Dean said to Sam before following him to the door.

Sam then turns to me. "(Y/n)..." He said. I look down, walking to the doorway where I stop and turn back to him. "Sam, we don't have much of a choice. We gotta try something." I said and Sam stares at me not say anything. I sigh and turn to follow Dean and Crowley to the Impala.

Dean and I were using binoculars to watch the Niveus Pharmaceuticals building from the Impala. "Demons." Dean said, lowering his binoculars. "Nah. Human shields. The demons are up top. 12th floor." Crowley said, from the backseat. "All right, then. We'll have to find a way in through the back." I said, lowering my binoculars away. "You (l/n)s and Winchesters make everything so complicated." Crowley said then disappears. "Ah, crap." Dean grumbled. "I don't like that." I said.

Dean and I look through our binoculars again to see Crowley reappearing in the building behind the security guard. He waved to us then slits the guard's throat. "Oh, crap. Crap! Crap!" Dean said as we get out of the car and run to the door of the building.

Once we get there, Dean knocks on the door. "Door's open!" Crowley yelled and we enter the building to see the other guard is dead. Dean and I gesture to Crowley like 'what the hell?'

"What?" Crowley asked, cleaning his knife. "You killed them?" I asked. Crowley sniffs and puts his knife away then steps over the other guards. "We're on a tight schedule. Come on." He said turning us away and walks us to the elevator. I look over my shoulder at the guard. "Now you're squeamish? Please." Crowley said, making me turn away.

Dean and I step inside the elevator but Crowley does not. Instead he just hits the 12th button for us. "Go get 'em, tigers." He said.

The elevator door starts to shut but Dean held out his hand to stop it. "Wh...You're not coming?" Dean asked. "Oh, no. It's not safe up there. There's demons." Crowley replied. "Yeah, we get that." I said, annoyed. "Look, just do what I told you, a-and try to be convincing. It'll work like a charm. Trust me." Crowley said, pushing Dean back so the door could close. Crowley smiles and waves goodbye before the door shuts and the elevator carries us up.

Arriving on the 12th floor, Dean and I kill the demons guarding the office door when suddenly the door opens on it's own. Inside the office, a demon sits at a desk. "Dean Winchester. (Y/n) (l/n). What, no appointment?" He asked us. "Kind of an 11th-hour thing, you know?" Dean replied as we step over the bodies to enter the office. "Well, then, you're just on time." The demon said, closing the door with a gesture. "Have a seat." He said, turning the chairs in front of his desk with a gesture. "How's your brother?" he asked Dean.

Dean doesn't say anything and we take a seat in the chairs, turning them towards the desk. "Well, down to business, then. What can I do for you?" The demon asked, closing his laptop and smiling at us. "Actually, it's about what we can do for you." I said. "Really?" The demon asked.

"Us and Sam dropped two of your jockeys. I think you know that." Dean said. "Yes. I got the memo." The demon replied. "Well, we kept their, uh, secret power rings. Which is why we're here. We heard some folks saying that you wanted them back and you were willing to pay." I said.

The demon leans back in his chair, thinking. "Hmm. Where are they?" He asked. "Not here. But you want them, you'll come with us. Nice and civil. We'll get out of your little batcave here, and we'll discuss a transaction." Dean said.

"Who says I want them?" The demon asked, makng Dean and I look at him confused. "What?" Dean and I asked. "Who...Says...I want them?" He asked. "You know...Folks." I replied, shrugging. The demon smiles at us and we, nervously, smile back.

"See..." The demon said, he clears throat and stood up, walking around his desk to sit on it in front of us. "War and Famine, even if I could cram the rings back on their bony fingers, I doubt it would do much good. They're withered husks right now. Fetal position on the floor. All thanks to you. So I don't want the rings. What I want is retribution. And I'm gonna rip it right out of your assess!" He growls then he throws us out through the office door, crashing on the floor.

"This...is so good." The demon said walking over to Dean and I as we struggle to get up. The demon kicks us each in the stomach, keeping us down, and he chuckles. "...Therapeutic, for sure. You know, guys, I really owe you one, buddies, 'cause I feel..." The demon said as he kicks us again. "So...Much..." He kicks us again. "Better!" And kicks us again. The demon let's out a breath as he fixes his hair.

Dean and I laid on the floor, groaning in pain, until we eventually managed to escape the demon and ran to the elevator. I push the buttons repeatedly as the demon calls out to us. "Guys, where are you going? We're just getting started!"

The elevator door closes and carries us down to the ground floor, it dings and the door opens. We exit the elevator cautiously, seeing now one in sight. Suddenly something hits me on the back of my head and I fell to the ground and slide across the floor along with Dean. "Good meeting, guys. You know, I'm excited." The demon said. Then Crowley approaches from behind, and drops a sack covered in a devil's trap over the demon's head, then bashes his head with a crowbar.

"Evening, Uncle." Crowley said, then starts hitting the demon a couple more times on the head with the crowbar, until the demon drop to the floor. 

Dean and I look at the demon lying unconscious on the floor then up at Crowley, who smiles. "What the hell was that?" Dean asked, helping me up as he stands. "That was perfect." Crowley said. "Perfect? He didn't want the rings. He wanted us." I said. "Imagine the surprise on your faces." Crowley said. "What?" I asked, confused. "Your ignorance and misinformation. I mean, completely authentic. You can't fake that." Crowley said and we glared back at him.

"What? I-it went like clockwork." He said. "Not for us, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled. "That's what you get working with a demon." Crowley said, pointing at him with the crowbar and grinning.

Later, we were driving back towards the abandon house as I was wiping the blood off mine and Dean's faces. Crowley was carving a sigil into the demon's torso. "Hey, hot stuff, watch the upholstery!" Dean said to Crowley. "Up yours, mate. This bit of carving will tie our friend here down. No zapping off, no smoking out. Locked in the meat suit...An important piece of our bargaining strategy. Now, up here, we don't want I-50. Take 93 north." Crowley said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "Look, we can't take this guy back to Sam." Crowley said. "Why the hell not?" Dean asked, but Crowley doesn't answer. "Crowley!" I exclaimed. "They got history, all right?" Crowley said. Dean angrily screeches the Impala to a halt. "You want to go anywhere, you start talking. What history?" He asked.

*3rd Person P.O.V*

Back at the abandoned house, Sam was sitting on a bed waiting. He hears The Impala approaching and finds Crowley downstairs. "Where's Dean and (y/n)?" He asked, warily.

"Now...For the record, I'm against this. Negotiating a high-level defection. It's very delicate business." Crowley said. Sam narrows his eyes and tries to go into the other room, but Crowley held up his hand, stopping him. "What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "I begged Dean and (y/n) not to come back. We should be miles away...from you. Your brother replied with a colorful rejoinder about my 'corn chute.'" Crowley said and Sam scoffs.

"So, go ahead. Go ruin our last best hope." Crowley said. Sam stares at him for a moment then slips pass him. "It's only the end of the world." Crowley said as Sam goes into the other room.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Sam enters the room where Dean and I have the demon still hooded and tied to a chair in a devil's trap. "Sam." I said, walking up to him as Dean finishes tightening the rope. "What's going on, guys?" Sam asked, wary. "We need you to stay on mission, okay? Focused." I said, firmly. "I don't understand. What's all this about?" Sam asked. "We're doing this 'cause we trust you." Dean said, walking around the demon to join me. "Trust me to what?" Sam asked.

"Sam?" the demon said, before Dean or I could say anything. Sam looks at the hooded man, confused, as the demon clears throat. "Sam, is that you?" He asked. Dean removes the hood for Sam to see. "Brady?" Sam muttered, surprise, and Brady chuckles. "Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh...middle of our sophomore year?" He said and Sam's eyes widen.

"What?" He asked. "That's right." Brady said. Sam glances at me and Dean then, quickly, back to Brady. "You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it all sink in." Brady said. "You son of a bitch." Sam whispered. "You son of a bitch!" He yelled, approaching Brady. "YOU INTRODUCED ME TO JESS!" He shouted as Dean and I hold him back. "Ding, ding! I think he's got it!" Brady said.

Sam struggles to push past us to get to Brady. "Damn it, Sam!" Dean growled. "I'm gonna kill you!" Sam growled at Brady as Dean and I push Sam out of the room, while Brady laughs.

Dean shoves Sam into the living room and Sam sighs then turns trying to go back but Dean pushes him back. "HEY! That's enough." Dean said, firmly. "Get out of my way." Sam said, calmly. "No." I said, firmly. Sam grits his teeth as he tries to stay calm. "Get out of my way, guys." He said.

"There is only one way to win, and it ain't by killing that thing in there." Dean said as Crowley walks up. "Well...sounds like you got him nice and fluffed. Thanks so much." Crowley said before he walks off to talk to Brady.

"Listen to me. We need Pestilence to get at the devil, and we need Brady to get to Pestilence." Dean said. "Why? Because Crowley said so? Because we trust him now? Like I trusted Ruby? Or like I trusted Brady back at school?" Sam asked.

"Sam, listen. I get it, you're pissed but you have to trust us when we say we need him. Brady is our only lead to Pestilence, okay?" I said and Sam looks over at me. I walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder. "This gets us one step closer to taking down Lucifer. And once we find out where Pestilence is, then you can kill him in any way, shape or form you want to." I said and Sam stares at me before he looks down.

*3rd Person POV*

Meanwhile, Crowley brought a chair over to Brady and straddles it. "Look...Do the math yourself. If Lucifer wins, he'll turn this place into his kingdom. When the morningstar cleans house, we all get the mop." Crowley said. "He created us. Why would he destroy us? That makes no sense." Brady said.

"Look at who...at what he is. Then take a look at what we are." Crowley said. "Maybe you should be a little less worried about our necks and be a little more worried about yours." Brady replied. "Has crossed my mind. That's not really the point." Crowley said. "Actually, Crowley, that is the point. No one will know greater torment than you. Lucifer is never gonna let you die. As for me, I know the score. I'm dead, whether I tell you anything or not. So I think I'll die on the winning side, thanks." Brady said. "Good talk. Cheers." Crowley said, getting up.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Dean and I were sitting at the table, having a beer when Crowley comes back in. "Well, how'd it go? He buy your girl scout cookies?" Dean asked. "Not yet." Crowley said then he noticed that Sam was gone. "Where's your moose?" Crowley asked. "He's cooling off." I replied. "All right, then. Get bent." Crowley said. "You going somewhere?" Dean asked. "Well, he won't budge, so now I go stick my neck out." Crowley said.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked, worried. "Exactly the kind of desperate swashbuckle I've been trying to avoid. Now I go kick open a hive of demons. This whole bloody ring business better work." Crowley said and he disappears.

Later, Dean goes into the bathroom to wash his face and I walk up beside him. "Dean...?" I asked and he hums at me. "Be honest...is this the right thing to do?" I asked. Dean sighs then turning off the sink and stands up to look at me. "No, not really. But..." he started to say but then the door shuts behind us. "Sam?" I called out and I go up the door, and grabbed the knob. 

"He's locked us in!" I growled and Dean comes up next to me and tries the door.

*3rd Person POV*

Sam had shut the door and put a chair against the doorknob, preventing Dean and (y/n) from exiting, as they stood and talked in the bathroom. "Sam?" (Y/n) called out as he hears the door knob jiggle. "Come on, Sam! Don't do this!" Dean growled as the two bang on door. Sam ignores them and takes out Ruby's knife. "Sam, come on! Hey! Open the door! Open the door!" Dean and (y/n) shout as Sam leaves the two of them trap and goes to Brady.

"Well, here we go. We doing last words or no?" Brady asked. "Sophomore year, huh?" Sam asked, walking around to stand in front of him. "Brady, here, he was a good kid. Straight arrow. I mean, your best friend, really. Perfect point of access." The demon said. "Thanksgiving." Sam said, questioning.

"Yes, sir. Remember when I came back from break all messed up...Dropped out of pre-med, the drugs, the bitches?" Brady asked and Sam smiles, tightly, as he nods. "That was the new Brady. That was me." He said and Sam glares at him.

"Remember how much time you spent trying to get me back on the right track? You really were a good friend. But ol' yellow eyes didn't send me back to be your friend. No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss. Now, come on. We couldn't have that. You were our favorite. Well, one of our favorites. Azazel also had a soft spot for your friend, (y/n), as well. She was coming along nicely...except for the fact she was always around her Daddy, her weak spot at that point in time." Brady explained, grinning.

Sam breathes in, slowly, and exhales slower, trying so hard to keep himself together. "So he dealt with her father, personally, while I hooked you up with a pure, sweet, innocent piece of tail. And then I toasted her on the ceiling." Brady said as Sam looks down, his hand twitching around the knife as he grips it, tightly.

"That's right...Azazel might have put the hit out on Jessica, but, man, I got to have all the fun!" Brady exclaimed then he laughs. "You know, she thought we were friends, too. Let me right in. She was baking cookies." He taunted and Sam breathes, faster, as his anger starts to take him over.

Brady laughs "She was so surprised...So hurt when I started in on her." Brady said, which set off that spark in Sam. He lunges forward, grabbing Brady by his jacket and holding the knife to his throat.

But Brady just laughs. "Come on! Do it, if it'll make you feel better!" Brady yelled and Sam nicks his throat with the knife. "Do it, Sammy! Do it! Come on! Come on." Brady yelled. Sam glares down at him as he face twitches in anger. Then he let's Brady go and steps back and Brady laughs again. "Ohhhhh." He said, chuckling and sighs. Sam leaves the room walking back to the bathroom.

*(Y/n)'s P.O.V*

Dean paces for a moment while I lean against the sink. "You don't think he'd go through with it, do you?" I asked him, worried. "I don't know what to think anymore." He said then he bangs on the door again. "Hey, hey, hey! All right! Wait! I'm gonna open it." Sam said.

Dean steps back and the door opens, letting us out. "What happened?" I asked. "Nothing." Sam replied. "My ass." Dean growled and we walk back towards the room. "Guys, I'm fine." Sam said. "Yeah? And what about Brady?" I asked and Sam sighs. "Like you guys said...We need him." He said as we reach the room to see Brady is still alive.

"God." a voice said and we jump and turn around to see Crowley, with some blood on him and his suit ripped. "The day I've had." He said, slipping pass us and walking up to Brady. "Good news. You're going to live forever." He said and Brady stares at him. "What did you do?" Brady asked.

"Went over to a demons' nest had a little massacre. Must be losing my touch, though. Let one of the little toads live. Oops. Also might have given said toad the impression that you left your post last night because you and I are wait for it...Lovers in league against Satan." Crowley explained then chuckles and Brady sighs.

"Hello, darling." Crowley said, smiling down at him. "So, now Death is off the table. Now you get to be on the boss's eternal-torment list with little old me." He said. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No." Brady said, shaking his head. "Something else we have in common apart from our torrid passion, of course Craven self-preservation. So, now, why don't you tell me where Pestilence is at?" Crowley asked. Brady open his mouth to say something but stops when we hear howling in the far off distance.

Dean breathes in, sharply, and looks around. "Oh, God, Crowley." Brady said. "Was that a hellhound?" Dean asked Crowley. "I'd say it was." Crowley replied. "Why was that a hellhound?" Dean asked Crowley, who groans and pulls out a coin.

"What's that?" Sam asked. "Remember I was telling you about my crafty little tracking device?" Crowley asked. "Yeah." Sam and I replied. "Demons planted one on me." Crowley said, holding up the coin. "You're saying a hellhound followed you here?" I asked, agitated. "Well, technically, he followed this." Crowley said, waving the coin.

"Get me out of here. I'll tell you anything you want." Brady said. "Shut up." Sam said to him. "Okay, well, then we should go." Dean said. "Sorry, gang. No one knows more about the hounds than I. You're long past the point of go." Crowley said and he tosses the coin to Dean, who catches it.

When we look up Crowley was gone. "Damn it." Dean growled. "I told you!" Sam exclaimed. "Oh, well, good for you." Dean said, mockingly. "Luckily, we have salt in the kitchen." I said, walking towards the kitchen. "We'll watch Brady." Sam said and Brady scoffs. "Watch me? Get me the hell OUT OF HERE!" He yelled, panicked.

The howling and snarling continued as I spotted the salt on the counter. But before I could reach it, a window shatters as the Hellhounds break through. I run out of the kitchen, shutting the door to try and slow the invisible beast down. Of course the hellhound just burst right through the door and I pick up the shotgun and fire at the hellhound to keep it back. I began backing up towards the room when I shout. "Boys!" Then I heard footsteps and I look over to see Dean coming up besides me with his own shotgun.

He fires in direction I was shooting at as we came back into the room, seeing Sam untying Brady. "Salt?" He asked. Neither Dean or I say anything and just reloaded our shotguns as the hellhound growls. "Damn it, get me out of here!" Brady yelled, fearfully. "Shut up!" The boys and I said in unison. "Great. Just great." Brady grumbled.

I pumped my shotgun about to fire on the hellhound until I hear a voice. "Hey!" Crowley yelled, standing in the living room. "You're back?" I asked as I turn to him. "I'm invested. Currently." Crowley replied then a new hellhound barks. "Stay!" Crowley ordered, looking to his right.

"You can control them?" Dean asked. "Not that one." Crowley said, pointing towards me and Dean. "I brought my own." He said, patting the invisible hellhound beside him. "Mine's bigger. SIC HIM, BOY!" 

The hellhounds bark and growl as they fight each other, breaking everything in sight. Dean scratches the devil trap with his knife as Sam removes the rope around Brady. "Go, go go go!" Dean said and we run outside and to the Impala, where Crowley already was standing on the passenger side.

"I'll wager $1,000 my pup wins." He said, laughing as he gets in the car. I shoved Brady into the backseat and join the two demons there while the boys sat in front. We drive away as the hellhounds continued, viciously, fight each other.

In an alleyway, Brady hands Crowley a piece of paper. "Yeah. I'm sure Pestilence will be there. Thanks." Brady said. "What do you think?" I asked Crowley. "It's good." Crowley replied, handing Dean the piece of paper.

Crowley turns to look back at Brady. "You got no reason to lie, have you? Like I said before, you're in my boat now." He said. "You've screwed me...for eternity." Brady said. "Nah. Won't last that long. Trust me." Crowley said.

Crowley follows Dean and I down the alley past Sam who is standing, staring at Brady. "Where are you going?" Brady asked. I bend down and begin to pour a salt-line behind Sam. "I'm going to do you a favor." Crowley said to Brady, then turn to Sam. "I expect we'll be in touch." He said, walking away.

I was about to reach the end of the alley, but stop to let Crowley pass. The demon smiles at me as he slips on by then disappears. I then close the salt-line. "What is this?" Brady asked.

"All those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches...They just don't get it, do they, boys?" I said. "No, they don't, (y/n)." Sam said. "You see, Brady...We're the ones you should be afraid of." Dean said. Brady scoffs as Sam approaches Brady with Ruby's knife.

"I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy. Gonna make you feel all better?" Brady asask.him. "It's a start." Sam said. Brady starts backing up as Sam continues approaching.

"Gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain...Yellow eyes, Ruby, me? But it wasn't all our fault, was it? No, no, no, no. You're the one who trusted us. You're the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again. Ever wonder why that is, Sammy? Ever wonder why we were so in your blind spot? Maybe it's because we got the same stuff in our veins and, deep down, you know you're just like us." Brady explained, grinning at Sam.

Brady lunges at Sam, who nicks him with the blade. Sam pushes him back against the wall and Brady pants in pain, turning around to face him. "Maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see every time you look in the mirror. You ever think of that?!" Brady asked but Sam doesn't say anything and Brady laughs at his silence. "Maybe the only difference between you and a demon...is your hell is right here." Brady said.

Then Sam stabs Brady hard in the stomach until he dies. He takes the knife out and lets Brady's body slump down to the ground. "Interesting theory." Sam mutters and he walks out the alley, past us. Dean and I turn and watch him leave, worried.