#canon divergent AU

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 2 - Under My Skin

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: If you're mad at me for getting any lore or myths wrong through this story, consider that Supernatural themselves cannot track their own lore, and I'm doing my goddamn best.

Chapter title from Akaska Sad by Rina Sawayama

Word Count: 15.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean and John take on an odd, difficult case, and you try—and fail—to avoid them. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Read on A03!

Lately, Dean’s life was fucking lonely. It was made of long car rides where Dad wouldn’t speak to him, countless cases where he felt almost useless, and restless nights where he’d get up to use the bathroom, look at the couch, and feel a little piece of him die again when Sam wasn’t there.

Every town looked the same. Every girl did too. He didn’t try to talk to them—he never had—but there was still something in him that was so furiously lonely, he was burning through chicks night by night in a desperate plea that they’d offer him something. Sometimes they’d talk to him, and that would become enough. He was never really all that interested—they all had the same voice and same words and same boring, apple pie lives that Dean would never get to be a part of—but it carried him over until the next one. Until he and Dad got the monster, left town, and nobody there would have to spare Dean a thought for the rest of their lives.

He tried to make them remember. He poured all he had to spare into the sex, and making it good enough that maybe—when each woman was married with kids and some sort of boring office job—they’d still use the memory of him to get off. They might not remember his name, or his voice, or his face, but they’d remember how he made them feel. And that did a little more to curb the loneliness. The pit like feeling of uselessness.

But sometimes he’d strike out, and be forced to wake up on an empty, stiff motel mattress. Dad would already be gone—getting coffee or working there leads or just fucking sick of Dean not being Sam—and it would only be Dean in the whole world. And that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t just be Dean. It’s never supposed to just be Dean. When it’s just him, everything gets too loud and too quiet and so hot, but also massive and empty and cold. Corners are shaper and knives are duller and colors are all muted, because only Dean can see them and he doesn’t deserve to. 

And when that happened, sometimes he’d grab his phone and consider calling Sammy. He’d stare at the number—hidden from Dad with a fake contact, just in case—and allow his thumb to hover over the call button, but never press it. He couldn’t. He’d have no way to get to California, Sam probably wouldn’t want to see him, and Dad would freakin’ kill him for even considering it. Dean couldn’t even say Sam’s damn name without Dad’s jaw ticking and an unsettling tension falling over the room.

So Dean stayed lonely. He worked every case lonely, found every bed lonely, and woke every morning lonely. 

But he wasn’t lonely in his dreams. It didn’t matter why he wasn’t, but he wasn’t. That, at the very least, was something Dean could count on. When he slept, he’d never be lonely, because-

It didn’t matter. They were just dreams, and dreams didn’t mean shit. Even it had been the same person starring in them every night—the same beautiful, twisted salvation to the pit that had formed inside of Dean, that he loathed and craved and couldn’t figure out how to get rid of—for the past year, Dean wasn’t some crystals and tea leaves chick who was going to try and find meaning in his freakin’ dreams.

This lady seemed to be, though. She was dressed like she belonged at Woodstock, there were dreamcatchers and random dried plants all over her house, and she kept trying to offer Dean a palm reading. Telling him his aura was strong. That didn’t fucking mean anything, because that shit wasn’t real, and Dean should know. His whole life was figuring out what things were real, and what was fake.

This magic, witchy bullshit was fake. 

The ghost haunting Woodstock Chick’s house was very real.

“You know,” Woodstock frowned at Dean and Dad from across the table. “I’m a little surprised you’re listening to me.”

Dad shrugged. “Well, ma’am it’s routine to investigate complaints. It ain’t our job to judge, just hear what you’ve got for us. Now, we’ve got the objects flyin’ around-“

“It’s just,” Woodstock let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I’ve been filing these complaints for weeks, and all I’ve gotten is made fun of by my neighbors. Then, suddenly, you’re taking me seriously? Sending three officers to talk to me-“

Dean cleared his throat, shooting Dad a weary look. “Sorry, did you say three?”

“Yeah. You two, plus the one yesterday. Young woman, with the rings and lip gloss. She was gorgeous, good skin and hair, bright aura, just like yours.” she smiled at Dean as she continued. “She kind of looked like a,” Woodstock frowned, tilting her head. “Like a cat.”

Dad scowled. “A cat.”

Woodstock nodded. “You know, just like how he,” she nodded at Dean, and he frowned. “Looks like a puppy. It not about their faces, it’s about their energy-“

“And you’re saying this chick had the energy of a cat?” Dean asked, not allowing himself to dwell on the puppy thing. He had too much shit to worry about already. “Ma’am, we-“

“We’re takin’ your complaints seriously, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was firm over Dean’s, and Dean felt a cringe of shame in his chest. “Now, tell us about the lights, and we’ll let you keep goin’ with your day.”

Woodstock continued, Dad asking more careful, smart questions as Dean sat in silence, and the lady’s problem was pretty obviously a ghost. Kind of a douchebag of a ghost, but just a ghost. The hard part was just gonna be figuring out who it was, because Woodstock was insisting nobody had ever died in this house, that she had no dead relatives, and that she’d never even killed anyone.

That last question did get them kicked out, though.

“We ain’t accusin’ you of anything, ma’am.” Dad remained in the threshold of Woodstock’s door, holding the angry woman’s gaze. “It’s a just part of our report-”

Woodstock let out a dry laugh. “Nice try, officer, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I do know that’s a lie. If you come back, come back with a warrant, or-“ Woodstock paused, looking between Dean and Dad. “Send Officer Brown. She was nicer, and didn’t ask me stupid questions.”

The door slammed, Dad groaned—running a hand over his face before stomping back to the Impala—and Dean was frozen in place as Woodstock’s words rang a loud, clean, golden bell in his brain. When Dad shouted at him to haul ass he managed to move, but barely. Everything was far away, because things that were supposed to be trapped in dreams were starting to follow Dean into the real world. They weren’t supposed to. Dean had promised himself he’d keep Her trapped down, where he never had to think about her until sleep dragged Her back to the surface of his brain.

And that hadn’t really been working. Sometimes he’d smell fruity perfume on a woman, and She’d flash in front of his eyes. Sometimes he’d have some random girl next to him or over him or under him, and they’d moan, and it would sound like a siren. The worst was when someone would look at him and a tiny, traitorous asshole voice would whisper She’d look at you better. She’d be better. You’re a piece of shit, Dean Winchester, because She’d been the freakin’ best and you left her.

He hadn’t left Her. He’d escaped her. Outsmarted whatever bullshit she’d been trying to pull on him, whatever scam She’d been running. And it didn’t fucking matter that his brain was clinging onto every piece of Her he’d gotten to see that day—that the bells were made of Her beautiful voice saying Brown’s a cop—because she’d probably stopped hunting. Realized it wasn’t the fun little rush She thought it was and crawled back home to her fancy, stupid life. 

But She’d told him she’d been hunting since she was fifteen.

That had probably been a lie too.

It hadn’t sounded like a lie. 

Well, maybe She’d just been an awesome liar. 

Dean needed to snap the hell out of it. He’d tread down this path countless times, the voice—it seemed to live in his chest, a little to the right of his heart—trying to work out what that whole thing had been, and a good reason for Dean to track Her down and ask if She’d felt it too. 

But She’d been playing him, and he never wanted to see Her drop-dead gorgeous face again. It didn’t matter what he’d felt, because Dad was right. It had probably been some sort of trick, made of all those pretty lies and words She’d been using on him. So Dean didn’t mention to Dad that Brown had been one of Her aliases, because he wasn’t supposed to remember anything about Her. Dad was seething in the driver’s seat—grumbling about lone, stupid hunters interfering in their case—but She wasn’t here, probably, so it didn’t matter anyway.

Another three days passed, and they still couldn’t figure out who the ghost was. Everyone Woodstock knew was clean—and claimed she was too—and everyone in this town died of old age like a bunch of freaking suckers, so they had nothing. This ghost couldn’t chill the fuck out, Woodstock had been telling anyone who would listen about how it had started to throw plates at her head—how she didn’t feel safe—so Dad had them on rotating watches. Keeping an eye on the house from the forest in case Woodstock started screaming while the other kept working it, searching for just one goddamn idea of who the ghost could be.

They hadn’t figured out who the other hunter was, either, but Dean was growing more and more certain it might be Her. He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of perfectly styled shiny hair on the street. He was either going batshit crazy, or he’d heard Her voice in a corner store while he was buying aftershave. And a feeling like gravity had reformed in his eyes, bringing his attention to shadows that might be Her and making his every nerve flare when he smelled something sweet. Most of all, he’d been in the motel parking lot a handful of times and felt it. That odd, light feeling that had surrounded him when he’d met Her, making it so easy to breathe he’d been certain he’d been doing it wrong before. That he’d started to do it wrong again, after She’d left. It had felt so good and been so impossibly to duplicate—Dean had really tried to, as well, in body after body after body—but it was back like a fucking asteroid, crashing into him and obliterating everything he’d thought had been right.

But he hadn’t told Dad. To start, Dad would look at him like he was a fucking idiot, and ask if Dean had watched a chick flick while drinking one too many beers. Then Dean would mumble no, and Dad would roll his eyes and tell him to get his shit together, because they had a job to do.

Dean could’ve told Sammy. He would’ve listened, made a little fun of Dean, and then started to ask a bunch of  questions about what made Dean think it was Her. Maybe Sam would have found an explanation about how the vampire baby made men go crazy or something. Maybe She’d been a monster, and Sam would figure out what kind the moment Dean explained it.

But Sam wasn’t here, and Dean didn’t have any real evidence. He hadn’t seen that fancy car She’d been driving, and when he’d very casually asked the front desk of their motel—the only one if town—if anyone with Her name was in a room he’d gotten a no, but she’d probably be in a real hotel. With good water pressure and room service and little shampoo bottles that she didn’t need. 

She hadn’t been in a fancy hotel last year. But that had probably just been another part of the scam.

So he didn’t tell Dad. Dean just took his shifts to watch Woodstock, worked the case, and fucking prayed they’d wrap this up and he could forget the whole thing. Dad would find something soon, they’d gank the ghost, and it would be done. 

Dad had even said he had a new lead, when they’d swapped the watch. Dean had dropped off the car and gotten orders to stay here until Dad got back, to call only if it was an absolute emergency, and to message if he thought of anything new. 

He’d been trying to. Dad was off working the lead, and Dean really wanted to help, but no matter how long leaned against the trees—watching Woodstock’s house and frowning into the air—he couldn’t think of shit. His brain felt numb, because this was freaking boring, and none of it made sense. It was just a ghost, it shouldn’t be this hard. Shit, with another hunter on the case, the asshole should’ve been ash days ago. Maybe it had been Her, and she’d realized they were in town, and She’d left. Been worried they’d try to turn her in for her bullshit, even though She had no way to know they’d figured her out. 

Maybe She hadn’t wanted to see Dean. Which shouldn’t bother him at all, but the thought made his stomach turn and heart split down the center. He didn’t get it. It shouldn’t hurt, because he sure as hell didn’t want to see Her. He was looking everywhere for Her, but he didn’t want to see Her. He didn’t. He didn’t-

He did. He could. That was fucking Her. Walking up the steps of Woodstock’s house with a large bag, knocking on the door and being welcomed in with a warm smile Woodstock hadn’t offered Dad or Dean. 

She looked hot. Dean wasn’t sure it was possible for Her not to—She’d even looked sexy covered in blood—but she’d somehow gotten hotter. She wasn’t wearing that horrible jacket anymore, but well-fitting, casual clothing that She moved so easily in. Clothing that suited Her, that She looked comfortable in, that Dean wanted to touch to see what fabric She liked. It would tell him more about Her, about what she deemed suitable for herself, what she enjoyed, what she wanted. And if She allowed him close enough, maybe Dean could rip it off Her body-

Fuck. It was happening again. Dean had just looked at Her and she’d dragged him under some sort of trance. The feeling had returned in full force, like an inevitable kind of cancer over his brain that Dean didn’t know how to cure. Part of him didn’t even want to cure it—it felt right and natural and filled up that pit with a shifting light that was shaped like Her—but he had to. He was useless like this. Useless to the hunt, useless to himself, useless to Dad. Dad would smack him on the head and tell him to get a goddamn grip, because a girl wasn’t worth falling down for. Dean’s job wasn’t staring at pretty things and trying to make sense of them, it was creating ash and spilling blood. He was a solider, not a prince who was going to save the damsel. 

And She wasn’t a damsel. She was a bitch. The prettiest, funniest, smartest bitch Dean had ever met, who seemed like Cinderella but was really a stepsister. Dean didn’t need Her, and he shouldn’t be sparing Her a single thought at all. He should just text Dad that She was the other hunter, that She seemed tight with Woodstock, and that She’d been in the house for a long time.

A really long time. 

Too long. It had been almost an hour since She’d disappeared off the porch, and unless she was there for a sleepover, she should’ve been out by now. Maybe the ghost had gotten the jump on Her and Woodstock. Maybe Dean had to go in and save Her, not because it was Her, but because that was his job. And maybe She’d thank him, and kiss him because She was so grateful he’d put his grudge aside to save her life, and it would be awesome and She’d taste like sugar and be soft under his hands-

“Dean Winchester.” 

He nearly leapt out of his goddamn skin, spinning around with wide-eyes and clenched fists that couldn’t seem to remember how to fly and land square in Her pretty, mocking face. She was standing barely three feet away, Her arms crossed and brows raised, her bag nowhere in sight.

“Fucking hell, Princess.“ The nickname slipped out of him without thought, because She really did look like royalty. He knew why that was now—easy to look smoking hot and fancy when you had the money for it—but it didn’t change the fact. Her lips were glossy, her eyes seemed to shimmer with that pretty color that washed over his dreams, that causal clothing really did look like it was made to touch Her, and Dean couldn’t believe he was jealous of a fabric-

“What are you doing here.” Her voice still had that haunting, angel-like quality, but it was flat. Bored. Almost dead.

He gave Her a smirk, and he wasn’t sure why it hurt that She barely even blinked back. “Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing. What could a bitch like you be doing in a place like this?“

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could’ve sworn She curled a little into her body. “I asked first.”

Dean shrugged. “I asked louder.”

“I- You know what? I don’t care.” She stood a little taller, her voice somehow growing colder. “Whatever you’re up to, stop. This is my hunt. I got here first, I’m handling it, and you’re only going to slow me down.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Ghosts aren’t really gonna respect dibs, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flashed with something Dean didn’t really understand. “They don’t, but I’m not that worried about it, De. Like I said, I’m handling it.”

He glared at Her, ignoring how something in his chest was humming, trying to get Her to call him De over and over again forever. “Sorry,” he drawled Her name, leaning forward and trying not to think about how she didn’t flinch away. How he could smell that same, fruity perfume and sugar from before. “I guess we’ll just have to let the better hunter win.”

She raised Her chin, holding his gaze. “I’m warning you, Winchester. Leave.“

He chuckled. “I’m good, Princess. Think I’ll pass, but trying to warn me was cute-”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, leaning close enough that Dean could pick out every small bump on Her face, isolate every color in Her eyes. “I’m not asking. Go back to Sam and John, tell them you figured it out and it’s done, and get the fuck out of my way.”

Something brittle snapped in Dean’s spine, his jaw clenching as the words pushed out of him like vomit. “Sam’s not with us. He left.”

He didn’t know why the fuck he’d tell Her that. She wouldn’t care. She seemed to hate Dean as much as he hated Her—probably bitter he’d got the up on Her, didn’t want him to mess with whatever scam she was trying to pull on Woodstock—and She’d met Sam twice. He shouldn’t have told Her that, because Dad hated even talking about it. Hell, Bobby barely knew about it. It was family business, and She wasn’t family, and that perfume had to be some sort of pheromone because it was making Dean a freaking dumbass-

“Is he okay?”

Dean blinked at Her, and her expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t empty. She didn’t seem like a statue anymore, and whatever was behind Her eyes looked real. Just as real as it had been last year, like there was a whole universe inside of Her that Dean had wanted to explore. To find out what She was made of, and if it was as similar to heaven as it seemed.

It wasn’t. Dean knew that, in his working brain—rather than his heart that stretched for Her and his dick that ached for Her to be just a little closer—She wasn’t heaven. She was temptation in a beautiful form, determined to make Dean weak and pathetic and soft, everything he couldn’t allow himself to be. But he still told Her the truth. His voice lower and without any venom, his body tensed slightly, his brain spinning as the strange look in Her eyes seemed to glow, dragging the words out of him. 

“He’s fine. Off at college. Decided he didn’t want-“ Dean cut himself off with a small shake of his head. He wouldn’t be that weak or dumb, exposing a gap in his armor she’d use to make him crumble to his knees. “He was done hunting. Wanted a normal life.”

She was just looking at him. Scanning over him carefully, holding one of Her own hands and just fucking staring, like Dean might be an illusion or his words might be a lie, and She was trying to look for evidence of it.

“That sucks.” She finally said, and it sounded so real. Like She might actually give a shit that Dean was lonely. That Sam had left him. “Sorry.”

 “I don’t need your pity, sweetheart-“

“I don’t pity you.” She snapped, Her features growing harsh once more. “I’m saying that fucking sucks, I know you cared about him. I’m apologizing because it’s probably complicated and messy and not all that fun to deal with.”

Dean scowled, something raw snapping along his heartstrings. “I’m doing just fine, Princess. I’ve got my dad, and Sammy’s safe in California. He’s still my brother, and it’s not like he’s fucking dead. So I’m good.”

She raised her brows, an amusement that made Dean’s gut boil written over Her face. “Yeah, you really sound it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Watch it-“

“Or what.” She hissed, leaning forward until Dean was almost drowning in Her. “You gonna run to John and tell him that the little moroi bitch is bullying you? That you need to hurry up on the hunt, because you can’t stand that I’m going to get this thing all by my fucking self-“

“All by-“ Dean stared at Her. “You’re still hunting alone?”

Her face twisted, her words hushed and furious. “That is none of your fucking business-“

“It is if you’re going to get yourself killed-“ 

She snorted. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me-“

“I give a shit if you end up monster chow.” Dean sneered, pretending something wasn’t cracking along his ribs at the certain, settled hatred in Her voice. “The job is saving people, not choosing who. You try and jump in front of that ghost, I’ll stop you-“

“Please,” She scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

Dean’s breathing was ragged. His heart was violent in his chest, and his hands were curled at his side, and She was so fucking infuriating. Dean shouldn’t give a shit about Her, but his skin felt like it was being flayed at the thought of Her in danger or pain, and She shouldn’t sound like she was wounded by being the little moroi bitch, because She was, and Dean wanted to grab Her by the neck and slam his lips to Her’s-

“Stay out of my way, Winchester.” She hissed, still so close, and looking so warm and soft, and Dean was so close to figuring out what the hell that fruit was-

She was gone. She leaned back in a rough, sharp movement—like Dean was a magnet and She was only just strong enough to pull herself away—and just walked away. 

He might be stuck here forever—on the edge of the woods outside Woodstock’s haunted house—his body trying to cling to her and his brain trying to erase Her forever. It was something he’d been trying to do for a year, something he’d never managed, and something that was made so much more difficult by the fact that She looked back. That their eyes met one last time, and it was like lightning through his blood.

He would have chased Her in Dad hadn’t called right then. He spent the next two days trying to convince himself he wouldn’t have, but it was a fucking lie. He wasn’t sure what he would have done when he caught Her, but he would’ve chased Her. Rushed after Her and asked why had She lied, why did She look like she wanted to punch Dean when She’d been the one to hurt him, if She had looked back because she could feel it too. Feel the gravity, feel the drug, feel the storm that threatened to consume Dean in Her name. Ask if She dreamt of him, ask if She saw him in shadows, ask if She was a monster and beg her to set him free.

But he hadn’t chased after Her. So it didn’t matter. Dad had picked Dean up—long after She’d been gone, Dean still rooted in place, his head still spinning—and he hadn’t seen Her since, so it didn’t matter. Maybe She’d left. Maybe She’d just skipped town, and Dean would never see her again.

That shouldn’t feel horrible. It should be relieving, the idea that he’d won. That he’d gotten the hunt, gotten Her away from him, gotten a justification for why he hadn’t told Dad he’d seen Her. It would mean that She was gone, and Dean could pretend that had never happened at all. But it still felt like fucking shit, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It ate away at his brain as the days blurred together, and they hit dead end after dead end. She remained at least out of sight, Dean still didn’t tell Dad that She’d ever been in town, and the hauntings just fucking stopped. No more lights, no more temperature drops, no more screaming Woodstock. 

It couldn’t have been Her. There were no graveyard disturbances, She hadn’t entered the house since their conversation, and it wasn’t like the EMF was gone. On the second day of no activity they’d had broken into Woodstock’s house, checked to see if it was gone, and it wasn’t. It had just stopped haunting.

Dad was losing his mind. He was barely speaking to Dean, shooting down all his ideas, and mostly just reading book after book and grumbling that it didn’t make any goddamn sense. Ghosts just didn’t stop, they still didn’t know who the hell the son of a bitch was, and they couldn’t leave until this thing was dealt with.

Dean suggested drinks—the motel room was starting to feel like a cage, they both needed it, and maybe the answer would be one or two bottles deep—and Dad had grunted an agreement. It was a small victory, but a victory all the same. Maybe Dean could find a woman there to distract from this disaster, distract him from Her-

He didn’t need to be distracted from Her. There was nothing to distract from. Dean might be dreaming about Her still—dreams where he did grab Her and kiss her, She fell to her knees and he went right down with Her, and it was fucking awesome—but She wasn’t anywhere real around him, so it didn’t matter. Every shadow on the darkened street was shaped like Her, but shadows weren’t real. That gravity in Dean’s chest was trying pull and pry Dean open so She could take a look, but that was just an emotion, and Dean wasn’t about to be some sort of pussy about his feelings. The whole bar seemed to smell like that strange fucking fruit and sugar, but Dean could just be losing his mind. The woman in the booth looked exactly like Her, and sat with her knees tucked up like she did, and was wearing the same shirt-

Shit.

“Dad, I don’t feel great, maybe we could-“

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Dad had seen Her. His face was drawn in a scowl, the glare he used during hunts was furrowing at his brow, and there was a glint in his eyes that set everything on edge.

He was fucked. She was going to tell Dad they’d run into each other, Dad would fucking murder him for not mentioning it, and She’d just fuck off and get herself killed with the ghost. Dean didn’t know why that last one felt just as terrifying as Dad’s wrath, but it might actually be worse. Dad wouldn’t actually kill him. He’d get yelled at and probably banned from driving for a month, but Dad would never hurt him. 

Dad would hurt Her. He was already stalking over to Her booth—She hadn’t even looked up, which didn’t increase Dean’s faith in Her lone hunting abilities—with white-knuckled fists that would have probably collided with Her face if she wasn’t a chick. Dean barely ran after him in time for them to reach the booth, to stop at Dad’s side right as he slammed his hand on the table.

She flinched slightly as she looked up, and the air around them became wired and electric.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, girl.” Dad lowered himself down to Her eye level as he spat the words out. “Ain’t no way you’re in town just by fuckin’ coincidence.”

She huffed a dry laugh, holding Dad’s gaze as she answered. “Not a coincidence. Just me, having the worst luck in the world.” Her attention finally turned to Dean, he felt alive, and Her words remained just as flat as before. “Hiya, Deano. You look like shit.” She looked back to Dad, her pretty lips curling into a smirk. “You both look like shit.”

“You think you’re smart-“

She snorted, cutting Dad off with a bored grin. “I am smart. Sit down, you’re drawing attention.”

She waved a loose hand around the bar, and She was right. People were wide eyed, watching them nervously, and they didn’t need that. Attention was bad in this line of business. It was downright dangerous. And Dad knew that, so he gave Dean a curt nod to listen to Her, and slid into the booth once Dean was settled across from Her. 

It was a little freaking insane, how She only got prettier. How in the low, golden light of the bar she seemed to have a halo around Her head. But it wasn’t real. Nothing about Her was real, and Dean would have to remember that. Dad was real, was looking at Her like she’d tried to key the Impala, and Dean needed to figure out where that hatred for Her had gone and bring it back. Convince Her to skip town—because She’d get in the way, not because the idea of Her being thrown across a room by a spirit made him sick—and cover his own ass, because he was still in danger of Her snitching on him. 

But She was hardly looking at him. Her attention was divided between Dad, her own hands, and the neon red, cherry and ice and paper umbrella drink in front of Her-

“Are you drinking a fucking Shirley Temple?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself, and She shot him a glare.

“You got a problem with that, Winchester?”

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I just didn’t know you were that much a prissy little princess-“

“They’re good drinks, dick.” She snapped. “It’s called having fun. Something you two buttheads,” She gestured between Dean and Dad. “Clearly know nothing about.”

Dean learned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I know plenty about having fun, sweetheart. Some might call me a master at it.“

She snorted. It was freaking adorable. “Some might call you a manwhore-“

“Watch yourself, girl.” Dad snapped, and Dean’s whole body tightened. Everything was rigid from the fury on Dad’s face—all directed at Her, all sick in Dean’s stomach—and raw from Her words. 

Manwhore. She wasn’t wrong, and he’d been called a lot worse, but it still stung like a freaking hornet along the cavity of his chest. There was no way for Her to know that, unless Dean’s whole face just screamed lonely. Lonely fucking trash to be used up and forgotten. It didn’t. He was so goddamn careful to ensure it didn’t. Even Dad didn’t know the extent of that pit, so it was impossible for Her to, and why did it feel like She’d just punched him in the gut-

“Listen to me,” Dad hissed Her full name, and it was a low threat that snapped Dean back into his body. “Skip town. This is our case, and we don’t need some fancy brat gettin’ in our way.”

She glanced at Dean, and he almost didn’t catch the small frown on Her face. It was fleeting—barely a flash on Her gorgeous features—but strong. Reaching all the way to Her eyes and filling them with an emotion Dean didn’t understand.

But then it was gone. And when She looked back to Dad her face was in bored and taunting once more. 

“I’m hate to break it to you, buddy, but ghosts don’t care about dibs.” Her lips curled into a smirk, and this was it. She was going to rat Dean out, he was dead-

“Lucky for you,” She picked up Her drink and leaned back in her seat. “It’s not a ghost. So maybe if you ask it really nicely, it’ll refuse to be killed by anyone but you.”

Dad scowled. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, girl. This ain’t another moroi thing, this is a fuckin’ ghost-“

“It’s not.” She grinned at them from around Her straw, and shit She had nice lips. They were a little puckered, Dean could still remember how soft they’d been, and they’d probably look even better wrapped around Dean’s-

“Whatever game you’re playin’,” Dad hissed at Her, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. “Cut the shit and say what you mean.”

She hummed, still wearing a bright, mocking grin. “You think it’s a ghost.”

“It is a ghost,” Dean muttered, watching Her carefully. “You’re not stupid, Princess, EMF plus random flying plates equals evil Casper.”

“That’s true.” She dropped Her empty glass on the table, leaning toward with a shrug. “But it’s still not a ghost.”

“You heard Dean, girl, it’s a ghost, plain and goddamn simple.”

“Have you seen it?” 

Dean glanced at Dad, and he’d bet a lot of money that their expressions were identical in pure freaking confusion.

“We don’t have time,” Dad grunted, his voice low and edged. “For fucking riddles. You-“

“It’s not a riddle.” She raised her brows, picking a cherry out of the glass. “Have either of you actually seen your alleged ghost? Did Maggie Rose tell you she saw it?”

Maggie Rose. Woodstock. The woman who would’ve definitely seen the ghost by now.

And who hadn’t mentioned it a single goddamn time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t found remains either.” She hummed, picking the cherry off the stem with Her teeth. “And you’ve been looking for who the ghost could be, but you’re not finding anything. You’ve been looking in the wrong place. Poltergeist’s don’t have to haunt the places where they died, and they often have little to no connection with their victims.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “This thing ain’t nearly violent enough to be a poltergeist-“

“That’s because it’s been getting enough attention so far. Maggie’s been screaming about it, and it’s found that satisfying enough.” She spun the stem between two fingers, looking between Dad And Dean with a triumphant grin. “Poltergeist.”

Dean was pretty sure Dad was going to leap across the table and strangle Her. His jaw was clenched, his body stiff at Dean’s side, and his words—when he finally spoke—were pushed through his teeth. 

“Dean.” He grunted, not looking away from Her. “I have to make a call to your uncle. Deal with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded, and Dad slid out of the booth without another word. Leaving Dean.

But not alone.

Dean blinked at Her. Dad was gone, and She hadn’t mentioned that they’d seen each other before. Shit, She hadn’t even mentioned Sam, and his obvious absence. Dad would just chalk that up to Her being a bitch, but Dean was clinging to it. She should’ve said it. She had every reason to. But She fucking hadn’t, and some part of Dean was desperate to know why. To know if it was because the idea of him in trouble made Her feel like her skin was being ripped to shreds. It felt like that for Dean, whenever he was reminded that She hunted alone. Whenever a memory of Her covered in blood flashed through his brain. 

And he could still feel it. Feel the electricity in the air that was so different than before. It was charged and tense, but in a way that made Dean feel like he was breathing. He could feel things that didn’t make sense, but they were right. She was right. Across the table, running Her hands over her calves and watching Dean like he might try to take a bite of Her, She still felt like she could fit against him like another piece. 

“You’re not going to deal with me.”

Dean frowned at Her. She wasn’t meeting his gaze, poking the paper umbrella around the glass. “What?”

“What your dad said,” She muttered. “He told you to deal with me. You won’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

She finally looked at him. Really looked at him, for the first time since last year. On the curb She’d seen him, but not looked at him. Not like before. Not like that. Where Dean felt like She was seeing right into the pit—how empty and fucking pathetically worthless he was—and filling it up with something peaceful and silver and molten in his gut, like a melted star lighting him up from the inside. He wished it was real. Dean wished, more than almost fucking anything, that he didn’t know that this was part of Her scam or game. That She was looking at him like that because he made Her feel stripped and raw too. Because She saw something in him she wanted, and just kept digging for more without fear of him breaking Her.

But he also wished he wasn’t so fucking lonely that he could care about that. That he could get a hold over himself and just deal with Her. That She wasn’t giving him a strangely soft smile, and he wasn’t caving from how it made his heart freaking glow like a night-light. 

“Because,” She said, like it was simple. Like Dean should just know what she meant. “You won’t.”

“I might.” He leaned forward, holding Her eyes on his as he smirked. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Princess. Dealing with you would be the responsible thing to do.”

“Really.” Her voice was dry, disbelieving. “How would you deal with me, Dean Winchester?”

God, She was trying to kill him. She was looking at him like that, and there was a smug smirk on Her full lips, and Dean had spent the last year hating Her but now all he could think about was how the universe that existed in Her eyes, and how he wanted to see every inch of it. Bare skin and brilliant eyes that had been phantoms in is sleep, now real and touchable. He had a million ways he’d like to deal with Her, and all of them started with those blinding fucking eyes. Rolling back in Her head and fluttering under him and sparkling on his. Her voice saying his name like it was more than just a breath, like it was the blood in Her veins-

“I’m afraid that’s top secret, Princess.” Dean dragged himself together to shoot Her a wink, and he could’ve sworn she flushed. “But I’ll tell you if you give me that answer you owe me.”

She gave him a strange look. “We were even.”

Dean shook his head. “You had asked me two questions. I only asked you one.”

There was a small, frowning pout on Her lips, and Dean realized She might be trying to work out if he was lying. He wasn’t. That conversation lived in the corners of his brain all the goddamn time, he couldn’t forget it if he tried. And he had. He’d bet his life that he was right. She’d asked him two questions about Dad and Sam, called him De, and his whole brain had short-circuited. He’d only realized on the drive back, and he’d been planning to use that to try and get Her to do the game again, but-

But She’d been tricking him. A con-woman and spoiled bitch who had been planning to use him. He’d seen the evidence. He knew that’s what was real. That between them, Dean wasn’t the liar.

He should care about that more. He should stand up and leave, or threaten Her to get the hell out of Dad’s way, or at least stop fucking smiling at Her. But She’d nodded, dropping Her knees down to lean closer, and he was drugged on Her voice and smell and face.

And he stayed.

“Fine.” She said, and Dean felt a thrill-like rush through his body. She was so pretty. “Go.”

He didn’t have a question ready. He hadn’t really expected Her to agree. But She had, and now he was staring at Her, trying to find something. Anything at all that didn’t make him look like a gaping dumbass, lost in Her eyes and high on her smell. He should ask everything he’d wanted to scream at Her on the street, and throw in a shout of why the hell didn’t you tell my dad I knew you were here. It didn’t make any goddamn sense that She hadn’t, and Dean needed to know why. That’s what he should ask. He should just freaking ask why.

“Where are you staying?”

Son of a bitch. That wasn’t what he’d meant to ask, now She was staring at him like he was some kind of creep or asshole, and Dean had to figure out how the hell he could justify asking that.

“For the case,” he added quickly, his voice drained of most of the artificial, cocky arrogance he prided himself on. “Ya’ know. In case we need to find you.”

“You won’t.” She said, Her finger running over that scar on her palm. “This is my case-“

“Yeah, and you’ve got it handled.” Dean drawled, raising his brows. “You gonna answer the question?”

She sighed. “Same motel you’re at. Down the road.”

He shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen your car-“

“You remember my car?” 

He felt a little heat rush to his face, only worsened by how there was a little, dancing light in Her eyes that was trying to draw him into Her, as if he was only a moth and she was the freaking sun. And of course he remembered that car. It was Her car. He’d felt something seize in his chest every time he’d seen one like it for the last year. 

“I like cars,” Dean grumbled—hoping She wouldn’t see it for the half-lie it was—and a small smile pulled at her lips. It looked a little too real.

“Like your dad’s.” She nodded, starting to fish ice cubes out of Her glass. “The Impala.”

It was Dean’s turn to grin. “You remember my car?”

She definitely flushed that time. “Yeah,” She mumbled. “It’s memorable. Shut up and answer my question.”

Dean raised his brows, remained silents, and tried to bait Her into saying it again. It worked.

“You’re such a-“ She cut herself off with a sigh and roll of Her eyes. “How would you deal with me.”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Dean drawled Her name, feeling his grin overtake his face, every bit of his confidence returning—stronger than before—as She swallowed under his gaze. “I’d deal with you however you’d like.”

She blinked at him, and he was certain Her voice was higher than before. “I don’t, um, I-“ She glanced down at his lips, Her tongue poking out between her teeth. Dean wanted to bite it. “What?”

“However you tell me to,” he winked, and She looked like he’d shot her. Good. “I’ll deal with you. My question is how?”

“How-“

“How would you like me to deal with you, Princess?” 

Dean was pushing it. Shit, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, or why he couldn’t bring himself to sneer at Her, or mock her, or deal with her the way Dad had definitely meant. But he did know that Her eyes were wide and blown out, and Her lips looked soft, and he wanted to know if could get Her to be speechless. To gape at him all needy and dumb, so he could show Her exactly what fire She’d been playing with. That he wouldn’t roll over like a puppy, that whatever spell She’d cast on him—whatever aphrodisiac she’d been using—Dean might not be immune, but he could give better than he got. Maybe he’d get Her to bend enough that She’d admit what she’d been doing last year, and Dean would forgive Her because he didn’t know how not to. Because She was like tattoo on his brain that he didn’t want to get rid of.

Maybe he’d get to keep Her.

Maybe they could start over.

“I…” She trailed off, and Dean wanted to smash his lips to Her slack, open ones and start over. She was still gaping at him with a wide, open expression, and fuck he wanted to start over so bad. Against every bit of willpower and intelligence he had, Dean wanted to give into this strange instinct and start over.

“C’mon.” He drawled Her name, shooting her a wink. “Use some words.”

She glared at him, something hot flashing in Her eyes. “Pass. Ask me a different question.”

Dean scoffed under, dropping his voice to under his breath. “Who’s not fun now-“

“I heard that.”

“Course you did.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, party pooper. What do you like?” 

She blinked at him. "What do I like?"

"Like you said, sweetheart, I like cars." Dean said, trying to make his words sound casual. Like he wasn't desperate to learn everything about Her that she'd offer. "What's your thing?"

"My thing." She said slowly, still looking at Dean like he was insane. "That I like."

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she frowned into the air as she continued. 

"I don't know. Books? Movies and music?"

Dean gave Her an amused, flat look. "C'mon, you can gimme more than that-"

"No, I can't." She snapped. She was really hot when she snapped. "Movies and music is my answer, Winchester, deal with it."

Dean drawled Her name. “Everyone likes movies and music-“ 

“That doesn’t make it any less important to me.” She said, narrowing her eyes. “How would you like it if I said everyone drives cars-“ 

Dean scoffed. “They don’t drive them like I do, Princess-“ 

“And you don’t watch movies and listen to music like I do, Deano.” 

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright. Point proven.” He titled his head at Her. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

She laughed. A real laugh, and it sounded like music and rain and a soft summer breeze that shot right into Dean’s blood like a drug. “It’s my question, De. But nice try.”

He grinned at Her, clicking his tongue. "Bossy-"

"Shut up." She tilted her head at him, and Dean just grinned. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Untouchables." He said with a shrug. "Your turn."

She just looked at him with a small, teasing grin, and Dean realized she was waiting for him to repeat the question.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, sweetheart. What's your favorite movie?"

Her face split into a wide, full grin, and God, he was fucked. Nothing in the world seemed to matter more than that smile, and the way it made him feel like he was circling the sun, crashing down to Earth in a ball of fire, and turning to steam as She swallowed him in her gravity. He really didn't give a shit if it was real. Maybe Dean could get himself to be bloody and bright enough to match Her, and she'd feel this too. She'd feel this, and stay, and offer an explanation about last year. An explanation that would prove it wasn't all that bad, and that She was just as fucking empty as Dean was, and he'd fill Her up-

Fuck, he couldn't think that. Not right now, when She looked like that—beautiful in a way that might be deadly—and was smiling at him, and he couldn't get a damn grip and just hate Her. He wasn't supposed to be crashing back up into Her. Dad would be so freaking disappointed that Dean was dumb enough to fall for this act again.

But he was. His jeans felt tight, he couldn't stop grinning at Her, and that siren-like voice kept Dean in her orbit, with absolutely no desire to leave.

She had a million favorite movies. And She hadn't been lying. She watched movies differently than Dean did. Differently that anyone did. He'd never heard anyone use so many big art words in a row, followed by about twenty, very creative swears at a speed he could only describe as frantic. Like if She didn't get Dean to understand exactly why Indiana Jones was the perfect adventure movie, why chick flicks had irreplaceable cultural value, and sitcoms could be the best medium of television, the world might end.

And it should be reminding him that they weren't the same. That Dean was trapped in the mud—he'd been born here, he'd die here, and he belonged here—because it was the only place for things like him. Gut covered weapons, made of rust that would crumble to dust before they made it out alive. And She was just visiting. Using the mud to make Her feel alive or important until she could return to a world of people with ivory and marble who all spoke like this. She was using Dean to do the same, maybe more. Maybe worse. Maybe trying to pry him open and steal what little he had inside him. 

But, son of a bitch, She could have it. He'd stay right here with Her for a million freaking years, just as long as She kept smiling and rambling and giggling at Dean's small jokes between Her breathes. Maybe he could take that bite out of Her. Taste sugar and fruit and whatever else he was starting crave. He could take Her flesh and blood and call it even for what She’d done, because She was still so pretty, and Dean felt like he could be valuable under Her bright attention.

He’d repay Her for that bite by offering himself. He'd be that smeared, dulled weapon for Her. He shouldn't be. Dad would kill him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to stay here forever. And when the waitress came over—with plastic tits and syrupy words—he didn't even fully realize until She cleared her throat and jerked her head to the side. Even then he just frowned at Her, a drunken trance of her voice and smile still clouding his attention, because what the hell could possibly be more interesting—more important—than listening to Her talk?

Then the waitress leaned down, almost blocking Her from view, and Dean frowned.

"What?" His voice was irritated, impatient, but he didn't really care. He needed think lady to freaking move, before She somehow vanished like a dream through Dean's fingers, and he was alone again.

"You want anythin' to drink, handsome? The waitress asked, and Dean nodded. He could use a beer—it might help dull the raging wildfire inside him, trying to tear him between his hatred of what he knew She was and the raw, feral instinct to latch onto Her and never let go—and Her glass was almost out of ice cubes. If he got Her another glass, he could keep Her here just a little longer. As long as he could.

"Beer for me," he raised two fingers, pointing between Her and himself. "Virgin Shirley Temple for the lady."

The waitress blinked at him for a second, but got the message. Dean had Her. He didn't need to company of another pretty face, because none of them could be prettier that Her's. Shit, it wasn't even a fair comparison. Leaving this booth for anything—leaving Her for anything—would be like trading a burger for a fucking salad. Insane and pointless.

When the waitress finally moved, She was gaping at him, her words suddenly soft. Almost nervous. 

"You, um-" She shook her head slightly. "Thanks."

Dean shrugged. "Not a big deal, you blew through that fancy girl drink in like a second anyway-"

"No, that's not-" She frowned at him, and Dean realized she was touching that scar again. "You remembered. That I don't drink."

"Oh." Dean stared at Her, his tongue almost glued into his mouth, his brain a little warm and soft from Her almost vulnerable gaze. "Yeah."

They were just staring at each other, and all Dean could manage to do was clear his throat, scratch the back of his neck, and force himself to speak. 

"You, uh," he swallowed, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. "Never mentioned why."

"Why-"

"You don't drink."

"I'm not twenty-one yet, Winchester, I don't think I-" She cut herself off, leaning a little away from Dean with a small frown. He waited, the silence resuming for a long, heavy second that sat and froze in Dean's lungs. She wasn't looking at him anymore, twisting a ring on Her finger, and when She spoke again, her voice had dropped to a mumble. "I want a clear head. It's safer."

"Safer?"

"For our job." She curled a little into herself, like Dean was trying to peel her apart. "I mean, I can't really afford to get drunk. It could end, uh, badly."

Something became sharp over Dean's skin. That wasn't it. It wasn't a lie, but Dean could read it all over Her—he wasn't sure how, but he could—that there was more to it. But that's not why there was a sore prickle rooted in his muscles. 

"Because you hunt alone."

She nodded, bringing Her knees up to her chest, and the ache worsened. 

"You could drink." He muttered, leaning back with a slight slam of his hand on the table. "If you'd hunt with a partner."

She sighed. "I'm not going to hunt with a partner-"

"Why?"

He'd snapped. He hadn't meant to, but the ache moved to his mouth and he needed Her to understand. To get that hunting alone was fucking dangerous, and would get Her killed, and he cared about that so goddamn much for no real reason. He shouldn't care. But the thought of Her covered in blood make his gut twist and his heart burn in his chest, so She needed to get it. Now.

She narrowed her eyes, finally looking at him. "Why what."

"Why won't you hunt with a partner." He grumbled, holding Her gaze. "What would make that so fucking bad, sweetheart?"

"Because, as I've told you all week, I don't need to.” Her words were firm, dropped to a hushed sneer. "Anyone else would get in my way."

"I haven't even seen you since the freaking house," Dean said Her name with a low huff. "How could that be getting in the way-"

"I'd be fucking babysitting." She hissed. "I don't need a bunch of assholes tell me what to do, how to fight, how to kill something, how to-"

"Be safe?" Dean cut Her off with a sneer. "Not act like you're too good for anyone else?"

"I never said that, you asshole." She was starting to hug herself, and Dean felt ill, but he wouldn't be the one to break. "I am not too good, I just refuse to be a little hunter fuck-doll beating bag."

Dean blinked. "What?”

She sighed in flat, unamused disbelief. "Hunter's don't have great track records with women. I mean, be fucking real, dude. It wouldn't be the monster's that kill me."

"You," he shook his head. "That's- There are assholes out there everywhere, that doesn't mean you just roll over and accept death-"

"So what should I do?" She raised Her brows. "Be your partner? Be you and your father's little fucking toy until one of you puts a bullet-"

She cut herself off, and Dean gaped at Her, fire crawling over his veins.

"I-" She swallowed, and Dean wished he didn't give a fuck how She suddenly seemed so small. "I'm-"

"Do you seriously believe," Dean muttered, unsure if the fire in his voice was for himself, Dad, or how She looked like a wounded animal. "That we'd- Shit, are you fucking kidding me-"

"It's- I-"

"Save it," He snapped. "We are not killers or fucking savage trash-"

"That's not-"

"You listen to me, Princess-"

"No! I just-" She sounded panicked. Cornered. "I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's complicated-"

He scoffed. "Not that complicated, sweetheart, you think I'm just as bad as that shit we hunt-"

"No I don't-"

"You do," he hissed Her name. "Drop the act. And, just so we're clear, I'd never hurt you-"

She laughed, shaking Her head. "You can't be fucking serious. That’s-“ She tensed, her face twisting slightly as she scratched at Her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, Winchester. You don't get to act like you give a fuck if I hunt alone."

Dean's hand curled into a fist. "Nobody should hunt alone, it's, fuck, it's stupid-"

"I am not stupid-"

Dean huffed a dry laugh. "I got that, Princess. But you know what? I think," he leaned forward, letting the words fall out of his mouth before he could think about them. Before he could stop them. "That you're just too much of a crazy bitch to have anyone stick around."

It was silent, and She was just staring at him, her features moving through a million emotions that Dean couldn't understand. He'd won. She looked like he'd taken a knife right to Her heart, and she wasn't fighting back, so he'd won. And he couldn't fucking breathe. He felt sick, and faint, and freaking awful-

"Choke on my dick, Winchester.” She snapped, but there was something weaker in Her voice. Something that told Dean he’d hit on something fragile. That he was a piece of fucking shit that went for the killing blow because he couldn't help it. Because he was the very fucking, lower-than-the-sewers trash She'd just accused him of being-

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to take it back or say they'd both gone too far, and he felt like shit and still wanted—despite literally everything—to start over. To at least ask Her to tell him the truth, to at least tell Her how hating her like this made him feel wrong-

But She was gone. She'd left the booth and stomped out the door before Dean could even make a sound, and he just goddamn sat there. She wouldn't come back, but he was still just sitting there. Dad was probably waiting for him, ready to demand a reason why he'd taken so long, but Dean still just sat there. Shit, they might have a poltergeist to deal with, but Dean wasn't freaking moving.

What finally got him was the waitress, making her way back to the table and saying some snide comment about his girlfriend not appreciating him. Dean didn't even spare the woman a look as he shot up, shoved past her, and marched out into the parking lot to find Dad and get the hell out of here. If Dad asked, Dean would say he'd taken care of it. Not of Her—She'd looked like he'd torn Her to shreds with his teeth—but the situation. She'd probably be gone by morning, not wanting to be anywhere near two mud and gut covered hunters. Near Dean.

Dad was still on the phone when Dean saw the Impala. Sitting in the front seat with a frown, the windows rolled down to combat the flat heat of air, speaking in a low, gruff voice to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I don't care," he was muttering as Dean approached, his voice carried on the wind. "I can get the asshole no problem, Bobby, the poltergeist ain't my issue."

It was a poltergeist. If Bobby said it was a poltergeist, it was a poltergeist. She'd been right. And as Dean got closer, Dad obviously couldn't see him in the shadows, so he should probably say something to alert Dad that he was here

"Obviously it's the fuckin' girl." Dad snapped, and Dean froze. "Shit, she just shows up again? On another weird fuckin' case, bein' right about what it is, sinkin' her claws into Dean-"

Dad stopped talking—Bobby was probably saying something Dean couldn't hear—and Dean's breathing was shallow. He shouldn't be eavesdropping. Dad would kill him, and he just shouldn't. He trusted Dad, and if this wasn't something Dad wanted to hear, it wasn't something he had to hear. But She hadn't sunken Her claws into him. She'd just scratched him over his brain and scarred him, but Dad couldn't see that. She just haunted him, and drove him mad, and made him want to-

"She's the one Dean's obsessed with."

Dean frowned. He was not obsessed with Her. 

"She's a hunter alright. That moroi case me and the boys worked-" There was a small pause. "Yeah, moroi. Freakin' nasty little vampire baby shits. She-" Dad huffed, and Dean could hear the muffled sound of Bobby's voice. It sounded urgent. 

Then Dad said Her full name into the speaker, and Dean could hear his frown. "You heard of her, Bobby?"

Bobby must have said no—there was no reason for him to know Her—but whatever he did say made Dad's hands grip the wheel with white knuckles.

"The hell you mean you have to go- Bobby-" John groaned, the click of his phone being closed snapping through the air and Dean swallowed. The call was over. Time to pretend he wasn’t a piece of fucking shit that had been invading Dad's privacy.

Dean moved out of the shadows and opened the car door, Dad barely waiting for him to be seated before he started talking.

"We got a poltergeist." He grunted, turning on the engine. "Let's go."

Dean blinked. "Go? Like, now?"

"Damn right, now." Dad shot him a raised brow. "Why, you fuckin' waiting for somethin'-"

"No, sir." Dean shook his head, and Dad nodded, still watching him carefully.

"You take care of the girl?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean hated that the words tasted rotten in his mouth. "She's gone."

Dad nodded. "Remember, son. No pair of tits are worth more-"

"Then family." Dean finished. He'd heard that sentence enough to recite it in his sleep. It didn't matter. She didn't matter. Dean felt like a fucking asshole, but She didn't matter. "I know, Dad."

"Good." Dad muttered, pulling out of the lot. "Let's kill this fuckin' poltergeist and get the hell out of here."

—————————

Bobby doesn't know you're here. He thinks you're in Louisiana still, dealing with the kelpie.

You're not. You're in Illinois. Trying something on a poltergeist.

You'll tell him when you get home. Explain that you'd just wanted to test your ghost ritual again, and if you'd told that him before, he would've snapped that testing that stuff was dangerous, and the thing had already worked once, so there wasn't any goddamn reason to risk it again. 

And he was right. The rituals and spell and curses that had started to come to you in the dead of night—when it was just you and the White in the world, and the darkness became consuming—weren’t exactly safe to test on hunts. Not because of the rituals themselves, but because of the exposure. The danger of using magic where you could be discovered by another hunter. But you had to test them. You didn't know where they were coming from or how to stop them, but they always worked. You wake up and know that, if you said all these words and mixed these things together, you could make a veil between dead spirits and the living. A barrier that didn't kill the ghosts, but stopped them. A blockade that could be torn down, but bought you plenty of time and minimized any casualties. 

It was why Bobby wasn't stopping you. He insisted you stay far away from other hunters, and update him after every test to make sure you hadn't blown yourself up or worse, but he wasn't trying to hold you back. Convince you to just drown in the darkness until it eroded the White, and you lost control forever. But he still wouldn't be happy about the second test. And you could've justified it by pointing out that this was actually a poltergeist, so you'd had to figure out how to alter the ritual, but then you saw the Winchester's Impala in your motel parking lot. 

Which meant this it would be stupid to keep working the case. It meant you were in danger, because they were probably hunting the same poltergeist you were trying to do magical experiments on. 

Worse, it meant Dean was here.

And you're going to fucking scream.

He'd never left your brain. You haven't stopped moving, you never stop moving, but Dean has followed you everywhere. Into your head every second, still circling around his handsome face and pretty face and beautiful smile. Into the darkness when it started to slip out of you, fueled by an echo of unworthy and sick, edged with the phantom feeling of his body at your side.

He was in countless, lonely motel beds where you looked to the side and expected him to be there. He was on the curb when you were covered in grime and monster guts, and you looked up to find the shadow above you only a shadow. He was in your bag, because you’d never thrown out his shirt. It didn’t smell like him anymore—he was there too, in wet grass in the spring and the spice of cheap aftershave on a man in a bar—but you were still holding onto it. Holding onto Dean.

You weren’t sure what could make you let go. You’d even started to fish for information about him from Bobby with careful questions about the Winchesters. What they usually hunted, so you could avoid them. What Sam and Dean were like, in case you ever ran into them, so you’d know what to expect. If they always hunted with John, or if they ever went off on their own. Bobby would always give you a strange look and a short answer—whatever they ran into, they’re good boys in the same shit situation as every other hunter, and John never let them hunt alone—but you’d pieced more from what you already knew. Sam hated hunting, and Dean loved it, their relationship with John was complicated—you could’ve gotten that one yourself—and Dean was what Bobby called eager with women.

He slept around. He’d probably been trying to sleep with you, and given up when he realized that you weren’t easy. That you were tired and rough and so, so angry all the time. That you might be beautiful, but the same was a thunderstorm is beautiful. The same was a statue is beautiful.

Something you shouldn’t touch. Something you shouldn’t try to hold, even for a night.

Something that wasn’t worth Dean Winchester time. Something he’d seen, turned away from, and then left you. He’d left you because he’d seen you for what you were, and he hadn’t wanted anything from you in the first place, but he’d still fucking left you. And you hated him for that, because you’d been ready to offer him whatever he wanted. Against all reason and logic and caution, you’d wanted him more than you could describe. 

And against all your willpower, you couldn’t let go of him. Because you’d seen the Impala in the parking lot—the one you’d been searching for on every highway, in every small town and city—and the force of Dean is here had hit you like a hurricane. Everything had felt so fucking big, and you couldn’t hold onto the darkness in your body as your breathing became heavy and you attempted to keep yourself together. Nails digging into your skin as the wind howled through your room, the peeled paint on the walls cowering from you as your attention became vigilant, everything crashing back down into you when you bit down, and a lightbulb shattered across the room.

You’d avoided him. You’d hidden in crowds on the street when you saw him, and ducked behind shelves when he entered the corner store. You’d kept your shades angled so you could see the parking lot, and pushed down the way the White howled at the sight of him coming and going. You’d planned to handle the hunt in silence, and then just go.

The house owner was a sweet hippy who agreed to let you do the ritual when you told her she had the aura of a swan. You’d give it a few days after to ensure the barrier could hold, get rid of the poltergeist for good, and then leave without the Winchester’s ever even knowing you were here.

Then you’d seen Dean in the woods, and you couldn’t resist talking to him. He’d seen you anyway, so there wasn’t anything left to lose. And he’d still been so pretty, and your knees still felt weak, and the White still whined for him no matter how much of a dick he was being. It was insufferable, you’d left with darkness eating at your blood, and you’d looked back. You couldn’t stop looking back. Every time you had run on the street you’d turned around to see if he was frowning in adorable confusion around the busy sidewalks. When he was in the parking lot you’d checked to see if he was still pretty, even though you knew he would be. Of course he would be. He was an asshole like that. 

You’d looked back outside of the poltergeist house because you had to. You had to see if he was real or just another flickering dream, and you couldn’t resist the desire to see him—staring at you on the street and suffocating you with that same smell from last year—one more time. It’s why you hadn’t skipped town right after. It’s why you’d stayed so long in the bar. You just fucking had to. You could fight against his winks and grins and smooth words, making you smile when you hated him, making you laugh when you should’ve been running. It had seemed—for whatever strange reason—that Dean hadn’t told John you were here, but he definitely knew now, and you were certainly in very real danger. But Dean had carved you open again, and you’d stayed in that stupid booth until he’d given you a good reason to leave.

And it was a great reason. It would’ve been kinder to shoot you in the temple than say that. At least he would’ve killed you, and you wouldn’t have had to wage this war in your body. The war between your hatred of him, and how you want to go back. He’s such a fucking asshole, but you still want to turn around and go back. To ask him why he left, why he cares, how he seems to know your every raw nerve and if he's still feels this too. If he felt it before. 

You don't really want to know that last one. Because if he felt it before, that means he felt it and left. That he can feel it now and hates you for it. 

Because he does hate you. If it wasn't in his words, it was all over his face. How he’d laughed like you were just a silly little girl. How he’d looked right into you like he could see the darkness. How he’d grinned at you like a wolf, like he wanted to rip you apart. He sees what you are, and he despises it.

And you were fine with that. You despise him. He was an arrogant, smug, dickish, charming, controlling, annoying, handsome, caring, selfish, funny, sexy, adorable, funny, strong, sweet-

God fucking damnit. He was an asshole. He'd left you, he hated you, and you wouldn't fall for the cowboy-in-shining-leather thing again. You were going to take care of this poltergeist now, and leave town right after. Dean and John could be here another week trying to figure out if it was even dead for all you cared. You just had to go. Before this all got worse.

You've barely parked when your phone starts to buzz. You don’t look at the contact when you decline it—you don’t have the time—but then it just starts buzzing again. 

It’s Bobby.

You still don’t answer. If he’s in danger, he wouldn’t call you. If it’s an urgent question, he can handle it himself. If it’s a non-urgent question, he can wait for this to be done. If he was dying-

You almost pick up the phone. The thought flashes through your brain, a small stone grows in your throat, and you reach for the phone with a frantic movement. You’re about the dial him back when the first message comes through, and you sigh in relief.

You better call me back now, kid, we need to talk.

Not dying. Can be dealt with later. You’ll call him back when you’re done, because this will be quick, and you’ll get through it. You always do.

You’d convinced the homeowner to get out of town for a few days, to stay with her sister until you were done. The purification ritual was in the trunk of your latest stolen car—you’d meddled with the ingredients, giving it an extra kick—and this would be quick. 

There’s no blur as you start. You’re alert for your barrier to break—keeping in iron poker in your hands—but there’s no disturbance, so you just go through the motions. The basement is finished in five minutes, the first floor in ten, and you’ve only got two bags left when glass shatters downstairs, and the blur starts to cloud your head. Something cracked in the ritual, maybe because you’re almost done, but now you have to fight-

“Dean, you got the guns?”

You freeze as John Winchester’s voice sounds from down the stairs, and everything becomes too sharp. There’s a creaking sound from downstairs, the darkness is starting to spread up your spine and over the white popcorn ceilings of the house, you’re fucked, and the White is reaching out to-

“I got it, Dad, but I thought poltergeists-“

“Son of a bitch wants attention.” John snaps over Dean, and you might crush the bag in your hand. “We’re gonna give him some until he shows himself, and we find the asshole’s remains and burn them.”

This is bad. That’s not how poltergeists work at all—you’re a little shocked John thinks it is—and they’re going to fuck up your barrier, and you can’t tell them they’ll fuck up the barrier or John will turn one of those guns on you-

“Is the hippy chick home?” Dean asks, snapping you out of your panic as the White howls inside you. “I can deal with her while you take care of-“

“No need. Car ain’t in the driveway.” There’s a pause, and you can hear them shuffling downstairs. “Plus I know how you deal with the vics, Dean. We don’t need that right now.”

Something’s bitter in your mouth that has no right to be there, and no right to vanish at Dean’s grumbled words.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Dad-“

“I don’t care how you meant it. Focus up so we can get this shit done.”

There’s another few muffled sounds, an unmistakable click of a gun, and you’re moving before you think better of it. 

“Stop!” You’re almost shrieking—dropping the poker and shoving your last two bags into your pockets as you run down the stairs—and barely stop your body from colliding with Dean’s in the entrance hallway.

“What the fuckin’ hell are you doin’?!“ John’s roar makes you flinch, his rifle aimed right at your head. You take a stumbling step back as darkness wraps around your hands and your heart kicks into a rapid, frantic rhythm you can hear in your ears. John can see you. He’s going to kill you. You going to die, and they’ll burn your body, and shit you never called Bobby but the darkness is going to burst out of you and John’s going to kill you-

A hand steadies you by your shoulders, grass and spice and leather ease the darkness down, and you wish you didn’t relax into the warmth of behind you, that the pretty, rolling voice a little over your head didn’t soothe your panic.

“Woah, Dad, it’s just-“ Dean says your name, and John scoffs, not lowering his gun.

“I know who it is, Dean, that ain’t my issue.” John’s eyes narrow on you, hatred painted all over his face. It’s worse than Dean’s somehow. There’s something pure about it, like John didn’t have to look into you to see what an atrocity you are. He just senses it. “Why the fuck are you here, girl.”

“I’m hunting my poltergeist.” You snap, forcing your voice to sound angry and not terrified, your face to be a mask of annoyed and not painted in dread. “What possible other reason could I have.”

“Could be looking at real estate.” Dean mumbles with a shrug, and he’s still touching you. You can’t help but glance back as you jerk away from him, and the expression on his face is unreadable. Guarded but cautious, like when he’d watched you and John snap at each other in the booth. Like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. “I hear this is a good neighborhood.”

You give him a flat look. “This house is haunted.”

He shoots you a wink, clearly fueled by you not just ignoring him. “Won’t once we’re done with it-“

“Once I’m done with it.” You narrow your eyes at him. “This is my hunt, Winchester. I was here first.”

“Poltergeists don’t respect dibs, Princess.” Dean snaps. “And you don’t even have a freakin’ gun.”

“I don’t need a gun-“

Dean lets out a dry, shouting laugh. “I take back what I said earlier, you are stupid if you’re about to try and kill this thing without a freakin’ gun-“

“You’re stupid if you think I’m just going to let you fuck this up-“

“We’re saving your ass from getting whacked by a poltergeist, some gratitude might be nice-“

“You’re getting in my fucking way-“

“You’re-“

“Enough!” John’s shouts over Dean, and you both freeze. You hadn’t realized you’d been shouting, or how close Dean had gotten. You can see his every freckle, every shade of green in his eyes, how his lips are slightly parted so his breath fans over your face-

“I don’t want you two talkin’ unless it’s telling me where the poltergeist is.” John hisses, and you force your body away from Dean’s. “We’re killin’ this thing right fuckin’ now, got it?”

Dean nods, bowing his head slightly, and you just glare at John. All you have to do is get upstairs place the last two bags, and you’ll be fine. If agreeing to work with them does that, you’ll do it.

You split up. John goes to the basement, Dean takes the first floor, you rush upstairs. The bags are in your pants, and you’re so close, but John and Dean are waving around guns and talking about ganking the poltergeist, and it can definitely fucking hear them. The paintings shake on the walls as the temperature drops, and it’s trying break through. You get the first bag just as the lights begin to flicker, and you sprint down the hall to the last wall. Just one more and it will be done, and you can leave-

“Fuck-“ Dean shouts right as you reach the spot, and your blood goes cold. “Dad! It’s on me- shit-“ 

Then he roars your name, and you’re moving before you can think. Grabbing the poker, half-falling down the stairs, and reaching Dean just as his gun is yanked out of his hands by nothing at all. His eyes widen as they meet your, his mouth opens to say something and-

“Dean!” You can barely hear your own scream as he flies across the room, his head knocking on the counter. 

His body slumps, and you’re not in a blur. This is a rush. Everything is wide around you, there’s an airy chill in your lungs, and the darkness is pouring out of you as the lights grow too bright and the windows bang on a windless night. The darkness starts to ignite over your hands—a phantom flame you’re not sure is real, burning and stinging at your skin—you whirl around, and, on instinct alone, shove the air. There’s a high, shrill, horrible sound of pain as the air goes up in flames, and then it all comes down. The room grows warm, the house goes quiet, and the darkness returns to you without a fight.

And Dean’s still slumped on the floor. 

“Dean!” You fall to your knees at his side—rolling his face to the side, grabbing his hand to take a pulse—and only notice John as he silently joins you, taking Dean’s face between his hands with a set jaw. 

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

You don’t know what he saw.

“What the hell-“

“Poltergeist.” You whisper, watching John examine Dean’s head. “Threw him across the room.”

John scowls. “You just let this shit happen-“

“I didn’t- I got the asshole.” You hiss, clawing at the skin near your nail until it stings. “House purification ritual, which I was already doing before! Nothing would’ve happened at all if you didn’t jump in with fucking guns-“

“Just-“ John raises his hand, and you fall silent. You’re still holding Dean’s hand. You don’t let it go.

“He’s okay.” You mumble, mostly for yourself. Mostly to fight the bile in your throat at the sight of him, sweaty and pale, not bleeding but moving, eyes fluttering but not waking up. “He’s gonna be okay.”

You almost miss John’s strange look. You almost forget about the axe over your head, and how he might know what you are. All you can really think about is Dean. You barely hear John order you to stay here while he grabs the car, and it feels a little pointless. You would’ve stayed here no matter what. 

He’s groaning. Dean keeping making low noises of pain, and his hand keeps flexing in yours, but he’s breathing. Shallow breathes, but he’s breathing. And he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. It’s just a Poltergeist, not even a strong one, and he’s young and strong, and he’ll be okay. Your breathing has become a little uneven, and you can feel the White rioting and bellowing inside you as he shudders slightly, but he’ll be okay. You won’t let him not be. He feels clammy when you press your hand to his brow—your fingers brush his hair, and it’s soft, and that’s not important but you’re going to think about it for a million years—so you shrug off your own jacket and toss it over his body. He’s still holding onto you, so you don’t drop his hand. When John gets back you loop his arm over your shoulders, your own arm around his waist, and haul his dead-weight up until John grabs the other side. 

When you reach the Impala—you working in silence with John to slide him carefully into the backseat—he clings to you. John drops his arm and it shoots over your stomach, his head falling onto your chest as he makes another low grunt of pain. And there’s such little color on his face, and he’s still shuddering when you move the jacket back over him, and you could fix this. You’ve never healed anyone before, but you could. You can feel the darkness moving into the tips of your fingers and over your heart as Dean takes a stuttered breath, and you have to-

“Get out.”

You look up and find that John has walked around the car and opened your door. “I-“

“Leave.” John grunts, not even sparing you glance as he speaks. “Now.”

You shake your head, and it’s a weak movement. There’s that feral instinct of survive still in your bones, but it’s not bigger than Dean. Nothing’s bigger than Dean. “No, I-“

“I ain’t askin’-“

“It’s not up to you-“

“My car. My rules.” John’s words sound pushed through his teeth. “Out.”

“I,” you swallow, glancing back down to Dean. “I could help-“

“You’ve done enough.“

“I could fix him!” You shout, and your sounds pleading. You feel like you’re pleading. It’s pathetic, and you don’t care because Dean makes a low, strained noise and you feel like you’re choking. “I could-“

“Listen to me very fuckin’ closely.” John sneers your full name, finally lowering down to meet your gaze. “The out of my fuckin’ car, and stay the hell away from my son. I don’t need you fixin’ him, because he’s not broken, and if he was the last thing he needs is some high horse brat making him weak.”

There’s a high ringing in your ears, and your voice is soft. “I-“

“He’d be fine if you hadn’t interfered with our work.” John snaps. “You’re out of your little pond, girl, and if I ever see you distractin’ Dean or fuckin’ with his brain again, I’ll put a bullet in yours. Got it?”

You nod, something vast and numb spreading over your chest as you carefully climb out of the car—making sure not to disturb Dean, or make his head worse—and leave John without another word. But you look back. You can’t help yourself from turning and watching the Impala pull away, from digging your nails into your skin as you cling to yourself until their headlights vanish around a corner. 

You’re already packed. Everything’s in your car—clothing, tools, books, makeup and hygiene products, first aid kit—and you could just drive out of town, but you don’t. You toss the last purification ritual bag into the truck, sit behind the wheel, just stare into the darkness.

You need to call Bobby. You need to go. John wouldn’t kill you with an injured Dean to care for, but he’d seen. He had to have seen. And not leaving now would be a death sentence. 

But you just sit in the car. Sit in the cancerous darkness that’s alight in your body, the image of Dean’s pained features burned into your eyes, flashing in front of you whenever you blink. All that boiling hatred for Dean is gone. Evaporated into thin air, leaving you ill and pained and empty. John was right. You hadn’t been fast enough, and Dean got hurt. Your barrier against the poltergeist made it violent, and Dean got hurt. You’re the sick one. It’s why he left to begin with. 

He was better for it. He didn’t need you—no one needed you—and John’s threat hadn’t been empty, so you need to drive away and never look back.

And yet you end up in the motel parking lot. Hunched in your seat as you wait for just a little proof that Dean’s okay. That you hadn’t held him and shattered him, like he’d shattered you. You’re there until the sun breaks the sky, until it’s beating over your head and you have to crack the windows. 

You’re there when your phone starts to ring, and you realize you’d forgotten to call Bobby.

You’ve barely picked up when he starts shouting, and you flinch away from the speaker. 

He uses your full name. First, middle, and Singer. He only uses your full name when he’s proud of you, or furious. And this feels more like the latter. You’re in trouble.

“You wanna tell me,” he hisses. “Why John fuckin’ Winchester knows who you are?”

“I, uh-” You swallow, twisting a ring with your thumb. “I don’t-“

“And I ain’t gonna buy your bullshit, kid, that shit doesn’t work on me.”

You sigh. “Bobby, look-“

“No, you look. I didn’t teach you to be a goddamn idjit dumbass,” he snaps your name, and you curl a little further into your seat. “You know what he’d do to ya’. Shit, what are you plannin’ on doin’ if you have a slip? If he sees that hoodoo shit happen?”

“Um, he might have already seen it.”

There’s silence on the other end for a long second, then a low, “What.”

“We just finished a poltergeist case.” You mumble, hoping he’s too angry to catch onto the why are you on a poltergeist case part. “And it attacked Dean. And I killed it.”

Bobby says your name slowly. “How the hell did ya’ kill a-“

“With my hands. I just, um, burned it.” You take a long breath. “And I think John saw.”

“And he just let ya’ off the fuckin’ hook-“

“Dean got hurt.” You whisper, and the words sting your tongue. “He was focused on that.”

“Balls.” Bobby mutters, and you can picture the frown on his face. “Well, you’re outta there now, we can-“

“No.” You sigh. “I can’t go, I have to-“ You cut yourself off, because it sounds stupid in your head. You do not have to make sure Dean’s okay. He hates you, everything logical in your brain says that you should be remembering how to hate him any time soon, and he’s not yours tocare about. John made that clear with his threat. Dean made it clear by leaving. But you’re still in the parking lot. And you still have to make sure Dean’s okay.

Bobby says your name through the phone, his voice slow. “You gonna tell me what happened last year. On that moroi hunt.”

“I ran into the Winchesters-“

“I ain’t slow, kid, I worked that part out. What happened that made you call me and flop around the house like a widowed fish for a week.”

You bring your knees up to your chest, shaking your head. “It’s… I can’t-“

“What if I ask if that was Dean’s shirt.” Bobby grunts. “That you were wearin’.”

“Yeah.” You drop your head back on the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. “It-“ 

You freeze, watching Dean finally step outside like he’s been summoned. He’s walking slowly, but walking, and he seems really okay, and he’s looking around the parking lot with a frown-‘

Shit.

You drop down in your seat, out of the view of the parking lot, and pray he didn’t see you.

“Bobby, I gotta-“

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, we still got some shit to sort out-“

“I’ll come right home.” You keep your voice hushed, in case it could carry on the wind. “And you can yell at me there.”

Bobby sighs. “I wasn’t gonna yell-“

“Yeah you were-“

“No-“

“Lying is a sin, Bobby.” You smile, carefully pulling the car keys out of your jacket. “You’re not a very good role model-“

“Well, I’m gonna fuckin’ yell at ‘ya now!” He snaps, but you can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “Get home quick, and we’ll deal with this. John don’t know you’re with me, and unless Dean needs a week after your hunt-“

“I think he’s fine.” You mumble, craning your head up to see Dean gone from the lot. “I’ll be safe at home.”

“Not if I kill ya’ for pullin’ this shit on an old man.” Bobby grunts, and you grin he falls silent, a long moment of static before- “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” You mumble, and you’re not, but you will be. You always are. “And I’m really sorry for-“

“Apologizin’ ain’t gonna help us,” Bobby mutters. “Get home, and keep outta trouble till we sort this.”

You nod. “I will.”

You’ll try. Dean’s still pulling at you in your chest and consuming your head, but you’ll try. If only for Bobby’s sanity, you’ll really try.

You’ll pretend you don’t stay in the lot for a minute longer to watch Dean walk back to his room, that you don’t glance back at the room as you drive away, and you’ll keep yourself away of trouble. 

Away from Dean.

End Note: I’d say this story is about to be John vs Bobby on who’s a better dad, but that would be like making a mouse (John) fight a dragon (Bobby).

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[stardust948]

They have stolen the heart inside you; but this does not define you

based on the Childhood friends to enemies to friends to lovers meme

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 13/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Thirteen: Stitched

Bruce snuck into the pool house in the manor with Harvey to clean his face up in the bathroom. “Bruce, he’s never hit me in the face before. I—. Jesus!” Harvey shouted. 

Bruce rinsed out the wound with boiling water and soap before going to the kitchen with the first aid kit. “Keep it down… That doesn’t make him a good person. Just because he hits you where bruises won’t—.”

“Are you mad at me?” Harvey asked. 

“No. Do I ever get mad at you for what he does? It’s not your fault that this happened. He’s your dad, but it doesn’t change how I feel about him. I’m always gonna question him as a human being. I don’t care what happens between us, I could never imagine hurting you like this,” Bruce whispered.

Harvey sighed and grabbed Bruce’s wrist as Bruce leaned forward with tissue forceps. “Wait… Wait, what are you gonna do with that?” Harvey asked. 

“I’ve gotta expose the wound to see how deep it is. I’ve been practicing this since I was six years old… But this is gonna hurt a whole lot. I’m not gonna lie to you,” Bruce warned him. “Actually, go to the guest room and lay down, so I could get a better look at the cut.” 

Harvey obeyed without a word, and he lay on the bed. Bruce sat by his side and used the tissue forceps to get a better look at the cut. He balled up his fists as he anticipated the sharper more concentrated pain of a needle penetrating his flesh. “Bruce, what have I done to deserve a friend like you?” Harvey whispered. 

“I wasn’t a good friend to you… I should’ve told my parents a long time ago, but I was scared. I thought if I told you’d leave me and never come back… I’ve been scared of losing you all this time. I can’t handle the thought of losing you, but if I let him hurt you again, I’ll have to do something drastic,” Bruce whispered. Harvey’s eyes widened. “I wanted to do it today… The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fact that you were outside.” 

Harvey winced as Bruce stitched Harvey’s eyebrow up. “I know… I know,” Bruce whispered as he inched closer to Harvey’s face. “I know it hurts… But it’s better that you get stitches now. The scar won’t be as bad if you—.” Bruce stared into Harvey’s eyes, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Harvey’s eyes were soft and filled with tears. He’d cleaned Harvey up before, but it felt different. Intimate almost. 

“What did you do to him?” Harvey asked as he held onto Bruce’s leg to handle the pain. Bruce lifted his gaze just above Harvey’s eyes to his brow.

“I didn’t hit him. I just put him to sleep for a minute. He’s not hurt,” Bruce whispered. 

“You didn’t go to summer camp… Did you?” Harvey asked as Bruce finished cleaning up. 

“No… I learned how to fight this summer. I’m gonna keep learning… But, I don’t want my parents to know about it yet. Can you keep a secret?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah,” Harvey replied. 

“I spent the summer in Detroit learning martial arts… And I’m gonna try and learn to box right here in Gotham,” Bruce replied before telling Harvey everything he’d been through. 

**

Thomas intercepted the call about the boys not showing up to school and pushed a hand through his hair. “There has to be some sort of mistake… I swore I called in for both of them,” Thomas lied, “My apologies. I’ve been so exhausted from the clinic lately…” 

Bruce and Harvey crept into the house, and Bruce mouthed, “Can we talk?” 

Harvey tried to keep his face obscured, but Thomas noticed the stitchwork in his brow. He said goodbye and hung up before looking at both of them. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here at home?” Thomas asked. 

“It’s my fault, Mr. Wayne—.”

“No, it isn’t. Harvey didn’t show up in our spot before school, so I went to his house. Harvey’s dad’s been beating him all these years, and I—.” 

“Bruce,” Harvey interrupted him.

“I should’ve told my dad a long time ago... I handled it, Dad—.”

“What do you mean you handled it? You both could’ve gotten seriously hurt—.”

“Please don’t get the police involved, Mr. Wayne. It’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Harvey replied. 

“No more going back and forth, Harvey. You’ll stay here now. I can’t in good conscience let you go back there, and I wanna get a second look at those stitches. Did Bruce do them?” Thomas questioned. Harvey nodded as he crouched in front of Thomas. Thomas lifted his chin and looked at the stitches. “Good job, Brucie. These are nice and clean… You kids should stay home from school today.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce whispered. 

“And make sure you show Harvey how to care for those stitches. How’d he cut your face like that anyway, Harvey?” Thomas asked. 

Harvey turned away. “He threw a bottle at me,” Harvey mumbled. Bruce’s jaw tightened. 

“Bruce, you didn’t give him any painkillers… Right?” Thomas asked as he checked Harvey for signs of concussion.

“No, sir,” Bruce answered. Thomas wasn’t always reserved in a family emergency, but the shooting changed him. He never shouted or panicked anymore. When he saw something alarming, it was like he shut out all emotion and focused on the facts. And the facts were, Harvey couldn’t go home to his father ever again, not after that. 

**

Bruce soaked in the tub while Harvey waited outside, still trying to speak to him. “I didn’t actually think it would be different. I just—. I thought we were getting too close, and I got scared,” Harvey confessed, “I didn’t want to admit that maybe I have feelings that I don’t even understand yet. Bruce, I think I’m in love with you.” 

No answer. Harvey pressed his ear to the door, and he could hear something faint like music. “Bruce!” Harvey called. 

“Huh?” Bruce asked. 

“Nothing. Just wanted to know if you were in there,” Harvey lied. “Did you hear anything I said a minute ago?” 

“No. Was it important?” Bruce asked. 

“No. I’ll see you downstairs,” Harvey replied before running into Martha. She wore sweatpants and one of Thomas’ nightshirts. “Hi, Mrs. Wayne.” 

“Hi, Harvey. How’re you feeling?” Martha asked as she hugged him. 

“I’m okay,” Harvey whispered.

Martha let go before hugging him again. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be upstairs,” Martha whispered. 

“Okay… And, Mrs. Wayne, I like the haircut. Angelina Jolie in Hackers, right?” Harvey asked. Martha smoothed down the back of her hair and smiled. “It suits you.” 

“Thank you, Harvey. Goodnight, sweetheart,” Martha whispered. And she stopped. “Harvey, can I talk to you for a minute?” 

Harvey nodded. “Is it something I did?” Harvey asked. 

Martha shook her head and chewed her lip as she tried to figure out how to word her question. “Did something happen to make you leave?” Martha questioned. 

Harvey pulled her aside and looked into her eyes. “I was scared that maybe I was misconstruing something… I—. Can you keep a secret?” Harvey asked. 

“Of course… You think you like Bruce. Don’t you?” Martha asked. 

“No, I thought I liked Bruce a few months ago. I think I’m in love with him,” Harvey whispered. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Martha asked. Harvey shook his head. 

“I’m scared, Mrs. Wayne. I think I’d feel better keeping this to myself right now. I just didn’t want it to be my secret… Not alone, and I don’t know if Bruce should know that’s why I left,” Harvey whispered. Martha nodded. 

“You’re right… He doesn’t need to know why you left. I also don’t think now is a good time, but maybe—. Maybe give it a week or two if you still want to tell him. I can’t tell you how to go about this. Just—. Just be careful with your feelings and Bruce’s. You’re both so young, and I don’t want either of you to get hurt… In the meantime, you can talk to me whenever you need to,” Martha replied. Harvey nodded. “And you know something? You are no different than you were yesterday or a few years ago. You’re still you.”

Harvey started crying. “Sorry, I—. I don’t know why that—.” Harvey couldn’t breathe through his words, but Martha understood him perfectly. She recalled what it was like for Alfred and Thomas when she found out about them. It wasn’t easy having to protect a secret that should’ve been okay to share with the world. Harvey already knew what it felt like to not be safe. 

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m so sorry,” Martha whispered, “It’s so much for one boy… But you’re safe. This is safe.”

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Nightmare

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho wakes up from a nightmare, with you being the only one by his side to calm him down.

Warnings- Mentions of PTSD, Nightmare, ECT.

A/N- Thank you, @tomgregtruther101 @errruvande @momoko-world @thethreeeyed-raven for encouraging me to write this!

Word Count- 1,223

A low mumble awoke you from your slumber. Typically you were a heavy sleeper, but when it came to Dae-ho it was different. You could have slept through a firework show. Though, the second your beloved got up to use the bathroom- you're up with him.

It bothered the sweet man at first, he hated waking you up. After some reassurance that you didn't mind, he warmed up to the idea. This night, however, was not like many.

It was not uncommon for Dae-Ho to wake up frazzled. He would get something warm to drink from the kitchen, and lay back down. (Praying he didn't wake you). On the much more common occurrence, you would awake with him. In turn, you'd be the one making him something warm to drink, possibly something sweet to snack on. Then the two of you would cuddle until he was fast asleep.

It was honestly comforting for you as well, being able to be his anchor was flattering. He trusted you like no other.

Dae-ho was not Frazzled though, and he didn't wake up to get a beverage.

He was thrashing, hard. His legs slightly kicking, arms jumping up every few seconds. With an impossibly scrunched face, he mumbled again.

"Dae?" You whispered out. The only response you received was a hit to the side, a stray flaring hand had got you.

The mumbling quickly turned louder, now sounding like a cry or groan. It worried you beyond recognition.

"Dae-ho." You pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder. His body jerked away from it. Very uncharacteristic.

A disfigured 'no' left his lips, a struggled sob escaped. He had managed to kick the comforter off of himself, and the bed.

You were now sat on your knees, looming over him. "Dae-ho!" You firmly grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him.

A loud gasp erupted from both of you as his eyes shot open, you had no time to make a comment. His legs pushed and kicked, separating himself from you. At that singular moment, in his fear struck mind, he didn't seem to recognize you.

He had already found himself against the headboard of the bed, his hands pressing tight against his ears. You had barely blinked in all his movement.

With gaping eyes, a pounding chest, and heavy breathing he looked at you. Almost as if you were the one who hurt him.

"It just me, Dae-ho, its just me..." You spoke as soft and low as you could. You didn't approach any closer, but put your hands up to appear less intimidating.

His eyes just darted across the room in response, body curling further. His lip quivered, face and body drenched in sweat.

"You're okay, you're safe. Dae, you're safe. It's just me... It was just a nightmare, everything is okay..."

He swallowed thick, slowly nodding his head. His gaze now stuck on yours. His scared and nerve wrecked appearance crushed you. It was opposite of the man he appears to show to everyone, only you knew of his nightmares.

"I'm going to come closer, I promise I'm here, I'm real, you're at home. Safe in bed..." You shuffled over on your knees, hands starting at his forearm.

He slightly flinched at your touch, but made no attempt to move away. Your hand caressed across his arm, going to his own hand. You tenderly unravel his tight grip on his head, tangling your fingers in his.

A large sigh left him, his head falling back in frustration. He was now back to reality, though still beat and weary. Water glossed over his eyes. He bit his lip hard, trying to fight away any tears. He thought it would make him seem less of a man to cry in front of you. You couldn't disagree more.

"I'm so sor-" His voice cracked as he tried to speak, a couple tears has managed to escape. You didn't let him finish, his face was pressed deeply into your chest within seconds. He truly didn't know what he was apologizing for, for waking you? For having a nightmare? For his frequent PTSD attacks?

You had quickly taken his frame into your arms. He would have admitted that your knees pressing into his thighs was uncomfortable, but he didn't care right now. You were with him, holding him, and loving him. That's all he cared about.

"Don't you dare apologize, you've done nothing wrong." You cradled his head tight, pressing kisses to the top of his crown.

You managed to twist the two of you around, your back now against the headboard with him in your lap. He was quiet for awhile, you simply rocked him back and forth for a little bit.

His arms found themselves wrapped around your waist. He held onto you for dear life... Almost as if you'd fade away if he let go. You heard his breathing shake every few breaths, but he was calming down.

Continuing to rock, you reached your hands up to his hair. It was half up, half down. The hair tie pulled out of his hair easily enough. You were able to considerably comb through his hair with your fingers. A simple action you knew he loved.

While one hand worked at his soft black hair, another rubbed circles on his back. "Feeling better?"

He sniffled, leaning up to look at you. He couldn't meet your eyes, almost embarrassed. His meek, "Thank you." was accompanied by a nod.

You brushed through his hair, even with him sat up. "Want to talk about it?" You never wanted to pressure him into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

"Just the typical... but you were there, you were who I was shooting... It was like you were the enemy... I just- I can't describe it.. It made no sense-." His voice shook again, so you interrupted him.

"Exactly, baby. It was a nightmare that will never happen... Because I know you would never hurt me, that you would do anything to protect me?" Your tone implied a question.

He nodded furiously, now making direct eye contact. There wasn't a phrase he agreed more with. He looked at you like a loyal puppy.

"See? It was your sweet little mind playing mean tricks on you..." You rested a flat palm to his cheek. Taking in how handsome he looked in the moonlight.

He puffed, now more light hearted, and fell back onto your chest.

"I promise I will keep you safe from all the nightmares and mind games." He was frustrated at your words.

"But that's supposed to be my job..." He said, face conveniently still upon your breast.

You smiled warmly, "Yes, it is. And you fulfill it perfectly. I couldn't be happier. But, you must let me take care of you as well..."

He didn't respond, his internal monologue had a million points to argue back. But he didn't. He embasked in the moment, squeezing you tight again.

You took the silent request, resuming your back rubbing and head scratching.

From experience, you knew he would not fall asleep any time soon. That you'd probably fall asleep before him, no matter how hard you tried to stay up. All you could do for now was whisper how much you love him, play with his hair, and hum silly melodies.

And he was content with that.

A/N- Okay, so erm. I feel like it was rushed (it was), but I also feel that way about all my works. So... Please let me know how I can improve. Also this is my first time writing something like this, so I hope it wasn't terrible. XOXOXOX LOVE YALL

[ms-dead-inside]

Okay, but hear me out:

Murder baby Damian, but for whatever reason, his first attempt at Tim's life is put on pause, so they never have that interaction. Instead, before Damian can come up with a new plan, Tim (who's kinda excited he now isn't the baby of the family) offers to train him in detective work for when Damian finally gets the mantle of 'Robin' as a way to bond with him.

"Why train your enemy, Drake?"

"We're brothers, not enemies. Besides, Robin has always been a mantle to pass down. I'm certainly not going to keep it in my twenties or thirties. And other than Bruce, I'm the best detective in the family."

"Very well, Drake, I shall accept your tutelage for the time being."

Damian accepts, of course. Not only can he study Drake for his weaknesses, he will also improve his own skill set. It's worth the wait for Robin. By the time Damian's done, there will be no doubt that he is the superior bat.

Unfortunately, he actually grows fond of Timothy. While he will inevitably get close with Richard, just like in canon, Timothy is a breath of fresh air for when Richard is being too overbearing, especially when it comes to things like 'socializing,' and 'making friends.'

When his father dies, and Timothy declared him actually lost to time, Richard doesn't believe him, can't believe him, because the hope is too painful. Timothy still gives Damian Robin, because, "I'm barely holding on as Batman as it is. I can't handle Robin being gone for potentially months at a time, halfway around the world."

During his partnership with Richard, truly becoming his brother-son, Richard introduces the ideas of pets to him. Damian loves animals, and having and taking care of a creature that could potentially survive on its own, but will have a much better quality of life under his care, speaks to him. He has Alfred and Titus and about half a dozen other stray animals that usually stay for about a week while he nurses them to health at any given moment, but he feels like he should officially have another pet.

Que the whole thing with his grandfather, and Timothy getting kicked out of the top of a skyscraper. He comes home with proof, and the Justice League brings his father home. And as Dick basically refuses to let anyone leave the mansion for the foreseeable future, Damian realizes several facts:

1.) Timothy is a human, and humans are animals.

2.) While Timothy has somehow survived until now, he wouldn't recognize self-care if it slapped him in the face.

3.) Timothy's quality of life will improve if someone is taking care of him because he cannot be trusted to do it for himself. (Is it a coincidence that he loses organs when he is away from the family? Damian thinks not.)

4.) Damian has gotten good at taking care of animals.

Ergo, Timothy is now Damian's pet. Tim doesn't know what to do and simply humors him. Besides, it's nice when someone actually bothers to give him a plate of foods that he likes when he gets hyper focused on work and forgets to eat. That, and while he is exasperated every time Damian tranqs him, those are still the best sleeps of his life.

Jason finds it hilarious. Damian doesn't understand Richard or his father's reactions.

"Damian, Tim can take care of himself."

"Barely. Father, now that I am in charge of his sleep schedule, there aren't as many dark circles under his eyes. Even Alfred has commented that Timothy consumes less caffeine."

"Damian, he can't be your pet."

"Why not?"

"Tim's your brother; he's family."

"So are you saying that Alfred and Titus aren't family?"

[minibagelqueen]

"...a rare moment of peace..."

Yes, that is a flower in Sokka's hair, yes Sokka has added his own shell accessories, yes he carved something for Zuko, who wears it around his neck. (What do you think he carved?) Yes, Zuko picks flowers because it feels like normality and he does everything he can to keep himself and Sokka sane. Which is no easy task! Will they ever find a way off of the island?

Really happy with this drawing, it's so tender and beautiful and still so simple. I think the scattering of flowers and empty shells just added to the piece.

What do we think? Should I try a coloured version?

[hairmetal666]

TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

Need a story where Arthur is a ghost who follows Merlin around all day and only in dreams can he communicate and touch Merlin. But to Merlin, he thinks it's not real that he's imagining the Arthur in his mind because no way would Arthur, his golden King would ever call him precious or beautiful, it's just wishful thinking on his part.

So Merlin lives a long life without knowing Arthur is there with him, this time it's Arthur's turn to watch and protect Merlin from the shadows as the warlock once did when Arthur was alive.

Arthur could've stayed in Avalon til he was needed yet the urge to return to Merlin is powerful, although he entrusted the care of Camelot into the hands of Guinevere and Leon he could not do the same of Merlin, and only upon his death did he finally realise why.

He was in love with his best friend. Always had been.

And so it is with great stubbornness and a helpful hand from Freya, whom he just found out was Merlin's first love, he frees himself from Avalon and returns as a spirit that guards Merlin's dreams from nightmares and fights off evil creatures that want Merlin's magic or wish to claim Merlin for themselves...and if some of those creatures happen to be humans who wanted to court Merlin well, he's not going to make it easy on them, on his knight's honour he will protect Merlin's virtue!

[asudogi]

More Silidia. It's my canon divergent AU Silidia!

With a little context: Idia is starting his training to overcome his social anxiety! Ofc accompanied by his bf Silver.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Navigation Key

❤️‍🔥 = Smut

🚩 = Additional Warnings

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩 Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩 Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️‍🔥

More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special

Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️‍🔥 Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree. Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.

Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)

Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️‍🔥 I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️‍🔥 I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

"hi, I'm gojo, your favorite sorcerer, and I think shoko is gonna be the drunkest tonight."

if shoko ieiri has one undeniable talent, it's bringing people together—though her plans often border on catastrophic. so when yaga steps out of class to take a call, you aren't surprised to see a sly grin spread menacingly across her face. turning in her seat, she wastes no time laying out this week's plan—meticulously crafted, as always.

she breaks it down into a comprehensive, four-step process:

convince her older cousin to buy her alcohol tomorrow during her family’s visit

sneak said alcohol into the school and stash it under her bed

host a party in her dorm friday night while yaga is away overnight

blackout.

you and gojo exchange amused glances, already on board. shoko's plans are always a healthy mix of brilliance and disaster. geto, predictably, looks hesitant.

"is this really a good idea?" he asks, brow furrowing. "what if something goes wrong? most of the tokyo staff will be gone with yaga. no one will be here to help."

shoko leans back smugly, her arms crossed. "and that's why I'm a seasoned expert in reversed curse techniques. relax, geto. that's literally my whole thing."

geto rolls his eyes but doesn't argue further.

"don't fret, suguboo!" gojo interjects, puffing out his chest dramatically. "they call me the strongest for a reason. I'll take care of you when you inevitably get wasted." he flutters his snowy-white eyelashes for emphasis.

geto deadpans. "me?"

"you heard me. waaastee—" gojo drags out the word, but the sound of yaga’s approaching footsteps cuts him off.

you react instinctively, smacking the back of his head. "quiet, idiot."

by friday, the plan had unfolded without a hitch. well, almost—gojo got smacked up several more times for being oblivious, and shoko nearly had a heart attack when one of the shopping bags threatened to burst under the weight of the bottles on school grounds. still, by the time you helped her stash the loot, everything was ready for what she dubbed "operation blackout."

at 9:44 pm, shoko's message pops up in the group chat:

Ieiri Shoko | Today at 9:44 PM evrybdy head over!! 🥂

when you open the door to her dorm, you’re immediately struck by the startling transformation. the normally cluttered space was spotless, the floor gleaming as if polished. a low table sits in the center of the room, draped in a burgundy tablecloth and surrounded by eight matching cushions. twinkling lights crisscross the ceiling, and the scent of something delicious wafts from the kitchenette, where shoko is bent over the stove.

utahime stands at the counter, pouring drinks from a tall pitcher into glasses. an empty sake bottle sits beside her.

"wow, you aren't playing around, sho," you say, stepping closer.

shoko spins around, startled. "shit, don't sneak up on me like that! almost dropped a bowl."

you smirk, peeking at the tray she's prepared. perfectly arranged katsudon bowls—crispy fried pork over rice, garnished with scallions.

"well, don't just stand there," shoko says, snapping you out of your awe. "make yourself useful. operation blackout starts with a heavy meal and a sake cocktail to warm us up."

"yes, ma'am." you salute before obediently grabbing the tray carefully from her outstretched hands to place at the table.

the gang filters in one by one, each person reacting with impressed remarks at the eloquent setup.

"I thought this was going to be a trashy frat-party experience," mei mei said, sliding into the last open seat. "this actually warrants my attendance."

utahime scoffs, "backhanded compliments are your specialty, huh?"

"I mean," gojo chimes in, grinning, "considering shoko's goal of total blackout, I figured we'd be doing keg stands before forcing suguru to let us ride rainbow dragon to mcdonald's at three am."

"as if," geto mutters.

nanami raises an eyebrow. "keg stands, gojo really? this isn't some coming-of-age teen drama, you watch way too much tv."

gojo glares, a flush creeping up his cheeks. "you never know."

haibara jumps in, grinning brightly. "kento, hush! anyway, great job tonight, shoko! this is amazing."

"I second that," you say, pulling out your phone. "and to commemorate the night, let's make a bet. let's each record a video saying who we think will get the drunkest tonight. we'll review the footage later to see who was right. deal?"

with this group's competitive streak, everyone immediately agrees.

you prop your phone against the bathroom sink, angling it perfectly. with a satisfied nod, you return to the others in the dorm. "alright, who wants to start?"

"ME! ME! ME! ME!," gojo's hand shoots up, waving frantically.

you catch nanami's exaggerated eye roll and laugh, "alright, satoru, the floor is yours."

00:03 ==⬤---------------------- 04:01  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻  gojo: "...and we're live! hi, I'm gojo, your favorite sorcerer, and I think shoko is gonna be the drunkest tonight. I mean, c'mon—she's literally an aspiring alcoholic!"

geto: "hello, viewers. geto suguru here. my prediction? gojo will be the drunkest. sure, he's got impressive stamina in combat, but let's be real—that doesn't translate to drinking."

you: "hey, y'all! it's me. so, I know gojo's gonna be the drunkest tonight. he's giving strong lightweight energy."

nanami: "to whom it may concern, my name is nanami kento, and I believe yu haibara will be the drunkest tonight. right now, I confidently estimate my prediction to be of 70% certainty."

haibara: "haibara here! after careful consideration, I think our dear host, shoko ieiri, will be the drunkest tonight. she literally said she wants to black out!"

shoko: "the moment you've all been waiting for—ieiri shoko: sorcerer, host, chef, and event planner extraordinaire. holding for applause... okay, I'm predicting utahime or gojo will be the drunkest tonight. they're both way too hot-headed and competitive."

utahime: "h-hi! I'm iori utahime, and I think gojo's gonna be the drunkest tonight. he's always bragging about being the strongest, but that can only get him so far. so I guarantee he'll be the weakest tonight."

mei mei: "they saved the best for last. I'm mei mei, and I think sweet utahime is going to be the drunkest tonight. low tolerance vibes. and with that, let's reconvene later for updates..." 04:01 =================⬤ 04:01  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

when mei mei returns your phone, shoko has already begun her toast to the evening. "here's to a messy, sloppy, drunken night," she says, raising her glass. "may I be passed out on the grass by four am!"

utahime doubles over laughing as everyone clinks glasses. the bitter, tangy scent of sake fills the air as the group shouts, "cheers!"

the conversation drifts into speculative territory as gojo leads a heated discussion about principal yaga's alleged secret love child. evidence cited includes muffled crying or squealing sounds overheard from his office and trashed crib packaging. the theory dies down as the meal takes center stage. the katsudon, perfectly seasoned and artfully plated, is a hit—a warm, savory comfort that pairs too well with the strong drinks.

plates empty and glasses drained, you observe the scene. gojo, is even chattier than usual, his words tumbling over each other at lightning speed. haibara's cheeks glow tomato red, and utahime twirls a braid around her finger, sneaking glances at shoko. very, very interesting.

meanwhile, shoko, geto, mei mei, and nanami seem relatively unaffected—or are just better at hiding it. you decide it's time to turn up the chaos.

"guys!" you tap your glass with a pair of chopsticks, drawing their attention. "we still have four bottles of tequila to get through. who's up for a drinking game of truth or dare?"

the suggestion is met with enthusiastic cheers from shoko, gojo, mei mei, and utahime. haibara looks excited but hesitant, while geto and nanami exchange weary glances, clearly bracing for disaster.

"as host," shoko declares, waving her chopsticks like a wand, "I command full participation. let me pour some shots. who needs a mixed drink?"

shoko and utahime get to work. plates are cleared and replaced with a neat line of shots. utahime's heavy-handed pours prompt a dramatic gasp from mei mei.

"damn, 'hime," mei mei says, inspecting the shots. "you trying to kill us?"

shoko returns with two mixed drinks, sliding them toward haibara and nanami. "classiest of the group," you mutter with a grin.

you smooth your hands over your hair, leaning forward to begin the game. "alright, let's start this right. host sho—truth or dare?"

"dare, duh," shoko replies instantly.

"hmmm..." you glance at gojo. "what did you bring as a chaser?"

with a flourish, gojo pulls a bottle from beneath the table. "strawberry ramune, my favorite~ why?"

"perfect. shoko, I dare you to drink gojo's chaser."

shoko grabs the bottle without hesitation, but just as she tilts it, you interrupt.

"oh, by the way—gojo adds five packets of sugar to sweeten his ramune."

the table erupts in laughter. nanami smirks, and shoko sputters as she swallows the disgustingly sweet concoction.

"blegh!" shoko slams the bottle down, grimacing. "gojo, who does this shit?!"

reaching for a shot, she drowns it in one go—and then grabs another.

"two shots to chase ramune?" haibara asks, incredulous as he shrugs off his sweater. "that bad?"

"it was that bad," shoko confirms, her voice muffled as she pours herself another drink.

"let's..." shoko wipes her tongue with a napkin, grimacing. "let's just move on. I'm asking... geto. truth or dare?"

"after witnessing... whatever that was," geto gestures vaguely toward shoko's earlier tequila ordeal, "I'm gonna play it safe and go with truth."

shoko grins mischievously, tilting her head as she looks geto up and down. "okayyy," she drawls, clearly deep in thought. "hmm... got it! you're the only guy here with ear piercings—such a bad boy," she teases, earning a visible cringe from geto. "so my question is: do you have any other piercings we don't know about?"

you press your lips together to stifle a laugh. as close as you are to geto, you already know the answer. he's going to drink.

sure enough, geto opens his mouth to respond but then, without a word, picks up a shot and downs it in one smooth motion.

"WHAT?!" shoko shrieks, half outraged, half delighted.

"naughty," mei mei murmurs, leaning her chin into her palm, her smirk growing wider.

"sugu's such a tease. its just a—" gojo starts, but you slam your hand over his mouth before he can spill the details.

"don't you dare," you hiss.

gojo bites your palm in retaliation, but you refuse to let go, glaring at him.

geto clears his throat, grimacing slightly at the tequila's burn. "and there's my cue to move on," he says, brushing past the topic. "since satoru seems eager to air out my business—truth or dare?"

you cautiously release your hand from gojo's mouth, glancing at the raw bite marks on your palm. gojo scratches his chin dramatically, as if pondering some great mystery, then grins, his azure eyes lighting up.

"dare! cuz I'm not a pussy".

geto laughs, unbothered by the jab. "alright, satoru. this one's easy—I dare you to eat all the scallions you picked off your food."

the table collectively turns to look at gojo's napkin, overflowing with at least twenty pieces of scallion he meticulously removed.

"suguruuuu," gojo whines, slumping in defeat.

geto merely slides him a shot, patting his fluffy white hair. gojo glares at the drink, nose wrinkling as he takes a tentative sip. he shudders visibly, sticking out his tongue. "so gross."

as he sets the glass down, his eyes narrow. he scans the group, zeroing in on utahime, who's laughing a little too hard at this expense.

"utahime," he announces, and her grin instantly vanishes. "yeah, not so funny now, huh? truth or dare?"

she groans. "ugh, truth"

gojo clasps his hands together like an evil mastermind, his grin nothing short of diabolic. "who here, out of all of us, would you say is the weakest link in jujutsu society?"

"uncalled for," you mutter, yanking on his ear like a scolding parent.

"stop picking on her, satoru." shoko adds, rolling her eyes.

but utahime surprises everyone by taking it in stride. she lifts a shot, downs it without hesitation, and wipes her chin with a satisfied smirk. "moving on. your turn," she says, turning to you with a pointed look. "truth or dare?"

"dare," you reply confidently. "give me a juicy one."

utahime exchanges a mischevious look with mei mei before whispering something in her ear.

"got it," mei mei says, sitting upright. "give us your phone. utahime and I get to send one text to anyone we want—and you can't take it back until the end of the night."

you take a steadying breath, weighing your options. it's only utahime and mei mei, you reason. how bad could it be? if it were gojo, the tequila would already be halfway to your lips. finally, you unlock your phone and slide it across the table.

"go ahead. do your worst."

mei mei snatches it up gleefully, her fingers flying across the screen. you pointedly look away, unwilling to torture yourself by imagining what chaos they're unleashing.

"alright," you announce. "let's keep the game rolling. haibara—truth or dare?"

haibara flushes an even deeper shade of red than before, the color creeping onto his neck. "I'm a little nervous," he admits shyly. "truth."

"don't be nervous," you say with mock sincerity. "we're your closest friends! we'd never judge or be offended by anything you say or do. that said... who here is your least favorite person?"

haibara gasps, clutching his chest. "noooo! I can't answer that—it's too mean! I love and respect you all equally!"

nanami, ever the calm voice of reason, places a gentle hand on haibara's and nudges it toward his drink. "take two sips, yu," he says simply.

you chuckle as geto flicks your forehead. "harsh, but fair."

haibara obeys, taking two large gulps. he sets his glass down, visibly tipsy now, and beaming at nanami.

"okay, nanamiiin~" haibara slurs slightly, drawing out the nickname, "truth or dare?"

nanami raises a brow but humors him with a small smile. "dare."

"alrighty," haibara begins, leaning in conspiratorially. "for some backstory—I heard you singing in the shower a couple weeks ago when you thought no one was around."

the table collectively perks up.

"so," haibara continues, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that's still loud enough for everyone to hear, "I dare you to sing for us. don't be shy, ken. you have a beautiful voice."

the group falls into stunned silence. nanami's ears turn bright red as the color spreads across his cheeks. it's possibly the first time you've ever seen him blush.

after a pause, he clears his throat and picks up his glass. "you got me there, yu," he says smoothly, before chugging the rest of his drink in one go.

haibara's face falls, his disappointment palpable. "aww, but I really wanted to hear it!"

nanami leans over, resting an arm on haibara's shoulder. you catch a faint, "later," murmured under his breath.

and with that, he nods toward mei mei, signaling the game to continue.

"alright, mei mei, truth or dare?" nanami asks, his tone measured, as always.

"dare, of course," mei mei replies smoothly, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

nanami straightens his collar, clearly crafting something calculated. "I dare you to do your best impression of someone at this table. if we don't guess it right, you drink. no talking allowed."

"regulated and thorough," mei mei says with a smirk. "I would expect nothing less from you, nanami. very well, I'll begin."

she stands, her violet off-the-shoulder sweater swaying with her movement. turning her back to the group, she pauses for dramatic effect. then, with a sharp turn of her head, she flutters her eyelashes, blows an exaggerated kiss, sticks her tongue out, and pretends to push up invisible glasses.

haibara is the first to pipe up, "I got it! 's gojo-senpai, that's really g'd, mei mei!"

"how the actual fuck is that me?!" gojo exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

mei mei curtsies, her smirk widening. "correct, haibara. it was an easy choice—gojo's the most dramatic one here."

the group hums in agreement. shoko, sipping from her drink, adds dryly, "since we guessed it right away, shouldn't gojo drink? he's technically the loser."

"you can't just make up rules, sho!" gojo protests, looking around for support. his gaze lands on geto, who shrugs and slides him a shot.

"sounds fair to me, satoru. unless... you can't handle it?" geto teases, his grin lazy but pointed.

with a theatrical sigh, gojo downs the shot, grimacing as he does. nanami ever the thoughtful one, disappears into the kitchen, returning with a cocktail for himself and glasses of water for both gojo and haibara. gojo accepts his water with a reluctant nod, taking slow sips while you rub soothing circles on his back.

"your kindness is admirable," mei mei drawls, watching you with amused eyes. "but since you're being so tenderhearted, I'll send some chaos your way. truth or dare?"

you immediately withdraw your hand, straightening in your seat. "truth."

mei mei leans forward, violet eyes glinting mischievously. "I’m feeling messy, so… who would you fuck, marry, and kill among your fellow third-years? choose wisely."

the table erupts into a mix of gasps and laughter. haibara nearly chokes on his drink, and nanami quietly hands him his water. all eyes turn to you, expectant.

you lean back, arms crossed. "alright, I'll answer with my whole chest. first, marry shoko—duh. she’s special-grade wife material. she cooks, cleans, and nurses you back to health."

utahime's grin falters slightly, but you press on. "fuck suguru—" you gesture toward him, "I mean, look at him. plus, we all know he swallows."

the table howls with laughter as shoko nearly falls out of her seat. geto arches an eyebrow at you, looking both flattered and mildly concerned.

"and I guess that leaves gojo, so... kill him." you shrug. "though honestly, I don't even know how I'd manage that."

gojo clutches his chest, aghast. "why me?!" you just admitted you can't even kill me yourself! and what, am I unattractive to you?!"

you roll your eyes. "relax, bookie. you're fine as hell, but you're more 'all-up-in-your-face' fine. suguru's more... nonchalant fine."

the group hums in agreement, fueling gojo's indignation. "what does that even mean?!" he whines, flailing.

geto places a calming hand on his arm, his voice even. "relax, satoru. I have my own concerns—" his gaze flickers to you. "—about the swallowing comment."

feigning nonchalance, you glance at your wrist as if checking an invisible watch. "oh would you look at the time? moving on. shoko, truth or dare?"

"dare," shoko says immediately, lifting the tequila bottles. "and as host, I declare a new rule: from now on everyone drinks every turn, no exceptions."

a collective groan rises from the trio of haibara, gojo, and utahime, all clearly tipsy. you, mei mei, geto, and nanami grunt or nod in agreement.

"lovin’ that energy sho, so to up the ante," you say, digging into your pocket, "I dare you to smoke this." you toss a poorly rolled, but fat blunt onto the table. "and take a shot after. getting crossed should help you reach tonight's goal."

shoko's eyes light up as she snatches it greedily. "the girls are really coming through tonight! you're a godsend."

gojo scoffs. "godsend? how? she brought literal drugs to your party! isn't it called the devil's lettuce?"

shoko snorts, rummaging for a lighter. "this, from the guy who probably can't even stand up straight."

"I just don't feel like standing right now," gojo mumbles, pouting.

shoko gives him a withering look. "fine. truth or dare, satoru?"

"well, now I know what the dare is, so... truth."

"alright. who at this table have you had a sex dream about?"

the table falls into stunned silence. nanami chokes on his drink, and gojo freezes, eyes wide as they dart around the group. his gaze lingers a bit too long on you and geto before he quickly looks down, blushing furiously.

shoko smirks, satisfied. "definitely tabling that reaction to circle back to later."

gojo groans, face hidden behind his hands. "'m drinking. everyone drink."

you clink your glass with geto's, smirking. he wasn't fooling anyone.

shoko makes her way to the sliding backdoor, tossing a casual remark over her shoulder. “I'll be back in a flash—just gonna step outside to finish my dare. keep it going, and don't forget my shot when I get back." she winks before stepping out and taking a seat on the back steps.

inside, gojo hiccups, his high-pitched squeak drawing laughter around the table. his cheeks flush a shade brighter. you smirk, knowing your prediction about his tolerance was proving accurate.

clearing his throat, he wobbles a little before announcing, "who'd I wanna choose next... hmm... nanamin~! my dearesst kouhai, trussted friend, and bl—"

"I'm afraid to let you finish that sentence," nanami cuts him off dryly, already raising his glass. "so, I'll just drink. everybody?"

the table burst into laughter, raising their glasses to join him. haibara clunks his cup down a little too hard before slumping over, his head landing heavily on nanami's shoulder, some tequila dribbling from his lips onto nanami's sleeve.

nanami sighs, staring down at the mess before resigning himself. "haibara, maybe stick to mini-sips for your next few drinks. you can't even hold yourself up anymore."

haibara hums in drowsy agreement, leaning further into nanami, who chuckles heartily—a rare sound that surprises everyone. turning to geto, nanami raises a brow. "geto-senpai, truth or dare?"

geto, looking unbothered as usual, undoes his bun, letting his inky-black hair spill over his shoulders. he tucks a loose strand behind his gauged ear with a casual flick. "dare, nanamin~."

nanami considers this, his words tumbling over each other as the alcohol dulls his normally precise tone. "how about I... you... okay, I dare you to ride your manta ray curse around the school right now."

geto blinks, waiting for a punchline that never comes. "wait, you're serious? now? like, right now?"

"I don't know how I could be any clearer."

"dick," gojo mutters.

geto shakes his head, airing out his shirt. "as much as I would—and have, by the way—I think that might qualify as drunk driving. or, you know, drunk flying."

"or drunk swimming," you chime in.

"semantics." geto waves it off. "fine, everybody drink."

at this point, the alcohol is catching up with you. tilting your head back to take your shot makes the room swim a little. you fan yourself, suddenly flushed. gojo notices, leaning close to blow cool air onto your face like a fan.

you giggle, slurring, "satoru smells like str'berriesss~."

geto shakes his head at the chaos and turns his attention to utahime, whose head was face down on the table. "utahime, get up. truth or dare?"

utahime rolls her head sluggishly to the side, revealing a face flushed deep red. "fucking dare."

"language," geto teased with a mock pout. "there's no need to cuss. let's bring out that sweet side of yours. I dare you to kiss shoko when she comes back."

utahime shoots up, wide-eyed. "what?! k-kiss—shoko?!"

"that is what I said," geto replies, calm as ever.

mei mei nudges utahime, smirking. "do it, and I'll finish that paperwork for your mission on monday."

after a moment of hesitation, utahime grabs her shot, muttering, "fine. fuck it," before tossing it back. she slumps over dramatically.

the backdoor slides open just then, shoko reappearing with a dreamy sway. her eyes bloodshot and reeking of weed, she gives a languid nod when you ask, "damn, sho. you killed it, huh?"

she slumps into her chair, blinking slowly. "soooo, where are we?"

utahime stiffens but manages to squeak out, "my dare is... to kiss you."

"oh." shoko's lips curl into a lazy smile. "'kay. go ahead." she tilts her face. presenting her cheek.

utahime leans in, delivering the quickest peck possible.

"boo," geto jeers.

"yeah! boo!!!" gojo joins, cut off by another hiccup.

"tomato, tomato, tomato," you tease.

shoko blinks in confusion, looking one breath away from falling asleep. haibara's muffled voice comes from nanami's shoulder, "s'not the kiss we's looking f'r. try again—on th' lips." he clumsily raises his hands in a heart shape.

shoko turns back to utahime with a sleepy "'kay," puckering her lips and closing her eyes.

utahime hesitates, side-eyeing the group before her expression softens. smitten, she closes her eyes and leans in. their lips meet in a soft peck, but shoko isn't done. she grabs utahime's jaw, pulling her into a loud, smacking kiss.

"arrgh."

everyone turns to gojo, who is clutching his stomach. he gags loudly.

"what the fu—gojo, are you okay?!" geto asks, concerned.

"arrgh, aargh—"

"are you seriously gagging?" you ask, wide-eyed.

he sputters, cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk before bolting for the bathroom. the door slams shut behind him, and moments later, the unmistakable sound of vomiting echoes.

the table sits frozen. shoko and utahime remains in their pose, hands still cradling each other's faces. the faint sound of retching fills the silence.

geto breaks the tension with a deadpan, "so, gojo's homophobic."

from the bathroom comes a strained yell, "'M NOT HOMOPHOBIC! it was just bad timing! I've never drunk befor—"

he gags again.

nanami buries his face in his hands. "jesus."

geto stands. "I've got him." he slips into the bathroom after gojo.

you push yourself up, retrieving water and chips from the kitchen. "I'll give him a hand," you say, heading for the bathroom. "sounds like he needs it."

the fluorescent bathroom light buzzes faintly, its harsh glow making your head pound as you step inside. gojo is bent over the toilet, panting heavily, his white hair sticking out in a chaotic mess. geto is knelt beside him, one hand rubbing circles into his back, murmuring softly, "you're okay, satoru. just breathe."

you ease down onto the cold tile floor beside them, your hand brushing gojo's sweaty bangs off his forehead. "you'll feel better soon," you say gently.

after another minute, gojo finally stops heaving. he reaches up with a trembling hand to flush the toilet, the sound of rushing water echoing in the small space.

uncapping a water bottle, you tilt it to his lips, letting him take a few cautious gulps. then you nudge geto over slightly and lean your back against the base of the toilet. gojo groans before collapsing across your laps, his head resting on geto's thigh and his chest presses into yours.

"the room is spinning, guys," gojo mumbles, voice hoarse. "make it stop".

geto smooths his palm over gojo's cheek, his voice low and soothing. "I know, satoru. just close your eyes and focus on your breathing."

reaching down, you find gojo's hand and lace your fingers with his, pulling it to his chest. you trace small circles over his knuckles. "you're okay, satoru," you murmur. "this happens to everyone."

gradually, his body softens in your hold. his breathing evens out as his eyelids flutter shut. geto hums a low, calming tune, and you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I think he's out 'ru," you whisper.

geto's arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "always looking after you two," he says quietly. "you owe me."

you snort, muffled against his chest. "'m comple'ly fine though!" but your own head was spinning, and the warmth of geto's hand tracing your arm lulls you toward sleep.

outside the bathroom, nanami notices haibara ceasing all movement, slumping lifelessly against his shoulder. concerned, he asks shoko for permission to use her room. once inside, he gently lays haibara on the bed, propping him up with pillows. fetching a glass of water and some bread from the kitchen, nanami coaxes small bites and sips out of him.

by the time haibara's color returns and his glassy eyes gain some clarity, nanami feels his own nerves ease. haibara grabs his wrist, tugging him onto the bed. reluctantly, nanami allows it, settling beside him. haibara's breath evens out as he drifts off, his forehead presses into nanami's side. nanami sighs, resigning himself to the makeshift role of caretaker once again.

shoko and utahime decide the night isn't over and stumble toward shoko's small couch with utahime's speaker in hand. shoko fiddles with her ipod shuffle browsing through her music gallery. she settles on her indie playlist, and excitedly stands on the couch pulling utahime clumsily up with her. what starts as vibing out quickly ends with them passed out together, limbs tangled and mouths agape, soft snores punctuating the quiet.

as the only one remaining at the table, mei mei is busy with her usual mischief. having memorized your phone's passcode earlier, she unlocks it again and frowns at the failed transaction she made from your dare earlier. not one to be deterred, she fiddles with the wi-fi and tries resending the payment. her face lights up moments later when a notification buzzes on the screen.

Mei Mei | Today at 2:14 AM this is an automated message. your apple cash amount of $[100.00] was processed successfully.

she smirks, scrolling through her personal wishlist for potential splurges. after adding a few items to her cart, she looks around the room, noting. the rhythmic snores of her friends. satisfied as the night's clear victor, she turns to your phone's camera and swipes to video, ready to document her triumph.

00:06 ==⬤---------------------- 01:22  ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻  mei mei (whispering): "once again, we have saved the best for last. everybody else just can't hang—it's quite unfortunate. as the rightful victor, I conclude that gojo satoru was the drunkest tonight, given his stint bent over the toilet. let's take a look, shall we?" [the camera pans to the bathroom. gojo is sprawled across the laps of geto and you, his face pressed against geto's thigh. geto's head rests against yours as all three of you snooze peacefully.] mei mei (whispering): "look at these cuties, snuggled up on the bathroom floor. gojo looks so peaceful, you would never know he was just expelling his entire stomach's contents barely an hour ago."

[the camera cuts to the couch, where shoko and utahime are tangled together in a chaotic sprawl, drooling and snoring loudly.] mei mei (whispering): "and here are the lovebirds! snorting and drooling all over each other. utahime is definitely going to remember this tomorrow. shoko? I sure hope so, because I can't go back to those constant longing stares, ugh!"

[the shot moves to shoko's room, focusing on haibara clinging to nanami like a lifeline.] mei mei (whispering): "and here's haibara, glued to his big, strong man who saved him from being gojo 2.0. nanami, ever the hero, still played babysitter. truly wholesome content."

[the video cuts back to mei mei, her face smug.] mei mei: "and that's a wrap! should I keep sending myself money off everyone's phones? hmm... haven’t I earned it? anyway, bye now!" 01:22 =================⬤ 01:22 ⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[protagaster]

Part 1 of the Warrior!Penelope Swap AU

Just a heads up, some of the vignettes in this AU will be structured around the songs in the musical, and some will be short stories detailing the events of the Odyssey (like the prequel did)

Credit to Tumblr users @vioofc and @too-much-flynnolium, for their own ideas surrounding their warrior!penelope AUs led to inspiration for mine!

(Cross-Posted on Ao3)

The Horse and the Infant

After 10 years of war, of battle and bloodshed, the Greek army has finally gained the upper hand against the Trojans. 

From within her Wooden Horse, Penelope vows to do whatever it takes to end this war once and for all. Whether she is truly up to the task, the Gods will see… 

~

Growing up in Greece children are taught to beware of Pandora’s Box: though something may appear to be enchanting on the outside, what it hides within could bring devastating consequences. 

Penelope was thankful the Trojans did not heed the warnings behind this tale. 

The people of Troy underestimated her and her armies, for no greater reason other than the fact they happened to be women. All of Troy assumed that Greece was in a dire state, for why else would the Greeks have to resort to sending their women to fight in their men’s stead. 

While most of her comrades were offended by this notion, Penelope saw an opportunity to finally turn the tides of war in their favor. 

Everything went according to plan. By pretending to sail their ships back home the Trojans assumed the Greeks to have surrendered. This left them cocky, feeling invincible, to the point they did not question the mysterious “gift” left at their gates. 

They brought the beautiful wooden horse into the heart of their palace, not knowing their very own “Pandora’s Box” was about to be unleashed upon their city. 

~

Penelope let out a deep, steady breath.

Inside that very same wooden horse her comrades sat patiently by her side, their clenched fingers fidgeting on the hilt of their weapons. The eyes of her sisters-in-arms were hungry with scorn, their red and gold armor eager to be stained with Trojan blood.

Penelope looked at each and every woman who had chosen to place their trust in her. The Queen of Ithaca’s confidence had never been higher.

The night was silent and the atmosphere calm. There would be no perfect moment rather than now. 

Penelope stood. In her posture she managed to portray the grace of a Queen, the strength of a Spartan, the innate blood-lust of a warrior of Ares, and the anger of a Mother. 

Her comrades, women who fought both willingly and not against their society’s views to stand by her side, who were forced to part with their futures and families over the course of 9 years, they gazed upon their Captain with only the highest of respect and admiration in their eyes. 

After all, it was only with her leadership that they had all managed to survive up to this point. 

All 600 of them. 

Penelope held her head high, addressing her comrades. Her friends. Her sisters. 

“Alright my sisters, listen closely.” She spoke to them in a hush but commanding voice. “Tonight, we make the Trojans pay.”

“These years of war have killed us slowly, but now we'll be the ones who slay!”

Penelope’s eyes dulled in the middle of her speech, her mind momentarily retreating into its most sacred place. 

Home. Ithaca. 

“Think of your husbands and your children!” 

Many of the women grew angry, recalling how many of their spouses were now permanently maimed and broken because of the Trojans. How their children were forced to grow and mature without their mothers, all because of this damn war. 

“Your families wonder where you've been! They're growing old and yet you're still here,” 

Penelope couldn’t help but look at her hair, not as vibrant as it once was 9 years ago. She couldn’t allow this war to go on for another decade. Not after so much time has been lost already. 

“Do what I say and you'll see them again!”

“Yes ma’am!”

~

The women snuck out of the wooden horse, moving with as much quiet and stealth as they were physically able. Each soldier remembered her role, of what Penelope had ordered of them.

“Aegiale will lead the charge,” 

“Clytemnestra will flank the guards,”

“Helen of Sparta will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large,”

“Eune will shoot any ambush attack,”

“And little Glauca will stay back,”

“Eury, free Menelaus and the others,”

“Hermy, help your betrothed, kill Hector's home and brothers!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Penelope watched from the shadows, beaming with pride at the success of her army. 

Her plan was coming to a monumental success. The Trojan warriors, men trained in the art of combat from the moment they could walk, were being hunted from the shadows, one by one, as if they were livestock. 

Less and less guards roamed the halls, their bodies lying against each other in a hidden corner of the palace. The palace walls, once an elegant and expensive marble white, were now stained with the vibrant stains of war-red. 

Troy was now vulnerable. 

“Find that inner strength now, use that well of pride!” Penelope reminded her sisters. “Fight through every pain now, ask yourself inside: What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Every woman reminded herself of why it was she fought, their answers ranging deep within themselves. 

“What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Penelope stared down at the helmet in her hands, unable to forget what it represented. It was specially made just for her, with a metal said to be indestructible. She remembered when it was given to her, only one day before she was forced to leave her home. 

She could never forget the tearful gaze, apologetic and filled with love, of the man who gifted her this helmet. 

Oh how she missed him. 

“Odysseus…”

How she longed to see those intelligent eyes once again. 

“Odysseus…” 

She couldn’t help but recall the time those eyes beamed with pride as they fondly looked down at the very symbol of their love. 

“And Telemachas…” 

Her baby girl, whom she had only known for a single year. What did her baby look like now, 9 years later?

“I fight for us…” 

This was for them. 

“I fight for us!” 

Fighting in this war, aiding her cousin, empowering her fellow woman, following the whim of the Heavens themselves. All of it was for them!

Not for Greece. Not for the Gods. Not even for her. 

For them.

What do you live for?

“Odysseus.” Penelope whispered to herself. 

What do you try for?

“Telemachas.” Penelope stared at her reflection from the helmet’s surface. 

What do you wish for?

“I'm on my way,” Penelope placed the helmet over her head, taking hold of the very spear that started her down this path. 

What do you fight for?

She was going to end this. 

Now. 

“Attack!”

The Greek army made themselves known by jumping out for the shadows, startling the Trojan warriors unlucky enough to be missed during their secret infiltration of the palace. 

Penelope and the others wasted no time inflicting their carnage upon the once untouchable Kingdom. The Trojan warriors were startled at first, desperate to know how their indomitable palace could have been so easily infiltrated. 

It did not take long for them to ready themselves, determined to keep their Kingdom from being painted with even more of that familiar war-red. 

But it was all for naught. 

It did not matter that the Trojan warriors were male; it did not matter that they were bigger, stronger, and more durable than their female counterparts.

For the Trojan soldiers fought to maim, whilst the Greek soldiers fought to kill.

These women recalled how they were forced to watch their husbands leave, only to return one year later with their bodies shattered and spirits broken. They recalled that feeling of loathing and helplessness, unable to even think about avenging their men until permitted by the Gods. 

They remembered the shame on their husbands’ faces for not being able to protect them from fighting in their stead; remembered how their children cried, pleading for them to stay, for the younglings were unable to bear the thought of both parents being destroyed by the war. 

No. Troy had every chance to end this war. Now they suffer just as Greece has, for even the Gods have sealed the kingdom’s fate. 

Tonight, Troy will die.  

~

Penelope, now inside the main court of the palace, speared the throat of one of the Trojan men attempting to slice the back of one of her women. 

There was only a small army of them within that court, both Trojan and Greek alike. The majority of the Greeks fought at the gates of the palace, keeping their adversaries from storming the vicinity.

The warriors fighting by Penelope’s side, only her most trusted sisters-in-arms, worked together to keep themselves and each other alive. Using their many hours of intense training, innate battle prowess, and the blessings bestowed upon them by Ares and Artemis, the women had achieved what was previously thought to be impossible: gaining the upper hand against the Trojan men. 

Bodies littered the dance floor of battle, all of them of Troy. Through Penelope’s strategy, not a single Greek had fallen.

However, as she speared and cut down her enemies, Penelope couldn’t help but notice the Trojan soldiers began fighting sporadically; as if they were desperate to keep her and her comrades from infiltrating the palace any further. 

But why? 

Suddenly, Penelope felt a sharp sting to the back of her head. 

“Ahh!” She collapsed to her knees, rubbing her head to find some relief from the dimming pain. “Who was that?!”

Quick to recover from her bound of shock, Penelope threw herself back to her feet and gripped the hilt of her spear. She was prepared to defend herself against the Trojan foolish enough to strike her. 

What her eyes fell upon, however, was not one of the large, daunting men of Troy. 

It was a Peahen. 

However, this was no ordinary peahen. She was not a modest brown like the rest of her peahen kin. No, this one had her feathers bursting with the familiar blue and green seen on her male equivalents. 

The feathers atop her head had the appearance of a crown, her eyes glowing an eerie white and gold hue. 

Somehow, against all logic, Penelope found herself more fearful of this fowl than she had ever felt against the Trojan armies. 

“A vision…” A voice suddenly appeared in Peneleope’s mind. 

Penelope knew instantly that the voice was coming from the Peahen. The voice was feminine, deep, and full of power. She spoke the same way Penelope would when sitting upon her throne, addressing her subjects. 

“Of what is to come, cannot be outrun. Can only be dealt with right here and now…” 

From that moment she knew the true identity of the Peahen. 

Hera. 

Queen of the Gods. 

Mother of the Heavens. 

“Tell me how.” Penelope asked of the divine Queen.

“I don't think you're ready...” 

The Peahen was honest with the mortal Queen about her thoughts, yet continued with her declaration.

“A mission. To kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before…” 

The Peahen walked with grace as she spoke, silently beckoning the mortal to follow. The disguised Goddess led the Greek to a secret staircase, the very thing the Trojan were trying to hide. 

Penelope instantly understood what the God-Queen was commanding of her.

“Say no more!” Penelope ran up the stairs, confidently holding her spear in anticipation. “I know that I'm ready!”

“I don't think you're ready…” 

Penelope pushed the double doors at the end of the stairs open, eager for her spear-point to make contact with Trojan flesh and to finally end this war once and for all. 

She would not have been surprised to see a bulking man waiting for her behind those doors. After everything she’s gone through in the past 9 years, Penelope genuinely thought herself to be immune to the kind of surprises the Gods could throw at her. 

Unfortunately, the Gods never did follow the whims of the mortals they ruled over. 

There was no man standing behind those doors. In fact, no one stood behind them. 

There was only a cradle. 

Penelope’s eyes widened. Unconsciously dropping her spear, she walked over to look inside the beautiful bassinet. 

There he was. Not a cruel man filled with sin, but a babe. Innocent. Pure. Sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

“It's just an infant…” Penelope couldn’t help but hold her hand out, stroking the child’s untainted cheek. “It's just a boy…”

The baby leaned into the warm hand caressing his cheek, recognizing the hand of a mother. 

“What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?”

The Peahen, once perched on the ledge of the window in front of the babe’s cradle, spread her wings and flew into the sky. 

“This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector!”

Clouds started to surround the flying Peahen. They wrapped around the fowl, slowly covering the beautiful bird in white mist. In seconds the Peahen disappeared, the place where she once hovered now a perfectly shaped mass of clouds formed into the appearance of a tall, beautiful, regal woman.

Commanding the clouds around her with a flick of her wrist, the woman shaped one of them into a tiny baby. The cloud-baby morphed, transforming into the figure of a large grown man. 

“Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger! One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age…“ 

The cloud-man brandished a cloud-sword, slicing at smaller clouds shaped into a crowd of defenseless people. 

“If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save…” 

Hera commanded some of her clouds to begin filling the room, surrounding Penelope and the cradle. She modeled the clouds into the form of a very beautiful, very comforting, very familiar man. 

“You can say goodbye to-”

Penelope’s eyes widened, staring at the face of the man whose life she cherished far more than her own. 

Odysseus… 

This cloud-Odysseus, more detailed than any of the other cloud creations Hera had created, stared longingly at the Greek woman reeking of blood. He smiled, that oh-so familiar smile she had longed to see for the past decade.  

“You can say goodbye to-”

Odysseus…

The cloud-Odysseus gazed down at the baby in the cradle. There was this look in his eyes, this desire to cherish and protect. Penelope knew this look well, for it could only be known by a fellow parent... 

No! 

Penelope couldn’t do this. She was a mother! Her role in life was to treasure and protect children, not discard and kill them! 

“I could raise him as my own!”

“He will burn your house and throne.” 

No… 

No! 

Penelope needed to find a way!

“Or send him far away from home!” 

“He'll find you wherever you go.”

 There had to be another way!

“Make sure his past is never known!” 

“The gods will make him know.”

Why was Hera doing this? Why couldn’t she understand!? Penelope can’t do this!

The mortal threw herself down, bowing before Hera in a desperate final plea. 

“I'd rather bleed for ya, Down on my knees for ya-”

“He's bringing you down on your knees…”

The Queen of Ithaca couldn’t hear herself, the Queen of the Gods overpowering everything within her. 

“I'm begging please-”

“Oh, this is the will of the gods!”

Hera’s voice boomed. Commanding. Declaring. Inevitable. 

Penelope shook her head, slowly and in disbelief. Her chest felt heavy and constricting, making every breath a difficult and pained one.  

…how…

“Please don't make me do this…”

How could she be expected to do this? Something so evil, so cruel? 

Something so monstrous?

“Don't make me do this…”

Penelope didn't know when she began to weep, only realizing when her tears splattered on the cold, hard ground. 

She felt a hand being gently placed atop her bowed head. This hand, once commanding and brimming with devastating power, now offered an ironic sense of comfort. 

From one who was also a Queen.

A Soldier.

A Wife. 

A Mother. 

“The blood on your hands is something you won't lose…” 

The hand’s presence disappeared, along with the many clouds surrounding her person. 

The cloud-Odysseus, whose eyes Penelope couldn’t bear to meet, took hold of her chin. This hand, as large and scarred as she remembered it, held her with a firm gentleness she knew was reserved only for her. 

He tilted her head up, compelling her to meet his gaze. Again, Penelope recognized the look he was giving her. It was the same one he always gave her: eyes filled with a warm, comforting love. 

“All you can choose is whose…”

The cloud-Odysseus faded away, still gazing upon her with those eyes until he was fully gone. 

Would the real Odysseus continue to look at her that way, knowing what she was about to do? 

…

Penelope waited.

… 

And waited. 

…

And waited. 

…

Nothing. 

Hera’s presence was no more. 

All that was left was Penelope, blood-soaked and guilt-ridden, and the baby, still sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

Penelope said nothing. She could only stare at the boy, the very symbol of innocence before it was tarnished. 

Slowly, soundlessly, Penelope picked the boy up. She cradled him gently in her arms, similar to the way she held Telemachas after bringing her into the world. She wanted to make sure he was comfortable. 

Then, without a word, Penelope made her way to the roof of the palace. 

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 14/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Fourteen: Bed

Bruce did his homework while Harvey worked on a class project with another boy from their school. He lay back on his bed, glancing up from his book at Harvey when he thought Harvey was distracted. “So, Harvey, you live here with Bruce all the time?” the other boy questioned. 

“Yeah… It’s closer to the school and the Juvenile Committee, too. I’ve got that after school most of the time,” Harvey answered. Alfred brought in a tray, carrying everyone’s dinner, and Bruce hopped out of bed to help him. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Are you about to eat?” Bruce asked. Alfred nodded. “Have a nice meal, Alfred.” 

“Thank you, Master Bruce. You as well,” Alfred smiled. Bruce ate his pasta quietly while Harvey and his partner kept working on their history project. Bruce didn’t want to butt in or be unnecessarily pushy, so he didn’t say a word. Besides, Bruce was halfway through his junior year work, and it wouldn’t have been fair to interject when it came to their homework. Harvey was a straight ‘A’ student involved in every extracurricular activity he could fit into his schedule before JCC. Harvey loved school, and he was driven to be the best at everything he did. Harvey was the definition of a go-getter. 

The other boy looked around the room and scratched his head. “There’s only one bed in here,” the boy noted. 

“Harvey’s room is down the hall. We always do homework in my room,” Bruce answered before taking a large bite of pasta. 

“Does your butler cook on a schedule?” the boy questioned. 

Bruce squinted at the boy. “Alfred cooks whatever he feels like cooking,” Bruce sternly answered. Harvey looked up at Bruce, and he widened his eyes. “He’s very important to us… More than a butler.” Bruce softened as he said it. He’d started getting used to seeing Alfred as a third parent, but he’d nearly forgotten that no one outside of his home knew that. 

**

After the other boy left, Harvey and Bruce cleaned up, and Bruce sat on the edge of his bed. “Goodnight, Harvey,” Bruce whispered. His voice was unemotional despite the tightness in his throat at the idea of Harvey not wanting to share a bedroom anymore. He knew they were too old, and it seemed weird to other people, but Harvey was his best friend and no one should’ve been allowed to change what that meant to either of them. 

The fact that Harvey probably would’ve slept in his room if that boy hadn’t mentioned the beds sent Bruce into a childlike rage. It took everything in him not to throw a tantrum about it. Still, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep in his room alone. He’d been bunking with his parents on and off because worrying about Harvey kept him up most nights. After Harvey went to bed, Bruce knocked on his parents’ bedroom door. “Master Bruce?” Alfred whispered. 

It wasn’t unusual for Alfred to answer his parents’ bedroom door. They’d all sort of moved into the main bedroom. “You wanna watch some TV?” Bruce asked. Alfred nodded. One of his parents would usually sit and watch TV until Bruce fell asleep. Alfred was the best company in Bruce’s opinion. He’d tell Bruce stories and work on little things. Sometimes he’d tell Bruce about his little personal projects. 

Alfred turned on Men Behaving Badly because Law & Order came on immediately after. “Alfred, I love you,” Bruce whispered as he curled up and closed his eyes.

“I love you too, Master Bruce. This brings back memories of you as an infant,” Alfred smiled. 

“It does?” Bruce asked. 

Alfred pulled Bruce’s blanket up over Bruce’s shoulder. “This was my time with you when you were small. We would watch late-night movies on CBS… You’ve always liked to have company with you while you slept. We worried you would never sleep on your own. And when you were about three or four, you said something interesting to me. ‘Mummy and Daddy don’t sleep alone.’ I couldn’t argue with it,” Alfred smiled as he went on and on about how sweet Bruce was as a baby. 

“Alfred, when did you realize you loved Dad?” Bruce whispered, interrupting Alfred without meaning to. 

“When I saw the way that he spoke to people in professional capacities. He never chastised people for mistakes. In fact, he was so gentle when I started to work for him, that I feared that he had no fight in him at all. I imagine you’re more like Martha than Thomas in that respect,” Alfred whispered.

“Hm?” Bruce asked, half asleep. 

“I know you didn’t go to summer camp… And I know you’ve been going to the gym after school to meet with Ted Grant for boxing lessons,” Alfred smiled. Bruce tensed up, but Alfred patted his back. “I understand that it comforts you… All I ask is that you be careful, and you should call me if you ever run into any trouble.” Bruce relaxed and nodded. 

“Always, Alfred,” Bruce reassured him. 

“And Master Bruce, sometimes people need to know how you feel about them. How else will you know if they’re able to return your affections?” Alfred asked. 

“Every time I open my mouth to say what I want to say, I push—. I’m dismissive without trying to be. I try to convince myself that I’m alright with being on my own, but I think you’re right about me. I’ve always liked to have company. I guess that will never change… No matter how badly I try to make it so,” Bruce whispered. 

“You’ll be alright in time. I know you will,” Alfred whispered, “Now off to bed. I know you don’t like to watch this show.”

“I like to listen, though,” Bruce joked. 

Alfred smiled down at him. “Oh hush,” Alfred replied. 

**

Harvey woke up in a cold sweat, nauseous and shaking as he exited his room and stumbled out into the hallway. He walked straight into Bruce’s room and climbed into his bed. Bruce woke up and draped the blanket over Harvey as he trembled from the cold and shock of his nightmare. Bruce moved close enough to see Harvey’s face in the dark. “Harvey?” Bruce whispered as he tried to lock eyes with Harvey.

“I feel like I might throw up,” Harvey whispered. 

“Okay. You can throw up. I never liked these sheets anyway,” Bruce whispered. Harvey hyperventilated as he tried to explain his gruesome dream to Bruce. The memory of his dream seemed to disappear in thin air before he tried to speak. “Come up here. Lay on my chest for a little bit.” 

“Bruce, I shouldn’t—.”

“Harvey, you can’t breathe, and you’re shaking. Come up here,” Bruce interrupted. Harvey obeyed and pressed his ear against Bruce’s chest to listen to his heart. Bruce hesitated before rustling a gentle hand through Harvey’s hair. He started humming the tune to Blue Velvet .

“You never told me you could sing,” Harvey whispered. 

“I’m not singing. I’m humming… And if you tell anyone any different I won’t speak to you for a week,” Bruce replied. 

“What’s it like getting trained by a famous boxer? Do you feel like Rocky?” Harvey asked. 

“Nuh-uh. I feel like a ninety-pound weakling every time I spar with him… But that doesn’t bother me. It’s the way the little girl tells me what I’m doing wrong in the ring. She’s a cute kid. Don’t get me wrong, but it kills me when she does that,” Bruce replied. 

Harvey smiled. “How old is she?” Harvey whispered.

“She’s five or six maybe. But it’s just—. Dinah’s a little pain in the neck. I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy,” Bruce joked. 

“Aww, give her a break. She probably wants to be your friend or something. I bet she’s a cutie pie,” Harvey whispered. 

“That’s the problem. She’s too cute. I don’t have the heart to tell her to buzz off… And I think she’s the daughter of Mr. Grant’s friend,” Bruce replied. Harvey yawned. 

“I should go back to—.”

“Can’t you stay this one time?” Bruce asked. Harvey made a soft noise as he moved his head from Bruce’s chest as he lay beside Bruce. “I wish you’d tell me why things have to change.” 

“Bruce, I told you—.”

“You told me what someone else told you. You didn’t tell me why you wanted to stop,” Bruce mumbled as he turned away from Harvey.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Hello! I would like to make a request about Dae-Ho, a character I love. I would like the story to show how Dae-Ho and the reader develop a special connection during the games, despite being on opposite sides. She is part of Thanos' team, but they still interact frequently. On one of those nights, they kiss and promise to get to know each other better once it's all over. However, that promise is not fulfilled because she dies in the carousel game.

I hope this story fits the bill. Happy holidays! <3

Anything Is Possible?

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- You are number 230's, rapper Choi Su-bong, sister. Just because you are on 'Thanos Team', does that mean you can Dae-Ho cant get together? Will you survive long enough?

Warnings- Squid Games, Angst, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- I combined this ask with another anon request, "badass reader and daeho! maybe she is related to 100 and that's why the romance is kind of forbidden but she doesn't agree with his actions and thinks daeho is very cute. I would love a first kiss between the two, which she initiated and he was all embarrassed but really excited" I hope y'all don't mind, they were very similar!

Word Count- 4,605

"What is your problem!" You found yourself yelling at your brother. While this was not uncommon, the situation surely was. Thanos the rapper, or just known as Choi Su-bong to you, had pushed several people down on purpose. This killed them in the Red light, Green light game.

"You killed them!" You continued, though he did not seem to care.

"Look, as far as 'The Thanos' is concerned, each body means more cash for MOI!" He spoke, uncaring.

"Oh, and if it was me, would you let me get shot!" You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down.

He looked around, checking for any guards. He then slipped out his cross form under his shirt. You knew he had some kind of drug in there.

"Look, if it will shut you up, you can have one. But keep your mouth closed!" He ushered his cross in your direction. You rolled your eyes.

"I'd like to at least be aware of my surrounding in a death defying game!" "Shhh, Shhhh!" His face scrunched up as he looked at you, offended. He thought someone might have been drawn to your choice words.

You scoffed and walked off, sitting on the edge of a bed to catch a train of thought.

With a puff, you pressed your head into your hands. Could you really go on like this? Risking your life? Then it hit you, your life was over either way. Loan sharks were bound to kill you the second you left... Might as well go out with a bang?

The gruesome thought lingered until you felt the bed sink next to you.

"Thanos, I don't want to-" You looked up to not see your brother. Instead a man with a '388' on his jacket.

"Well I'm not sure who 'Thanos' is, but are you doing okay?" He looked genuinely concerned.

You started at him for a second, "Like fifty people just died..."

He faltered, "W-well yeah... Obviously you aren't okay... I just, I saw you arguing with that guy... The one with purple hair." You sigh again at his response. Well, this might be the last conversation you ever have. Why not be an open book!

"That's my brother. He thinks since he got one hit song, he can boss anyone around." You again rolled your eyes at the thought of him.

"Oh... I see. I-I have three older sisters, I know how it can get." He said, trying to offer you some sort of condolence.

You gave a side smile at him, appreciative of his efforts. "Thanks... What got you into these games?" You figured there's no reason for 'proper exchanges.' What was the point anymore?

He seemed ashamed at the question. "Sorry, if it makes you feel any better- I'm about 30 million won in debt. Some online crypto coin my brother swindled me into. Lost big time." You explained.

He shook his head, "No, no, its fine. See, I was a marine. Couldn't find a job after I got out. Guess I just got carried away with the wrong people... Got into some bad loans."

You gave a sympathetic face. "That sucks..." He just nodded sheepishly.

A silence fell between you two, but it wasn't awkward or annoying. It just...was.

"Well, uh, which are you going to vote?" He asked like it had been on the tip of his tongue all day.

As the Guards had told us earlier, we would get a chance to vote before the next game. Stay or Go.

"My brother seems pretty adamant on staying... And I honestly don't think it would be smart to piss him off anymore. He's got me in his little clique already." You didn't really know which one you would have chosen if the vote was anonymous.

He nodded in understanding. "I mean, I don't have a groupie or anything. But, you could stick with me if you wanted."

Your heart fluttered. Looking up at him, you seemed to just notice how handsome he was... Then reality hit.

"I deeply appreciate that... But I think you might have better odds without me. Choi- uh Thanos, would probably do something to you... I don't really want to risk it, I'm sorry." You knew that you really did want to be on his team, but you also knew how your brother was.

He had a slight look of defeat on his face, "I get it. I feel confident about the next game. I mean, if they're all children games, how hard can it be? I'll vote the same as you."

You agreed, "Then, maybe I can talk to Thanos? See if he wants another member?" You smiled at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, happily, but the two of you were interrupted when the pink guards came back in. Letting everyone know it was time to vote.

"See ya on the other side." You said, standing up to rejoin Thanos. Plus his newly acquired group of 3.

"Yes ma'am!" He responded, giving a small salute. You just laughed as you glanced at him a last time.

------------------------------------------

"Are you crazy!" Thanos whisper-yelled at you, turning the two of you away from the group. "Are you tryna embarrass me in front of my boys!" He scolded you like a child. His arms and shoulders going up.

"It's not that big of a deal, he was a marine, he could be good for us." Thanos just "tsked' in response.

"No. We are already perfecto. No more room." He said as-a-matter-of-fact. His arms making an 'X.'

You turned and looked at the two men staring at you. "Thanos, there are four of us in total. What if the next game is five players!"

"Huh, and what if its four! Then I'd be pushing YOU out, Cause of ya mouth." He made faces at you, then laughed loudly. "I'm just joking sistah! I'd only do that if you really pissed me off.... We are sticking to four." His expression turned serious.

"Fine."

At a mere coincidence, you turned around and saw '388' staring at you. You mouthed a 'sorry' and shook your head. Signalling Thanos said 'no.'

He nodded, then smiled at you anyways. At that, you watched him walk over and sit with a group of 'X's.

------------------------------------------

The lights soon went out. You laid back in your bed, trying to get some kind of sleep. It was useless, especially when you heard a 'psst' right next to you.

You turned your head, playing cool, even though it did startle you a bit. "Shh, It's just me." The voice rang familiar, and when you squinted your eyes in the dark your made out number 388's face. He was on his knees, crouched down next to your bed.

"What are you doing!" You whispered at him, sitting up quickly. Thanos and his two members were just a bed away.

"Shhhh, I have something to tell you." He said, his hands were waving slightly, a nervous tick.

You eyed him, moving closer. "What?"

"One of the guys has played these before. He said he won the games...That he knows which one is next."

Your hands rise to rub sleep from your eyes, "Really? You think he's telling the truth?"

With a frantic nod he continues, "It was the guy who knew about the Red light, Green light. Number 456."

You looked down, "Why are you telling me this..." You questioned, unaware of any kind of unconditional kindness.

"I want you to survive, why else?" You locked eyes with him. They were honest and pure.

"Well, what's the next game?" You didn't know how to respond to such generosity. For all he knew you would stab him in the back. Not that you could bring yourself to, not after he snuck over to tell you.

"He said its Dalgona. Ya know, the game where you scratch out the candy shape?" You knew the game, having played it in your youth.

"Make sure you pick the Triangle. It's the easiest one." You nodded.

At that, a shuffle made both of you turn your head. Thanos moved in his sleep, rolling over. His eyes were closed, but he was now facing you.

"You better go, in case he wakes up." You warned, not wanting any drama.

His head shook in agreeance, he raised to walk off.

"Wait!" You whispered, he looked back. "What's your name?"

"Dae-Ho. Dae-ho Kang."

"Thank you, Dae-ho..." The corners of your face rose, almost grinning at yourself saying his name.

He gave a small wave of his hand, another salute. You suppressed a giggle, and laid back down. Sleep came easier this time...

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your second game, this game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

You looked around, Dalgona was not a team game. Had Dae-Ho lied to you? No, why else would he sneak over in the middle of the night. It didn't make sense. Maybe 456 was lying?

"Should have listened to me, now we have to find another person." You remarked to your brother, smugly.

"Trust trust, my skeptic sister. Thanos has got this under control!" He spoke about himself, immediately levitating to the closest attractive women. You, once again, found yourself rolling your eyes.

"Señorita, excuse me?" You wanted to physically face palm at his attempt at a pickup line.

------------------------------------------

Quickly enough, time selection was up. Everyone was orderly sat in their groups. Conveniently, Dae-Ho and his group sat behind you.

"Dae-Ho." You called, moving to be in his range of sight.

"Ahh, hey!" He said, excitedly. His demeanor changing from skittish when he saw you.

"So, what happened to Dalgona?" You asked, not blaming him- just curious.

He gave an unsure face, equally as confused. "He said the games must not be the same. I'm sorry."

"What for?" You beamed, knowing it was not his fault.

He laughed, "I guess I don't know.."

You just shook your head humorously. "Which game are you going to do?"

"Uhmm, Gong-Gi... My sister's played it a lot, so I'm used to it."

"They've got me doing spinning top. I was never any good at Gong-Gi." You made a glance to Thanos, he was high out of his mind. You caught him slipping Nam-Gyu a pill. He didn't notice you talking to Dae-Ho.

"I wish you the best of luck!" He gave a quick bow of the head.

------------------------------------------

The game went smoothly enough. Though, it took much longer than Red light, Green light. Watching all of the teams go one at a time was excruciating.

A handful of words exchanged with Dae-Ho while waiting was calming, it grounded you. He had nothing to gain by helping you, he simply did. It was flattering.

You and Dae-Ho had figured out that his team was going last. It was nerve-wracking to think about him not making it. No one had ever effected you like this before...

Eventually your team went, suffering frequent verbal degration from Thanos and Nam-Gyu. Thankfully your team made it with 8 seconds to spare. Too close for your comfort.

The worst part came when you had to wait. You felt like you could hear a large clock ticking right by your ear.

Would Dae-Ho's team make it? You didn't doubt his Gong-Gi skills, but he was dependent on the skills of his team mates as well. It was terrifying to think they were shot with not enough time to complete the games.

You couldn't bare Thanos bantering, he complained about every survivor. It just made you more paranoid about Dae-Ho's possible death.

Trying to settle your mind, you stepped away from your group, preferring to sit by yourself on the edge on the steps. You picked at your nails, praying he would make it.

Minutes and minutes went by. No one had come out in a while. Was the game finished? Did they die?

Just as you were about to return to your brother hopeless, one last group appeared.

A gasp left you as you watched Dae-Ho's team emerge. You stood up, cheering with a handful of other players. Your hands were clasped gleefully In front of you.

Dae-Ho's gaze was fixed on you, he chuckled. His first raised in victory.

You gave him a salute back.

------------------------------------------

You managed to slip away from Thanos. He was too busy hitting on Se-Mi. You were grateful for her, it took some of the pressure and attention off of you. You had to remember to thank her later.

"Dae-Ho!" You called out, he turned around and stepped away from his group.

"You were amazing! You went 'Wooshhh' and got the top first try!" He was practically bouncing on his heels. He mimicked the process of spinning a top with his hands and body.

"Thank you, Thank you." You pretended like you were bowing to an applauding audience.

"How did Gong-Gi go?" You asked, antsy. He rubbed the back on his neck.

He grinned deep, "Would you believe me if I said I got it first try too?"

Your face lit up, "Really!"

"I swear it!" He placed a hand across his chest.

You gave a quick clap to him, "I knew you could do it!"

You felt like a schoolgirl again. Talking to Dae-Ho made you feel like a blushing bride. He was such a ray of light and hope for you.

"What do you think the next game is?" He questioned, taking a seat on a step by the large doors.

You thought for a second, "I don't know, Maybe some kind of mind game. Since the last two have been really physical."

He nodded, "Yeah, maybe, maybe. Thats smart thinking."

You joined him on the step facing him. While you were about to change the conversation, you overheard a few people talk about what they were voting next. It reminded you of the real life-or-death situation you were in.

"So, d'ya think you're going to change your vote?" You became more solemn.

"...Yeah, I just... The others have convinced me. I mean, truly, I shouldn't have voted 'stay' in the first place..." He looked down, almost as if he had disappointed you.

"Honestly, Dae-Ho... I want to leave too... But, but, what if I press 'leave', and we still have to continue the games. Then Thanos would be pissed, and deep down I need him. He's still my brother." You hated the fact, but you were scared of what Thanos would do.

Dae-Ho thought for a moment. He mumbled something you didn't quite catch. "What?" He stood up.

"I can protect you. Honest. With my life." Your breath hitched, you stood up as well.

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "Oh Dae-Ho... That's just the thing. I can't have you risking your life. Not for me."

He gently lifted your hands into his. "You are worth risking my life for."

"Dae-Ho, you don't even know my name." Your voice quivered.

He nodded quick, "Then lets change that. What's your name." You bit your bottom lip before telling him.

"Now, I can defend you from Thanos. He won't do anything to do." He ended with your name, it sounded angelic coming from his mouth.

"I'm sorry... I just... can't." You let go of his hands, fully set on walking away. But, he stopped you. He grasped your shoulder.

"Please don't go. I'll stop talking about it, I swear." He pleaded. He truly just wanted to be with you, he was content with you.

And you were with him.

You closed your eyes, shook your head. You fought off any kind of objection. "Okay."

The two of you talked and talked, time ran past. You no longer seemed to worry about the games, just that you knew you wanted to stay with Dae-Ho.

Until, the large doors opened and the pink guards once again announced a vote.

You said a quick 'goodbye' to Dae-ho, hoping the games wouldn't continue. Even if you never saw him again, at least he would be alive.

------------------------------------------

Much to your dismay, the games would continue another round. The vote wasn't even close this time. It was almost relieving, knowing that your vote was not the determining factor.

Once again, the lights went out to signify the night. You noticed teams were huddling together for protection, taking shifts and keeping watch. It was getting more serious as each hour went by. You could not find rest, feeling extremely uneasy.

While you tried to find some sort of reassurance in Thanos, he was fast asleep. You decided to take your chance and go see Dae-Ho. Just as he had done for you.

You knew the general area where his group was, but couldn't make out specific people in the dark. Not from your distance.

You racked up the nerve to quietly shuffle over. Your socks helping to muffle any noise.

"Shh, someone is coming." You heard a man whisper, it was 456. You could see the large numbers next to the 'O' on his jacket.

"I-is Dae-Ho with you..." You ask, shakily.

"And what do you want with him?" A man next to 456 spoke, defensively.

"I- Hes my friend, I need to talk to him." You tried, fiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah, Sure he is. You're probably trying to get in and take one of us out, huh!" The man 390 rose, acting like he was ready to fight.

You stepped back, "No, really, I swear I'm not!"

You heard your name, a confused Dae-Ho crawled out from under a bed. "Dae-Ho, please tell them in not trying to kill any of you."

"What?" He was still weary from sleep, rubbing his eyes. Once he saw the position you and 390 were in, He quickly stepped between the two of you.

"No, No, she wouldn't do that. Really, whatever shes saying she's telling the truth." Dae-Ho came to your rescue.

"Can we talk Dae-Ho?" You stepped closer to him, both of your hands gently resting on his arm. He nodded rapidly, stepping away from his group.

The two of you found a cluster of abandoned beds, and sat on the floor between them

"Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?" He looked you over for any visible infliction's.

"No, no I'm fine..." You pulled your knees to your chest. "I just wanted to see you." You felt silly once it left your lips.

His face flushed beet red, you could even tell in the dark. His hair falling in his face made you reach a hand out and brush it back. "O-oh"

"You never told me what you think the next game is, Dae-Ho." You needed a distraction.

He shook his head, like he was getting some thoughts out. "I have no idea... I just hope its an easy one. Gi-Hun, uh 456, said that they've already played Tug-of-war, Marbles, and some kind of glass stepping game. So, uh, I would assume none of those would repeat."

"I'm glad I missed Tug-of-war... That would mean the number of survivors would be half..." You thought.

He changed the subject, beginning with your name. "What's wrong? I know you said you wanted to see me, but, I guess I don't understand why."

"Dae-Ho, I don't really know why either. I just, wanted to be with you. I feel safe with you. I feel like I'm alone anytime you walk away..." You blinked away a stray tear.

Dae-Ho was lost in thought, he had thought his feelings weren't reciprocated. Maybe they were after all?

He didn't have time to speak, because you have lounged yourself forward in a burst of confidence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pushed him to the floor. He was laid on his back with you on top of him, as you pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

His eyes widened, his body went rigid. When you pulled away to look at him, he stammered. "I-I, Uhm."

At his reaction you pulled away quickly, "I'm so sorry, I thought-"

"Can you please do that again." He was now giddy, a fat smile on his face. Excitement radiated out of him. "A-are you sure.. You seemed so..."

"No, no, you just caught me off guard, please, please kiss me again." He scrambled to a sit, hoping you would come closer again.

With a refound joy, you moved closer. This time you went slow, making sure to bask in the moment. You once again wrapped your arms around Dea-Ho's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're perfect.." He mumbled against your lips. Though, he felt something wet on his face. He pulled away, his eyes soft, "Whats wrong?"

You sniffled, "Promise me. Promise me, that after everything is over, that we will find each other." You asked, pressing your cheek against his.

"I swear it, I swear we will meet after the games." He leaned in for another kiss.

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Okay, this one seemed safe. You had a large group, this can work. You tried to be positive, you had someone to look forward to after the game.

"Heyyy, we'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" Thanos went on, trying to hype everyone up. The only one who was just as high as him was Nam-Gyu. It worried you that he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but at least he wasn't on your tail about everything.

"Please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

You nodded, understanding the rules. Everyone gathered to the platform. You noticed groups staying together, huddling close.

While following Thanos, you passed Dae-Ho's group, you caught his eye and gave him a small salute. It seemed the two of you now had an inside joke.

"Let the game, begin."

At the jump and pull of the platform, you almost lost your balance. You reached a hand out and held onto your brother. He looked over at you, for a split second he actually seemed like your brother. He was there for you.

That's until a muffled snort came from Nam-Gyu. Thanos pushed your hand off, laughing at you.

You sighed and thought of a smart remark, but the platform stopped spinning and a 'Ten' rang out.

Thanos laughed loudly, "We needa four!!" He screamed, shaking his face all about.

"Were four!" A man yelled back, and Thanos took off running. Your eyes widened and you ran after him. "Run, Hurry!" You yelled at Se-Mi, who had stopped to grab Min-Su.

Luckily everyone had made it to the room, just as the door shut the timer went off. The door locked shut. You peaked out of the doors small slit. You didn't see Dae-Ho. A good sign.

Multiple gunshots rang out, each making your body jolt.

"Ha Ha! My family! We did it!" Thanos bantered, clapping some of the men on their backs.

When the doors finally opened again, you looked around. You looked and looked for Dae-Ho. Finally sighing in relief when you saw him. He ran over to you.

"You're okay, thank God!" He hugged you, you held him tight.

You swallowed hard, "It's not over yet. I'll find you after the next round!" You said, quickly finding Thanos again.

"Yeahhhh! Easyyy!" Him and Nam-Gyu joked back and forth. They started dancing to the music as the platform started rotating again.

'Four'

Thanos stopped and looked at his group for a minute. "Gyeong-su, you're with me!" He grabbed his hand, pulling him.

"Damn!" Nam-Gyu said, gripping your arm and pulling you. While you were happy to be chosen, you were worried for Min-su and Se-Mi.

"Lets goooo!" Thanos yelled once we were all in the room.

"Thanos what was that! Gyeong-su over me!" You pointed your finger at him.

"I swear I thought I was pulling you! Besides, you gotta stop running your mouth. You made it, you're fine!"

You couldn't believe what he was saying. Sure, he talked a lot about leaving you. But it was always just talk? Right?

The door opened once again, you were thankful to be away from Thanos. Your new objective was to find Dae-Ho now.

This time, the second you saw him- you ran to him. You no longer cared about what Thanos thought, nor what he'd do.

"I'm so happy to see you." Dae-Ho mumbled into your hair, which his face had been shoved into right after you ran into his arms.

"I have to stay with you, Thanos tried to leave me. I can't make it with him." Dae-Ho didn't hesitate, and pulled you over to his group.

Though, Thanos didn't like that. "Yo, brotha. What're you doing with my sister!" He tried to shove Dae-Ho, but he was bigger and stronger.

The platform started to spin.

"Leave her alone, you obviously cant take care of your sister." He ushered you behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about bro! I save her, shes only alive because of me and Nam-Gyu!" He argued, leaving out the crucial part of information where he wasn't the one who grabbed you.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I will keep her safe now, you can mind your own business and get along with Nam-Gyu."

They continued to yell and argue over the carousel's music, it was difficult to hear them. Until,

'Three'

Thanos gripped one of your arms, Dae-Ho held another.

"Thanos, let go!" You yelled, trying to pull from his grasp.

It was chaotic, screaming was heard around you. "Dae-Ho, this way!" Two men yelled out, Dae-Ho twisted his head but didn't move.

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't be the reason Dae-Ho would die. You were all running out of time.

"Dae-Ho, go. Please! I'll go with Thanos and Nam-Gyu!"

"I'm not leaving you!" He was adamant about protecting you. Damned everyone else.

"If you don't go, we will all die. Time is running out!" Dae-Ho battled internally, you let go of his hand.

"Go! It's okay, I'll see you in a minute!"

He didn't want to leave, he couldn't. But you made him. When he slowly walked backwards, you let out a relived sigh. You then turned to run with Thanos. Nam-Gyu was already in a room, his yelling ushering you two forward.

It was going to be okay, The three of you in a room. Everything was fine. There was time.

Until, Nam-Gyu moved out of the way... Gyeong-su was behind him... There was already two in the room. Thanos ran in, not thinking twice.

Your running came to a stop right outside of the door. Where Thanos himself had closed it on you.

A "NO!" Was heard from across the room. It was Dae-Ho. He tried to come to you, but he was too far.

Player 456 and player 001 were pulling him into a room. Forcing the door shut. You could see Dae-Ho looking out of the door slit, his hands peaking out as well.

You didn't turn to see what Thanos might have been doing. You didn't care. Not anymore.

You just wanted your last moment to be looking at the most handsome man you'd ever met. His soft eyes were filled with tears as he watched you.

You weren't upset, not scared, not nervous. Not anymore.

It would all be over soon.

You gave him one last salute before a loud bang rang out.

A/N- Not going to lie ya'll, I ate that up. But I still love hearing y'all's constructive criticism! Please LMK if you want to be added to my tag list, TYSM for reading!

Dae-Ho Taglist- @fuzzyscissorsmakerpie-blog @thethreeeyed-raven

[thedawner]

AU!Thrax ref done while binging on Alien movies.

Osmosis Jones fanart.

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

Summary:

After a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

So you pack your bags and move to Japan, only to find the students at U.A. High School traumatized by the Hero War. Aizawa is struggling to help them, and Nezu is overwhelmed trying to find therapists while managing international scrutiny over the students' involvement in the war. Aizawa panics when Nezu informs him of your arrival, as your hero profile is so blank he can't find decent information about you, despite your international headlines.

Your start is rocky, worsened by your initial deception of pretending to be his new student. The students are unsure what to make of you, but they’re drawn to their new pretty art teacher and soon so is their handsome grump of a teacher.

With the media down his neck, Nezu offers you a deal: Get the kids to seek therapy, you to graduate with your psychology doctorate. Aizawa’s catch: If you fail or harm them, you walk away from being a therapist and hero altogether.

All while facing your own trauma, and the affections of those strange cats...

Tw: PTSD and mentions of violence and mental distress.

Song: SZA - Good Days

----------------------Chapter 1: Who are you?------------------------

The day had been a rare opportunity for the new Class 2-A to unwind and explore the vibrant shopping district surrounding U.A. Academy. With a Saturday all to themselves, students scattered across the mall, relishing the chance to indulge in personal interests and bond outside the confines of their classrooms.

In the heart of the bustling mall, the comic store beckoned with its colorful displays and eager customers. The windows were adorned with colorful posters of heroes in dynamic poses, and the entrance was flanked by life-sized statues of popular heroes. The air inside was thick with the scent of new books and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.

Izuku Midoriya, his face lit up with joy, led a group consisting of Ochaco Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki, and himself towards the store's entrance. They were drawn by the promise of hero memorabilia and the back to school discounted prices plastered all over the building.

Hey, kids gotta ball on a budget!

As they entered, the store buzzed with energy. Fans of all ages flipped through graphic novels, their fingers brushing the glossy pages, while others scrutinized shelves stocked with hero-themed merchandise—action figures, posters, and keychains, all meticulously arranged to catch the eye. The walls were lined with shelves, each packed to the brim with comics, some new, others worn and well-loved. A few children darted between the aisles, their laughter mingling with the murmur of conversations.

Izuku gravitated towards the section dedicated toToshinori, his eyes wide and scanning for any rare collectibles he might have missed. The rows of action figures stood proudly, their detailed designs catching the overhead light. Posters of All Might in his prime covered the walls, Izuku's gaze lingered on each one, and his eyes softened.

"Hey, Izuku, check this out!" Ochaco's voice rang out, pulling him from his reverie. She held up a keychain featuring a miniature All Might in his signature hero pose, the small figure almost glowing in her hand. "Isn't this adorable?" She smiled brightly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy.

Izuku's face brightened, his eyes widening as he stepped closer to examine the keychain. "That's awesome, Ochaco! I wonder if they have any figurines or posters I haven't seen before." He began to peruse the shelves again, his fingers trailing lightly over the edges of the boxes as he searched for something new. His gaze darted from one item to another, his excitement slowly giving way to disappointment as he realized there were no new All Might items to add to his collection.

Izuku sighed softly, the sound almost lost in the ambient noise of the store. His rewards points burned a hole in his pocket, the card resting in his hand as he glanced around the store, hoping for a hidden gem.

The sweet old lady store clerk noticed his dilemma and smiled warmly at him. "Can't find what you're looking for, young man?" She had allowed the Izu-crew to browse before offering her assistance. 

Izuku shook his head, feeling a bit crestfallen. "Not this time, Mrs. Sakamaki. All Might stuff tends to sell out quickly." He shuffled slightly, one hand slipping into his pocket as he spoke, the other still clutching the rewards card.

Mrs. Sakamaki, was a sweet old lady store clerk with a kind smile and gentle demeanor. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, and she wore a cozy cardigan that seemed to match the warmth in her eyes. 

Mrs. Sakamaki's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Well, how about considering something new? Have you heard about Charge Bomb? She's quite the rising star, you know." She leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, her voice full of enthusiasm.

Izuku's head tilted slightly, curiosity evident in his tone, and interest piqued, " Charge Bomb? "

Mrs. Sakamaki nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening as she reached behind the counter. With a practiced hand, she retrieved a medium-sized figurine of Charge Bomb, complete with her signature explosive star emblem and perching pose. 

The figure was expertly crafted, capturing the details of the hero’s ebony mask and cloak. "She's gaining quite a fanbase lately. People say she's as electrifying as her powers!"

Izuku hesitated for a moment, his eyes tracing the details of the figurine in his hand. The weight of it was reassuring, and he could feel the craftsmanship in every groove. "I've heard a bit about her. She seems really strong." He turned the figure over, examining it closely, the gears in his mind turning as he considered adding it to his collection.

Ochaco teased him lightly, nudging Izuku with a playful grin. "Come on, Izuku. Even if All Might isn't here, you can expand your horizons a bit!"

Tsuyu ribbited in agreement, her lips quirking up in a small smile. "Ribbit. Midoriya, you might discover a new hero to admire." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she watched Izuku's inner debate unfold.

Izuku chuckled sheepishly, feeling the support of his friends. "Alright, alright. Charge Bomb it is. Thank you, ma'am." He offered Mrs. Sakamaki a grateful smile as he handed over his rewards card, the anticipation building within him as he added the figurine to his growing collection.

"This Charge Bomb figure is incredible," Izuku exclaimed, his eyes wide as he examined the action figure in his hands. He was doing that mumbling thing and they were happy to see him geek over something other than All Might. It was good to see him like this. 

He needed this. 

"Yeah, but she seems so distant, like she's always avoiding questions in her interviews," Ochaco remarked, her gaze shifting to a nearby display of hero-themed posters. She reached out to adjust one that had slipped slightly out of place, her fingers brushing the paper lightly.

"She's probably just focused on hero work," Shoto chimed in quietly, his eyes scanning the shelves with detached interest. He reached out to pick up a comic, flipping through the pages absentmindedly. "I've seen her in action in some civilian videos. She doesn't waste time or energy." He placed the comic back, his expression thoughtful.

Tsuyu, standing beside Shoto, nodded in agreement. "Ribbit. Maybe she prefers a direct approach, focusing on getting the job done without unnecessary risks." She leaned over to pick up a comic featuring a leapfrog character, holding it up with a teasing smile before lightly punching Shoto in the arm for showing it to her.

Iida, who had been diligently scanning through hero strategy books, joined the conversation with his trademark earnestness. "Indeed. Charge Bomb's reputation stems from her precise tactics and adherence to hero regulations. She's a model of efficiency." His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was a spark of admiration in his eyes.

Ochaco nodded knowingly, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's part of her appeal. Charge Bomb is known for her no-nonsense attitude and her skill in taking down villains efficiently. But when it comes to interviews, she's a bit elusive. Always dodging personal questions with a touch of humor. I would love to get away with that! Those interview questions always make me so nervous." She glanced over at Izuku, her expression softening as she saw the thoughtful look on his face.

Izuku's brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of disappointment and fascination crossing his features. "It's amazing how she manages to stay mysterious even with all the attention she's getting." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still holding the Charge Bomb figurine as he contemplated the enigma that was this new hero.

Tsuyu, always the voice of reason, chimed in to lighten the mood. "Maybe she just wants to keep her private life private. It adds to her mystique, kero. Don't you think?" She tilted her head slightly, her wide eyes filled with understanding.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Izuku agreed with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing as he let go of his earlier disappointment. ‘ She's definitely someone I want to learn more about.’ He glanced around at his friends, grateful for their perspectives.

Their conversation was interrupted by Iida, who had found a stack of hero biographies nearby. He straightened up, holding one out to Izuku with a determined look. "Have any of you seen this? It's a comprehensive guide on hero rankings and strategies. We should study this for our next training session." His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon the group was huddled around the book, discussing its contents with renewed excitement.

Meanwhile, nearby, Eijiro Kirishima trailed after Katsuki Bakugo through the bustling mall, his grin wide and infectious. The air was thick with the mingled scents of food and perfume, and the cacophony of shoppers' chatter created a lively atmosphere. Kirishima's energy was palpable as he practically bounced on his heels, his excitement barely contained.

"C'mon, bro, let's hurry up! I wanna check out those romance novels you were talking about," Kirishima urged, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. His red hair caught the overhead lights, giving it an almost fiery glow, and his broad smile seemed to brighten the entire aisle.

Bakugo grunted in response, his usual scowl softened slightly by Kirishima's persistent cheer. He had a reputation to maintain, but Kirishima's unwavering smile always managed to crack through his tough exterior.

The corners of his mouth twitched as if resisting a smile, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. They navigated through the maze of aisles, their footsteps echoing against the polished tiles. The aisles were lined with displays of books and manga, with colorful covers vying for attention. Bakugo’s eyes darted toward a stand of novels, his expression turning contemplative as he contemplated a particular title.

Nearby, Mina and Aoyama were in their element, quoting vines and hunting for discounted products, their vibrant personalities on full display. Mina's laughter rang out as she twisted open a bottle of lotion, the fruity scent wafting into the air. 

Her pink skin seemed to shimmer under the store's lights, matching the lively energy she exuded. Aoyama, ever the picture of elegance, carefully examined a row of lip glosses, each one sparkling under the lights like miniature jewels. He held one up to the light, admiring its glittering hue with a flourish of his hand.

Being a crusty bitch is a crime in their book. 

"This one captures my essence perfectly," Aoyama declared with a dramatic flair, his voice lilting with confidence as he made his selection. Mina chuckled, shaking her head in amusement as they made their way toward the counter.

Denki and Sero, not far behind, were engrossed in a lively debate over their favorite music band. Their voices rose above the ambient noise of the mall, attracting a few curious glances. Denki gesticulated animatedly, his eyes bright with passion as he defended his choice. "I'm telling you, their new album is fire! The beats are insane!"

Sero countered with equal enthusiasm, a mischievous grin on his face. "Si, pero like , the lyrics in their older stuff hit harder. You can't just overlook that!" His arms crossed over his chest, a challenge in his posture as he awaited Denki's rebuttal. Their exchange was playful, filled with an easy camaraderie.

Not far off, Jirou sat quietly with Momo. Jirou’s earbuds were plugged in, the faint sound of music just audible as she perused a rack of graphic tees. Her expression was thoughtful, her fingers brushing over the fabric as she considered her options. 

Occasionally, she glanced over at Momo, who was absorbed in selecting art supplies from a nearby shelf. Momo's concentration was evident in the way her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pursed in determination as she compared different shades of sketch pencils.

Near the food court, Sato and Koda were in their element, sampling soft pretzels from a nearby vendor. The aroma of freshly baked dough filled the air, mingling with the scent of warm butter and salt. Their faces lit up with delight as they bit into the savory snacks, the crunch of the pretzel giving way to soft, chewy perfection.

"I’m gonna make this back at the dorm!" Sato declared, his eyes wide with pleasure as he took another bite. Koda nodded in agreement, his usually shy demeanor momentarily forgotten as he enjoyed the treat.

In the midst of the mall's eclectic offerings, Toru and Ojiro found themselves browsing through racks of matching T-shirts and pajamas. Toru's laughter was infectious, her voice light and bubbly as she held up a pair of pajama pants covered in cartoonish animal prints. 

"These are so cute! Ojiro, you should totally get a pair to match!" she teased, her invisible form barely discernible except for the clothing she held.

Ojiro chuckled, his tail swaying behind him as he examined the T-shirt in his hands. "Sure thing, these tees would look pretty cool on you," he said, holding up a shirt with a simple yet striking heart design. His expression was relaxed, content in the easy banter they shared.

Further down the mall, the Hot Topic store exuded a darker, edgier vibe. The walls were adorned with posters of alternative bands, horror movie memorabilia, and gothic accessories that attracted a certain crowd. 

Fumikage Tokoyami and Mezo Shoji were drawn to the store's unique collection, their interest piqued by the array of darkly themed merchandise. Tokoyami's eyes gleamed with approval as he browsed through the selection of black hoodies and band T-shirts, Dark Shadow flickering in and out of view as it reacted to the ambient darkness.

Shoji, towering beside him, was more methodical in his approach, carefully examining each item before making a decision. His multiple arms moved with practiced efficiency, picking up and setting down items as he weighed his options. There was a quiet intensity to his movements, his nature calm but intensive.

Hitoshi Shinso, the newest addition to Class 2-A, stood nearby, quietly observing the array of mystery novels lining the shelves. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity as he reached out to pull a book from the shelf. The cover was dark and foreboding, promising a tale of intrigue and suspense. Shinso flipped through the pages, his mind already piecing together the story within.

As the afternoon unfolded, the tranquil atmosphere of their shopping expedition was abruptly shattered by a sudden commotion echoing from the mall's main atrium. The cheerful chatter and the hum of activity were quickly drowned out by a chorus of panicked voices. 

Shoppers and storekeepers alike scrambled to escape the center of the chaos, their hurried footsteps reverberating through the marble floors.

"What's going on?" Shoto asked, his voice low as his eyes narrowed, instinctively sensing something was amiss. The cool air around him seemed to grow colder as he prepared for the worst.

Izuku's gaze darted towards the source of the disturbance, his expression sharpening with determination. "Something's happening. We need to check it out!"

With a unified nod, they abandoned their purchases and hurried towards the scene, their training as future heroes kicking in instinctively. They weaved through the bustling crowd, the throngs of people parting in their wake as they sprinted toward the mall's open space. The vibrant colors of store signs and displays blurred around them as they closed in on the source of the disturbance.

When they emerged into the atrium, the sight that greeted them was one of utter chaos. A villain stood at the center, their body crackling with electricity, causing nearby electrical appliances and lights to flicker and malfunction dangerously. 

Sparks flew as lights exploded overhead, sending shards of glass raining down. The air buzzed with the raw, uncontrolled energy that pulsed from the villain.

Ochaco's eyes widened in alarm. "We need to stop him before he causes a blackout!"

Before any of them could spring into action, a brilliant flash of light erupted from the villain's direction. The intensity of the glow momentarily blinded them, but when their vision cleared, they saw a figure stepping forward from the crowd—a woman dressed in unassuming civilian attire. 

Despite her inconspicuous appearance, her presence commanded attention. There was a quiet power in the way she carried herself, her gaze steely and focused as she assessed the situation.

"Everyone, stand back!" she called out, her voice firm and authoritative. 

Izuku and his classmates exchanged surprised glances but held their ground. watching in awe as the woman unleashed a burst of energy from her hands. Their initial confusion gave way to awe as the woman raised her hands, now crackling with energy that mirrored the villain's. 

She moved with a fluid grace, her actions deliberate and controlled. In one swift motion, she unleashed a concentrated burst of energy that shot through the air with blinding speed.

The energy blast struck the villain with pinpoint accuracy, the force of it sending them stumbling backward. The villain's powers sputtered out, the crackling electricity around them fizzling as they crumpled to the ground, unconscious and harmless. The once rampant chaos that had filled the atrium dissipated almost immediately, leaving behind a stunned silence.

The woman lowered her hands, the energy dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. She remained poised, her eyes sweeping over the now-subdued scene before landing on the group of young heroes-in-training. Izuku’s breath caught in his throat, the sheer power she had displayed lingering in the air.

"Thank you for the backup, but I've got it from here," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she acknowledged their readiness to jump into action. She quickly restrained the villain before pulling out her phone and called for backup, her voice calm and authoritative. 

"This one's neutralized. Send a team to secure the area."

Within moments, the sounds of sirens filled the air as police and other pro heroes arrived to handle the situation. Relieved, the woman now turned to the students, her eyes locking onto Izuku's for a moment longer than the others. Her gaze was intense, as if she recognized something in him.

"You're all heroes in training, right?" she asked, her tone firm but not unkind. It was weird how her presence was both commanding and serene. The way she carried herself exuded a quiet confidence that spoke volumes about her experience.

They nodded, still processing the sudden turn of events and the display of power they had just witnessed.

"Good," she continued. "Stay out of the way and let me handle this. Head back the way you came."

Reluctantly, they complied, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. Some of them were eager to jump in themselves, but the recent war had left a few of them wary of rushing into unknown danger.

Her eyes lingered on Izuku for a moment longer than the others, a fleeting exchange that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in a way yet to be understood.

There was something about that look that he couldn't quite shake, a feeling that would stay with him long after they left the mall.

---

As they regrouped outside, Kirishima was the first to voice what everyone was thinking. "That was so cool to see in person! The way that off-duty pro handled it without anything getting damaged was so manly!" 

"Yeah, but it's kind of a bummer our trip got cut short," Mina added, pouting a little as she remembered the bags they had left behind.

Some of the students remained quiet, their minds replaying the events that had just unfolded. The atmosphere was a mix of lingering adrenaline and reflective silence. Izuku and Bakugou, in particular, seemed more shaken than the others. The encounter had stirred memories of past battles, memories that were still too fresh to ignore.

Ochaco noticed Izuku's distant expression and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Izuku, are you okay?"

Izuku blinked, snapping back to reality and forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how strong that lady is. It was incredible." His mind was still replaying the moment when her eyes had locked onto his, trying to decipher what it meant.

The group made their way back to U.A., the towering building a comforting sight after the unexpected events of the day. As they entered the common room, they were greeted by the sight of other classes returning to their dorms, their faces reflecting the mixed emotions of a day interrupted by the unexpected.

In the common room, Aizawa was waiting for them, his usual stern expression softened slightly by their safe return. The class brightened upon seeing their teacher, and they quickly crowded around him with excitement, eager to share their experiences.

"Dadzawa, look what I got!" Kaminari exclaimed, holding up a new band poster with a wide grin..

"Check out my new lip gloss!" Mina chimed in, showing off the shiny tube she had managed to purchase before the chaos erupted.

"I got some new hair dye!" Kirishima announced proudly, holding up the box with a toothy grin.

"One at a time," Aizawa said, raising his hands to quiet the enthusiastic students. "I'm glad to see you're all safe. Now, tell me about your ‘mall adventures’ ."

As the students eagerly recounted their shopping trip, showing off their new trinkets and purchases, Aizawa listened patiently, occasionally nodding and responding to their stories. The atmosphere was lively, the students' spirits lifted despite the earlier interruption.

Finally, Aizawa raised his hands again, silencing the room. "Alright, listen up. A new teacher will be joining U.A. while completing her Doctorate. Treat her with respect and learn from her."

Mina and Kaminari immediately perked up at the news. "More details, please!" they chorused, their curiosity piqued.

Aizawa's stern look silenced their pleas. "She will be your new art and history teacher. That's all you need to know for now."

“Ugh, lame!”

Some of the students, especially Mina and Kaminari, let out groans of disappointment. "But, Mr. Aizawa, can't you tell us a little more?" Denki pleaded, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I understand you all have questions about the new teacher joining us," he began, “But she has asked to remain anonymous at this time. She is to arrive there in three weeks time and I expect you all to give her the same respect you give me.” 

After looking around the room he sighed through his nose, “Hell, make it more respectful. Remember that you represent U.A.”

“But—” Kaminari started to protest, but the stern look Aizawa gave him made him quickly back down.

"That's all for now," Aizawa said, his tone final. "I expect you all to welcome her respectfully. Now, it's time to get ready for tomorrow."

With that, he dismissed them, and the students broke off for the evening, the lively atmosphere gradually returning as they scattered to their respective rooms. Izuku, however, was still deep in thought. As he entered his room, he carefully set up his new Charge Bomb figure on his desk, placing it alongside his other hero memorabilia.

Sitting down, he opened his hero notebook and flipped to a fresh page. His mind raced as he began sketching the mysterious woman, trying to capture the essence of her stance and the way her eyes had locked onto his. Each line he drew was careful and deliberate, his concentration intense as he tried to understand what had transpired.

As he sketched, he jotted down a few notes:

Name: Mall stopper

Quirk: Unknown, but likely related to energy manipulation.

Appearance: Mysterious, not in costume during the encounter.

Personality: Commanding presence, but not rude. 

Additional Notes: Encountered at the mall while stopping a villain. Avoids citizens getting harmed. 

Seemed to recognize me?

Izuku stared at the page for a long moment, his pencil hovering over the paper as he pondered the day's events.

He still had many questions, but he knew obsessing over it would disrupt his sleep schedule again.

But he knew he couldn’t sleep. 

Grabbing his phone, Izuku dialed his mother's number. The dorm room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional distant laughter of his classmates the only sounds breaking the silence. His fingers tapped nervously on the phone case as he waited. It didn't take long for her cheerful voice to come through the receiver.

"Hi baby! How was your day?"

"It was good, Mom. We went to the mall and... something interesting happened," Izuku began, recounting the day's events and the encounter. As he spoke, he could hear the concern in his mother's voice.

"Just be careful, Izuku. I'm glad you're safe," she said, her tone gentle and loving.

“I promise, Mom. I’m tired of everyone thinking I’m in love with that hospital bed.” He chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Inko giggled into the receiver before her tone took a softer approach. “You know, sweetie, you can still come home when you can’t sleep. I’ll handle your teacher.”

Now the idea of his adorable mom dealing with the physical embodiment of a grumpy cat that was his teacher was tempting but he really didn’t want to put her through that. 

"I know, Mom. But I’m fine, really!” Izuku replied, a small smile playing on his lips. The thought of his mother's comforting presence was tempting, but he was determined to manage on his own.

“Okay, if you say so. Make sure to get good rest tonight.”

“Goodnight, Mom," Izuku replied, feeling a sense of comfort wash over him.

"Goodnight, sweetie," she said before blowing a kiss into the phone and hanging up.

As he lay back in bed, his mind raced with thoughts of the new teacher and the mysterious pro hero. The encounter at the mall had been brief, but it left a lasting impression, fueling his curiosity and excitement.

“Who are you?” he muttered to himself, staring at the ceiling. 

The moonlight cast shadows across his room, giving it an almost ethereal quality. The day's events replayed in his mind, the adrenaline and wonder still lingering. 

The gentle hum of the air conditioner became a lullaby, blending with the distant murmurs of his classmates as Izuku's thoughts gradually began to quiet. He could still feel the intensity of that woman's gaze,  the warmth of her presence as vivid in his memory as if she were still standing before him. The encounter had left him with more questions than answers, but those questions could wait for tomorrow.

As he lay there, his thoughts slowly settled, and the comforting warmth of his conversation with his mother began to soothe the last remnants of his restlessness. The image of her familiar smile and the sound of her voice reminded him of the safety of home, a place where he was always welcome.

He shifted under the covers, finding a comfortable position as the day's events continued to fade into the recesses of his mind. His eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Izuku's last conscious thought was a whispered promise to himself to uncover the mystery behind the pro hero who had left such a strong impression on him.

In the stillness of the night, the world outside his window continued to turn, but within the quiet of his dorm room, Izuku finally surrendered to sleep. Dreams of heroes, battles, and new beginnings filled his mind,

---

As the dorms settled into a quieter atmosphere, Bakugou lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The buzz of late-night conversations and the distant sound of someone playing music softly on their phone faded into the background. His room was dimly lit, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting a faint glow across his tidy desk and the posters on the wall. 

Bakugou could hear the rhythmic breathing of his classmates through the thin walls, and while that used to annoy him and still kinda did, it was a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone, even in the stillness of the night.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Glancing at the screen, he saw his mother's photo flash across it. With a resigned sigh, he answered, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Oi, Katsuki! I saw you on the news at the mall today,” Mitsuki's voice boomed through the phone, as loud and commanding as ever. Apparently some people had taken videos of the villain attack and he was spotted in the background. 

“You need to take it easy. Remember your heart? And your arm?”

Bakugou grumbled, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little leave-"

“Fine, my ass! Have you picked a therapist yet?” she demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"I don't need one," Bakugou retorted, irritation evident in his tone. His free hand clenched into a fist, the tension palpable.

"Don't you give me that, Katsuki! You're my son, and I won't let you walk around with your trauma eating you alive," she snapped back, her fierce tone unmistakable. Some shuffling was heard in the background before a muffled “Fine!” Bakugou rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance.

A gentler voice came on the line. "Katsuki, it's Dad. You know All Might and Aizawa found some really good professionals for you. You don't have to worry about your... verbal constipation with them. We understand you don't want to talk to us about it, but we love you and want you to be okay."

"The little squirt knows that already!" Mitsuki cut in, snatching the phone back. "You already know that we love you. If we didn't, we'd just let you do whatever, and you'd be a bigger asshole than you already act like."

Bakugou grumbled something incomprehensible, but his mother cut him off again. "This isn't up for negotiation. You don't have to talk to us about it, but you are going to heal, and that's final."

There was a pause, and Bakugou finally sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "I get it, Mom. I’ll... I’ll think about it."

The line went quiet for a moment, the tension easing. "Good. We love you, Katsuki. Goodnight," Mitsuki said softly, her voice carrying a rare note of tenderness.

"Love you too, Mom. Dad," Bakugou responded, his voice uncharacteristically tender, the words surprising even him.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Katsuki watched as the line hung up and he clicked his phone off and stared back up at the ceiling, a sense of warmth washed over him. His parents' concern, though sometimes overbearing, came from a place of deep love. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and allowed himself to relax. The worries and frustrations of the day seemed to melt away, leaving him with a rare sense of peace. 

For the first time in a while, he felt a bit lighter. Bakugou’s mind was quieter than usual, the echoes of his parents’ voices lingering in the back of his thoughts, offering a strange comfort he wasn’t used to acknowledging.

He wasn’t one to lean on anyone, not even his parents, but something about the way they’d insisted, the way his dad had gently nudged him while his mom pushed with her usual force, made him reconsider. It was a rare moment where their concern didn’t feel suffocating, but grounding. It made him think about the things he’d been pushing down, the way he’d been ignoring the nagging feelings that crept up on him in the quiet moments, like now.

The moonlight continued to cast soft shadows across his room, and the distant sounds of his classmates—now more like a comforting white noise—faded further into the background as he focused on his breathing, steady and even. Bakugou wasn’t sure when he’d started to rely on these moments of solitude to sort through his thoughts, but tonight, they didn’t seem as overwhelming as they usually did.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but the idea of talking to someone—a therapist, of all people—wasn’t as off-putting as it had been before. Maybe he was just tired, or maybe the events of the day had worn him down more than he realized. 

Or maybe, just maybe , the thought of unloading some of the weight he carried didn’t seem so bad. But that was a decision for tomorrow. For now, he let the warmth of his parents' love settle in, something he wasn’t used to acknowledging but found comforting nonetheless.

Bakugou let his eyes close, his breathing slowing as sleep began to take over. For the first time in a long while, the tightness in his chest eased, replaced by a sense of calm that was almost foreign to him. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, he was content with the knowledge that he didn’t have to face it all alone. 

And with that thought, he finally drifted into a deep, undisturbed sleep, his usual scowl replaced by the faintest hint of a relaxed expression.

---

Across the dorms, a restless atmosphere pervaded the night. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken fears and lingering trauma, wrapping around each student like a suffocating blanket. 

In one room, Sero and Denki were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, the room illuminated by the flickering screen. Their eyes were dry and heavy with fatigue, yet their determination kept them focused on the game. Sero's fingers flew over the controller, his competitive spirit shining through despite the exhaustion. 

Denki leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally letting out a frustrated groan when he lost a race. The game was a distraction, a desperate attempt to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares waiting on the other side of sleep. They wanted to stay awake, afraid to drift off with the lights off and let the flashbacks creep in.

Down the hall, Jirou sat cross-legged on her bed, her guitar resting gently on her lap. Her fingers trembled as they strummed the strings, testing out the reconstruction of her ear. Tears streamed down her face, glistening in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. 

She winced from the phantom pains, her breath hitching with each painful cramp that surfaced. The melody she played was soft and mournful, echoing the lingering trauma within her. Each note seemed to resonate with her heartache. She closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the music, hoping it would offer some solace.

The music was a refuge, a way to express what words couldn’t—her pain, her fear, the lingering terror that her body was still recovering from. She focused on the vibrations of the strings, trying to drown out the phantom pains and the memories of the screams and explosions. 

Wounds that no melody alone could fully heal.

Kirishima tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets tangled around his legs. His brow was furrowed in distress, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He fought against the blankets as if they were the villains he’d faced, his body rigid with tension. Kiri was trapped in a nightmare, locked in a never-ending battle with a mysterious figure. 

His hardened skin, usually a source of strength, offered no protection from the terror gnawing at his mind. He clenched his fists physically, his muscles tensing as he fought off the invisible enemy, but the fear remained, a relentless killer.

In another room, Tokoyami paced back and forth, his mind a storm of anxiety. The pacing was erratic, each step driven by a nervous energy that had no outlet. Dark Shadow hovered nearby, mirroring his agitation with restless flutters. 

Sato, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had tried to bake away his stress, but the pile of untouched pastries on the table told a different story. The sweet aroma of cookies and cakes filled the room, a stark contrast to the bitterness of their shared unease. Sato just stared at the pound cake he had made, his eyes unfocused. 

He couldn't bring himself to eat it, the sight of the cake stirring up memories of happier times that now felt distant.

How it mocked him now. 

Shinsou was in Koda's room, perched on the edge of the bed. The room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows that danced gently with the movements of the little creature. Koda's gentle strokes seemed to calm not only the bunny but also the tension that had been building in Shinsou's chest all night. 

Koda's touch was careful and soothing, a therapeutic distraction from the darkness that loomed over them. The bunny's nose twitched, and Koda smiled faintly, a brief respite from the weight of their worries. He would need to sneak his cat in soon.

In the kitchen, Momo and Mina stood side by side, giggling softly as they made fried egg rice, the gentle sounds offering a momentary escape. 

The familiar routine of cooking offered them a small slice of normalcy, a way to focus their minds on something other than the gnawing anxiety that had settled in their stomachs. The soft clink of utensils, the sizzle of oil in the pan, and the aroma of fried egg rice filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their hushed conversation.

Their laughter wasn’t forced, but the enthusiasm was a mask for their lack of appetite and the anxiety that gnawed at their insides. 

Momo's hands moved with precision as she flipped the eggs, her mind clearly elsewhere, but the rhythm of the task kept her grounded. Beside her, Mina stirred the rice, her usual energy dampened but still present in the jokes she told. 

They had made a pact to eat together, finding comfort in each other's company. Maybe during one of these meals, they would find some semblance of peace, even if just for a little while.

In Tsu's room, the atmosphere was different, heavy with the shared weight of darkness that clung to them like a second skin. Ochako and Tsu had taken to sleeping in Tsu's room, both girls haunted by nightmares. They found comfort in each other's presence, huddled together under the covers like two lost children seeking shelter from a storm. 

Ochako’s hand moved gently through Tsu's hair, her fingers weaving a calming rhythm that seemed to blend with the steady beat of their hearts. Tsu's voice, usually so strong, had softened to a croak as she whispered back reassurances, her words mingling with Ochako's in a comforting lullaby. They clung to each other, finding safety in the closeness.

Todoroki sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to meditate. His mind, however, was a war  zone, haunted by the image of his brother's burnt remains being hauled to prison and the knowledge of his parents' impending divorce. His scar throbbed painfully every time he thought about it, the physical reminder of his family's turmoil adding to his mental anguish. He took deep, measured breaths, trying to calm the storm inside him, but the images persisted, a relentless assault on his peace. 

In another room, Aoyama sat hunched over, clutching a pillow tightly against his chest. He was allowed to stay at the school, but now he used tactical weapons, a constant reminder of the shame he felt. Tears streamed down his face, his muffled sobs filling the quiet room. The guilt of his actions, the sense of betrayal he had inflicted on his friends, weighed heavily on him. He whispered apologies into the night, his voice cracking with each word. The moonlight that spilled through his window bathed the room in a cold, silvery light, but it did nothing to lift the darkness that had settled over his heart. He didn’t deserve their forgiveness. 

Iida scrolled through pictures of him and his brother, his heart aching with every swipe. The blue light from his phone screen cast a lonely glow in the dark room, reflecting off his foggy glasses. He wanted to call his brother, to hear his voice, but hesitated, worried about not appearing strong. He didn't want to burden anyone with his feelings, even though he longed for the comfort of his brother's voice. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

Elsewhere in the dorms, Toru and Ojiro were connected by a fragile thread of comfort, falling asleep together on the phone. The silence was comforting, but they would panic if they couldn't hear the other breathing. Hatsume had finally made Toru a suit that would protect her and disappear with her during combat, but Toru hadn't wanted to put it on for a long time. They both dreaded the return to classes, haunted by the visions of devastation and innocent lives lost. The phone line crackled softly, their breathing synchronized in a fragile connection that kept their fears at bay. 

Mineta and Shoji sat quietly in Shoji's room, each lost in their thoughts. Shoji's large hands rested on his knees, his eyes distant as he stared at the floor. The memories of past battles and the fear of suddenly losing his classmates gnawed at him relentlessly. It was a fear that clung to him, insidious and ever-present, like a persistent bug he couldn't shake off. 

Mineta, usually boisterous, was unusually quiet.  The usual sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a haunted look, the guilt of his past behavior towards Mt. Lady and Midnight, and his female classmates, feeling icky and disgusted for treating them so pervertedly when they almost died weighed heavily on his conscience. The near-death experiences they had all faced brought him a new perspective, making his previous actions feel vile and unforgivable. The shame and regret twisted in his stomach, making it hard to meet Shoji's gaze or anyone else's.

The silence between them was heavy, but their presence provided each other a small measure of comfort.

The dorm was filled with a heavy silence, each student grappling with their own demons. Despite their proximity, they felt isolated in their pain, struggling to find a way to heal from the scars of the war. The evening stretched on, each tick of the clock a reminder that the night was still young. 

And then there was Shouta Aizawa, awake in the stillness of the night with little Eri asleep in his arms. The soft, flickering light from the children's show on the television cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a cocoon of warmth and tranquility. Eri, nestled against his chest, was fast asleep, her breaths coming in gentle, rhythmic intervals. 

Aizawa's fingers moved softly through her hair, the silky strands slipping through his touch as he offered silent reassurance with each stroke. He knew he should tug her into bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it just yet. He needed a few more minutes with her warm presence, a reminder of the fragile yet resilient life he was entrusted with.

Aizawa's eyes wandered to his laptop, the screen dark and waiting. He sighed, knowing there were reports to review and emails to answer, but he decided it could stay shut. The digital demands of his work could wait; this moment with Eri was too precious to cut short.

His thoughts drifted to you, the new hire who had been a topic of much discussion. He didn't know much about you other than what Nemuri had mentioned before in passing and now in her lucid moments before slipping back into her coma. 

He was visiting that night when Nemuri awoke and kept screaming your name, an indication of some message he didn't yet understand. You were coming over from somewhere outside Japan, and your media stunt piqued his curiosity. 

Your hero name had made national headlines a few months ago when you openly condemned the world government for letting the villain situation in Japan deteriorate to the point where high school students had to step in as heroes in an interview. This statement had sparked national outrage, the impact of your statements was still reverberating throughout the world.

Parents, politicians, teachers, pro heroes, retired heroes, activists, universities, civilians and students had reshared the clip, their responses ranging from agreement to vehement opposition. Your boldness had shaken the status quo, making waves in a community that was already shaky and possibly past its edge.

Nezu’s decision to bring you on board was a calculated move, but the details of that calculation remained elusive. As the principal of U.A., Nezu was known for his shrewd, strategic thinking. If Nezu saw value in you, it was likely due to some unique qualities or capabilities you possessed that could benefit the school in ways not immediately apparent. There had to be a reason, a calculated move that Aizawa hadn't yet deciphered. 

As he continued to stroke Eri's hair, he felt a mix of skepticism and curiosity about your arrival. What could you bring to U.A. that Nezu found so necessary? What kind of impact would you have on the students?

Eri stirred slightly, her tiny hand clutching his shirt. Aizawa smiled softly, his worries momentarily pushed aside.

He knew you had been spotted in Japan several times, not just as a spectator but actively involved in aiding the capture of remaining villains and providing relief to the heroes. 

Your efforts extended beyond direct action; you had initiated several charities and secured sponsorships to support families devastated by villain attacks and heroes who were affected in the line of duty. These actions had garnered you a significant following and earned you a reputation for being a force for good in times of crisis.

Yet, despite your public persona, you maintained a guarded privacy. You refused to disclose details such as your age, height, or the reasons behind choosing an all-black shroud for your hero costume, apart from its emblem. You seemingly avoided media attention, declining certain magazine features and interviews. 

Instead, you channeled your "celebrity" status towards advocating for societal change and supporting humanitarian causes. It was simple, if they wanted to talk to you, they had to donate. Your reluctance to engage with the press directly and your selective disclosures raised Aizawa's suspicions and defensive instincts, particularly when it came to the well-being of his students.

He was an underground hero himself. Why so worried?

Because he knew they were all suffering. 

Nezu was in the process of trying to find a school therapist team that could be on call. And it killed him that he couldn't do anything about it other than allowing trips to the mall and being there when they got back. So he did not need a 'mysterious' loose cannon of a teacher negatively affecting them in any way. Any additional information he requested was denied under your contract binding the school to not show your image, ever. As far as he knew, only Nezu and Nemuri knew what you looked like.

He valued transparency and reliability in those who interacted with his students, qualities that seemed elusive in your case. The contrast between your public deeds and private secrecy only heightened his wariness.

Eri shifted in his lap, and Aizawa decided he didn't want to think about negative things while holding her. He gently scooped her up, placing her in her own bed and kissing her forehead before tucking the covers around her and turning on her cat night light before shutting the door, but not all the way. He made sure the nightlights in the hallway and bathroom were working before he forced himself to sleep in his bed and not on the couch because it was closer. 

The darkness of his room offered a semblance of peace, but his mind remained active, turning over the complexities of the situation with you. It was his duty to safeguard his students from any potential threats, and that included being cautious about new additions to their environment.

As he closed his eyes, he tried to push aside the anxieties that had plagued him throughout the day. The comfort of his own bed, the familiar surroundings, and the knowledge that Eri was safe in the next room helped to ease the tension in his head. He had seen enough to know that vigilance was necessary, but he also knew that excessive worry would not serve him or his students well.

It didn't matter if you did end up being a bad influence. He would keep a close eye on you and be ready to stop anything that would harm his class.

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Chapter 2 is here.

That was the first chapter! So far there are 3 posted on my ao3 account.

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