#answer: in response to failing to find his parents murderers (it was jim's first case) jimmy feel real bad and tries to help bruce out wher

[jankillbride]

wip - got that 1939 groove

[thesleepy1]

Tigers Die, Men Cry

A/N: I couldn’t sleep because this was bouncing around in my head the entire time. I just had to get it out before I forget it or get distracted. Must. Write. The. Angst. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta’d because of laziness.

-Says the brain tired idiot who finished the fic days after they crashed from exhaustion. I need more caffeine.

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian didn’t catch the flu. It's something much, much worse. God save the queen because her kingdom will burn by Moriarty’s hands.

Word count: 3,460

Please proceed with caution.

Warnings: death, grief, aggression, past abuse, mourning, fire, guns, foul language, addiction, smoking, more warnings unlist, more warnings to be added, suicidal thoughts, pass attempted suicide, failed suicide attempt,

Sebastian thought he merely caught the flu. Or at the very least a stomach bug. He had gone out for lunch only to return to his apartment running for the bathroom. The mess he made in there was enough to make morticians cry in their sleep. And to top it all off, he collapsed to the floor before he could even clean up the mess.

Jim almost burned down the building looking for him. He was unable to answer the phone for the second ring and Jim assumed the worst. The crazed man tore through his own home before rushing to Sebastian’s. When the phone went to voicemail once again that was when the gasoline was called in.

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Jim had yelled through the halls, stomping in his new Oxfords before pulling the front door of its hinges. The place had been what Sebastian left it as, barely lived in. Yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

To this day, Sebastian didn’t know why Jim had entered his home. The criminal consultant was too prideful and spiteful to waste precious time ransacking his apartment for his body or some sign that he had left against his view. Maybe, Jim cared about him just a tad more than the rest. Sebastian was dying, he had the right to dream.

Jim had found him unconscious on the floor and instead of helping him to his feet, the man had just kicked his stomach in. The mess had been ignored once more. Sebastian didn’t respond, just subconsciously curled inward in a poor attempt to protect himself. “Get up, or else you’re FIRED!”

No response. Jim kept his cool. The apartment building had not been set on fire, just the first six floors soaked with lighter fluid. A phone call was made and Sebastian was sent to a hospital.

-----

It wasn’t all that bad in Sebastian’s opinion. He just saw it as a long vacation. One that Mortiarty rarely granted him. Sure, it was a pain being tied up to wires and machinery he didn’t have the slightest clue about, but it really wasn’t all that horrible.

There was a little brown teddy bear that Jim had begrudgingly got him from the downstairs gift shop. Sebastian had meant it as a joke, something to get Jim out of his hair so he could suffer alone for a moment. When Jim did return with the little guy with a green ribbon around his neck, Sebastian thought the world must have been ending. The criminal consultant with murder and bloodshed in his eyes tucked the bear next to Sebastian’s side and returned to is post. The fur was surprisingly soft against his stubble. And the ribbon was made from a cheap faux velvet that reminded him of those inner linings of overcoats.

Really, it wasn’t all pain and terror. He had Jim by his bedside.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greeted in a sore tone, his eyes shut but knowing that Jim was right next to him, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jim replied in that sweet, caring, hiss of his.

“Did you try to get some sleep this time?” No reply. It was going to be one of these days. Moriarty had yet to rest since Sebastian had been admitted. They were unable to get one of the VIP, luxury rooms in case either Sherlock or Mycroft were monitoring the country’s hospitals. Jim had not been in a compromising mood, wanting the best of the best for whatever reason.

It was just a room.

The insane man had only conceded, if that was the right word, when Sebastian’s state had worsened. According to one of the nurses, Jim only relented when Sebastian weakly called out for help. Not that he remembered any of that. Calling out for help, especially for Moriarty’s assistance seemed uncharasteric of him. It must have been the poison talking.

Since then, Jim had barely left the room. Only if it were a life or death situation and even then he had people stationed in Sebastian’s room at all times. It was a little suffocating, but nice enough to have people who would actually engage in conversation with him.

“Did you have breakfast at the very least?” Sebastian tried again, prying his eyes open. Jim hadn’t stopped shaking either. He was almost always seen nowadays hunched over his phone, trembling where he sat. His fingers moving at light speed, his voice never softening. It was difficult to rest sometimes when there were random bursts of fury from the criminal consultant. But Moran had worked with the man long enough to ignore it as background noise.

“You know the easiest way to shut me up is to let me have a smoke.” Moriarty could change his motivation and intent at the drop of a hat. If he suddenly got bored playing sitting hen with Sebastian he could have him killed with a snap of his fingers. Pleading for a cigarette was not the dumbest thing Sebastian had done.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I told you to stop smoking,” Jim said in a warning, eyes never wavering from his phone screen.

“You also told me I’ll live and I doubt I’ll make it to next week,” he smirked, darkly. The teddy bear was proof that Jim knew the same. Though one of them had accepted the fact, the other was still delusional.

“The anti venom will be here soon. So shut up, or I’ll have you gagged,” Jim threatened, hand tightening over his phone.

“We both know that’s unrealistic,” Sebastian sighed. “It's unreasonable to think something that expensive will happen in a day. It takes time, boss.” Time that he did not have. He could barely feel his limbs as is. His legs had stopped responding yesterday and his hands were losing their nerves. He could just faintly feel the change of fabric between the blankets piled up on his body, but that was if he was trying. “This room is nice and all, but it would be nice if I could die at home.”

“I’ll kill their families if they don’t hurry up,” Jim snapped, body going still at the facts Sebastian had uttered. Because that was what they were, fact. A little vial of some anti venom wasn’t going to bring him back to life. “I’ll skin every SINGLE LAST ONE who did this to you!”

Sebastian let out a horse chuckle that shook his chest. Jim stopped his fluttering hands at that, straining to listen to what Sebastian had to say now. “I hope you have fun with that,” Moran’s lips tugged up into another smile. “Something to keep you occupied while you find a new sniper.”

“Because that was all I ever was to you, right?”

Jim stilled, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

“Do me a favor?” Sebastian tried a different approach. That peaked his interest enough for him to stop whatever he was doing on his phone. “Hold my hand? I don’t have much feeling left in it, I just want to know you’re there.” This was a long shot, but he’s done the impossible before. “I know physical contact isn’t your thing. But nine years without you can make anyone go insane.”

Not expecting anything to come of it, he sunk back into the comforter. Jim was very insistent that he at least had a soft and sturdy bed. The pillows were goosefeathers and the blankets were velvet. His bear with the green ribbon was very comfortable.

Jim did not face him, he set his hand over Sebastian’s. He squeezed his hand in a vice like grip, just enough so Sebastian could feel it. “I order you to stay.”

Moran sighed at that, rolling his tired eyes, “You know I don’t have any control over that.” He rested his chin on the bear. Before he dies, he should come up with a name for the little guy. It was the least he could do. “But I know damn well I don’t want to die here.”

“Where.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not expecting Jim to fold so quickly. “Glasgow,” he replied with a cough.

-----

The car ride was wonderful. Sebastian suddenly missed his bed and mountain of blankets the moment he was maneuvered into the back seat. Instead of getting in the passenger seat, to everyone’s surprise, Jim sat next to Sebastian. His hand never left Moran’s.

“Stay awake,” Jim commanded, sternly, digging his blunt nails into Sebastian’s skin as if he could feel the pinpricks of pain.

“Don’t want to,” Sebastian articulated, laying his head back on the rest. He had left his bear friend back in the hospital, asking the nurse to keep an eye on the little guy for him. That bear could have come in use, a much better pillow than the cold window.

“If you don’t keep your eyes OPEN we’re going back to the hospital,” Jim yelled in his ear.

Sebastian opened one eye to glare at him. Jim looked worse than he did. His usually slicked back hair was sticking out evenly, his blazer had been discarded and his tie had been thrown onto the seat next to them. His stubble had grown out into an unkept beard, his dark eyes rimmed with red. Sebastian decided to have a little mercy on his boss. “Tell me a story.”

“I don’t do stories, Sebby,” Jim glared right back, urging the driver to hurry with a brief glance.

“Then tell me about your childhood.”

“You mean my lack thereof,” Jim made a clicking sound with his teeth. “What is there to say? That my parents loved me?” The two men burst into a fit of laughter that ended with Sebastian coughing until tears welled up in the corner of his eyes.

Jim stiffed next to him, a sign that the one thing that should not have an effect on him was making him act up. Emotion. Jim Moriarty was actually caring for someone. It terrified him and he did not scare easily. Jim had never been scared a day in his life. He watched Sebastian regain his composure, watching his every breath.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian gave one more moist cough, “Let’s go with something easier. Favorite color?”

Jim shook his head, “Too personal, Sebby. What next? The address?” He rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, sinking into the odd lukewarm warmth that lingered there. He could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. “What do you want to know about it?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jim answered instantly.

“Too quick,” Sebastian smiled. “Nobody likes red. People just say they like red because everyone says they like red.” His breath seemed to hitch when Sebastian closed his eyes for a second too long. “What’s your real favorite color?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?” Jim asked honestly, curious for once about what kind of cogs turn around in Sebastian’s head.

Moran made an odd motion with his neck and shoulders in a mock of a shrug. He stifled a groan under his breath but Moriarty saw through it like glass. “Curiosity. I like to know what you think of things.”

Deciding to indulge him, Jim continued, “Red is overrated anyways.” Sebastian nodded softly in agreement. “And blue is too common to be my favorite. There is blue everywhere. Quite an eye sore if you ask me.” On que, he glanced out the window, watching as they were moving farther and farther away from the large buildings and wholeheartedly dull city.

“Green is a good moderate.”

“It is, but yellow on the other hand is just HORRIBLE,” Jim groaned, causing the driver to flinch. “Normal people might say red is their favorite because of the herd, but yellow? Yellow is for attention. They just want that poor sense of individuality. Nothing likes yellow. Nobody likes yellow. They’re just attention hungry whores.”

“Mine is yellow then,” Sebastian smirked, his eyes dull with sleep.

“You slut,” Jim said in a hushed shout, intimate in nature but rightfully harsh. He shook Sebastian’s side to make him stay awake, but the sniper seemed to be currently contemplating rather or not to leap from the vehicle. “Stay awake,” Jim ordered, digging his nails into Sebastian’s neck and collar. “What other useless information do you want to know?!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

-----

Sebastian’s childhood home was nothing impressive. It was a one story building with a little overhang that would be overgrown in the spring. His father would make him climb up there, rain or shine and pull the vines off the roof. He had fallen more times than he liked to admit. And each time, there was no one to comfort him or coo at him for such an injury. The young boy was just expected to shake it off and get back to work.

Suffice to say, Sebastian did not have the fondest memories of the home. It had burned down three or so years after he had left for the military. Burned down by accident or by one of his mother’s jealous lovers was still a topic being departed to this day.

So when Moriarty had his driver pull up to the lane, Sebastian had expected a little plot of land ashen gray from the smoke and rumble, the edges overgrown with grass as tall as his knees. He did not expect to see the house as it was. No burn marks, no caved in walls. There were even well tended flowers growing in the path. The place looked like it had never seen a fire to begin with.

“What did you do?” Sebastian sighed in a gravel voice.

“You wanted to die here, fine. But I was not going to stand in a little field of despair,” Jim explained with flair, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair into the living room. It was just as Sebastian had remembered. The greenish gray couch that he used to dig coins out of, the fireplace that was never used. Jim even managed to recreate the desk that his father had gifted to his mother before things went downhill.

“When did you even find time for all of this?” Sebastian asked with a choked cough that he used to hide the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“I make do,” Jim explained vaguely, setting the trained killer down in the middle of the room. He stepped out for a moment to return with a flower from the path. “This is what normal people do, isn’t it? Give flowers to people who don’t give a horse's ass what happens when they’re dead? Give me rat’s poison for all I care. I’m dead.” Setting the flower down on Sebastian's lap, he stepped back like he hadn’t just poured his heart out to his sniper. In the only way that Jim knew how, that is.

“I put flowers at your grave,” Sebastian said remorsefully, with what could have been called spite. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You also put a cartilage of bullets in with the boutique,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a step around the room. Everything had a light sheen of gasoline and lighter fluid soaked into the fabric. The smell was not as bad as Jim had originally assumed. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

“Well, I didn’t think you would be happy if I blew my own brains out over your headstone.”

Jim was livid at this statement but hid it well. So well, that Sebastian thought his boss was mad that he didn’t go through with it. “Maybe I should’ve kept a bullet, eh?” he laughed sadly, trying to keep his hurt hidden. He could play if off as a joke if Jim inquired further.

Sebastian looked so small in his wheelchair. He was draped with a thick blanket over his lap to keep his legs warm, his upper half was swadded in two different coats as well as three different shirts. All did nothing to hide his sunken eyes or sharp edges. His hands no longer moved, they were so thin compared to what they used to be. Everything about the sniper was like a horribly altered mirror of his past.

The anti venom would not make it in time.

As the silence grew on, Sebastian wished he could shift in his seat. He felt so exposed being scrutinized by Moriarty like he was now. Despite being on the other side of the room, Jim never took his eyes off of Sebastian. It looked like he was waiting for an apology. For what, Sebastian didn’t have the faintest clue.

He coughed loudly enough to get out of his own head, “Maybe two or three just to have made sure? Seeing as you came back unscaved and all with just the one.” Even he could admit that was a poor jest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The same as it had been, minus the cobwebs and bullet holes. “As last words go, mine are not the worst I’ve heard.”

“What was?”

“Something stupid about not fearing pain. Don’t remember much about the bastard who said it, though.”

“And do you?” Jim asked softly that if they weren’t the only two people in the small room, Sebastian might have missed it.

“Do I, what?” he feigned ignorance, glancing at Jim from the corner of his eye.

“Fear pain?”

“Used to,” Sebastian said honestly, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “But after a while, I got used to it. It was what came afterwards that always scared me.”

“What could scare you?”

“Raging, crying, acceptance.” It was Sebastian’s turn to glare right back at Jim. “A pool of blood but no body. An empty casket. The stillness of life like nothing had changed when everything had.” Sebastian wasn’t yelling and that was what shook Moriarty the most. He spoke in such a calm, measured tone. Jim’s own words used against him. “Waiting for something to happen like an abandoned dog.”

Sebastian tilted his head in a mock shrug. “I’m expendable, you weren’t.” He finally looked down onto his lip, counting the petals of the flower. “I didn’t think you were coming back…and accepting that fact….”

“Well, I’m HERE NOW!” Jim said in a loud cheer, throwing his arms up into the air. He looked more bizarre than he usually did. The lack of blazer and tie made him appear insane beyond any sort of control. “So stay and watch me make the world, MINE.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the scene before him. All of it was just ridiculous. His inevitable death, the reconstruction of his childhood home, Jim’s hair without its slick, and his sudden joyful outburst. The consultant criminal knew exactly what to do to make his final moments better. Sebastian could not have asked for a better send off.

His laugh left his open maw and spilled into the space before him, taking up each and every corner it could get its hands on. It was deafening, like a roar that could shake the whole newly built building. Tears streamed down his face, collecting on his jaw and thick stubble from the pure hilarity. He was practically shaking with it.

Then nothing. Silence.

Sebastian’s head fell to the side and stayed there. His face was still contorted into a full on smile, but it was soft around the edges. Calm almost, finally content. Like his laugh had filled the room, the silence was suffocating. His whole body stilled like a statue. If Jim didn’t know any better, he could have passed off the sight of Sebastian’s corpse as the sniper merely sleeping.

But he knew. No matter how forcibly he screamed, no matter which puppet puppeteered, no matter what he did. That man’s eyes were not going to open and recognize him.

Jim didn’t fall to the floor. He was more civil than that. He walked the last few paces to Sebastian’s wheelchair and kneeled down. The sleeping man looked so tired the past few days. Sebastian deserved his rest, Jim could allow him this. Could allow himself to do this.

He rested his head on Sebastian’s lap, bringing his arms around to hug at his waist. Jim traced the exposed skin on Sebastian's stomach, running his cold hands over the scars. Some he put there himself, but most were from long before they knew each other. Moriarty had long removed the memories of the days without Sebastian from his mind.

And not? Now he could allow himself to cry. If only for a second, a hushed moment. Before the home will be set to flame, Jim let himself witness this aftermath.

[you-a-southpaw-doll]

His Salvation ~ A John Winchester One-Shot

Summary: Based on SPN, S1, E21 “Salvation”. John gets threatened by Meg the demon if he doesn’t give the Colt to her. Meg threatens him, and harms Leigh while still on the phone. John tricks Meg by handing over a fake Colt. John, thinking Leigh (who’s the only woman to help him with hunting, with the boys, with coping with the loss of Mary, and also the woman he loves) is dead, goes to give Meg the Colt. On the way there, he gets a call from the hospital saying his wife has been involved in an accident. It takes him a minute to realize that Leigh’s actually alive since their secret code was to call each other husband and wife if they ever got in trouble. The search for the demon that killed Mary is put on hold. There’s never the car crash that happens at the end of S1, so John doesn’t need to make a deal with the yellow-eyed demon to save Dean. 

Warning(s): Language. Angst. Threats - spoken, unspoken, well known, good,  and bad. Violence. Fluff. Leigh’s a badass. Not beta’d, so...there’s that. I only have Grammarly used on this. 

Author’s Note(s): Hey, y’all! I know it’s been a really long, hot minute since I last posted an update. Writer’s block is an absolute demon. Depression too. And with everything else going on this year, it’s just been crazy! But, here’s a John Winchester One-Shot! If I get enough feedback for it, I’ll do a part 2! But y’all gotta let me know! Hope everyone’s staying safe, staying negative from COVID, and that y’all have a Happy Holiday season! As always, I’m here, so feel free to reach out! 

Word Count: 3,828 words

Relationship(s): John Winchester x Leigh Sullivan (OFC) [romantic]. 

Characters: John Winchester. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester. Demon!Meg. Mary Winchester (Mentioned).

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan @cladd716

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

Story Time:

John’s P.O.V. ~ Salvation, Iowa - 2006

“Meg.” Sam says into his phone, shock lacing his voice.

My head jerks up from where I’d had it resting in my hands after arguing with the boys, well Dean really, ‘bout them not being able to get me to answer the phone. I know I suck at phone calls. To be honest, I really can’t stand phones...they’re just too confusing for my 51-year-old ass, even if you’d never know that’s how old I am since I look like I’m in my late 30s, maybe late 40s. 

I’d much rather use a landline than a cell phone. It’s a miracle the ones I do have even stay charged. I have Leigh to thank for that. She’s been my saving grace, my salvation for well over two and a half decades. Hell, maybe even longer than that. She helped me raise the boys after my wife, Mary, died when Sammy was six months old, even though she was just barely outta her teenage years herself.

She was 15 when we first met 25 years ago and she became Dean’s babysitter and later Sammy’s. After Mary died, Leigh was right there, willing to help me with the boys as I set out on the mission to find Mary’s killer. I’d never wanted to get her dragged into the lifestyle of a Hunter, but she insisted, saying someone needed to help take care of the boys.

And...after rescuing her when her parents were killed by a werewolf a few years later, she stuck ‘round even more. By that point, she was 22, and made it clear she was an adult and could do whatever she wanted which just so happened to stick with the boys and I. So, I did what I had to, and we learned the ropes of being a Hunter together.

After Sam went to college a few years ago, it was just Dean, Leigh, and I. We continued on hunting. Sometimes, Dean would go on his own hunts, but Leigh would always stick right by my side, hunting with me. Somewhere around the time that Dean was in high school, Leigh and I ended up together.

I was hesitant at first, considering I’d known her since she was a teenager, but she pointed out that she was only 10 years younger than me and had always had a crush on me. So, after a rough hunt and a night of patching each other up, we’d fallen into bed together. From that point on, we were together. 

The boys approved even if Dean had been a little hesitant at first; he didn’t want anyone to take his mom’s place. No one would ever take Mary’s place, but there was no denying the role Leigh had in all of our lives. She’d been the one to calm me down after Sam left for college, something I’d always wanted for my boys, but after being a Hunter for so long, I was only worried ‘bout their safety.

That was why I didn’t want Sam to go to California, to Stanford. I felt if he were there, I wouldn’t be able to protect him as easily from the things that go bump in the night. But, Leigh calmed me down, telling me that Sam was an adult now, and could make his own choices as well as being able to protect himself since we’d taught the boys a lot of what we knew.

The only reason Leigh’s not here, with us, with me, is because she went to see our friend and fellow Hunter, Caleb up in Lincoln, Nebraska, and help him with a case. The boys and I are working a lead that, hopefully, brings us closer to finding Yellow Eyes, the man, well, the demon responsible for Mary’s death. 

Both Dean and I stare at Sam as we listen to his conversation with Meg. A woman who’d befriended Sam when he and Dean had a spat outside of a small town in Indiana a while back. She made her true colors show when she’d tried to have them killed. Only...she ended up falling out of a seven-story window.

There’s no way a human could’ve survived a fall like which means...she’s not human...she must be...fuck. She’s a demon. I get pulled outta my thoughts when I hear Sam’s voice and feel his eyes on me.

“My dad. I don’t know where my dad is.” He says.

I raise a brow, running a hand over my face and letting out a sigh. I stand and walk over to the motel window, looking out of  it for a moment before turning back to Sam in time to see him holding his phone out to me. I sigh again and take it.

“This is John.” I say, my voice deep and empty of any emotions.

“Howdy, John. I'm Meg. I'm a friend of your boys. I'm also the one who watched Jim Murphy choke on his own blood…”

My heart tightens in my chest at her words. Jim was a close friend, fellow Hunter, and a priest. He was also murdered yesterday. I found out from Caleb when the boys and I were heading up here to Salvation, Iowa. Jim’s death...hit hard. It wasn’t ideal to get close to anyone, not in our line of work, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“...Still there John-boy?” Meg’s voice cuts through the phone again.

“I’m here.” I ground out.

“Well, that was yesterday. Today, I’m in Lincoln.” 

My heart tightens again.

“Visiting another old friend of yours.” 

My lungs stop working. 

“She wants to say hi.”

My knees nearly buckle as my stomach drops to my chest. No. No. God-fuckin’-dammit! No! I take in a breath, trying not to give away the turmoil currently going on inside me. ‘Specially not when I hear her voice through the phone. 

“John, whatever you do don’t give…”

I hear Meg shush Leigh and my heart breaks. 

“Leigh?” I let out in a deep breath, trying my best to keep my emotions from being relayed to Meg.

The boys both jerk their heads up and look at me, worry and confusion on their faces. I blink and close my eyes for a second.

“You listen to me.” I tell Meg. “She’s got nothing to do with anything. You let her go.”

“We know you have the Colt, John.” Meg replies, her voice even.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Oh. Ok. Well, listen to this.”

My brows furrow and a moment later, my whole world comes crashing down. The sound of a knife or something equally sharp slashing through something followed by the sound of Leigh gasping and clearing drowning in her own blood fills the phone. I slump against the wall, my knees barely holding me up at this point.

“Leigh. Leigh!” I somehow manage to yell, nearly crushing the phone against the side of my face.

“Save the boys, husband.” I hear the love of my life croak out as she bleeds to death.

My heart breaks at the title, something I’d dreamt ‘bout hearing her call me for the last few years, but hadn’t happened, and was really just our code word we’d use when we were in a tough situation and wanted to let each other know everything was gonna be ok. Except. This time. It wouldn’t be ok. 

Not as I hear the sounds from Leigh slow.

“You hear that?” Meg taunts. “That’s the sound of your friend dying. Now, let’s try this again. We know you have the Colt, John. Word travels fast. So, as far as we’re concerned, you just declared war. And this is what war looks like. It has casualties.”

I growl. “I’m gonna kill you. You know that?”

She laughs. “Oh, John, please. Mind your blood pressure. So, this is the thing. We’re going to keep doing what we’re doing. And your friends, anyone who has ever helped you, gave you shelter, anyone you ever loved. They’ll all die. Unless you give us that gun.”

I take in a deep breath, not saying a word as I listen to her words and try my damndest to hear any sign from Leigh. Something to tell me she’s still alive. But I know...I know it’s not possible. Leigh’s dead. The love of my life. The first woman I’ve let myself love since Mary. The woman who helped raise my sons.

The badass woman who I was gonna ask to marry me once I’d ganked the evil son of a bitch that killed Mary. The only woman who had somehow broken down all the walls I’d built up. She was dead and I’d failed her. Failed to protect her. Failed to...fuck. I’d failed her. And I couldn’t fail her anymore by letting Meg and her demon friends kill more of mine and Leigh’s friends or any other innocent person.

“I’m waiting, Johnny.” Meg says. “Better answer before the buzzer.”

“Okay.” I sigh.

“Sorry? I didn’t quite get that.”

“I said okay. I’ll bring you the Colt.”

                                                             ***

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska

After Meg slit my throat, and I managed to croak out a few words to John, everything got darker with each passing second. By the time Meg hung up the phone with John, I’m barely holding on. I can feel my heart barely beating and breathing is almost impossible, but I refuse to give up. I refuse to die like this.

So, I make it seem like I had. This ain’t the first time I’ve faked my death. But it is the first time I’ve faked it while being alone. Meg being in the room doesn’t count. I mean being alone by not having the Winchesters nearby. Just barely holding on, I hold my breath and keep my eyes open, staring right at Meg.

I want her to think I’m dead and for her to stare right into my eyes as she does. I watch, not moving, not blinking, barely conscious, as she tosses the phone on my lap, and sneers at me.

“What the hell are you looking at?” She hisses before walking outta Caleb’s office.

I wait for a solid 15 seconds, even though it feels like an eternity, to make sure she’s truly gone before I force my thumb to press five buttons on my phone, hoping it’s right. A second later, I hear the call connect as it starts ringing, the noise amplified by the speaker. Another second passes before I hear the call truly connect.

“911. What’s your emergency?” The operator asks.

“Ambulance.” I croak out. “Now. Please.”

“Ma’am? I’m sorry. I need you to repeat that. Can you speak up?”

“Ambulance. Now.” I try to say louder.

“Ma’am? What’s your location?”

I try to get the address to Caleb’s out, only hoping the operator can make sense of it. I know my GPS is turned on, so hopefully, she can trace it. 

“Ambulance.” I manage to get out once more.

It’s a miracle I’ve managed to hang on this long, let alone get this much out. But, of course, every miracle ends at some point. As soon as I get the word, everything goes black.

                                                            ***

I come to, briefly, to bright lights, loud noises, and a bunch of people standing over me. 

“My husband. John Winchester. Call him.” I say, hoping it’s loud ‘nough.

One of the people standing over me says something, but I don’t hear him. Everything goes dark again as I pass out again.

                                                            ***

John’s P.O.V. ~ Lincoln, Nebraska

Getting outta my truck, I answer my phone without looking at the caller ID. I don’t care who’s calling me. Not anymore. Everything’s numb. Yes, I have my sons, but for the second time in my life, I’ve lost the woman I love. The boys warned me that this was a suicide mission. There’s only one reason Meg would want me to come alone with the Colt, but I told them I didn’t care. 

Sam looked at me with understanding in his eyes since he knew what I was going through from where he’d lost his girlfriend, Jess, a few months ago. Dean tried to argue with me, but I just gave him a look and he shut up. We arranged for me to bring Mega a fake version of the Colt in order to buy the boys some time so they could finish out the hunt and finally kill Yellow Eyes, once and for all.

I flip the phone open and press it to my ear as I stare up at the warehouse where I’m supposed to be meeting Meg.

“What?” I say into the phone.

“Is this John Winchester?” The man on the other end says, making me tense up.

“Yes. Who is this and how did you get this number?”

“Your wife. Your contact was in her phone.”

I furrow my brow. “My wife?”

“Yes, sir. Your wife. I’m sorry to tell you that she’s been attacked, but she’s at Bryan Medical Center West Campus.”

“Wait. What? My wife? Attacked? She’s alive?”

“Yes, sir. She is. She’s in surgery now.”

“I’ll be there soon!” 

With that, I hang up my phone, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.

“She’s alive.” I whisper to myself. “My fuckin’ badass girl. She’s alive.”

I glance around, spot a water tower on the roof of the warehouse, and after checking my pockets for the rosary beads, I head up there. I bless the water, turning it into holy water. If Meg’s a demon, she’s gonna fuckin’ pay even more for what she put my girl through. After blessing the water, I head inside the warehouse.

I make my way to one of the large, empty rooms, knowing that’s where Meg’ll be. Guess I’m early. She’s not here yet. Fuck. I just want to get this over with. Looking around, I realize I can rig something up to put the water lines on a makeshift timer. So, I do. Then, I scrawl out a note, telling Meg how sorry I am I missed her, even though it’s not true, and that I hope she rots in hell. 

That part’s true. 

Once I have the note written and the timer set up, I lay the Colt on the floor with the note, and then book it back to my truck. Even if this isn’t how I wanted things to go with Meg, I don’t give a shit. Even though I haven’t slept in two days, and am running off of straight caffeine, I don’t give a shit. Leigh’s alive, and I’m not gonna waste another minute not by her side.

I tear outta the warehouse parking lot, rushing to the hospital. As I drive, I call Dean.

“Dad?” He asks. “How’d it go with Meg?”

“She’s alive.” I blurt out, talking ‘bout Leigh.

“Meg? You left her alive?!”

“No! I didn’t see her. Something came up. I left her a note. She might come for y’all…”

“Left her a note? Why? What came up?”

“I got a call from the hospital. Leigh...Dean...Leigh’s alive.”

“She is?!?! What? How?”

“Yes. She is. So, I’m heading to the hospital. I’ve got to be by her side. But. I wanted to let you know. In case Meg shows up.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for her, dad. Don’t worry. You stay with Leigh. We’ll come as soon as we’re done here.”

“Thanks, son.”

Our conversation ends a few moments later. I pull into a parking spot at the hospital a few minutes later. As soon as I’m parked, I have the keys outta ignition and in my pocket as I rush outta the truck and into the hospital. I take a deep breath once I’m inside, trying to calm my nerves. The last thing I need is to appear even more outta it than I already am.

I run my fingers through my already messed up hair and then down my face, taking another deep breath in. When I’m done, I walk over to the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me, miss?” I say in what I hope is a soft, non-shaky tone.

The young nurse looks up from her computer. I give her a small smile.

“Yes, sir?” She asks, blushing a little.

“Hi. I got a call. My wife...she was attacked...they said she was here?”

“Wife? What’s her name?” Her fingers resting on her keyboard.

“Leigh Sullivan.”

She nods and quickly types my girl’s name into the computer. Whatever she sees on the screen has her eyes widening more than the Grand Canyon. My heart falls deeper into the pit of my stomach. 

“What? What is it?” I ask, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight that my knuckles turn white.

“Nothing, sir. I just...your wife, sir…” She starts.

I swallow deeply, expecting the worst. “Yes?”

She looks up at me. “Sir, your wife is one of the most badass women I’ve ever heard of. To survive having her throat slit and still making a 911 call? I respect her.”

I let out a deep breath. “So she’s still alive?”

“Oh! Yes. I’m sorry. She is. She’s outta surgery now too.”

“Thank fuck. Can you tell me what room? I got a badass woman to see and tell her she’s loved.”

The nurse smiles. “Of course, sir. She’s in room 214.”

“Thank you.” 

I give her another smile and then head to room 214. Standing in front of the door, I urge myself to try and calm down. The last thing Leigh needs is to see me panicking. Slowly, I open the door and step inside. As my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, I take everything in. The Hunter in me looks for anything unusual.

Seeing nothing outta the ordinary, the normal part of me focuses on the figure lying in the hospital bed. My heart breaks as my feet shuffle forward. Leigh’s lying there, hooked up to a bunch of different machines with a thick band of gauze ‘round her neck. Aside from that, she looks like she’s peaceful, almost as if she’s just sleeping.

I slump down in the chair next to her side, and immediately take her small hand in both of my much larger ones. Bringing it to my lips, I kiss her knuckles, not paying attention to the tears rolling down my cheeks. It’s been years since I’ve cried. I haven’t allowed myself that luxury. But now...I can’t stop it.

I don’t want to. I thought I’d lost Leigh, but my girl...she’s a fuckin’ fighter. I hold her hand tightly, not wanting to let go.

“Leigh? Baby, I’m here.” I tell her, my voice shaky and full of emotions. “Wake up for me? I wanna see those beautiful eyes, that stunning smile, and hear you tell me that I’m a fuckin’ dumbass. So, wake up? For me? Please?”

When she doesn’t respond, I place another kiss to her knuckles. I didn’t really expect her to wake up. Not right now at least. She’s been through hell. She needs her rest. Hell, I need my own rest too, and I end up falling asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair, Leigh’s hand in mine, and my head by her hip.

                                                            ***

Over the next week, I stay by Leigh’s side. The boys eventually show up a couple of days later, looking just as exhausted as I do. Dean tells me that he killed Meg, says it was payback for what she’d done to Leigh. Sam stays by Leigh’s side, holding her other hand. Four days after the attack, Dean looks at me.

“Dad?” He starts.

I look up at him. “Hmmm?”

“You should go shower, get something to eat, get some actual sleep.”

“I’m not leaving her, Dean.”

“I know, Dad. But, you need to take care of yourself. You haven’t really been sleeping, and I know for a fact that you haven’t taken a shower in nearly a week. You’re starting to stink. We both know that Leigh wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

I sigh. “I’ll take a shower in the bathroom there.” I point to the bathroom attached to Leigh’s hospital room. “Can you go get my bag from my truck? The one with the clothes, not the guns.”

Dean nods. “I’ll do that. And I’ll run out and get some food too, while you shower. Sammy can stay with Leigh.”

I run a hand over my face, nodding. “Fine. But I won’t take a long shower. I don’t...I just gotta be here when she wakes up.”

Both of my boys nod in understanding. Dean leaves the room while I stand and look at Sam.

“I won’t leave her side, Dad. Go shower. You stink worse than that hunt we were on when all the showers in the town stopped working ‘cause of the monster.” He says.

Unable to stop the small, soft chuckle that escapes my lips at his words, I nod. I lay a hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort before I lean down and place a soft kiss on Leigh’s forehead. 

“I’ll be right back, baby. Your old man’s gotta go get cleaned up so you don’t ditch his ass when you wake up.” I whisper, half jokingly.

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t let it crush my hopes. Not any more than they’ve already been crushed. I make my way to the bathroom, and turn the shower on. While I’m in there, Dean cracks the door.

“Dad? I’m putting your bag by the door here.” He says.

“Thanks, son.” I call out as I wash my hair and beard.

He just let out a grunt in response and the door shuts once again. Dean’s always been more of the silent type unless he’s being a smart ass, but when it comes to him hurting, he’s always been more silent instead of letting his emotions completely show. After I’m as cleaned up as I can be in a hospital shower, I step out, dry off, and tug on a pair of semi-clean jeans, an old tee, and one of my plaid button-up shirts that Leigh loves the most.

I open the bathroom door and glance toward the bed. I see beautiful hazel eyes staring back at me.

“Leigh.” I rush over to her side. 

I lean down and gently capture her lips with mine. After a few seconds, I pull away and look into her eyes. 

“I love you, Leigh.” I whisper.

She smiles slightly with droopy eyes. Even when she’s like this, she’s so fuckin’ beautiful. 

“You don’t have to say anything but I wanted you to know.” I smile widely. “I’ll say it forever if you’ll let me. Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I kiss her forehead as her eyes close. Yep. I’m definitely proposing soon.

[millenniumrobin]

Memories I Never Lived

Title: Memories I Never Lived Author: millenniumrobin AO3 Link

Written for the Batfamily Week 2018 Challenge: Time Travel

My name is Barbara Gordon. And if you’re reading this… well, I actually don’t know what it means if you’re reading this. The rules of time travel are still not exactly clear to me. But the most obvious answer I can come with is that if you’re reading this, it means I failed. It means I didn’t stop Dick Grayson from royally fucking up the timeline.

I should probably start from the beginning. I’m sorry if this is confusing, it still is to me, too. For the past twenty-seven years I’ve lived a relatively normal life as Barbara Gordon, daughter of Gotham Police Captain Jim Gordon. That was until last year, when my father was murdered by the mob. For two decades my dad tried to clean up this city, tried to clean up the police department, and it got him killed. But in my grief I started seeing visions. Flashes and fragments of another world I didn’t know. But I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it before. Which is odd, because I remember everything.

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve had something called “Eidetic” – or photographic – memory. Anything I’ve seen, heard, touched, or experienced, I remember. It was a blessing when it came to studying – a curse when it came to relationships. But if you asked me what I was doing on April 17thwhen I was 13 years old, I can tell you exactly that. I took a test in school. Aced it. Had gymnastics practice. Fell off the balance beam three times. My father tried his very best to make spaghetti for dinner.

But almost immediately after my father’s death I started having flashes of new memories, ones that I didn’t know. I saw a boy, one with wavy ebony hair, bright blue eyes, and an infectious laugh. I saw him swinging from the rooftops in scarlet and green. And I saw him with a man dressed as a bat. I had no idea what this was. At first, I thought they were nightmares, horrible visions of a Gotham City already so far beyond saving. But accompanying those visions were feelings for this boy. Feelings like I’d never felt before; I felt warm and safe around him. But there was no record of a boy in scarlet and green with an “R” on his chest, or a man dressed as a bat anywhere in the history of Gotham City. Or anywhere in the world. Something was wrong.

And so I did what I do best. I threw myself into research. I cannot tell you, dear reader, how many countless hours I spent in the library or combing through web archives. Mythology, history, symbolism, vigilantes. I even contacted some of the world’s biggest superheroes, to see if they knew anything about what I was seeing. I never got a response.

Throughout this research, my visions continued. It was like the pieces of a massive, multilayered jigsaw puzzle were slowly coming together, even though I didn’t know what the end result would be. I saw new things, more vividly than before. I heard voices, aliases. I saw myself also dressed as a costumed vigilante running across the rooftops and felt that boy’s embrace. Even as a vision, he stirred feelings I didn’t know were possible.

And then, one night, I finally heard his name. Uttered from my own lips, if you can believe it. Dick Grayson. Finally, a lead beyond “Batman” and “Robin”. I cannot tell you how fast my fingers flew over the keyboard of my computer that night, searching every archive and tax record across the United States for the man named Dick Grayson. I couldn’t find one.

The last name was familiar, a circus act that had come to Gotham just after my father and I moved here. The Flying Graysons. The only reason I remembered it is because I had seen the news reports. They were performing a trapeze act without a net and the rope broke. The ringleader, Haly, had insisted that someone had cut the rope. So did a young boy. But police didn’t find any evidence of that. But even remembering the deaths of Mary and John Grayson didn’t lead me any closer to finding Dick Grayson.

So I hacked the Gotham Police files. It wasn’t hard; I had helped my father build part of the digital security system when he was still Captain. I found the case file on the Grayson deaths compiled, very sloppily, by Detective Bullock. At the very end of the report was a scrawled note, almost illegible in the copy scanned into the database. “Son, Richard, transferred to foster care. No living relatives.” It clicked for me. All this time I had been searching for “Dick Grayson” when I should have been searching for “Richard”. It didn’t take me long to find him.

Hacking into the foster care databases weren’t any harder than hacking into GCPD’s. I found Richard Grayson’s file quickly, a picture accompanying it. Those same eyes that I had seen in my visions stared back at me. I scanned the screen, eager for information on where to find the boy, now my age, who had haunted my mind. But his file was astonishingly small. A mere two months after being put into a foster home Dick Grayson disappeared, his body found floating in the Gotham River a few days later. The hit was a classic mob style, though no one was ever charged. I thought I had hit a dead end.

In my frustrations came more memories. Visions of rooftops and crime fighting and long nights spent together. And then memories of parties and galas. Those provided my next biggest clue. Because in each of those memories, ever present near Dick Grayson, was Bruce Wayne. Playing the part of the gracious host but with an air of seriousness that I recognized, even though I had only met the man a time or two in real life. That was when it all clicked for me. Bruce Wayne was the Batman. Or had been, in that timeline. Again, time travel is confusing.

So I made an appointment to see Bruce Wayne in his office in Wayne Tower. The meeting… did not go well. He had no idea who I was talking about when I mentioned Dick Grayson, said he had no recollection of any “Batman”, and very kindly asked me to leave his office. I was at another dead end. If no one else was remembering these things or having these visions, how would I figure out what was going on? How could I figure out what was missing from my life, where these memories were coming from?

The answer came from a very unexpected source.

About a week later, there was a knock on my door after midnight. I pulled out the gun my father had given me as an 18th birthday present for protection. Visitors didn’t drop by unannounced at my apartment. Ever. But standing on the other side of the door was Bruce Wayne. And in his hands he held a scrawled drawing of the Batman. The drawing, though amateurish, still contained all the details of the suit that had been haunting my mind. And I had not told him about any of it. Turns out that he had been having visions as well.

We spoke for hours that night. Neither of us slept. It was like one of those nights on patrol that had dominated my memories, but instead of hunting down criminals, we were hunting details from the recesses of our minds. The two of us began to realize how our lives were different from these memories in ways large and small. Oswald Cobblepot was not a criminal mastermind called the Penguin, but instead was the corrupt mayor of Gotham City. Former District Attorney Harvey Dent had been murdered by the mob just a few years before my father, never becoming horribly deformed as Two Face. And there was no mention, in any record, of a criminal called “The Joker”. We did, however, find his paramour, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She’s the head of the Gotham University Psychology Department, and one of the most respected voices on mental illness in the entire world.

But it wasn’t just criminals. We also started figuring out nuances of our own lives in this alternate timeline, as well as those around us. We began remembering a boy named Jason Todd, who became Robin after Dick became his own hero called Nightwing. We looked him up, and I actually laughed out loud when I discovered he had become a priest, leading a parish in Blüdhaven. It was so unlike the persona we “remembered.”

We also saw a team of heroes protecting the planet, a gathering called the Justice League. This team had Bruce at the helm, partnered with Superman and someone named Wonder Woman. Superman generally operated out of Metropolis; even he didn’t come around Gotham. But Wonder Woman was a mystery. I felt like I knew her, just like I felt I knew everyone in those memories, but there was no record of her anywhere in our world.

That was it for the first night. Both of us were exhausted by the amount of new information that had been barraging us for hours. But we met again the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Each night, the picture of our alternate lives began to come together more rapidly, but we could still not figure out what event had triggered such a drastic change for us, for Gotham, and for the entire planet.

My first clue should have been how much different the Bruce Wayne in my visions was from the Bruce Wayne frantically writing new memories down on a piece of paper with one hand, a slice of greasy pizza held in the other. This Bruce Wayne held almost a carefree attitude not seen in my visions. He smiled. He laughed, though that was usually from the delirium at having been up for so many hours with far too little caffeine. Once again, the key to continuing down the rabbit hole came from his mind, not mine.

I can describe the moment vividly for you, dear reader. He sat bolt upright, color draining from his face in an instant and eyes widening more than I thought possible. His breath caught in his chest and solitary tears snaked their way down each cheek. When his azure eyes locked with mine, a new pain was present that hadn’t been there before.

“My parents…” he choked out, wiping away the tears. “My parents were murdered when I was a boy. That’s why…” Bruce’s hands frantically shuffled through his notes on the table until he found the scrawled drawing he brought the first night. “That’s why I became the Batman.”

And that was the moment the rest of the puzzle was revealed to me. As if he was sitting in my kitchen with me, I heard the words Dick Grayson spoke. “I have to save him, Babs. I have to save him from this lifetime of pain.” I saw an argument I’d never had, remembering the words like I was speaking them right at that moment. My worries about messing with the timeline, the damage it could cause. He kissed me and showed me the plans for a time machine he and Bruce had built.

“You thought it was a joke,” I told the Bruce sitting at my kitchen table. “You never thought it would work. You said there would never be a power source strong enough.” But there was. It came in the form of kryptonite crystals that Batman had hoarded in his Batcave beneath Wanye Manor. And with that, Dick Grayson had disappeared in a flash of light and wind.

That was the end of the visions. Rubbing his hands over his face, Bruce looked dejected. There was no way he could remember how to re-build that time machine, he said. For the first time in weeks, I smiled. This time the spark of inspiration came from my brain. Dick had shown me the plans in my memories. He had given me the way to get to him, me and my eidetic memory.

So we built a time machine. Not in the Batcave like before, but this time in a secret R&D lab at Wayne Tower. And the power source, those kryptonite crystals? It turns out that as much as things change, some still stay the same. Wayne Tech had been hoarding a small stockpile of them to conduct research. Bruce Wayne happily donated them to the cause.

We worked for weeks off my snippets of memory. I constantly worried that I had missed something, but test after test showed that, theoretically, this machine should work. And in that time I saw new visions. Not of a past life, but of the future. A possible future. One where Dick and I were happy, married with children. We had hung up the capes and cowls and found fulfilling lives keeping the world safe not as vigilantes, but as parents. It was those happy memories that have kept me going during these last long weeks.

As we finished inserting the power source and watched the machine hum with energy, I told Bruce that doing this would destroy the happy life he had. His parents were still alive now, still able to see the man their son had become. He smiled again and that nagging feeling that it was all wrong returned in the back of my brain. He said that if this world was the result of time being changed, then it was wrong. It was an aberration, he said, one we had to fix. If we looked around, we could see the ways time was trying to right itself, and Bruce theorized that eventually the cosmos would correct violently to get things back to the way they should be.

He wanted to be the one to head back to stop Dick, but I wouldn’t let him. For one, he shouldn’t be interacting with his younger self. For all we knew that could create a paradox that would fold the entire universe in on itself. But his visions had also never been as strong or as detailed as mine. It was like he was watching things on a screen, while they felt real to me. The emotions that accompanied them was too strong to ignore. And I knew the only chance to stop Dick Grayson would be to use that shared emotion.

I hope no one ever reads this letter, but if you do, spread it far and wide. This is not the way the world should be. And sooner rather than later someone, something, is going to come along and correct it. You have to be prepared.

So, dear reader, that’s why I’m heading into the past. To stop the man I love, but don’t even know. To save him from making a mistake that will destroy everything. If I can’t save him, then I’ll do what I must to restore the timeline. I only hope the damage can be fixed.

[austindailyglobe-blog]

FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill

Florida governor Rick Scott is calling for Christopher Wray to step down from the top spot at the FBI after the agency admitted to ignoring information it had received about Nikolas Cruz from a source close to the shooter.

‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts, as well as the potential of him conducting a school shooting,’ said the FBI in a statement on Friday.

The agency went on to state that this information, which came in over their Public Access Line, should have been classified as ‘a potential threat to life’ and the Miami field office notified about the information.

Those protocols were not followed however for reasons that are still not clear, and on Wednesday Cruz shot dead 17 people.

‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott.

‘We constantly promote “see something, say something,” and a courageous person did just that to the FBI. And the FBI failed to act.’

He then stated: ‘”See something, say something” is an incredibly important tool and people must have confidence in the follow through from law enforcement. The FBI Director needs to resign.’

His anger was shared by many of the friends and family members who attended funerals for loved ones on Friday soon after the FBI shared this news.

Trouble: The FBI released a statement on Friday revealing that a call came in alerting the agency about Nikolas Cruz being a possible threat in early January

ArsenAL: ‘The caller provided information about Cruz’s gun ownership, desire to kill people, erratic behavior, and disturbing social media posts,’ said Cruz

Signs: That same caller, who contacted the FBI on January 5 via their Public Access Line, also shared their belief that Cruz might conduct a school shooting

Shock: Governor Rick Scott of Florida is now calling on Christopher Wrey to resign as director of the FBI and parents of victims voiced their anger at funerals(friends and family arrive for the funeral of 14-year-old victim Alyssa Alhadeff)

‘We are still investigating the facts. I am committed to getting to the bottom of what happened in this particular matter, as well as reviewing our processes for responding to information that we receive from the public. It’s up to all Americans to be vigilant, and when members of the public contact us with concerns, we must act properly and quickly,’ said Wray on Friday.

‘We have spoken with victims and families, and deeply regret the additional pain this causes all those affected by this horrific tragedy.’

This marks at least the third mass shooting in the past two years that was carried out by an individual the FBI had been alerted too but opted not to further investigate.

Omar Mateen was known to have possible terror ties when he massacred 49 people back in 2016 at Pulse nightclub in Orlando and Esteban Santiago walked into a field office in Anchorage, Alaska with a loaded handgun to report having terrorist thoughts just days before he killed five at the Fort Lauderdale Airport.

Attorney General Jeff Sessions also announced on Friday that he would be launching an investigation into how both the FBI and Department of Justice handle report and tips moving forward.

‘I have ordered the Deputy Attorney General to conduct an immediate review of our process here at the Department of Justice and FBI to ensure that we reach the highest level of prompt and effective response to indications of potential violence that come to us,’ said Sessions. his includes more than just an error review but also a review of how we respond. This will include possible consultation with family members, mental health officials, school officials, and local law enforcement.

The first tip in the Cruz case came back in September when they were alerted to comment made by YouTube user ‘Nikolas Cruz’ proclaiming his desire to be a ‘professional school shooter.’

At the same time, he was posting photos to his public social media account which showed off an arsenal of weapons, including multiple semi-automatic guns.

YouTube vlogger Ben Bennight alerted the FBI to a comment shared by Cruz on one of his videos back in September when the boy wrote: ‘I’m going to be a professional school shooter.’

Bennight revealed that the FBI was quick to respond to the concerning statement, arriving at his office the very next day to find out if he knew anything about the young man.

No go: ‘Seventeen innocent people are dead and acknowledging a mistake isn’t going to cut it,’ said Governor Scott (above on Thurs)

That was after he called a local field agent, revealing that his initial attempts to send in a screengrab of the comment failed when the email address he found listed on the federal agency’s website came back with a domain error saying that it did not exist.

He finally heard back from the FBI on Wednesday, when they called with some additional questions after 17 people were murdered at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

On Thursday, Special Agent Rob Laskey revealed that the agency was unable to learn anything about the person who posted the comment.

‘No other information was included in that comment which would indicate a time, location, or the true identity of the person who made the comment,’ said Laskey.

‘The FBI conducted data reviews, checks, but was unable to further identify the person who actually made the comment.’

‘The FBI just left my house in regards to this situation and let me give you a little bit of backstory back in September or 2017, matter of fact on September 24, I sent a screenshot of a comment on one of my videos,’ said Bennight in a video posted to his YouTube channel on Wednesday.

‘Now people keep asking me which video was it, I don’t know … I screenshot the comment I hit the report button and reported it to YouTube.’

Bennight stated that YouTube quickly removed the comment, though Cruz’s account on the Google-owned, video-sharing website remained active through Wednesday night.

The problems began when he tried to reach out to the FBI.

‘I found an email address tips at fbi.gov, sent it to that email address, I immediately got back a domain error basically that email address didn’t exist,’ revealed Bennight.

‘So I looked up the number for our local field office and called him and left a message.’

Bennight continued: ‘Well the next day I had two FBI agents standing in my office taking down the information, taking down taking copies of the screenshot and asking me questions that of course, I couldn’t answer.’

He went on to discuss how people leave upsetting and angry and ‘heinous’ comments on his page all the time, but this was a different situation.

‘What I did think was, you know, this comment said “I’m going to be a professional school shooter,” and I knew that I couldn’t just ignore that so a screenshot of the comment.’

The FBI was then back in touch again on Wednesday.

‘I think we spoke with you in the past about a complaint that you made about someone making a comment on your YouTube channel,’ said an FBI agent who identified himself as Ryan Furr in a voicemail received by Bennight on Wednesday.

‘I just wanted to follow up with you on that and ask you a question with something that’s come up, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ring.’

Bennight said that FBI agents were at his home by 5 pm while lamenting the fact that he could not offer more information to help with the investigation.

He also said that he believes the FBI and YouTube handled the situation as best they possibly could at the time.

‘I’m not sure that there’s really anything the FBI could have done with that information other than keeping an eye on somebody,’ said Bennight.

‘So I don’t know, I’m not here to judge, I’m just here to share my experience. And I hope that everybody involved can start the healing process soon.’

Bennight then closed out his video by stating: ‘You never really heal from this kind of wounds, but anyway I’m gonna end that here. That’s all for now. Ben the Bondsman signing out.’

(Parkland residents attend a vigil for the victims on Thursday)

Students who knew Cruz have also been speaking out, including one young man who wrote: ‘Nick attacked one of my friends once. He brought shotgun shells to school and made many threats against others. He had an instant full of pictures of dead animals that he killed.’

The teen, who wrote that his parents had prohibited him from giving interviews, added: ‘Mental illness needs to be recognized or things like this happen. People I know are f***ing dead.’

Cruz has not been attending Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School at the time of the massacre, having been expelled for disciplinary reasons during the 2016-17 school year.

It was at least the third time that Cruz had been forced to leave a learning institution, and came at a particularly difficult time in his life.

Cruz, who has a younger brother Zachary, lost his mother Lynda back in November as a result of complications from the flu.

The 68-year-old mother-of-two developed a case of pneumonia shortly after checking herself in to receive treatment for the seasonal sickness.

On Instagram, Cruz could be seen holding firearms, ammunition and the semiautomatic AR-15 rifle he likely used in the attack.

That weapon was legally obtained said the family’s lawyer Jim Lewis.

Another photo shows several guns, including rifles with scopes, laying on a bed. Another appears to show a frog that had been killed.

His father Roger died of a heart attack back in 2005, just a few years after he and wife Lynda adopted Nikolas and his brother Zachary.

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FBI Knew Nikolas Cruz Was Stockpiling Weapons And Wanted To Kill was originally published on Austin Daily Globe