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seiya-starsniper · 2 years

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and if I get burned, at least we were electrified - Chapter 3

Link on AO3 [here]

Chapter Summary: Time for a Dreamling reunion! And a guest appearance by Johanna, because I love her to pieces, and someone needs to keep Hob in check while The Corinthian is away.

The Corinthian has been gone for almost a year.

Hob had taken a week off work after the blond had left to process. He hadn't been able to stay in his flat that whole week, opting instead to crash at Johanna’s. Everything in the flat reminded him of The Corinthian, who hadn't even bothered to pack a bag, just vanished into thin air. Johanna had forced him to start categorizing all her magical artifacts after two days, and Hob was all too happy to have something to take his mind off things.

Afterwards, between travel shutdowns, his university absolutely falling to madness trying to transition to online, and an uptick in supernatural activity (pandemics don’t stop supernatural beings, who knew) so vast that Johanna had asked for his help on a few jobs, Hob hadn’t been able to even go look for The Corinthian even though he had a very good idea of where he was. Or well, at least, what country he was in.

Hob had tried calling, texting, hell he even rang up the witch coven in Edmonton asking if they knew a summoning spell to get him to come back, all to no avail. Johanna didn’t know anything either. She had never even heard of a nightmare walking around the earth prior to The Corinthian.

“You know mate,” Johanna says now, sympathetic, over their fourth round of drinks. She’d practically had to drag him out of the flat tonight. “I hate to say I told you so but…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Hob knows what she means. Johanna had not reacted kindly to Hob moving The Corinthian into his flat. She’d cursed him and called him every name under the sun and had told him she wouldn’t come to an idiot’s funeral. She'd said the relationship wouldn't last a year before The Corinthian would get bored, gut him, and leave him.

She had come around, Hob remembered. Eventually. Reluctantly.

Two years after The Corinthian had moved into his flat, Hob and the blond had been tracking a suspected child serial killer. It hadn’t taken long for them to locate the killer’s hiding spot in an old crumbling castle, and on the night they moved to confront him, Hob had been surprised to run into Johanna right outside.

"What the hell, get the fuck off my turf mate," Johanna had said when she spotted them.

The Corinthian growled in response, and Hob heard it come through all three mouths, which meant he really didn’t like her and that complicated matters.

“Johanna, lovely to see you as always, mind filling me in on why you're here?” Hob asked, trying to lighten the situation.

“Why are you here, I thought the bastard only ate human eyes-,”

“Oh, I like any and all types of eyes, in fact I'll bet the eyes of a Constantine would taste divine,” The Corinthian responded and Hob knew enough about the Corinthian to recognize he was trying discreetly to reach for the knife in his jacket. He stuck out his hand to stop him.

“Ok whoa whoa, Cory, first off, no, Johanna's off limits, not only is she not a criminal, she's also my friend ,” Hob said, gripping the Corinthian’s wrist to show he was serious.

“Your friend who taught you how to blow me up too, if I recall,” The Corinthian noted, a sour tone in his voice, but he didn’t struggle so Hob took that as a good sign.

“Yeah, pity none of it stuck.” Johanna retorted.

“I'll make your death stick you fucking-”

“All right, all right, you're both super scary, that's great,” Hob interrupted before they could get fully off topic with their juvenile antics. “Now, Johanna, there is a child in there that I have been asked to retrieve. His mum's worried sick and the Yard is just spinning their wheels. As much as I'm glad to see you, you being here worries me. Could you tell me why?”

Johanna had softened instantly, then looked utterly miserable at the news.

“The thing in there's an ogre. I'm sorry Hob, I don't think the kid's still alive,” she said sadly.

The reveal broke Hob's heart. Still, he didn't want to give up hope.

“Let us come in with you then," he'd said. Johanna gave them an offended look at the idea she might need help.

"I know, I know." Hob continued. "You're a big girl and you've been doing this for a while, but Cory and I aren't fragile, far from it, so there’s no need to worry about us, even if we do get hurt. Plus, I want to at least find something, if only to bring closure to his mum.” Hob pleaded. He really did not want to return to the woman empty-handed. Johanna looked like she wanted to argue, then decided against it and after a quick rundown, the three of them went inside together.

The resulting fight had been messy. Turns out, there was a whole family of ogres in the crumbling castle. Johanna had been able to take down two before the third had broken her right hand. Hob and The Corinthian had disemboweled it thoroughly in revenge.

In the end, Johanna was right, there was no living child in the castle that they could find, only scattered bones and discarded clothes. Hob would have to break the bad news to the distraught mother. He did manage to locate a jacket that matched the one of the photographs the woman had given him. Proof that her child had been here and gone. There was no need to look for anything else.

The Corinthian easily sensed the dour mood between Johanna and Hob, and had gone off to go eat the three pairs of ogre eyes in private once he’d separated them from their owners.

He’d come back a short time later in a considerably brighter mood, which Hob found a bit inappropriate, but he reminded himself that The Corinthian was who he was, and he’d probably had a good meal, so at least there was that. They'd have a talk about proper human passing behavior later.

“I know where a whole lot of other ogres are!” The Corinthian bragged. "And a whole lot of children, who are very much, Not Dead. ” Hob could practically hear the capital letters in the blond’s voice, and he raised his head so fast he was pretty sure he gave himself whiplash. He swore he heard Johanna let out a surprised gasp.

Well. The Corinthian now had their full attention.

“Also, I forgot how delicious non-human eyes are, I’ve changed my mind, we should absolutely meet like this more often, Constantine, I would love to get some Fey eyes next time.” The Corinthian continued. “In fact-”

"Cory, where are the damn children?" Hob snarled. The Corinthian's returning feral grin meant he was playing coy on purpose.

"Oh, there’s a hidden dungeon right downstairs.” The blonde shrugged, as if the news didn’t change absolutely everything about the night. “About 30 or so of them. Apparently there’s going to be some sort of family reunion in the next couple of days, so all those kidnappings were prep work for the big feast!" The Corinthian spread his arms wide for emphasis.

"But you know how ogres are, they like their food fresh so they’ve been trying to plump up the kids with all sorts of garbage to make ‘em taste sweeter."

“So wait, what you’re saying is-” Hob’s hope is so fragile, but could it be? They didn’t know how many children had been taken, but thirty was quite a lot, so maybe-

"Well, there were definitely some children who were eaten the last few days, just as snacks, mostly homeless orphans, but the one we were looking for is right downstairs Hob!" The Corinthian then turned to Johanna and gave her a conspiratorial grin. "And the rest of the ogres have no idea their hosts are dead so…"

Johanna’s answering devilish grin once she realized the implications had fit right at home with The Corinthian’s. They looked like a pair of naughty children who'd just gotten away with stealing sweets under the adult's noses. Johanna would receive a massive payment for taking out an entire orge's nest and Hob would be able to reunite a single mother with her only child.

"You've got a little something on your face, love," Hob said later, once they’d left the castle and arranged for the kids to be picked up. He leaned in to swipe the fluid from the blond's face but as soon as he began pulling his hand away, The Corinthian took it instead and licked up Hob’s fingers as if he were licking the blood off one of his own knives. Slowly. With intent. He stared right into Hob’s eyes while doing it too.

"You two are disgusting! " Johanna had yelled before storming off. Hob would’ve thought to chase after her to at least say goodbye, or try to coordinate getting rid of the rest of the ogre nest, but his brain had short-circuited entirely.

He had never driven home so fast before. The Corinthian had distracted him the whole 25 minute drive.

Hob’s immediately snapped out of his reverie and back to the present by Johanna,“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking about the ogre nest,” Hob answers. No need to elaborate past that. Certainly no need to tell Johanna the details of what happened afterwards.

Johanna grimaces like it's a bad memory. It probably was. Even with the happy surprise of finding all those children alive, her hand had taken at least a month to heal.

“Why are you thinking about- oh you fucking sop. Disgusting, the both of you were that night.” Johanna downs the rest of her beer.

“Look I know the eyeball munching thing takes a bit to get used to but-”

“I wasn't talking about that, although honestly, the eyeball thing is not erotic no matter how many times you try to explain it, you're just a freak.” Johanna interrupts.

“What was so disgusting then?” Hob asks, curious. He knows his tastes have always been, perhaps, on the other side of eclectic, especially in the last century, but Johanna has had plenty of non-human dalliances herself, he’d have thought she’d have been more open minded about things. “He made sure he was out of sight when he ate all their eyes, when we thought all those kids were dead. The epitome of politeness, if you ask me.”

“You really don't know? God the thing doesn't even have eyes-”

“He's not a thing Johanna-”

“But anyone could tell he was so far gone for you, it was nauseating. He looked at you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the whole damn universe. And you were doing the exact same thing back at him. Like a goddamn romance novel from Hell.”

As much as she's insulting him, Hob knows she's also trying to reassure him. He's thought about their last night nonstop, turning it over and over in his head. He still doesn’t have any answers for why the blonde left the way he did.

“I just don't know why he left,” Hob groans, frustrated with the line of thought. “Especially after I gave-” Hob stops suddenly, realizing he hasn’t told Johanna what happened that night. He wasn't ready for her judgment on his actions back then, and he’s not sure he’s ready now, but it may be too late to back out now.

“…after you what Hob?” Yep, no backing out now. She’d been trying to get this story out of him for a while, and now that he thinks about it, the drinks were probably a means to multiple ends.

“Well I mean….we had this job go terribly pear shaped,” Hob starts, praying that he can focus on the minutiae of the botched job and get Johanna lost in the details.

“ What. Did. You. Do . Hob?” No chance of bullshitting his way out of the conversation now.

“I lost an eye, all right!” Hob admits. “And you know I can grow those things back like grapes, and the eye was still perfectly intact so I just thought…”

“You gave him YOUR EYE?” Johanna practically yells. Well now the whole bar is staring at them, and Hob can tell a few of them are checking to see if he still has both eyes. He really should have just insisted on taking her to the private back room he’d built for his business meetings, but Johanna just plopped down at the bar when they’d come downstairs, wanting to be as close to the beer taps as possible.

“I didn’t want it to go to waste!” Hob frantically tries to whisper, then tries and fails to put his hand over Johanna's mouth.

Johanna looks heavenward, as if that will somehow provide answers. Or a pity smiting to escape this conversation, Hob's not entirely sure.

Finally, she sighs.

“Look…” she tries. “Maybe he just got overwhelmed. Has to process things alone before he can come back. You've got a whole lot of memories in that noggin of yours, and he probably got spooked by something,” but Hob knows neither of them believe it. Still.

“It felt like a final goodbye, but you're not wrong,” Hob concedes. “I don't know what he saw, but whatever it was definitely spooked him. I wish he would've just asked me instead of running off. I couldn’t even go after him with all the shutdowns happening right after, and he still won’t pick up my calls. I'd be off there chasing him down now if I could take the time off from classes.”

There's silence for a beat. Then, "S'not just the job keeping you here though, innit?" Johanna slurs.

“What do you mean?”

“Your Stranger. The one who gave you all this,” she gestures at him. “You're still waiting for him, aren't you? It's why you won't leave the UK for anything, travel restrictions be damned. You could do video lectures from anywhere now too, but you’re here waiting for a man who you’re not even sure still wants to see you.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair, I still have other duties to attend to here too! Plus I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for Cory,” Hob tries to defend himself.

“Yeah, but that's not the point , Hob. The point is you're waiting on some guy to show up to this pub and maybe you stopped waiting every week with your blond man around but now that he’s gone and left you, you're right back at it waiting for a different man who left you like a lovesick fool.” She points at him. “You, my friend, have got a problem. ”

Hob downs the rest of his whiskey instead of answering.

—

When Hob heads upstairs to his flat, warmed from both the whiskey and Johanna's company, he runs his fingers over the sigil The Corinthian had carved into his bed shortly after he'd begun living with Hob. He smiles ruefully at the memory. It was the first time The Corinthian had opened up to him about what kind of supernatural entity he was.

Hob had spent the better part of the last century living with either restless, dreamless sleep, or with nightmares that shook him so much he'd wake up screaming. It had been a long time since he'd had any other type of dream. His condition started around the time the Sleepy Sickness started, and Hob had been glad he hadn’t fallen prey to some of the more severe conditions, such as no sleep at all, or a perpetual sleep. Hob had made it a habit to avoid doctors and it would’ve been rather hard to explain himself not aging while in either of those states.

It didn’t take long after moving in for The Corinthian to offer up his services to alleviate Hob of his troubles. Turns out, the Quora article was right after all.

"So, what, you're a nightmare and doing this will help stop me having bad dreams?" Hob had asked as he watched The Corinthian inspect his bed for the perfect spot to carve.

"It'll keep the others of my kind away, yes. I haven't been back in an age, but I know most of the other nightmares have gone absolutely feral in our creator's absence.” The Corinthian grinned, as if the knowledge greatly pleased him. It probably did.

“The creator who tried to kill you? The one who went missing, and that’s why we have the Sleepy Sickness?” Hob asked and The Corinthian nodded.

“The one and only. I’m sure the realm’s a bit of a mess, but the other nightmares should still leave you alone once I put my mark here, if they know what's good for them." Hob swears The Corinthian’s grin grew even more feral.

"And what exactly is this mark?" Hob tapped at the symbol The Corinthian had put on paper to show him what he’d be carving. “A protection spell of some kind?”

"It's my name,” The Corinthian replied. “My true name, from when I was first born into existence. It means that I’ve claimed you as my dreamer, and you’re mine."

Hob's breath stuttered in his lungs. He'd wondered if The Corinthian could tell the effect the sentence had on him. It was the closest the blond had come so far to saying what Hob meant to him. Hob already knew at that point that he was falling for the nightmare, and this certainly wasn’t helping his case.

"Go on then," he said, possibly a little (a lot) more breathily than he meant to. "Carve your name into my bedpost. Show everyone that I'm yours."

The Corinthian had also cut his name into Hob’s chest, right beneath his collarbone (for extra insurance, he said) later that night, right after he had sunk his hips down onto Hob’s cock. The twin sensations of pain and pleasure had nearly driven him over the edge, and Hob had needed to grab the base of himself to stop himself from coming too early. The Corinthian, little shit that he was, took that as a challenge.

The wound had healed of course, but Hob still feels the mark there, like a ghost. He had kept the paper drawing in a folder too, because he was sentimental. He wonders, not for the first time, if he’s able to be tattooed, but he’d always been too afraid to go into a shop in the event the tattoo doesn’t take with the way his skin heals, and he’d have to explain himself. For now, the mark on his bed will have to do.

The nightmares stopped entirely after that night. Hob's still not sure how exactly the whole naming, claiming, thing works, but he's started praying to it at night, wishing for The Corinthian to stay safe wherever he was, but mostly wishing he would just come home.

–

Almost two years after The Corinthian leaves, The Stranger walks into The New Inn and stands in front of Hob's table.

It's the first time in a long time Hob forgets about The Corinthian. All he can do is stare at the ethereal being in front of him and think finally.

"You're late," Hob says, and realizes he's smiling. It's been so long since he last smiled genuinely that it feels both foreign and comforting at once.

What he doesn’t expect next is to see his own smile returned. Even if he had the most expensive and high quality camera known to man on hand, Hob doesn’t think any piece of mere human technology could capture the brilliance.

“It seems I owe you an apology,” his Stranger says. “I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting.”

Friends. His Stranger had called him his friend. He's acknowledged their bond, their companionship. Maybe a little bit later than Hob had been hoping for, but it was worth the wait. His friend was worth all the time in the world.

Hob’s centennial companion pulls out the chair in front of the table and sits down across from him. He hasn’t stopped smiling. Neither has Hob.

Time passes like that for a while. It’s not awkward, there’s no tension, just pure contentment to look at each other for the first time in 133 years. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think he’d think he’d died without his knowledge and gone to heaven.

“Hi dear, can I get you anything?” The waitress’s sunny question shakes them both out of their trance.

“Anything my friend wants, my treat Anna,” Hob says before the other man can answer.

“I thank you, Hob,” his friend answers then turns to Anna, his smile more muted now, but not any less dazzling. “A glass of dry red wine please, the oldest vintage you have available.”

“You and your wine.” Hob laughs when Anna leaves. He recalls that wine, usually a red, would be the only thing his friend would ever order at their meetings. Some things just never changed.

“It is, admittedly, one of my favorite inventions by humans,” the dark haired man replies, then purses his lips. “And I have been without it for quite some time.”

“Have you now?” Hob asks, sensing a story. “Well then, you can have all the red wine we have here, I don’t mind.”

“We?”

“Ah yeah, this place, The New Inn? It’s mine.” Hob admits. “I don’t really get too involved in the operations side of things anymore, but I tend the bar from time to time when there’s no classes. I know you probably saw, but the old White Horse was going to be turned into flats by some reprehensible folks, and I’ve had enough wealth accumulated over the years that I was able to stop the whole operation in its tracks. Couldn’t keep the damn place open though, so I decided to build on the land right by it instead.”

“You…built a pub? So that we could continue to have a place to meet?” The other man asks, astonished.

“Of course! Isn’t that what friends are for?” Hob replies. He really hopes he hadn’t read the whole thing wrong and his friend doesn’t walk out on him again for presuming things. It’s only now just occurring to Hob that building an entire pub for someone, even a not entirely human entity, is a bit much.

Of all the reactions the Stranger could have had though, the absolute last one Hob expects is tears.

“Even after I was forced to miss our last meeting. Without knowing if I had abandoned you or not, you still kept your faith in me? Enough that you built a place so that I may take sanctuary after my imprisonment?” The Stranger's voice is filled with unbridled emotion as more tears freely spill down his cheeks.

Imprisonment? Well now. Hob has a whole lot of questions, but first and foremost, he had a friend to comfort. He reaches across the table and takes the man’s hand in his own. Squeezes it for good measure. It’s the first time they’ve ever touched in 700 years and it feels electric , more so when his friend begins to run a hesitant thumb along his.

“My friend,” Hob says after a brief silence. “I would build you thousands of sanctuaries across the world, no, across the entire universe, if I meant that I could meet you at each one and offer you a place to rest.”

Hob decides to take a chance. To be bold. He’s already gotten more than he could have ever hoped for, what’s one more risk?

He reaches over with his other hand to wipe the tears from his friend’s face. The other man looks shocked, as if he hadn’t realized he were crying. No, more like he had forgotten. What had filled his friend so full of grief for so long that he could no longer comprehend his own tears?

“I know it’s customary for me to update you on everything I’ve been up to in the last hundred years.” Hob says. “But I think I’d like to know what’s happened to you instead, if you’re willing to tell me. However much or little,” he adds, reassuringly.

His friend is quiet for a long time, expression contemplative. Anna comes back with the wine, raises her eyebrows, but blessedly, does not mention the emotional moment fraught between them.

“I’ll come back with the rest of the bottle in a little bit, just holler when you’d like it, all right?” she says and in a flash she’s gone, leaving them to their privacy.

The Stranger still hasn’t let go of his hand, and does not appear to want to. He instead uses his free hand to pick up the glass Anna had left so he can sip at his wine. After a few minutes, he sighs and begins to speak.

“Do you remember, in 1789, when we had spoken about how beings such as us could be hurt, or captured?” the Stranger asks solemnly.

Hob remembers. He nods and squeezes their hands together, prompting the man to continue.

“In 1916, a man named Roderick Burgess had sought to capture my sister, Death, in an attempt to resurrect his son lost in battle.” the Stranger says. “His spell entrapped me instead. He then used more magic to bind me within the basement of his estate, and I lay there for more than 100 years. Roderick demanded many things from me, his son alive again, riches, immortality, all of which were not things that I could give, nor would I have wanted to, if I could.”

There is so much in that first bit that Hob doesn’t know where to start. He goes with the most pressing question he has.

“But I thought Roderick died in the 1930s! Why couldn’t you escape then?” Hob remembers now, with a sinking feeling, that there were plenty of rumors about Roderick Burgess having trapped the Devil in his basement. He wishes he’d looked into it more, wishes he could’ve found his friend earlier and broken him out of that awful prison.

“Roderick did die, in 1926 actually, and his son had offered me freedom, if only I would not hurt him and his lover in revenge for my capture.” his friend confirms. “The son was young when his father took me, but he was nearly an adult when he murdered my raven companion, Jessamy, on the order of his father. I could not forgive him for that." His Stranger now grips Hob's hand at the memory, pained anger crossing his face. Hob wants to wipe away that expression too.

"My anger and pride kept me imprisoned for an additional 96 years, until finally, in their old age and near death, his paramour took pity on me and broke the enchantment imprisoning me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hob breathes. “Was there no one you could call to for help? What about your sister, did she know you were trapped?” There is absolutely no way someone could defy Death of all things, especially if someone trapped her own brother. Hob makes a mental note to ask about the whole family tree later.

“My siblings all knew of my capture, and yet none of us are allowed to intervene in each other's affairs, unless asked. It is another thing my pride has cost me. I need only ask their help and any one of them would have come for me. Instead, I chose silence.”

“But that’s not fair! I know you’re not human and so you have different rules than me, but amongst us humans, we give help to our families even when it’s not asked for! Sometimes, especially when it’s not asked!” Hob argues.

“It is the way of the Endless, Hob.” the Stranger says with a finality that tells Hob the subject is closed. Hob wants to continue to press, but he asks instead,

“Endless, so that’s what you are then?”

“Yes. There are seven of us in total. And I must apologize once again for keeping you waiting on another thing for the last few hundred years. My name.”

Hob feels his heart stutter in his chest.

“I have been called many things over the years. My most recent name in human tongues has been Morpheus.”

Morpheus. It's a regal sounding name, fit for a king. Hob’s just getting used to the idea of it in his head when Morpheus speaks again.

“But as my friend, you may call me by my truest name, Dream.”

Dream. What a beautiful name. All of his names are beautiful, Hob imagines, and he’d like to learn them all.

“Well, Dream, my friend, can I buy you a drink and a meal then?” Hob asks, squeezing their hands together again. “I'll catch you up on all that you've missed.”

“I would be happy with anything you are willing to offer me, my friend,” Dream replies.

–

They get the rest of the wine, and Hob some food. Dream does not order anything for himself, content to partake in whatever Hob is willing to share, which is everything. He unfortunately has to relinquish his hand from Dream’s to eat, but they freely reach for one another when the moments allow. It is far from the regal meal he had offered to his friend in 1589, and yet, Hob thinks it tastes better.

Hob is now telling Dream stories about the last hundred years. It’s been quite possibly the most interesting century he’s lived through so far.

He shies away from anything related to The Corinthian. Hob had been a mercenary in his past life, killing for other people's money, so he knows Dream won't judge him, may even commend him for trying to do some good for people who slip through the flawed justice system. But explaining Cory is a story all on its own, and the memories are still too fresh and painful, especially with how things were left off (Hob still refuses to admit they've ended). Still, the blond was such an integral part of life in the last ten, no, twelve years . Hob is still counting the two years The Corinthian has been gone.

“Hob?” Dream’s voice snaps him out of his self-pity inner monologue. Hob forgot what he had been talking about, but he knows he needs to get back to more light hearted topics before he ends up crying at the table himself.

“Sorry about that, don't know what came over me!”

“You've become melancholy despite describing a happy memory,” Dream observes.

“Ah yeah, well.” Hob decides to open up, just a little. "I went through a break up not too long ago. Well it's been almost two years now, but we were together almost ten years before that." It's not much, but even admitting that The Corinthian left him out loud to someone else feels like tearing open a not yet healed scar.

“Ten years is not an insignificant amount of time, especially for mortals. It is understandable why you would be distraught,” Dream says. This time, it is the Endless who squeezes Hob's hand in reassurance.

“Yeah, I still miss him too." Hob says. “Didn't even get a proper goodbye, one day everything's perfect and then he just up and left.” He tries not to choke on those last few words, but it's more difficult than he'd like to admit.

“Him?” Dream asks. Right, Hob's only ever had female partners to speak of whenever they met once a century.

“Oh yeah, another fun 20th century thing I discovered, turns out I'm bisexual!” Hob declared proudly.

It really hadn't been that much of a discovery, nor had it come in the 20th century. Rather, it had been in 1789 when Hob had realized he may have inappropriate feelings for the man sitting across the table from him.

He had tried to gently bring up the topic in 1889, prefacing things with friendship first so as not to alarm his companion, but Dream had reacted so poorly to being regarded as a friend that Hob hadn't even gotten the chance to be romantically rejected.

And then Dream hadn't shown up in 1989 and had broken Hob's heart.

Hob is glad to know Dream didn’t abandon him on purpose, and he’s even more glad he waited for him and built them a new place to meet. But his heart is still too raw to even think about trying to start something with Dream, not when he's just gotten him back, not when his heart still belongs somewhere in America.

“But enough about me and my poor broken heart, let me tell you about the internet!”

Dream looks like he wants to press, but instead gracefully accepts the subject change and allows Hob to enlighten him about YouTube, memes, and Netflix.

–

At some point in the night, Hob catches sight of a breaking story on BBC, on one of the pub’s televisions. A British tourist had been found on a beach in Florida. His eyes are missing. The story then goes into the mysterious resurgence of killings by The Corinthian in the United States. It seems like there’s been a murder at least once a month, if not more, in the last two years.

Fucking hell Cory, what are you doing?, Hob thinks despairingly.

“What are you looking at?” Dream asks, curious.

“Terrible news mostly, sorry about that, I’m going to ask them to change the channel.” Hob says. He can’t stomach looking at this. Before he’s able to get up, though, Dream turns to look at the television screen behind him and his entire demeanor changes.

Hob feels as if all the air in the room has suddenly disappeared. If there were ever a reminder for the immortal that his oldest friend is not human, this is it.

"The Corinthian," he hisses, venom dripping on every syllable.

“Wait a minute, you know him?!” Hob asks, and his mind suddenly spins a thousand conclusions.

The Corinthian told Hob that he was a nightmare. His creator, the one who had tried to kill him, was a king, who presided over the realm of dreams and nightmares and he…

Hob suddenly has a flashback to ancient Greek history, the old poems, the name Morpheus…

Morpheus. Dream.

Dream is The Corinthian’s creator. The one who had tried to unmake him…in 1916…almost a hundred years ago.

Fuck.

Dream continues, unaware of Hob's panic. “The Corinthian is a wayward creation of mine. I was in the middle of unmaking him for some grievous crimes when I was captured by Roderick. I also have my suspicions that he provided advice to Roderick on how to keep me contained.”

Suspicions that Hob knows to be true. The Corinthian had told him once that he'd gone to visit his creator's captors to make sure he wouldn't get free. Hob feels wretched for not pushing The Corinthian more on who exactly his creator was but the blond had always been so cagey about his origins, and Hob had learned from his 1889 meeting with Dream not to push too many boundaries on supernatural entities. As far as he was concerned, The Corinthian was a survivor of a cruel, uncaring master and Hob was just glad to have him in his life. He's not sure how to reconcile the image The Corinthian painted of his creator with his centennial companion who certainly has a temper, but was anything but cold and unfeeling.

Dream stands suddenly, only barely managing to not knock his chair to the floor.

“I apologize, Hob, for cutting our time short, but I must reign him in before more are cut down by his selfishness.”

“Wait Drea-”

But Morpheus is already gone. It's so sudden, so familiar, that Hob realizes he's an idiot for not noticing it before.

Shit shit shit, Hob thinks.

He pulls out his phone and dials a number he still knows by heart despite not hearing from it in almost two years.

The number you have dialed has been disconnected. The operator automatically answers.

SHIT!

All Hob can do now is wait, and hope that his lover and his old friend don’t tear themselves apart. He’s not sure whose side he’d even choose.

#hobrinthian #sandman fic #the sandman fanfic #hob gadling #the corinthian #there's definitely still angst here but there's also some nice fluff sandwiched in between #enjoy #seiya writes #mystuff #seiya writes hobrinthian #seiya writes hobrintheus

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sirenspells · 4 years

Note

Dude pls tell me about ur aus I'm curious as heck wjdjjdnwjdje

Oh god this is such a broad question I have a million AUs nfjfnfjfg, you have no idea of the floodgates you’ve just opened. I’ll try to list them off with a summary of what each ones about. This is going to get so long please beware

P3 Chariot/Fool Swap AU: Pretty standard “Aigis and the Arisatos switch roles” AU. Aigis is a human girl named Aiko who’s the leader of SEES. Minato and Hamuko are two anti shadow weapons who were built around the same time and both join SEES together. Metis and Ryoji also switch roles (and by extension, Thanatos and Psyche as well). Minato is the one who inherits Aiko’s wildcard power during the answer and Hamuko is...not happy about that since she believe her and Aiko were closer.

Pokemon Ultra Moon/Persona Crossover: This is an AU I haven’t posted about in a long time, but it’s basically Pokemon Ultra Moon but with Persona characters. The overall plot stays relatively the same, but little changes are made here and there. Akira can be considered the main protagonist, but Yu, Hamuko, and Minato are also main characters. Yu basically takes Hau’s role, Hamuko takes Lillie’s, and Minato takes Gladion’s. Ikutsuki takes Lusamine’s role so he’s basically the main villain. This AU also has a “sequel story” of sorts that’s based on Pokemon Platinum, where Sunako and Azami (my fanmade femcs) are the main characters.

P5 Robot AU: Akira and Goro are anti shadow weapons. In this AU, Wakaba is part of the Kirijo Group and Shido forced her and some other people to create two personal humanoid weapons for him in secret. Basically, both Akira and Goro were conducting mental shutdowns on Shido’s orders, but Akira slowly realizes how wrong it is and tries to rebel, but Goro puts him in his place and trashes him. By the time he’s discovered in the main story, he’s lost all of his memories and has reverted back to having no emotions, though like Aigis, he slowly becomes more human as the story progresses. Also, Ryuji’s the wildcard and the phantom thieves’ leader.

My Persona rewrite/Frisky’s Persona rewrite: The name isn’t really accurate, it’s the best I could think of and it may as well be true lol. Persona but lots of characters who died get to live (Shinjiro, Ryoji, the Arisatos, Chidori, Zen and Rei), some characters are now Persona users (Shiho, Yuuki), and other random stuff like the water element existing now cause I just want them to use it again atlus please. Also big part of this AU and the biggest reason I hesitate to call it a “rewrite” is cause some of the p3 characters are now the (adopted) parents of some p5 characters. This was the AU’s original point then other stuff got added as it went on lmao.

Shadow Protag Adventures: During PQ2, all of the wildcard’s Shadows decide they are going to work together and cause problems on purpose. They all create their own movie (it’s not really a movie like the other ones but for the sake of the theatre they’re in then yeah) and kidnap the leaders so that the rest of the Persona users have to traverse through their dungeon without their “precious leaders”. The Shadows have the ability to shapeshift and use it to hide their true identities until the very end, using their teammates forms instead to toy with them.

Robot Revival AU: 6 years after Persona 3′s ending, Minato, Hamuko, and Ryoji are freed from being the seal/being sealed and revived into robot bodies. They attend Shujin Academy with Ken and Labrys, and get caught up in the goings on of the Metaverse. They end up sort of becoming a second set of phantom thieves that just explore Mementos (I call them the Shadow Executives but that name might change, it’s more of a placeholder if anything atm), but they do end up meeting the actual Phantom Thieves and joining up with them. Also, Akira’s hometown is Tatsumi Port Island, and he was friends with Minato and Hamuko when they were alive, so the first time he sees them at Shujin he’s like “what the fuck what the fu”

P3 Monster AU: All of SEES are mythical creatures. In this AU, there’s no Personas, and monsters exist, but most humans aren’t aware of their existence. I plan to reveal what monster each member of SEES is as I draw them, but right now they are:

Minato - gargoyle/phoenix (I’m indecisive and I like both of these choices so this AU kinda has two versions. The gargoyle version is probably the one I focus more on, though)

Hamuko - siren

Junpei - demon

Yukari - faerie

Akihiko - dragon

Mitsuru - vampire

Shinjiro - werewolf

And today I casually revealed that Ryoji’s an angel in the tags of a post but is anyone really surprised by that

P4 FEMC/P5 FEMC: Putting these in the same slot cause they’re basically the same concept. Persona 4 and Persona 5, but if they had a female protagonist. P4′s is Azami Narukami, she’s edgy and it takes a bit for her to open up at first, preferring to stay quiet and serious. P5′s is Sunako Kurusu, starts out very shy and quiet but around people she likes she’s very bubbly and cheery. I love them both so much.

Minato is Death: This is kind of like a Minato/Ryoji swap, but with a twist. It’s Arisato twins, but Minato dies in the car crash with their parents, and Aigis seals Death within Hamuko. Due to Hamuko’s grief about her brother dying and wanting to see him again, she subconsciously shapes Death’s human form so that it looks like Minato and how she’d imagined he’d be like if he’d gotten a chance to grow up. Ryoji is human in this AU and was childhood friends with the twins, and his family raises Hamuko after the accident.

Devil Survivor Shadows/Personas AU: A devil survivor au where the Shadows and Personas from the persona series are incorporated into it. Demons are still a thing, and those without a Persona could still potentially fight through COMPs/cellphones, but Shadows are explicitly creatures born from the collective unconscious, and accepting your Shadow gives you a Persona.

Plume of Dusk Minato AU: Similarly to Sho Minazuki from p4 arena ultimax, Minato is experimented on by the Kirijo Group and a Plume of Dusk is implanted into his brain, causing a second soul to be born within him, that being Ryoji. Long after they’ve escaped from the lab, Minato/Ryoji joins Strega, but midway through p3′s story they leave and join SEES.

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caranfindel · 4 years

Text

Recap/review 15.18: “Despair”

THEN: The key to Billie's library. Billie wants to become God. Cas made a deal with The Empty. Chuck absorbed Amara. Jack absorbed Adam's rib. Dean pointed a gun at Sam (DEAN POINTED A GUN AT SAM.) Chuck is pissed. Jack is going to explode.

NOW: We begin right where we left off last week, with Jack about to explode with God-killing power. Sam half-carries him into the map table room, Cas tells him to take deep breaths and focus, and Dean gets all panicky and is no help at all. Jack wants the guys to just leave him outside in order to minimize the damage when he goes kaboom. {Sidebar... how far away would he have to be, considering that his explosive power could kill God? Discuss.} Dean yells at Sam to find one of Rowena's spells (and oh, Sam as Rowena's apprentice; there's a plot that was sadly wasted, wasn't it?) but he's interrupted by Billie and her scythe, which she's carrying in a very obvious way. She's furious, and tells them the plan to destroy Chuck was doomed "because of you." Billie can't stop Jack's earth-shattering kaboom, "but there is something I can do." She sends him to the Empty. Empty!Meg cheerfully points out that he doesn't look so hot, but then he looks explosively hot. Ah, there's our earth-shattering kaboom!

Bunker. Billie explains that The Empty was the only option to absorb the impact of Jack the Bomb. And that he's not necessarily dead, because taking out Chuck and Amara was the part that was fatal, not actually being the bomb. Hmm. So Jack's point of no return wasn't actually a point of no return after all. It's kinda retconny, but not really? I've decided it's logical and I approve.

However, if the Empty survives, "it's gonna be pissed." Particularly at Billie. And it's very strong. Billie and Sam remind us that the Empty can only come to Earth if it's summoned. They do not get into the details of what constitutes a summoning, but I'm sure that isn't important. And Billie might be willing to bring Jack back, assuming he survived, but not until Sam returns what he took from her. Chuck's death book.

Sam immediately goes on the attack. He points out that she was planning to betray them from the start, leading to the deaths of all the AU refugees and everyone who was brought back from death, including him and Dean. "Even if I give you the book," he says, "what's to stop you from stabbing us in the back? Killing us all?"

"Nothing," Billie says. She gets up in Sam's face and tells him Jack won't last long. Either give her the book now, or lose him forever. (Can I just point out that Sam is still a little bloody from Dean punching him in the face? After he pointed a gun at him?)

Meanwhile, in the Empty, we discover that Jack is still alive (yay) and that this episode was directed by Richard Speight (yay). He is surrounded by particles that gradually form back into Empty!Meg. And, as predicted, she's pissed.

In the bunker, Sam brings the book to Billie, but ignores her outstretched hand and slams it onto the table instead. It's a pointless little burst of defiance and I love it.

Billie flips to the end to read the new ending of God's book, "since you ruined the last one." She seems to like what she reads. Sam says "Wait, the ends of your books change? So me killing Rowena was presented as unavoidable fate but it really wasn't necessary at all?" No, he actually doesn't. But I do, on his behalf. It's a pointless little burst of defiance. Over in the Empty, Empty!Meg grabs Jack's head and says "you made it loud!" and this is a conversation I've had with my dogs in the wee dark hours of the morning more times than I can count because we just want to SLEEP, GUYS but before she can actually crush his head, Billie zaps him back to the bunker.

Billie tells the guys that Jack is hers because he's still useful. Dean responds by grabbing her scythe and swinging at her. She flings him away, but she's wounded and bleeding light. Oh, and she dropped the book. Sam and Cas ignore Dean crumpled over against the wall - Cas runs to comfort Jack, and Sam runs to pick up the book. Unfortunately, he can't open it. Dean says "hey, thanks for not helping me, guys" and Sam says "oh, I'm sorry, I guess I'm still a little rattled from you punching me in the face after you pointed a gun at me." No, he doesn't. But I do, on his behalf.

Several people have pointed out how skinny Jared looks in these last few episodes, but this is the first time I've noticed it. It will be interesting to see how he looks in the two that were filmed after their Covid shutdown.

Time jump. Dean is sitting in the library, drinking whiskey. And I've said it a million times but I'll say it again - I could watch an entire episode that was just Dean drinking. And then it gets even better when Sam walks in wearing only a v-neck t-shirt. Single layer Sam alert, guys! How long has it been? Dean slides the bottle over to him and we get a little bonus hand porn and then this happens:

Sam, I'm sorry about... everything.

Dean, you don't have to -

I pulled a gun on you. It's like I just couldn't stop. You know, we were so close to beating him. Like, I could smell Chuck's blood in the water, and I - nothing else mattered. It was everything. And I just couldn't snap out of it.

Well, you did. You've snapped me out of worse.

Hmmm. Am I missing a time when Dean snapped Sam out of something? I mean, I know in Stull, Sam was able to overcome Lucifer because of Dean. But that was Sam snapping himself out of it. And Dean convinced Sam to give up the trials, but that wasn't Sam under anything that he needed to be "snapped out of." I think if you're going to give Dean credit for snapping himself out of it when confronted by his teary eyed, bloodied little brother, you have to give Sam credit for snapping himself out of his own situations.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is these two sitting quietly in the dark, drinking whiskey together.

Dean's feeling some despair (nice) because Billie wants them dead, Jack is powerless (oh, wait, when did that happen?), and Michael isn't answering his prayers. No one is on their side. "Well, we regroup, somehow," says Sam. They drink a sad little toast to "somehow," and I die a thousand deaths.

Billie's library. Billie stalks angrily through the stacks. A reaper informs her he put up warding to keep the Empty out, and asks if the plan has changed. Yes, it has.

Elsewhere, a woman we don't know is cooking some seriously dry scrambled eggs. She thinks she knows what she's doing, because she's explaining to someone else in the room how to cook eggs so they're "not too runny, not too dry" but seriously. Gordon Ramsay would be appalled. {Sidebar: Gordon's eggs actually look a bit too runny for my taste, and my family would refuse to eat them, but this lady's dry crumbly eggs are still an abomination.} She turns around and we see AU Charlie sitting at the kitchen table. Oh, Charlie has a girlfriend! Sweet. And she must be in love, because she tells this girlfriend that they're the best eggs she's ever had. And also, she's still hunting. Guess she didn't retire to a mountaintop after all. Probably because she couldn't get wifi. Anyway. Her girlfriend's plate crashes to the floor because her girlfriend abruptly disappeared. (Aw, her name was Stevie. Stevie and Charlie. How cute is that?)

Time jump. Charlie's apartment building is called Kim Manor. Nice.

As Sam runs the EMF meter (and there's a nice wordless conversation where Sam lets Dean know he didn't find anything), Charlie talks about how they met (thanks to AU Bobby) and how she experienced nothing when Stevie disappeared. No sulphur smell, no cold, nothing. Dean and Sam have another wordless conversation about what they think happened.

Dean and Sam explain that Billie wants to send all the AU people back to their now non-existent worlds. So Stevie was from AU World too? I guess that explains how AU Bobby knew her. Coincidentally, Sam's phone rings, and it's AU Bobby. They have an extremely short conversation in which Sam learns that another AU hunter simply vanished. And there's no explanation on Sam's end, just "yeah, I understand." So have they already talked to AU Bobby about the Billie situation? Or was Sam and Bobby's conversation literally "hey, a hunter vanished into thin air, how weird is that" and "yeah, I understand" with no further discussion? Anyway. Dean says it's open season on anyone from another world (aw, sorry, Winchesters in Brazil), anyone who came back from the dead, and Sam gets a horrified look on his face and says "Eileen." Oh shit!

Meanwhile, out by the Impala, in broad daylight, Jack tells Cas that he feels strange because the plan failed and his destiny was averted. "I was ready to die, and I wanted to - for Sam, for Dean, for the world - I wanted to make things right. And now I don't know why I'm even here." OF COURSE HE LISTED SAM FIRST. Cas tells him he didn't need absolution from anyone, and that they care about him not because of his usefulness, but just because he's him. Somewhere Dean says "um, wait." Jack is scared because he's powerless and can't protect anyone. Cas is too. So, did Jack lose his powers after the earth shattering kaboom? Or earlier, and I just wasn't paying attention?

Nighttime. Dean speeds down the road as Sam texts Eileen. I don't know where Eileen is, but she must be pretty far away from Kim Manor. Sam told her to get out of her house, go somewhere public, and wait by her car. Now, I cover the guest star credits, so I don't know if Shoshanna is in this episode. But even unspoiled, I'm pretty sure she's not going to be there when they arrive. She starts to type a response, as evidenced by the bubbles, but then stops responding. Yep, just as I thought, no one is standing by her car. Sam finds her phone on the ground, cracked as if it were dropped (like, say, by someone who disappeared while holding it) and LOOK AT HER LOCKSCREEN. LOOK AT IT.

Some will say this is just the photo that pops up when Sam texts her but they are WRONG. This is her FREAKING LOCK SCREEN, PEOPLE.

Anyway. He sees the unfinished message she was writing, which says she's by her car. Aw, Sam. Dean tries to talk to him and he says "I can't - if I let myself go there, I'll lose my mind, I can't right now."

Aw, SAM!

Sam compartmentalizes his grief and jumps into take-care-of-everyone mode. He says they need to gather everyone together, and they need to find a location central to everyone. Well, I mean, there is one place I know of that is literally the central most point in the United States, maybe you could go there? It's supposed to be secure from all things supernatural, too. Dean says that while Sam is going that, he is going to go end what he started. OH, GOOD. I WAS HOPING THEY WOULD SPLIT UP. "We couldn't make Chuck pay, but Billie? She left her blade. Her I can kill." Hey, wouldn't be the first time. Sam agrees, Cas says he'll go with Dean, and we get a brother hug. Once again, Dean does the two things I love when he hugs Sam: 1. he puts his arms on top, as if he were still the taller brother, and b. he looks away and packs up his emotions before he lets Sam see his face after the hug. "Let's go, Cas," he says. "Let's go reap a reaper." Cas turns and follows without saying anything at all to Sam or Jack, but I'm sure that won't be an issue.

Time jump - it's daytime. Sam's on the phone with Donna, who is standing outside her truck (but didn't she used to have a big black SUV?) at that bridge we've seen so many times. She's sending him to "the old Harmon property," which should be just what he's looking for because it has an abandoned silo. I mean, I wouldn't jump immediately to abandoned silo, but maybe there weren't any abandoned warehouses around. She says it's in Hastings, just south of her, and if you think I didn't confirm that the town of Hastings is in fact about 30 minutes south of Stillwater, Minnesota then you just don't know me at all.

Sam is at a gas station and oh, he's driving Eileen's car! That's not heartbreaking at all. I guess she didn't have her keys in her pocket when she disappeared. (Hah, like Sam Winchester needs keys.) Donna and AU Bobby are rounding up everyone they can think of. She asks what the plan is, and Sam bends down creepily to look at Jack in the passenger seat and says "I'm still working on that." I mean, I know they keep telling us Jack lost his powers, but the way Sam looks at him right here certainly suggests Jack is part of the plan, and maybe not in a good way. (Spoiler alert: seriously, why do I even bother.)

Sam comes around to Jack's window and tells him he needs him to drive, because Sam needs to work on archives and spells and stuff. And is that true, or is this just "I don't expect you to live through this part so I want to let you have some time behind the wheel of Eileen's 1970 Plymouth Valiant?" (At least that's what The Husband thinks it is.)

Bunker. Enter Dean and Cas. Dean declares that if Billie isn't in her library, they'll just trash the place to "smoke her out." It's an interesting choice of words.

Foreshadowing Dean as the new Death? (Remember, I'm completely unspoiled. I know nothing.)

Silo. Let's stick to this location for now. Sam and Jack pull up and are greeted by Donna. Jack goes inside to set up the warding, and Donna gives Sam a nice hug.

I want to be there.

She tells him she's sorry about Eileen and gets one of his sad little nods that I love so much. Bobby is already here, and she name-drops Garth and Jody and the girls, saying they're on "high alert." Sam tells her they're not on Billie's list, so they should be safe. And so should Donna. Well, that's good to know. Sam's surprised to see Charlie pull up. She tells him "I just don't want this to happen to anyone else." I don't know what you think you're going to be able to do, Charlie, but okay.

Turns out the silo is actually a Tardis, so I guess maybe it was a good choice. It's huge on the inside, and is also more finished than any silo I've ever been in (which is, okay, one silo, but still.) The interior is already heavily warded. Several people are milling about. {Sidebar: How many hunters were away from the bunker when Michael attacked, and why have none of them returned?} Bobby tells Sam that as soon as the hunters heard he wanted them there, they came running. "Whether you like it or not, you're the big man here." Hey, I wonder if the guy who called him Chief is here. Bobby, being a man after my own heart, is mostly concerned about the bathroom situation. Sam hopes they won't be there long enough for it to be an issue. He has a spell from Rowena (!) that should boost the strength of the wards, but that's all he has. Bobby doesn't look very reassured, and glances in a foreshadowy way at a family with kids. Sam looks around at all of these people he feels responsible for and takes a deep breath and oh, my heart.

Donna and Jack are painting more wards. Jack bends down to look at a plant, and Donna comes up to him and says "I'm no expert on this hoodoo stuff, but best we patch that up, yeah?" and I don't know what the hell she's talking about. What is this plant disturbing? Jack reaches out to touch the plant and it withers away as his hand gets close. Friends, I'm pretty sure this is a bad sign. Jack is too. He stares at his hand, and if he'd been watching a few seasons ago, he would have noticed that plants did the same thing when Amara touched them. Coincidence???

Later we see everyone watch as Sam recites the spell. (Yes, it's hot. Do you even have to ask?) The sigils glow red briefly and then fade, and the music turns ominous and I think this means his boost failed. But I guess not, because Sam says now they wait. But they don't have to wait long, because suddenly one of the children dissolves into smoke. One by one, all of the AU people dissolve like they've been snapped by Thanos. Charlie runs up to Sam and says "Sam, what do we do" just like Maggie did, and just like Maggie she's taken out immediately. Sam watches in horror as AU Bobby smokes out. He turns to Donna, who says "Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good," and then Donna is gone! Crap! Jack and Sam are left staring at the empty-except-for-them silo.

One more serving of despair, coming right up.

On to the other side.

Dean enters Billie's library, brandishing the scythe. Cas follows, bearing only a hangdog expression. Dean motions for him to go one direction and Dean goes the other, soon finding Billie. He thinks he's sneaking up behind her, but she says "So, I guess this is the part where I say hello boys. Hello, boys." Oh, I was wrong; Cas has his angel blade. Billie snarks about Dean's bad aim, and he says he wasn't trying to kill her then (which seems like a lie), but he is now, because of what she's doing to his people. Billie slams him against the wall again. She chokes Cas Darth Vader-style from a distance, and then the old fashioned way. "Remember when you stabbed me in the back?" she says. "Because I do." Oh, that's funny, because earlier Sam said she was going to stab them in the back. She should have said "like you stabbed me?"

Dean comes to the rescue by poking her with the blunt end of the scythe rather than the pointy end, so maybe she was right about his bad aim. Then he gets the blade against her throat (but still not the sharp end, just the back) and demands that she stop killing his friends. She says she didn't - it was Chuck. And Dean's wasting time.

I'm considering it time well spent, because it looks so nice.

Billie tells Dean the injury he gave her earlier is something she can't recover from - she's going to die. She pulls away her coat to show him a nasty festering wound, and I wonder why something so physical would kill her, but. Eh. She tells him she doesn't care about his friends or family. "But seeing you here has reminded me of something. There is one thing I'd like. One wish before I go. I'd like to see you dead." She grabs her scythe back, flings the boys around, and slowly stalks toward them. Dean and Cas rush through the door back into the bunker.

Dean is panicky again, trying to figure out what to do next. He's suddenly struck down by chest pain, and I expect to see someone sticking a knife (or a scythe) in his back, but it's actually Billie doing it Darth Vader-style again. Cas drags him away as Billie monologues. "It's you, Dean; it's always been you. Death-defying. Rule-breaking. You are everything I lived to set right. To put down. To tame. You are human disorder incarnate." Yeah, we know, Dean's awesome. We get this speech every season.

Cas and Dean end up in the dungeon storeroom. Cas gets Dean's knife out of his pocket and cuts his own hand to paint a sigil on the door. It looks like an angel banishing sigil, but apparently it block's Billie's power. Not permanently, though, because it fades as she pounds on the door. Cas says that since the wound is killing her, they just have to wait her out.

Yeah, and if we can't?

Then we fight.

We'll lose. I just led us into another trap. All because I couldn't hurt Chuck. Because I was angry, and because I just needed something to kill, and because that's all I know how to do.

Dean.

It was Chuck all along. We never should have left Sam and Jack. We should be there with them now.

Yes you should, Dean, you really really should. Dean is practically drowning in despair, which, you know. Is a good thing. 10/10 would recommend. "She's gonna get through that door," he tells Cas. "And she's gonna kill you, and then she's gonna kill me. I'm sorry."

"Wait, there is one thing she's afraid of," Cas says. "There's one thing strong enough to stop her." He tells Dean about the deal he made to save Jack in the Empty.

Friends, I'm going to do you a favor. If you haven't seen the episode, and aren't planning to watch the episode, I want you to read this paragraph and then skip down until you see the pretty picture of Dean. And start reading after that picture. Trust me. So, Cas summons the Empty just as Billie breaks down the door. The Empty kills Billie, but she also takes Cas. Dean is saved but Cas is gone.

{Sigh. Can I skip this part? No, I owe it to you.}

Cas explains that the Empty was going to come snatch him away as soon as he experienced a moment of true happiness. But happiness isn't having, happiness is knowing. And Dean is wonderful and "Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love." You just threatened to shoot your little brother for love, for example. Cas is teary eyed and Dean looks confused as hell and I pause the TV and turn to The Husband and we have this conversation:

I don't think I can watch this.

Why, because it's so sappy?

No, because I think they're going to kiss.

What? Why would they kiss? Is there something I'm missing?

Because part of the fandom WANTS them to kiss, and there's this group of fans that are super obnoxious about it, and they harass the actors and the writers and I think now the show thinks EVERYBODY wants them to kiss. Even though the guy who plays Dean* says it would never happen. Because I know he wasn't happy about the way the show ended, and I'm afraid this is why he wasn't happy.

...

I don't think they're gonna kiss.

If they do, I'm done.

*The Husband is not on a first name basis with Jensen.

So, let me point out that The Husband, who watches this show the way a normal human being watches a show (i.e., doesn't interact with the fandom at all), had absolutely NO expectation that they would kiss. Anyway, with some trepidation, I push play again. And Cas is still going. Dean is the most caring, selfless, loving human being on earth (OH GOD MAKE IT STOP) and knowing him has changed Cas.

Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Because it is. I love you.

Don't do this, Cas.

We see a black blob materialize behind Dean, because even though the Empty can only come to Earth if it's summoned, there it is. And I could argue about whether Cas being happy actually summoned the damn thing but I've already lost the will to live, so instead I'm going to describe to you how I watched in horror, with my finger hovering over the pause button, as Cas reached out to Dean and put his hand on his shoulder. But he just pushed him out of the way. Thank you baby Jesus. Billie breaks the door down as the Empty slurps into the dungeon. It surrounds Cas and Billie and sucks them into its depths. Dean is left alone. Oh, and he has a bloody palm print on his jacket from Cas grabbing his shoulder. I guess someone did watch a little bit of older seasons after all. Hard to tell sometimes.

I mean, at least he looked good, right?

Back at the silo. I've decided it must be mostly underground and isn't a grain silo like I thought. So what kind of silo do Yankees have that's mostly underground? Anyway. Jack and Sam emerge, having failed catastrophically at their mission. Sam is trying to call Dean, who isn't answering. He looks mildly panicky. "Sam?" Jack says, a little shaky. "Was it just them?"

OH CRAP. I didn't even think of that possibility.

"I don't know," Sam says, also shaky. And as we see an empty gas station and playground, it really looks like it wasn't just them at all. Sam and Jack look at each other, alone and terrified. And back in the bunker's dungeon, Dean's phone rings. It's Sam. He doesn't answer.

Despair!

So. You know how sometimes something really good will happen in an episode? And I'll say, no matter how bad this episode is, this 90 seconds makes it worth it? Well, sometimes the opposite happens. Sometimes you get a two or three minute scene - a horribly written, badly acted scene - and it's so awful that it ruins an episode. A season. A show. I'm angry that the showrunners pandered to a small, noisy minority of fans to throw something into the show that most fans didn't want and didn't help the story at all. I'm annoyed that, once again, Dean is put up on an embarrassingly overwrought pedestal. I'm kind of amused that they did this in the worst way possible. Cas's love was unrequited (unless they screw that up in the next episode), Misha's acting caused so much secondhand embarrassment that I had a hard time watching again, and from what I see on Tumblr, half of the Destihellers are furious because "Dean is a homophobe." Which is bullshit. Not returning someone's romantic affection isn't homophobia. It's consent. (I know... on this show? Ha ha.)

{Sidebar: If "Destiel" means the characters have mutual feelings for each other, doesn't this mean Destiel is not, in fact, canon? I mean, it was already so badly written that one could argue Cas wasn't proclaiming romantic love, but just a life-changing experience thanks to one human. Discuss.}

But I need to stop thinking about it. I can't - if I let myself go there, I'll lose my mind, I can't right now.

And this wasn't even the Buckleming episode, friends. There is probably a Buckleming episode left.

I got so distracted by this nonsense that I almost forgot to talk about the Jack situation. So here's how I feel about that. I love Jack as a character. I love him as someone the Winchesters could lose (Basically, someone to stuff in the fridge? Why not.) But I don't want him to be one of them. I don't want Jack's story to be treated as if it were as important as the Winchester's story. Just like I didn't want Cas to have his own plots. I want it always, always to come down to Sam and Dean.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more to say. But for right now, all I'm saying is this: I pledge to stick with this show, to stick with fanworks, no matter how badly they fuck up the landing. But guys, you don't have to try so hard to fuck it up.

Two to go. As always, help me stay unspoiled, including casting info and episode titles.

#spn #15.18 #spoilers #recap #tv recaps

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sodone-withlife · 4 years

Text

i lost a friend (i lost my mind)

Criminal Minds Fic Part One

| PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 |

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: character death, canon-typical violence, mental instability (I’m reluctant to name a specific disorder or condition)

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3, and this was my first whumpfic in this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. this is canon-compliant until after 12.01 The Crimson King

everyone has a breaking point. especially those who have been at war with the demons in their mind for their entire life.

“Hotch? There’s a lead… ” Rossi knocked on the door of the office he had taken over in the station, having come to let him know of a new lead they got on the child abduction-murder case they had been working on for the past three days in Colorado, only to pause in the doorway. Instead of seeing him wide-awake and sitting at the desk with the case file and piles of paperwork spread around him, the senior profiler was treated to the sight of the unit chief pacing around the room and twisting his hands, a nervous tic he usually hid and rarely gave into.

His concern grew as he took note of the phone that was tossed unceremoniously onto the ground and the papers that were strewn all over the floor and desk. He went to close the blinds to give them some privacy.“What happened?”

The unit chief stopped pacing but didn’t respond, only placing his hands on the edge of the desk and hunching over, trembling and breathing heavily.

“Aaron?”

He looked up, the pure terror clear in his eyes causing an icy, foreboding feeling to creep up Rossi’s spine.

“Jack collapsed at school.”

A bolt of understanding shot through Rossi. He walked into the room, taking a closer look at the panicking father (—he wasn’t the hardass unit chief right now, he was a single father who had no other biological family left apart from his son, who he almost lost to the machinations of a madman—) when he noticed the shaking arms, clearly struggling to support his weight. He made it to him just in time to prevent him from crashing to the ground as his legs gave out.

Rossi held his shaking form, allowing him to try and gather his bearings. Hotch took a shuddering breath in. “Jessica called me about ten minutes ago, the reception’s been really bad and apparently she’s been trying to reach me all day…Jack’s in the hospital right now. They think—” he swallowed, voice breaking. “They think it’s because of the pulmonary valve anomaly he was born with.”

Hotch looked up at Rossi, eyes glassy as he rambled on. “The doctors said he’d probably never have to worry about it much, especially with how well he dealt with the stress of—” his breath hitched and he looked down, unable to force the words out of his mouth. The older agent knew what he was talking about immediately and held him tighter, trying to give him some measure of comfort.

“You should head back,” Rossi said firmly. “Jack needs you more than we do.” He was surprised to feel him shaking his head.

“Oh, believe me, I’d be on my way to the airstrip right now if I could,” he let out a bitter laugh, “but the unit is already facing more budget cuts, I can’t—I won’t—take the jet. Besides,” he cut off his protest, “no sane pilot would fly in this weather, not even for a father whose child might be dying for all he knew—” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as a few tears slipped out.

Rossi internally raged at all the deities he could think of for putting his former protégé—practically his surrogate son—through the works. First, he had lost his marriage, then lost Haley to a psychopath obsessed with making his life hell. Not even a year had gone by after that when he had to fake a teammate’s death and accepted a laborious assignment on the other side of the globe in order to cope with the secrets. Then came Foyet’s return from the grave via his torn internal adhesions, Mr. Scratch, the DOJ fiasco, and now this—

Hotch suddenly stood up, having regained tight control over the storm inside. “You said we had a lead?” he asked, his affect completely transforming as he moved to tidy the room.

Had Rossi not known Hotch for as long as he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pick the stress out of his standard clipped tone or the tension that was coiled in his upper body. He stood up and gave him a look behind his back, sighing when he remained unwaveringly silent as he waited for an answer.

Rossi knew there was no point in trying to force Hotch to stay, well aware of his history with being rendered helpless and unable to do anything while a loved one was in danger. “Yeah, one of the parents got an angry phone call from an unknown caller, and you know Garcia set up the trap-and-trace a few hours ago…”

~~~

The team immediately noticed something was off when Hotch and Rossi walked into the conference room half an hour later than they’d expected. The concern grew even more as they noticed their unit chief being more short-tempered and single-mindedly focused than usual—which really was saying something, as he had always pushed himself and the team harder when children were involved.

When they turned to look at Rossi in the rare moment that Hotch wasn’t there for a few moments, however, they only got a serious shake of his head. This and the unit chief’s transformation into Mr. Hyde prevented them from expressing any verbal concern in front of him.

The profiling team spent the next hour trying to maintain a stable connection with Garcia through repeated power shutdowns. The two hours after that was spent outside in the darkness and snowstorm, working with local law enforcement raiding the house Garcia had tracked the call to.

They got there just in time to save the child from dying of hypothermia after being buried in the snow as the other two victims had been just prior to their death. Hotch went after the fleeing unsub with Reid while the others stayed behind to comfort the child and accompanied them on the (thankfully) short drive to the local hospital.

By the time the whole team came back together, the storm had died down and the sun was rising. All too eager to leave the horrific case and weather behind them, it took no longer than twenty minutes for them to be packed and on the way to the airstrip.

The profilers were reminded of Hotch’s strange behavior, however, when they noticed his hands were clenched on the steering wheel and his stoic expression starting to give way to stress as he sped towards the airstrip—that Rossi was busy shooting worried looks at him also added to their suspicions.

On the plane, they watched as Hotch got up to take a call, only to return looking paler than he had been before. He clutched his phone tightly between his hands, rubbing at his knuckles in some measure of self-comfort while trying to control the storm of emotions he was struggling to hold back.

After a few minutes, Rossi went to sit opposite Hotch in the corner. He didn’t say anything, just observed Hotch as he resolutely avoided looking at the other profiler in favor of looking outside the window.

“I’ve called ahead,” Rossi began in an undertone, knowing the man could hear him. “There’s going to be a car right where we land, and I will be driving you straight to the hospital.”

Hotch flicked a scathing look at him. “I can drive myself,” he snapped.

“You are in no condition to drive,” Rossi retorted, raising his voice over his protests, “without harming yourself or others. Jack needs you alive, not wrapped around a pole somewhere along the way to the hospital!”

The silence that was in the jet was deafening as Rossi belatedly realized that the others had heard him and were trying to act as if they weren’t eavesdropping. Hotch looked away from the older profiler, who was looking at him apologetically; there was a moment of silence.

“I don’t know what I’d do if he—” he trailed off, not wanting to think about the worst. Pain and fear broke through his weakened barriers and showed plainly in his expression. “I can’t lose him.”

He had felt the team’s eyes on him from the moment he stepped out of that office at the promise of a new lead, and he could feel them on him now. While normally he would have shot them a look to get them to stop, right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care as the statistics remained the forefront thought in his mind.

Hotch was all too ready to leave the plane when they landed after two hours of tense silence and worried looks. True to what Rossi said, there was indeed a car waiting for them next to the plane. Hotch didn’t bother grabbing his go-bag, only taking his smaller work bag before practically sprinting out of the plane, Rossi following close behind. The team was left watching the car speed away, worry about their unit chief and the boy who had grown up around the BAU weighing heavily on their minds.

~~~

Hotch was back in his office the next morning as if nothing had happened—only something had definitely happened, as he was even more closed off, colder than he had ever been before. Any attempts to get him to open up about what had happened were rebuffed, even with Reid and Rossi’s individual cajoling attempts. The attempts lessened by the next week with a sudden influx in requests for consultation, and they completely died down when new leads on the escaped serial killers came to light.

They all noticed, however, how their unit chief remained closed off, how he was more single-mindedly focused on the job than he’d ever been before—which was really saying something.

Things almost came to a head two months after the child murder case when they had a married victim who was leaving behind a husband and a stage 4 cancer-ridden child. Hotch had taken the lead in talking to the husband and came out advising that he be surveilled, glaring at the weakly protesting officer until the officer finally conceded and agreed to put him on watch.

The unit chief then completely threw himself into finding the unsub, barely stopping for coffee and bathroom breaks as he analyzed the crimes over and over again, creating and tossing theory after theory. It took Rossi and Luke’s manhandling and JJ’s mothering to get him back to the hotel as the clock ticked towards midnight on Night 1.

Sleep was clearly the last thing on his mind that night, however, as he came back into the station the next morning looking as haggard as ever with what must have been his tenth cup of coffee in the past twenty-four hours held tightly in his hand.

They all breathed an internal sigh of relief when a lucky break in the case led them right to the unsub later that day; they managed to take him into custody and the team was in the air by sunset, all settling in for a quiet flight.

About an hour in, Hotch moved from his seat in the front corner to the back of the plane to take a call. The rest of the team, preoccupied with their relatively quiet poker game, didn’t try to eavesdrop.

The team was pulled out of their focus a few minutes later when out of nowhere, a muffled thump came from the plane bathroom, followed by Hotch brushing past them and sitting heavily in his seat. The profilers exchanged unsure, worried glances—Hotch rarely, if ever, lost his cool—and stared back at the man, who had broken the blank facade he had maintained over the past few months and was hunched over the table, head in his hands.

Feeling the eyes on him, Hotch sighed. “That was Garcia,” he said, rubbing his face before leaning back.

“The kid succumbed to the cancer today, and his father was found in the house,” he swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “There was a gun in his hand and a bullet entry wound on the roof of his mouth.”

The plane’s machinery became the only noise filling the air. No one moved as each profiler turned inward and digested the information. Their thoughts turned to a sinking realization when they remembered Hotch telling the locals to watch the father—the unit chief must have seen this possibility when he was talking with him.

The rest of the plane ride was spent in subdued silence as they slowly drifted away from the poker group they had formed in the center, turning to their personal methods of self-comfort.

Hotch immediately sent the profilers home for some time off after they landed, ordering them to not think about the BAU for that time. They complied without protest, going home to process and take comfort in what they had.

They wouldn’t learn until much later about how Hotch had stayed behind, trying to do as much in regards to what’s required in the aftermath of a field case for the team as possible. How Rossi had stayed in the office with him, knowing that there was no way that he was going home before he got work done.

How he stayed at Rossi’s place for the next two weeks—even after the team returned to work—because he wasn’t sure if his surrogate son would be making it out of his apartment alive.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #aaron hotchner whump #tw character death #bau #sodone i lost a friend i lost my mind

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mrs-denton · 4 years

Text

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought.

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

#deus ex #fanfiction #paul denton #oc #paul denton x oc #the collapse

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ironmandeficiency · 4 years

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day five: ba & jort

ohmygod these boys are two of my faves, can’t have one without the other which makes the longest of all the posts abt my clone boys. i guess you can say i have favorites even tho i will vehemently deny it

playlists: jacob & ba - jort/belladonna

fics: who’s my commander & 13x7=28

a/n: jacob & bella belong to @capricornrabies & the art was made by @persaloodles

warnings: mentions of smut

is a soft and precious boy who tries his best

got his name from this one time when his squad had to take shelter in a barn & the sheep wouldn’t let him sleep with his brothers in the loft area, instead keeping him by them the whole night and threatening to bite jort when he tried to free his batchmate

also has v v floofy hair which also works with the name

he and jort have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

absolute mother hen to anyone and everyone. doesn’t matter if he met you an hour ago, you’re going to get mothered by this soft sniper

“you could pour soup in my lap and i’d apologize to you”

was selectively mute for several months after leaving kamino, jort helped him come out of his shell again and it’s fabulous

jacob sutton (younger sister to jamie) is an admiral for the 91st and their star cruiser crashed, and the 25th was the closest to send aid

ba sees jacob for the first time and tried to flirt but instead inserted his foot into his mouth with his awkwardness

but it gets better between them as time goes on. these two are my personal goal for the future

they have a precious massif named yogurt

jacob found him as a puppy by a dumpster on coruscant eating from a yogurt cup and was like “yes this is my boy”

ba would sometimes get to take him on campaigns. would have to fight who half the time just to see his girlfriend’s dog. when yogurt is a puppy the 25th will carry him around in one of those pet/baby backpacks

in a world where the war ends without order 66 and clones kinda get rights (but jacob doesn’t really get them bc of her status as a not-quite-person), they get a rude awakening when they realize that they wouldn’t legally get the post-war life that they deserve bc the republic isn’t letting her go

other clones help ba smuggle jacob (yogurt was listed as an emotional support animal) off-planet and they settle down in a house they build together. there’s a wraparound porch, a porch swing, fence for yogurt, etc.

since the republic doesn’t know what to do with the baby clones, kamino is commandeered and turned into a clone adoption agency. jacob and ba end up adopting four little boys who are their absolute world. they’re batchmates and were toddlers when adopted (so like 2-3 standard years, 1-1.5 clone years)

cabuor - his name is mando’a for “protect”; the oldest of the four, as he’s older he is the most protective of his bros. is basically jamie 2.0 and even tho he loves saviin they butt heads A LOT.

saviin - name is “violet” in honor of the 25th’s paint colors. jort 2.0. absolutely chaotic but highly lovable. there’s a problem? 99% chance sav caused it. first to start trusting ba and jacob. is the kind of child you would want to put on a leash

ciryc - his name means “cold” simply bc he runs colder than the rest of them. from the time they knew how, they would all dogpile w ciryc on the bottom to keep him warm. gets free pass to snuggle closest to jacob to get warmer faster. will steal jacob’s shirts (that once belonged to ba). sunshine baby!!!

meer - personification of 🥺. got his name from jacob who affectionately calls him a meerkat (he’s smaller and skinnier than the rest). jacob has a second shadow and his name is meer. has mute spells similar to when ba was young but eventually they only happened when he was startled/in new environment

so the boys were hesitant abt their new parents at first. it was only marginally easier for them to warm up to ba bc he was a clone but it took them nearly a year of living together for them to look at jacob and think “this woman is mom-shaped”

but once they get comfortable with her, these boys are all 100% mama’s boys

jacob has a metal spine (incident during her training) that clicks when she walks/moves/does anything. ba and jacob hear it and think of the trauma that led to it, but the boys hear it and their young minds correlate it to “mom, safe, comfort”

it leads to them being able to know when jacob is close to finding them during games of hide-and-seek

ba and jacob both get tattoos that represent their sons (and yes, yogurt too)

jacob has tattoos of handprints of ba, the boys, & yogurt’s paw on her back

ba would get tiny ones for the boys: a meerkat silhouette, a splash of purple “paint”, a shield, and a snow cloud

then he gets a massive one for jacob — a copy of her metal spine tattooed over his

jort:

he’s a bastard child and is proud to be one

scout & chaos bisexual

is a whore at first but when he’s w someone, has eyes for only them

got his name when he turned his blacks into a crop top and short shorts while on felucia during a heatwave

he ended up getting a handprint tattoo on his thigh/ass bc of how often he was smacked when he wore the short shorts

he and ba have joint ownership of best older brother ™️ title to naturally, a soft and pure medic-in-training (refer to 13x7=28 for details)

prankster af

look into his eyes, there is nothing behind his eyes except for elevator music. the only time he’s allowed more than one coherent thought is when the dvd icon hits the exact corner of the screen

will play up his dumbassery around ppl he’s uncomfortable with

will bully/blackmail his bros into going to the medbay — “don’t make nat’ika sad by hiding things, he only wants to help you” bc jort isn’t gonna get caught slippin. you won’t know he’s soft on you until he’s mother-henning you the way ba and naturally do for literally everybody

can bullshit his way out of any situation

isn't the best w crying ppl and will just try to make them laugh and hope that someone that can talk abt said emotions arrives soon usually this person is ba

“and i also don’t want me to be doing what i’m doing”

ends up dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss who runs a fashion company in the form of seven feet and eight inches tall belladonna tomb, bella for short

has no idea whatsoever that he’s dating the daughter of a very prominent mob boss

bella thinks it’s an unspoken agreement to not bring it up but jort just. doesn’t know.

since bella is seven foot eight, jort can fit into her tops and is unashamed to wear “women’s clothes”. bella will design him clothes (and LOVES to be a model for bella’s clothes). his civvie fashion is comparable to harry styles

bella’s species is half soleon/half skeleton-monster-thing (soleons are an original lion-like species & the skeleton details are all made by cap, mentioned above) (also bella’s partly translucent and you can see some organs thru her torso) and she has talons and very pointy teeth and eyes that slightly glow jort ends up getting a tattoo of her teeth marks in his ass opposite to the handprint but that’s another story

when him and bella start becoming intimate, there are lots. of. marks. teeth, talons, you name it. the medics (esp no, poor man) are frightened that jort is bragging about these marks

then jort has the brilliant idea of sneaking his giant mob boss girlfriend into the barracks while on leave. somehow, maker only knows how, but NO ONE NOTICES until

late that night when everyone’s sleeping, her and jort are sharing his bunk (it’s a tight fit but they make it work). no is doing bed checks to make sure his bros are doing okay, as a concerned medic does. since bella is dark grey in color, she blends in to the dark barracks.

jort starts to fall from the bunk in his sleep and no sees that he’s abt to fall (but does not see bella) and just as no walks to jort’s bunk to fix him, a finely manicured and taloned hand snatches him back into the bunk and gives no a death glare and she deadass GROWLS

poor medic thinks his bro is abt to get eaten by a monster but doesn’t actually do anything to protect his bro from the “monster”

no immediately runs to find who and wakes up nearly everybody in the process. by the time no returns to the barracks with who in tow, jort is awake and is like “hey guys what’s up”

“WHAT IS UP?! THERE’S A KRIFFIN MONSTER WITH CLAWS IN YOUR BUNK!!” “oh no this is bella. bella, meet the boys. the boys, meet bella.” “hi”

ba wakes up during no’s windows shutdown, looks around and sees everyone wide ass awake and then sees bella and jort, “oh hey bella” and then goes back to sleep bc he knew bella

jort did hold ba’s hand while his bro got the spine tattoo for jacob

#blue jay’s boys: valentine’s celebration #blue jay’s boys #clone oc #oc clone #clone trooper jort #clone trooper ba #ba and jort #25th battalion #clone trooper oc #oc clone trooper #swtcw #star wars #star wars oc

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aswallowssong · 4 years

Text

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 5 - The Devil in Me

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

The second part of a gap fill for 1x13, Poison. TW for illness, hospitals, and drug mentions. Also super minor character death?

After JJ, Reid, and Hotch learn a little more about Kit's family, the nurse-out-of-water feels the effects of the field crash over her. As she and Gideon continue to butt heads, she wonders how this is ever going to work. She's helpful in her own right, but if she can't get the respect and the support of the whole team, how will she ever belong?

The ride to the hotel was comfortable enough. Reid and Kit sat in the back while JJ sat in the passenger seat, and the communications liaison took her chance to pick and pry when Kit couldn’t escape her questions. She’d been trying since the moment Kit had been shuffled onto their team, but Kit had been able to avoid it thus far. She hated ‘get to know you’ questions, as they reminded her of terrible high school teachers and their lack-luster ice breakers.

“So, Kit, do you have siblings?”

Kit nodded, though the woman couldn't see her. She’d play along, of course, and this was an easy question. She loved talking about her siblings.

“Oh, yeah. There’s nine of us.”

Reid made a sound next to her that sounded like choking, but when she looked he wasn’t dying. He was instead, astonished.

“Nine?”

“Yeah,” she said easily, “nine.”

Hotch knew that, he’d read her file, but he asked anyway, “What number are you?”

“Five,” Kit said before smiling, “sort of? There’s Wash, and then Ginny and Seese. Ari, and Monty, and I. Then George, and Alex, and Lina’s the baby.”

“That puts you sixth,” Reid said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Kit was suddenly ten years old.

Didn’t we just have a pseudo heart-to-heart about being treated like a child?

Kit tried not to roll her eyes before she remembered that the only one who knew about Ari and Monty was Morgan. And, probably Hotch, of course.

“Ari and Monty and I are triplets,” she said evenly, “and technically, I was born second of the three of us.”

“Wow,” JJ said, “triplets? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“It’s great, actually,” Kit assured, not being able to stop the spreading smile on her face. “We get along really well. Monty and I are actually monozygotic twins, which means-”

“Monozygotic twins, often called identical twins, are the result of one egg fertilized by one sperm that experiences postzygotic division.”

Reid’s voice was rougher than before, telling of the fact that the medicine she’d given him had worn off, as he effectively cut her off. She tried not to take offense at him interrupting her and telling her about her own fetal development. He’d interrupted others in several conversations. Regardless, she felt her lips tug into a frown.

“Exactly. My Gran used to say that Monty and I have twin souls, though my mam and dad have always said that Ari was one half of the soul, and we were the other half, you know, together.”

JJ turned all the way around in her seat, grinning as she listened to Kit speak of her family.

“So, Ari and Monty are nicknames, right?”

Kit nodded again, frown dissipating.

“Right. My parents immigrated from Ireland, and they spoke Irish, or Gaelic, better than English. They wanted to stick out less, or so they say, so they, well,” she thought for a moment before she couldn’t stop the small giggle forcing its way up her throat. “They thought it would be a really good idea to name their kids after the states. Like, literal American states.”

“Like Dakota,” Hotch offered, and Kit wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, like Dakota. My family all call me Kody, but I prefer Kit.”

“And Monty is, what? Montana?” JJ asked, now looking determined. As if it was some kind of game.

Kit nodded again, saying, “Exactly. The thing is that some states, like thankfully Dakota, are names. But some…” She shrugged lightly, “Not so much.”

“Can I guess?”

JJ, not surprising to Kit, was giving off a competitive energy that would rival the one she got off Morgan the few times they’d raced at the track.

“She could just tell us,” Reid offered, but JJ just scoffed.

“No way, Spence. You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.”

Reid narrowed his eyes at her, and though Kit could feel his slight trembling next to her, fever burning once again, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He even gave her and JJ half a smirk before saying, “You’re on.”

In the end, it was Hotch that came up with a surprising upset. Reid was vehemently denying that ‘Seese’ was a nickname for Tennessee, and JJ was still upset that Reid won the “guess what number I’m thinking of” game and got to go first.

“No way that’s fair,” she’d complained when Reid gave a small, raspy noise of victory and guessed that Wash was short for Washington, obviously.

Hotch had gotten lucky and gone second, securing that George was actually Kit’s younger sister, Georgia, and had gotten that Lina was Carolina, the baby of their very large family.

“You went after Carolina right away, Hotch,” JJ said, laughing at Reid’s dejected mumbling. That was the second time he’d lost a game that day.

“Familiar territory.”

“Is that so?” Kit asked, raising an eyebrow at the stern man in the driver’s seat. “Did you work in their field office?”

“No, I worked in their Walmart,” he said simply, turning into the parking lot of their hotel. He didn’t add or give any more about it, and they didn’t pry, though Kit had to fight a grin at the idea that their stern unit chief could be secretly southern.

-----

Hotch checked in and passed them their keys, Kit taking hers with slightly wide eyes. She’d only stayed in a hotel a few times, and the idea that she was now left to her own devices in a hotel she’d never been in, in a state she didn’t know, really got her mind racing. She realized quickly that no one else was feeling the anxiety she was. They were all familiar with this, and it seemed to be easy for them to turn off the part of their brain that was working on the case.

Instead, she was running her brain, trying to think of anything she knew that could help them catch the unsub that was hurting these people. She dealt in people. People were her thing. People were the reason she had been assigned to the pilot position she was in. The reason she was in New Jersey when she could just as easily be home, getting ready for bed while she listened to Ari sing around their apartment as he got ready for his shift.

They would give the profile. The team would give the profile and she would watch with JJ. She would try to help however she was asked, and she would keep an eye on Reid while being sensitive to not treat him like a child.

She followed JJ and Reid up to their floor, Hotch having stayed to give the others their keys, and nodded and responded politely when JJ had wished her goodnight. Reid hadn’t done as much, though she had missed his attempt to get her attention before she’d closed her door behind her.

Once inside she drew what could have passed for her first real breath all day. Between Reid’s sniffling, apologizing to Morgan, the jet, the hospital, taking care of Reid without making him feel like a child, and tiptoeing around Gideon- Which didn’t even work! - Kit was stretched too thin. With the door shut, the only emotions she could pick up on were her own. Which, honestly, we’re never just her own.

Ari and Monty called them Big Feelings; them being the swelling and surging of her own emotions that were kept buried to grow as the day went on. She could tend to the needs of others and keep her own feelings in check, but the thing about Kit was that the more she dealt with others, the more the feelings being buried in her chest compounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t really differentiate between what she created herself and what she took from others.

Most days were perfectly fine. It wasn’t like everyone around her was melting down simultaneously, every single day. But some days, when there’d been so much and there were so many people and so many situations, she absolutely crashed.

In retrospect, she held on for longer than she thought she would, the deep, even breaths she was drawing distracting her from the energy that built. Her fingers working to unzip her go bag. She pulled out her pajamas, shedding her jacket and cardigan before making her way to take a shower.

She took out her contacts. Shed the rest of her clothes. Took her shower. Brushed her teeth. Braided her hair.

She kept her breathing even through every motion, changing into her pajamas and settling cross legged on the bed. Her fingers of her right hand tapped lightly on her thigh while the fingers of her left pulled tightly at her braided, sopping wet hair. The right braid was dripping clean shower water onto her shoulder, the left sending a slow cascade of water down her arm. She sat for five minutes that way, breathing evenly, staring at the blurry white wall in front of her and willing herself not to crash. Not to crash. Not to crash.

And then, she crashed.

All at once, everything in her body felt like it was vibrating. Her breaths came in hitches that were shallow and choppy, her chest heaving sharply with each one. Nothing like the pace she’d been trying to keep for that last fifteen minutes. They sputtered and cut each other off, tears running down her cheeks and falling in large drops, adding to where her braids had already left dark wet spots on her pale yellow tee shirt.

It wasn’t loud. It had never been loud, regardless of the way her mind seemed to be screaming. She was way too warm, warmer than she had been in the steaming water of the shower. Her chest ached with a flurry of feelings that flashed and passed so quickly she couldn’t hope to name them. It left her helpless, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers occasionally scratching up and down her arms or thighs. The emotional overload left her with internal mania and, other than her fingers roaming and tears flowing, external shutdown. She didn’t have to bury anymore. The emotional zombies of the last eighteen hours could come to light.

Ari always let her come down on her own time. Sometimes he held her tightly, and sometimes he left her to her own devices. Most of the time he stayed in the same space. On the couch opposite her. Sat at the kitchen table as she sat on the counter. Cross legged at the end of her bed. He didn’t try to have her put the thoughts or emotions into words. He didn’t press her or tell her it would be okay. That she was okay, because really, she wasn’t. He just let it pass.

She knew it could be as short as ten minutes or as long as forty five. One time, an hour, but that was the first time she’d lost a patient. The time didn’t matter as much to her. Ten or sixty, the number of minutes always felt like an eternity. She didn’t know how long it would take this time, sat in a New Jersey hotel room. Especially when on top of everything else, she felt so completely alone.

As far as Kit was aware, it could have been seven minutes or seven hours when the thing that finally grounded her back to the real world was a steady three-wrap knock at her door. Her hands stilled instantly, the deepest breath she’d taken since the wave crashed over her almost making her dizzy.

Her head swiveled towards the door, and it was a moment before her mind could catch up. She was in her hotel room. Someone was knocking on the door.

Get up and open it. Come on, Kody. Stand up and open the door.

She swallowed thickly, wiping a shaking hand down her face. The bed was close to the door, and while she sat staring at the door, the knock came again. Three wraps in rapid succession. Her brain started to catch up, the distraction pulling her out of the waves she was drowning in.

Hotch? Could it be Hotch? Did someone actually get poisoned this late at night? Gideon was right, she shouldn’t have said anything. Now it was going to be her fault and there would be disappointment and anger and annoyance and-

Stop.

It took longer than it should have for her to pull herself off of the mattress, shaking her head quickly as if to expel the internal debate. Everything in her chest told her not to get up, but her head won and allowed her to quickly scramble from her spot and pad across the room.

In hindsight, she should have checked to make sure she didn’t look like a complete disaster. She never had to worry about that at home, so it hadn’t crossed her mind how she might be perceived as she stood there; pajamas on, wet hair, flushed, tear tracks and red eyes against shaky pale skin.

She squinted at the person on the other side of the door once she all but flung it open. Tall. Dark hair. Tee shirt. Skinny. To her untrained and straining eyes, she was unsure who she was looking at.

Before the other person could speak she held up her hand, still trembling, and turned to dig in her backpack. The glasses she pulled out were seldom used, but she had lost a contact on three separate occasions in the last year, and she wasn’t going to fly half-blind into a crisis.

She turned, unceremoniously shoving the thin frames onto her face, and looked at her offender.

Spencer Reid. Pale as ever, clearly fever flushed, and looking at her with glassy-eyed concern.

“Are you crying?” is what he ended up asking before stifling a raspy coughing fit into his elbow.

Kit narrowed her burning eyes at him, but there were no lasers in her stare. Confusion, and exasperation, but not the lasers she’d set on him all those hours before.

“Do you need something? I thought you went to bed.”

He cleared his throat and winced, swallowing as if it was physically painful before he came up with, “I did. I was. Um, I mean, I was try-trying to? I, um.”

His hands came up to wring together at waist height, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. Uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable. Probably from having come into her personal space where she was very obviously having a very private meltdown.

“You were trying to… oh.” It took longer for her to piece together than it should have. Her mind was still foggy, trying to stay above the waves she’d just been so jarringly pulled from. “You were trying to sleep and you couldn’t.”

“Yes,” he supplied quickly, “Because, well,” he sighed, a hand going to run through his hair. He curled his arms over his chest then, clearing his throat again. “Because my head is pounding and I’m freezing and my throat hurts. And the stuff you had earlier helped. And I was… I was wondering if-”

She did cut him off now, having been careful not to up to that point, but she could feel his discomfort growing the longer he tried to explain himself. He was struggling to be vulnerable, and she wasn’t going to make it worse by allowing him to trip over himself longer than necessary.

“If I had more.”

“Yes.”

“Of course I do, sit down,” she supplied, gesturing awkwardly to the bed she’d just been sat on, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders.

She never had to turn back on after she’d let herself shut down. It was always, always in times where she knew she could be either asleep or a zombie for the rest of the night, and she was trying to fight back to functioning as she dug through her backpack once more.

She heard him take a moment before settling down on the bed, sniffling a few times in a way that made Kit want to scream, but instead just caused her to dig more frantically.

Blue pills. Blue pills. Come on, Dakota, where are they? Why is your bag such a mess? Why are you such a mess? Reid probably thinks you can’t handle this, and how he’s going to tell Gideon, and they’re going to tell Hotch, and-

“Are you okay?”

Her hands froze in between a wrist brace and a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Yes,” she said evenly, though her whole body tensed, “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he said quietly, “You’re breathing picked up, and when you answered the door, you were crying. And the longer you look through your backpack the more agitated you seem.”

It was quiet for a moment. Kit didn’t resume her digging, but instead turned to face Reid at his spot atop her bed.

“What happened to not profiling one another?” She asked after a moment.

His eyebrows pulled together, searching for a moment before his head tilted, tongue flicking over chapped lips before he offered, “It’s okay if this is hard. Gideon always says that-”

“It’s not,” she said, effectively cutting him off for the second time in the five minutes he’d been in her room. She didn’t care at all what Gideon always said.

He looked unconvinced, suspicion flooding off of him, in addition to the sick feeling he’d already been sending her way.

She could feel her hands clenching, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He has no idea. He has no idea so you can’t be upset with him. He doesn’t know anything about you. He probably thinks you’re just as incompetent as Gideon does. Don’t give him any fuel for the fire.

“It’s not hard,” she said, just a bit softer than before. “I’m perfectly capable, and I’m tired. Here.”

She turned and pulled the blue blister pack out of her backpack, hand suddenly knowing exactly where it was.

Naturally.

“Take these. I’ll give you the other ones in the morning.”

Reid looked down at the pills for a moment before he worried at his lip, eyes nervous as he asked, “You’re really not going to tell Hotch?”

“No, Reid, I’m really not going to tell Hotch. And I won’t tell Gideon either. No one knows. Go to sleep.”

She watched as he took a moment before nodding at her, standing up and heading for the door. He was halfway through before he turned and shifted his weight on his feet.

“Dakota?”

I might kill this one. Just this one.

“Reid?”

“Thank you,” he said softly, “again. I’m sorry that I intruded.”

She watched him for a moment before she shook her head. She realized that the trembling had stopped, and she didn’t feel as foggy anymore. Having a distraction, even if the distraction sniffled and asked probing questions and used her first name, it had helped.

She let herself give him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here. Get some sleep.”

He nodded gently, returning her half smile with one of his own.

“Goodnight.”

She watched as he closed the door, the room becoming isolated again. She settled back on the bed, only allowing herself to be lost for a moment before she shut the light out.

-----

“We believe whoever poisoned these people was motivated by revenge,” Hotch was saying. They’d met early to give the profile, but it was later than they’d wanted when they were finally able to gather all the officers.

They were all pushed to one side of the room, sitting on various surfaces or standing in the middle where they could easily be seen. Kit had sat on top of the desk Reid was sitting in, wordlessly pressing a cup of tea into his slightly trembling hands. They’d found a moment when they weren’t being watched for her to slip the pills into his hand, but she’d only been able to find a drink just before Hotch had begun.

Morgan was continuing what Hotch had started, and Reid took the moment to slip the medication into his mouth, chasing it with a too-large sip of too-hot tea. Kit had to hold her snicker at the face he pulled.

“The randomness of the victimology - average people in an average-sized town... All points to a local resident.”

“We know that people who poison for the purpose of revenge primarily act alone,” Elle continued.

“However,” Hotch added, “he may have manipulated someone close to him to assist him. The unsub usually disposes of these accomplices when they're of no further use to him.”

Kit listened as they bounced around, all taking a part of the profile to deliver. She paid attention as closely as she could, taking in everything that was being said, and wishing that she could be able to see what they all saw.

She focused on Reid saying, ”This individual was savvy enough to use rohypnol to obstruct our investigation, erasing the memories of the victims of how they were poisoned,” and she felt herself nodding along with him, listening closely to his voice and watching to see if anyone had picked up on what she’d been trying to help him mask.

So far her efforts seemed successful, and she let herself feel good about that. She could take care of this team. Hotch’s faith was well placed.

She focused back on the profile again, her heart sinking when the emotions in the room shifted dramatically. Gideon had said that a lot of people could die, and everyone had flooded the room with varying levels of anxiety.

A lot of people could die, and they had limited time to find him.

JJ came up behind them, drawing the attention of the profilers around her. She whispered quietly to Hotch, though it was quiet everywhere now, and her words caused quick movement in every body that filled the small room.

“We have a leak.”

The small television in the station was turned on immediately, grainy and nearly not loud enough for them all to hear.

“That's right, Steve. Neighbors became aware something was wrong when a local Beechwood restaurant closed early. From inside sources, we learned that representatives of the CDC began testing food inside the restaurant.”

Gideon spoke over the woman for a moment, a wave of agitation flying off of him. “If you're gonna report the story, name the restaurant.”

“Unconfirmed, we were told that some of the food had been tainted with hallucinogenic drugs,” the reporter continued, and Kit understood exactly what Gideon meant.

“Name the restaurant,” he said again, and Kit found herself standing from her spot atop the desk. Spencer raised an eyebrow at her, but she gravitated towards the TV wordlessly.

“Until we do confirm all of this, we will not release the name of the restaurant. We'll only say it's a Beechwood area favorite. This is Suzanne Whang reporting live from Beechwood. Back to you, Steve.”

“Damn it,” Kit said forcefully, surprising herself a bit at the venom in her words. She rarely swore in English, and she went a bit pink at the thought that Irish would have probably been a more appropriate choice.

Gideon was glaring daggers at her, not really looking like he cared much what she had said, but that she’d spoken at all.

“They didn't name the restaurant,” JJ said, not paying attention to anyone else. She sounded dejected, but kept her tone more even than Kit had.

“What is it?” Detective Hanover said, looking confused.

“Call the local hospital, make sure they know what's coming. Excuse me,” Gideon said. Kit started to move before she realized he had been talking to JJ.

Heat welled inside of her. He was asking JJ to contact the hospital when she was standing right there. She understood, of course, that JJ’s job was communication, but she was the one that had been running point with the hospital. Especially the day before, when she and Reid had nearly spent the whole day there. The pink of her face flushed to red, and her hands clenched.

“Where do your 911 calls get routed?” Hotch asked Hanover. His calm determination set her straight back into the throws of what was happening. The restaurant. No name given. People were going to freak out, no doubt in her mind.

“There's a county phone bank. They contact first responders, the fire department.”

“Alert them, too. They're going to need additional personnel and any other backup you've got. Auxiliary cops. You're going to have to call them.”

“But, why?”

Though Hotch was stoic and calm, Kit could feel the tense energy he now had. It would be a mess to get everything under control once the storm hit.

“Because we're going to have a heck of a time just calming people down and we really don't need the confusion to interfere with our investigation,” Hotch answered, calm never failing.

“Do you want me to start making those calls?” An officer asked readily, and Kit watched as that set Hanover right off the edge.

He moved to the center of the room and started yelling, hands in the air.

Here we go.

“No, no, no, no. Hey, hey! Everybody please shut up for a minute. Tell me what this is all about.”

There was a moment where everything stopped. JJ stood with the phone at her ear. All eyes were on Hanover, mostly surprise and confusion around them.

Then the phones started. They all rang, loud and overlapping, deafening almost everything else in the air.

There was a moment before Gideon simply said, “Panic.”

It took a moment for there to be any sort of control. People were answering phones left and right, including Kit, who was back at the desk she and Reid had started in.

“We can’t comment at this time, thank you,” she said for at least the fifth time, hanging the phone up and looking at Reid.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll be far better when this is over,” he said, taking a sip from the tea she knew was probably now lukewarm at best. He got up and they moved to where JJ and Hotch were, following the lead of Elle and Morgan.

“I just got off with the hospital. They're swamped with over 50 potential poisonings from local restaurants, but no hallucinations,” JJ said, hanging up the phone and looking around.

“Another poisoning?” Morgan asked.

“Or maybe more hysteria,” Hotch

“We've looked into any civil or criminal complaints from employees, ex-employees, Suppliers, regulars at the cafe. Not one good lead,” Hanover said.

He was dejected. The inability to control what was happening to his own town was what Kit guessed had him giving off such a feeling of hopelessness.

“There's got to be somebody connected to that cafe who pops as a suspect,” Gideon said, rifling through some papers.

“Morgan, you wanna go back there, see if we can find another angle?” Elle suggested.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he said.

The two of them turned to leave, and Hotch looked at the three still standing there. “JJ, you, Colghain, and Reid go to the hospital. See if any of the poisonings seem legit.”

-----

When they got to the hospital, JJ and Reid both waited for a moment outside the door. Kit stopped in her tracks, following their lead. There was an awkward moment before she said,

“What are we waiting for? Is someone meeting us?”

JJ shook her head, giving Kit a small smile.

“We’re following you. I made contact with the hospital, but I’m not sure exactly who is the best point of contact in an ER overrun like this. I assumed you do.”

Kit couldn’t help but give a small smile at the warmth that flooded her chest at those words. She and JJ hadn’t talked a lot, but between their guessing game in the car the night before, and the even temper and apt social skills she showed, Kit really respected and liked her. She was good to work with, and clearly knew how to read a room.

“I do. Stay out of the way as best you can and stay close, there will definitely be gurneys going in and out.”

They walked in, flashing their badges as they crossed back into the busy ER. There were gurneys as Kit had predicted, and she was almost overwhelmed by the amount of panic flooding the small ER hallway they found themselves in. She could feel JJ and Reid close to her, and she stopped the first nurse she saw.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Colghain with the FBI,” she said quickly, using a different title than she normally would. The nurse was holding a file, she didn’t have the moment Kit needed to assure her competence.

“The FBI has nurses?” The young nurse said, clearly a little skeptical, but antsy as she glanced towards her assumed destination.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kit said, speaking as she would to any of her nurses back at the clinic. “Where can I find your Head?”

“Nurses’ Station. Nurse Leah. Tall, dark hair. Excuse me.” She scampered off, but Kit had all she needed.

She led JJ and Spencer to the Nurses’ Station and spotted a tall, dark haired woman who was exuding calm, though just beneath it was clear uncertainty.

“That’s her,” she said to Reid and JJ without turning around. “Excuse me,” she said louder, “Nurse Leah?”

The woman turned, searching for a moment before she spotted the out-of-place agents.

“Yes? Who are you?”

“I’m Nurse Cloghain with the FBI. This is Agent Jareau and Doctor Reid. Can we have a minute?”

Nurse Leah shook her head quickly, scowling a bit as the three agents bellied up to the Nurse’ Station wall.

“I really can't talk right now. We just got hammered,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Listen,” Kit said, moving to follow her, “most of these food poisonings are probably psychosomatic.”

“What makes you think that?” Nurse Leah said, her attitude changing to one of skepticism and annoyance.

“A news broadcast just reported a local restaurant was poisoned. Now, it would be a huge coincidence if there was another poisoning right after that aired,” JJ said, her voice shifting from the friendliness she’s used outside the hospital door to the political tightness she used with reporters.

“So what do you want me to do?” Nurse Leah said, her eyes darting between them.

“Help us find out which cases, if any, are real,” Reid said, posture straight, not a tremble in sight. He either felt great, or he was masking incredibly well.

“People are coming in with all kinds of complaints,” she said, “But, there's at least one case that isn't psychosomatic. She's barely breathing.”

Reid’s eyebrows pulled together, “Can you take us to the doctor that's treating that patient?”

Nurse Leah nodded, moving to take them with her. Reid and Kit moved to follow, but JJ started to walk away.

“I'll call Hotch,” she assured, and the two others nodded, letting her disappear down the hallway.

The doctor they were passed off to took them down the hallway and towards the patient’s room, talking all the while.

“When the patient got here, she didn't remember anything about her day. And her speech was so slurred, I could barely understand her.” He said. His body language was favored toward Reid once he’d been introduced as “Doctor,” but they hadn’t gotten to clarify that he was not that kind of doctor. Still, Kit hoped his genius brain could make connections faster than her medically inclined one could.

“It sounds like rohypnol,” Reid said, “Did you test her?”

They walked into the patient's room and Kit’s eyes went wide. She was coughing desperately, the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth doing little to prevent it.

“She was positive for rohypnol, negative for LSD. But, we're running more tests because rohypnol alone doesn't explain her symptoms. She presented with nausea, difficulty swallowing, labored breathing. She was also having trouble moving her legs.”

“How long had she been sick?” JJ asked.

“She didn't know. I could barely understand her when she first got her. Now, she can't speak at all.”

“And she’d been coughing like that the whole time?” Kit asked, glancing to the bed. Her heart ached at the panic she felt coming from the ill woman.

“Yes, consistently.”

“Do you know any biological agents that have similar symptoms: Ricin, Sarin gas?” Reid asked quietly, his back turned to the bed.

“You think this is a biological attack?” The doctor said, keeping his expression even.

“We can't rule anything out,” Reid said, eyebrows raised and arms crossed firmly over his middle.

The doctor took a moment before he said, “I'll order a few more tests.”

Hotch arrived not very long after, meeting Kit, Reid, and JJ outside of the patient, Lynn Dempsey’s room. They bounced around ideas, but nothing seemed to stick. At one point Kit used “finding the restroom” as an excuse to dig out more pills for Reid, and the two of them did a seamless pass off in front of the decrepit coffee machine.

It wasn’t twenty minutes before there was a call for Hotch, the unit chief pulling the phone to his ear.

“Morgan, it's Hotch. What's up?”

JJ’s voice came out sharp, having been looking into Ms. Dempsey’s room. “Guys, I think she's trying to say something.”

The three of them flooded into her room, getting close to the bed as she leaned towards them.

“The en,” she said. Her voice carried almost no weight, though the urgency was obvious.

“The end?” JJ asked, looking at Reid and Kit. Kit shook her head, and Reid leaned forward.

“She may be incoherent from the lack of oxygen,” he said, eyes scanning. Kit moved closer to the bed, leaning in just a bit.

“Can you say it again, Ms. Dempsey?” She said gently. The tone and pacing she used with patients came second-nature to her, and it didn’t take any effort to shift from self conscious BAU draft to Head Nurse.

“It’s the en-” Ms. Dempsey tried again before being cut off by coughs that sounded as if they were already choking her.

“Doctor!” JJ called quickly, panic flooding from her, and Kit turned towards the other two agents.

“Give her some space,” she said, not allowing wiggle room in her tone. She started moving back herself, drawing the other two with her. “Here, let’s give some room.”

The doctor came in, setting down the new tox screen and working quickly over Ms. Dempsey. It was a few minutes before things calmed enough for Kit to ask calmly,

“Doctor, do you mind if I look at that?”

She gestured to the tox screen, to which he nodded quickly. Kit picked it up and started rifling through it, listening as JJ asked, “So, what are the chances that she's not poisoned, that maybe she just got some bad food?”

“Highly improbable. Chances are basically nil,” he said.

Hotch came to stand beside Reid.

“What is the rate of survival?” Reid asked.

“This dose,” the doctor said, “without anti-toxin... Zero.”

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

Kit’s voice came quickly and quietly, eyes darting up from the tox screen. “Botulism.”

There was a moment of quiet before a Nurse said with seriousness, “Doctor, her BP is dropping rapidly.”

“It's sepsis. Give another amp of epi,” he said.

“She's going into defib.”

“She's crashing! Get the paddles.”

Kit watched as the nurses and doctor worked over Ms. Dempsey. She’d been on her share of crash teams, but she’d never just watched and done nothing as a patient started to code right in front of her. They were paging a code blue, starting CPR, and everything in her screamed that she should be helping. She should be doing something. She should be moving, or speaking, or reading charts and screens and percentages. Something. Anything.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she was allowed. She had no idea what the rules were about jumping on a code in a hospital that wasn’t yours. She’d never had to. She’d never talked to Hotch about anything like that. Her job was with the BAU, only assisting on cases that were medical.

This case was medical, but where was the line?

“The test run is over,” Reid said, swallowing hard and heading out of the room.

He jarred her from her thoughts, and her eyes went to follow him as he walked out.

JJ followed immediately, but Kit stood there for a few extra moments before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned away from Reid’s receding frame, looking up to see Hotch. His eyes held the same soft kindness they always did, and he gestured over his shoulder wordlessly.

Kit took one last look at Lynn Dempsey, the doctor and nurses performing CPR on her lifeless body, before turning and following Hotch out of the hospital room.

Kit tried not to think of Lynn Dempsey as a patient dying in a hospital. She tried to think of Lynn Dempsey as a person outside of oxygen masks and heart monitors and charge paddles.

It wasn’t helping that they went back to the police station, where the profilers sifted through her life in an attempt to see if she was a murderer.

“Lynn Dempsey was an executive assistant. She has no expertise with chemicals. She doesn't fit the profile of the unsub,” Gideon said, leafing through some of Dempsey’s information.

Morgan didn’t quite agree. “But the CDC found both LSD and rohypnol in the candy she was replacing at the bank.”

“She must have been an accomplice,” Hotch said, “and when the unsub finished using her to further his attack, he killed her with botulism.”

“So, what does that tell us about the unsub?” Gideon said, finally looking up and around at the team.

Reid leaned forward on the desk, furthest away from them all. “He's far more sophisticated than we realized,” he offered.

Elle was getting frustrated, and she looked at Reid as if she was lost.

“Why is that?”

Reid looked as if he was going to respond, but suddenly cleared his throat in a way that made Kit’s eyebrows pull together. It sounded to her like he was trying not to cough, a small bit of anxiety rolling off of him as she connected the dots.

“The botulism toxin is the deadliest substance known to man,” she said, biding time and giving every bit of information she knew about what exactly the toxin was. Maybe it would help somehow. If anything, it would buy Reid some time. “It blocks acetylcholine receptors, paralyzing the body until it’s essentially choked death.” She looked around, watching as all eyes were on her. Reid had gotten himself back under control, and she gave a small shrug before she ended her spiel. “Without an antitoxin, a lethal dose will kill you in thirty six hours.”

The quiet that followed her information was nearly choking to Kit herself, and she could feel the variety of reactions to her speaking up. Morgan was surprised, but that was all. There was nothing hostile there. Hotch and Elle were processing and spinning again, trying to connect it all together. Gideon was either annoyed or unimpressed, neither of which made her feel any better.

But Reid was grateful, which helped.

“How many people have access to this stuff?” Elle asked seriously, looking at Kit with anticipation.

“I don't know,” Kit said, and she turned her eyes to Reid.

“In New Jersey, quite a few,” he said, “It's the pharmaceutical and chemical capital of the U.S., so that the toxin can be ordered in the form of botox through any chemical or biological lab or botox clinic. It has to be purified, but any chemist or lab assistant has that capability.”

“So, we're looking for chemists and sophisticated lab assistants?” Elle asked.

Reid nodded. “Basically.”

Morgan spoke up from the side of their group. He was the closest to Kit, and she was thankful that he had taken station there. While she tried to stay one step away and isolate, taking as infrequently as she could, it was reassuring that Morgan would choose that spot and keep her in the loop.

“Okay, wait a minute. If the unsub is a chemist with access to the toxin, what'd he need Dempsey for?”

“Well, we don't know yet,” Gideon said, “But, she worked for a, she worked for a company, called, uh,” he started rifling through the papers, “Hitchcock Pharmaceuticals. I think there's a good chance the unsub worked there, too.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, let's start with people who fit the profile who've had a recent stressor.”

Morgan called Garcia, and she found them some names to work with. Kit tried to pay attention, but Reid had settled himself down in one of the desks again, fingers trembling slightly, but nothing else giving him away.

While the team spoke she found herself walking to make another cup of tea, eyes darting to her backpack as she steeped the bag. She retrieved what she was looking for quickly, the honey stick having been tucked in there by Monty as a “just in case” item. Kit had laughed at her then, but she was glad for it now.

When she came back and set the tea down next to Reid, making sure the rest of the team was distracted by the case, Elle was saying, “All those innocent people at the bank.”

Gideon didn’t seem concerned, and that bothered Kit to no end.

“They meant nothing to him. He'll take out anybody to forward his cause.”

There was a moment that Kit wasn’t in the precinct anymore. She was at the hospital, watching Lynn Dempsey die before her very eyes. Her chest constricted, like she was being squeezed in the grasp of a snake. Grieving a woman she had never known.

“Like Dempsey,” she said.

Gideon didn’t seem to feel the weight of her comment the way she did, continuing on as if she’d barely spoken.

“Like Dempsey, and eventually, even himself. Until he finishes taking out his primary targets.”

“We have no idea where he's going to strike next,” Morgan said, expressing the frustration we all had, “For all we know, he could poison the local reservoir.”

“Elle, the local cops haven't gotten any leads out of Dempsey. Why don't you go to Hitchcock and see if you have any luck,” Hotch said, causing Elle to perk up a bit.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and moving out of her seat.

-----

“This is my job!”

Kit was not yelling. She was speaking to Hotchner with a whole lot of heat, hands clenched by her sides so they wouldn’t tap. Wouldn’t tug. Wouldn’t give away how frustrated she was.

“Colghain, this is going to end in arrest, or suicide. You aren’t needed on this takedown, the profile doesn’t state that he will do anything to hurt anyone but himself.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” she said, “What if the profile is wrong and something happens.”

“The profile isn’t wrong,” came a voice over her shoulder.

Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Gideon was not going to make her lose her cool. Not like in Delaware. She was having a conversation with Hotch, and Gideon could think anything he wanted, but she would ignore him if it meant keeping her words and tone relatively professional.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you.”

She meant it, and Hotch knew that. She knew he could see it in her. He was the best profiler of them all.

“Nothing is going to happen. I appreciate your dedication to your position, but this is my decision. We’ll have local SWAT with us, and we’re going in last. This will end in an arrest or a suicide.”

Hotch spoke as if to say “and that’s final” once he was done. His tone wasn’t demanding or forceful, but she knew he wasn’t going to give in.

Her shoulders finally relaxed, one hand coming up to rub at her opposite bicep.

“Please be careful,” she said finally, to which Hotch nodded.

“We will. I’d like you to check in with Reid. He’s looking… off.”

“I already did,” she said simply, full intention to keep her promise. “He’s okay. Said he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Hotch didn’t look convinced, but let that be her answer without more pushing.

“Alright, well, maybe check again. He won’t ask for help.”

“Don’t you have an unsub to go face without me?” She said, and though she was still frustrated, she allowed herself to push it down with the other emotions, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, turning on his heel and setting off down the hall.

Kit took a moment to breathe before she turned back to the precinct. Gideon wasn’t standing behind her. She had no idea where he’d gone, actually.

Wonderful. He wants to be confrontational and Hotch isn’t here anymore. He didn’t let you go on the takedown. Did Gideon get to him? Does he not think I’m capable?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Cac!” Kit jumped, turning towards the slightly flushed assailant behind her. “Reid! That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, voice nasal.

She tilted her head, pulling her eyebrows together as she thought about his question. It felt vaguely familiar.

“What?”

“What does that mean? You spoke Gaelic.”

“Oh,” she said, smoothing out her pants that were not wrinkled, and ignoring the fact that her tongue itched to correct him. Her parents called it Irish, and most people called it Gaelic, but she wasn’t going to get into linguistical nuances with Reid. “I don’t know what I said. You scared me, I reacted.”

“Cac.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, jaw dropping slightly. “What?”

“Cac, that’s what you said. You said ca-”

“Stop!” She all but yelled, her hands coming up in front of her as if to physically stop him from talking. “Okay, yes. I got it. That’s what I said. Please stop saying it.”

He looked confused by her outburst, sheepish even. “Tell me what it means.”

“It’s…” She trailed off, feeling the embarrassment creep across her face. “It’s rude. It’s a rude word.”

“Like a swear word?”

“No, a rude word. Like, that a child would say.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it’s a… bathroom word?”

Kit watched as Reid’s face morphed into a smirk. Was he teasing her? Reid could tease? She hadn’t been involved in any kind of situation that would warrant Reid teasing her. Was he being friendly?

Don’t think too hard about it. He’s Gideon’s protégé, and Gideon doesn’t like you.

“No more questions!” She snapped quickly, turning back into the precinct and stalking as far away as she could. Maybe she could find JJ and be of use somewhere with no Reid and no Gideon until the others got back.

-----

“He let us take him,” Hotch said. “He didn't kill himself. Doesn't fit the profile of a workplace killer.”

He, Gideon, Reid, and Kit were standing in the viewing portion of the interrogation room, the four of them staring through the glass at Hill. Kit hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Hotch why exactly she was needed. She figured Elle or Morgan would have been a much more appropriate choice.

“Sometimes you miss the mark,” Gideon said, hands pressed firmly on the top of the room’s table. “Let's be glad we did. He's our best chance at stopping the next attack.”

“Well, his lab had traces of botulinum toxin, but no clues as to what he's up to next,” Hanover said, walking in the room to stand near Gideon. He sounded listless, and Kit could feel the shift in the room when he entered. He was in over his head and he knew it.

Hotch didn’t look towards him, instead staying trained on Hill. “Our only chance is to make him tell us.”

Hanover didn’t seem convinced. “You think he will?”

“Once caught, these types usually do. They want the whole world to know about their brilliant plan to destroy their enemies,” Reid offered him, not sounding very impressed by Hill’s archetype.

“In case he doesn't give it up, let's play every angle,” Gideon said, angling his body away from where Kit stood at the wall. He wasn’t talking to her, that much was very clear. “We need to re-examine everything we know about this guy.”

Reid shifted on his feet, pressing his hands into his pockets. “I'll check witness reports, forensic evidence, anything that might be a clue to this guy's plan.”

Gideon nodded as Reid turned to him for approval. “A lot of lives could be at stake,” he said softly.

“I can help you,” Kit offered, keeping her voice level. She wanted to check her notebook for Reid’s medicinal distribution times more than she thought she would be helpful with his paperwork search, but she didn’t want to be in the room with Gideon anymore, and she wasn’t really doing anything just standing around.

“No,” Hotch said, now looking away from Hill and towards her isolated spot. “Colghain, I want you here while Gideon and I speak with Hill. Watch from this side of the glass. I’ll need your input when we’re done.”

“Hotch-”

“Sir-”

Gideon and Kit went to speak at the same time, causing Reid’s eyes to widen. He took his leave from the room quickly, and Hotch raised a hand to stop both Kit and Gideon before they could continue their grievance.

“Colghain will stay here and listen in while we interview Hill. Watch him closely.”

Kit hadn’t even been able to look at Hill during their short time on their side of the glass. He was a killer, and to her knowledge, she’d never been in the presence of one before. How one person could feel they were above so many others, that their feelings and their lives were more important, was lost to her, and she had no desire to look at him at all. Let alone watch him for the duration of his interview.

The room suddenly felt very cramped, though they had lost both Reid and Hanover in the moments of situational discomfort. Hotch’s eyes darted between Kit and Gideon, narrowing slightly as the physical tension in the far-too-small space between the two.

“Colghain,” Hotch said again, now gaining her attention more fully. “I want you at the window. Feel him out.”

She took a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, not able to get deep enough to make the feelings of discomfort go away. Her head nodded of its own accord, and her feet seemed to follow suit, moving towards the window and finally looking at the man sat there.

He wasn’t much. Not remarkable. He looked like a dad she would have seen at afternoon pick-up in grade school.

But he isn’t a dad at school, Kody. This man hurt people. Killed two of them, and was trying to kill others. He was using drugs and toxins to harm people. What sort of sick person could do that? Not much of a person at all.

The hatred sat like a weight in her gut, and while it was obvious Hotch and Gideon had no benevolent feelings for Hill, it didn’t belong to either of them. It was all her own.

Her eyes narrowed through the glass, and she took a breath.

“Okay. Yes, sir,” she said. She heard even footsteps pad out the doorway. Her eyes didn’t move from Hill as she continued mumbling, now directly to Hill though the glass, even though he couldn’t hear her. “Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú.”

“What did you say to him?”

Gideon.

“Sorry?” Kit said, eyes never moving from the window. She’d thought Gideon had left as well and was following Hotch, not staying behind to watch her.

“What did you say? To Hill.”

She took a breath and turned, eyes narrowing at the older man in front of her. He didn’t want her there anyway, she might as well tell him.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú,” she said, now louder. Each word was enunciated clearly, eyes not moving from Gideon’s. If he wanted to know, she’d tell him. “It’s something my Gran used to say to people with tattoos after she came to America.”

“And what does it mean?” He asked, mouth in a hard line, eyes searching her for an answer.

“May the devil choke you,” she said simply, voice never wavering.

There was a moment of silence between them. Kit didn’t shift. She didn’t fidget or rock her weight. She didn’t move her eyes from his.

“Where’s yours?” He finally asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes never becoming less severe as she tried to gauge his question.

“My what?”

“Your tattoo? Where is it?”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. She hated the way Gideon felt so smug. How it seemed to circle in the air and choke her.

“There it is,” he said, not waiting any longer for her answer.

“There what is?” she responded, not able to keep the bite from her tone.

“Trouble,” he said simply. His eyes never left hers.

For a moment she considered pushing. Considered defending herself, and telling him that she wasn’t trouble. That she was doing her job, and that he should just let her be.

She didn’t get the chance, though, as he turned on his heel and followed where Hotch had left the room.

Kit stood, staring at the spot Gideon had just been for a long while before she heard Hotch’s voice through the speaker.

She turned back to the glass, watching now as Hotch and Gideon spoke to Hill. She took in his facial expressions. His body language. The feel of his emotions, though it wasn’t easy through the glass.

She did her job.

When they finished and reentered the room Kit was in, Hotch stood next to her, looking in at Hill.

“I called JJ. She, Morgan, and Elle are headed to the party now.”

Kit nodded once, eyes still searching Hill as he sat across the glass.

“What did you notice?”

She took a breath, calmer now that Hotch was there, and that she’d had something productive to focus on. “He’s really… sweaty. That probably sounds stupid, but it’s strange to me. He didn’t give me a feeling of regret. He seemed sure of his decision, I guess, until you started to talk about taking his case. Then less sure, but he was sweating before that.” She waited for him to stop her, but he didn’t, so she continued. “He started fidgeting a lot there at the end. I don’t think it was guilt though. More like… discomfort. Like there was something else bothering him other than the two of you doing your interrogation.”

Hotch nodded, turning to look at her now. “He was sweating before we started?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m sure of it. That’s one of the things I look for when I’m watching for patients in distress.”

The three agents watched Hill for another minute before Hotch spoke to Gideon, saying, “What is it?”

“You're right,” Gideon said, “It doesn't make sense. Why didn't Hill take his own life when we had him surrounded?”

“Guys, I think we have a problem.”

Reid walked into the room as he spoke at a brisk pace, all sense that there was something wrong with his health pushed aside by his serious demeanor. “I've been looking over the victim reports. One of the victims that was originally dosed was severely diabetic.”

Kit’s eyes went wide, though Hotch didn’t seem to see the issue.

“And?” He asked.

“He wouldn't have taken any candy from the bowl at the bank,” Kit said, eyes flicking to her, and then back to Reid.

He nodded at her and said, “All of the victims were there. We know that, but how were they poisoned? I started looking at the security footage.”

He turned the laptop he was holding. On the screen was the film from the bank, in which Lynn Dempsey was meddling with the candy bowl.

“We know Lynn Dempsey replaced some candy from the bowl. Look how close that jar is to the deposit envelopes. Now, watch this.” He clicked a button, and the film zoomed in to show Lynn Dempsey’s hand on top of the stack of envelopes, right next to the candy bowl. “See that? Her hand is directly in the stack of envelopes.”

“So, you think the envelopes were poisoned as well as the candy?” Hotch asked. Kit took a step closer, eyes looking carefully at the picture.

Reid continued. “As Lynn Dempsey was dying, she kept saying something like "the end, the end." I think that what she was saying was "the envelopes." I mean, what was Hill actually testing? The rohypnol? The LSD?”

Gideon took a moment before saying, “The delivery system.”

“Exactly,” Reid said, “Botulinum toxin and LSD are the only two substances in the world toxic enough to be effective in doses as small as thousandths of a gram. Small enough to fit on the glue strip of an envelope.”

Kit found herself nodding, though no one was looking at her. She might have added more to Spencer’s finding, but Gideon’s words from earlier stopped her.

Trouble.

She wouldn’t prove him right.

“But, the CDC didn't find any evidence of poison on the envelopes,” Hotch said, face slightly scrunched in confusion. Grasping at straws, just like they all were.

“They wouldn't have. The envelopes were destroyed after the checks were deposited and processed,” Spencer explained. He started to sound a bit hoarse now, and Kit shifted her weight in sympathy of his discomfort.

“So,” Hotch said, clearly needing to process out loud at the speed he took his words. “like the rohypnol, Hill was using the candy to throw us off. To cover his tracks. To distract us from the fact that he was testing the envelopes.”

Reid was still working it over as well. “What I can't figure out is why would he poison the envelopes to test the punch?”

“Because the punch is a decoy just like the candy,” Hotch offered.

Kit turned to look at Hill. There was something they were missing. Something right there, but they just couldn't see it.

What could he still be hiding?

She watched for a moment as he started to go a bit red, Hill’s breathing seeming strained. She heard Gideon speak behind her.

“He's not finished.”

She felt her jaw go slack as she realized what was happening. Hill was choking. He’d dosed himself with the botulism toxin before he could be captured. That was why he didn’t kill himself. He’d already done it. He was dying.

He’s dying.

“Hotch!” She yelled, moving quickly out the door of the room and around the side. She was pretty sure she didn’t have the clearance to be doing whatever she was about to do, but she didn’t really care.

She heard Hotch call, “Gideon!” behind her, but she didn’t stop.

She threw the door open, pulling desperately at the chair Hill was sitting in. The chair was heavy, and with Hill sitting on it she struggled.

Hotch came up behind her, helping pull the chair out.

“Get him down on the floor!” She called. She could feel Gideon behind her, trying to move into her space and take control.

“Get his head back!”

“Shut up!” She yelled, pulling at Hill’s arms to release the hold he had on himself as the toxin paralyzed his diaphragm.

It only took a few seconds before Hill stopped breathing, tongue going slack inside his mouth as his life ended before their eyes.

“He's dead,” Hotch said simply.

Gideon was quick to respond. “He killed himself before we even got to him.”

Kit stood to her feet, slamming her hand onto the table, “Damn it!” She yelled, rounding on Gideon. “What the hell is wrong with you?! What the hell-” she slammed her hand on the table again, “-do you think I’m doing here?!”

“Colghain-” Hotch started, but Kit was already making her way out the door.

“I’m calling EMS!” She yelled angrily over her shoulder, pushing past a dumbfounded Reid standing in the hallway, and leaving all three agents in her wake.

Kit was pacing in the hallway once she finished the call. She expected Hotch to reprimand her, or Gideon to be angry with her. Reid hadn’t even said anything, though by the look of him after his revelation about Lynn Dempsey, he was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try to unpack what had happened.

She considered trying to help him some more. Pump him full of cold medicine and send him to bed. She didn’t. She just continued to pace, infuriated by the way Gideon had tried to take over. He had no respect for her, that much was clear.

Why am I even here? Why am I here with these people who think I’m a joke? Who have no respect for my job or for me? They don’t care about what I’m doing or who I am. They’re stiffs. They’re all stiffs.

“Colghain, come on.”

She looked up to see Gideon and Reid already setting off down the hallway, Hotch in their wake. Gideon’s body language suggested he was frustrated, but Kit genuinely couldn’t have cared less.

“The victims need to ingest the anti-toxin within four hours of the time they were poisoned,” Reid was saying.

Kit caught up to Hotch, right at his heels. They were moving in a way that suggested action, and she couldn’t pace and fume in the hallway anymore.

“You found the real targets?”

“They’re in the woods.”

“Do we know where in the woods?”

The SUV flew down the highway, and when they got there they were out of their seats in seconds. The four of them vaulted the wall between the car and the campsite, and Kit only slowed when she saw Reid nearly topple over. Was he dizzy? She’d have to check later.

They got to the officers waiting there out of breath, but entirely focused. Nothing but the victims mattered.

“These guys are in bad shape and getting worse by the minute,” the officer that greeted them said.

Hotch almost didn’t let the officer finish before he was asking, “Who's the sickest?”

“That one over there,” the man said.

Gideon didn’t let the officer finish before he was already yelling. “Medic!”

“He’s having trouble breathing. Hyperventilating, I think,” the officer continued, and they moved quickly.

“What time did he lick the envelopes?” Reid asked, just behind where Kit was walking. Gideon and Hotch were already near the man that was sweating heavily, his breaths wheezing with exertion.

“They said around 12:30,” the officer assured.

Kit let out a breath. They had time. They would be okay.

She came upon them as Gideon was starting to speak to the man. His tone was gentle and understanding. Not at all anything like he’d ever used towards her.

The tone she associated with him was scathing. Questioning. When he spoke to the victim, she could have confused him with one of her clinic nurses.

“I’m a federal agent. You're going to be fine. This is gonna make you feel a hundred percent. Relax and breathe. You're gonna be fine.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice weak, but the panic flooding off of him reduced to worry.

Kit moved to another one of the executives, speaking softly and assuringly as they were administered the antitoxin. She wished she could be of more help, but the EMS workers had it covered. That was their job. At that moment, she was a federal agent. Just like Gideon.

She settled in the seat across from Morgan on the jet. He put on his headphones and crashed almost immediately, and Kit envied his ability to sleep so easily.

Her mind kept drifting to Hill. To the way he died on the floor of the interrogation room. To Gideon trying to get in her way, or take her job as she attempted to help the dying man. To the way she’d yelled at him.

Ari and Monty would never believe it if she told them she’d lost her temper that way. Monty was their spitfire, at least at work. In the clinic there wasn’t a cooler head than Kit’s. But something about the way Gideon treated not only her, but those all around him, bothered her deep in her gut. She watched as he was gentle with Reid, and people he didn’t know, but never with other members of the team.

Now, she figured he probably didn’t tell everyone else they were trouble. She was trouble. Just her.

Her hands moved to help tuck her legs under her, brushing gently on the tattoo just higher than her ankle. A sprig of holly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

She waited a moment before pulling her backpack onto the seat with her. She grabbed the blue pills from where she’d purposefully stashed them that morning, and then sat up taller, leaning over the back of her seat to where Reid had all but thrown himself.

Gideon was sleeping across from him, but she could see that their youngest wasn’t asleep at all.

“Reid,” she said quietly.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Um, yes?” His voice was rough again, sounding almost congested.

“Here. Before Hotch finishes making his coffee.” She passed over the pills and a bottle of water she’d snagged from the nurses station at the hospital the day before. She’d saved it for this exact purpose.

Reid looked surprised for a moment before sitting up, sniffling before accepting the offering. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning back to sit in her seat correctly without another word.

She wasn’t mad at Reid. She was mad at Gideon. He made her feel small, and unimportant, and stupid. That wasn’t Reid’s fault.

But Gideon was Reid’s mentor, and she had no room in her emotional baggage to be friends with the pseudo son of her antagonizer.

She scratched down the medication in her notebook before shoving it back into place in her bag. A moment passed before she heaved a sigh, glancing to Morgan and pulling out her own iPod. It wasn’t a long flight. Soon she would be back in her apartment, maybe even before Ari left for the day, and she could process about Gideon. She could process about Reid. She could process about Lynn Dempsey, coding in her hospital bed. She could process about Hill dying on the floor, right in front of her.

-----

Kit got to the metro station in record time. The redline had only three minutes until it was supposed to pick up for the night, and Kit pulled her coat tighter around herself. She’d left quickly, only going up to the sixth floor to grab her thermos from two mornings before. She’d wash it before she was due to be in the BAU the next morning, and Hotch had even told them they could have a soft start, since they got in so late.

She was wondering if she should have given Reid the nighttime version of the medication she offered. She didn’t really think about him having to drive home, and drowsy was probably not the best choice for driving across DC on a Tuesday night.

“Do you have any more water?”

“Cac!”

Kit spun around, hands at the ready, only to find Reid standing two feet behind her. His eyes were wide, nose bright red, and fever flush covering his cheeks.

“Reid! What the hell!”

“I thought you said that was a rude word,” he rasped. No one had really spoken after they got off the jet, and Reid definitely sounded worse for wear.

“What?” She said, eyes narrowing. “It is. What are you doing here?”

A wave of confusion came off of him at that. “Um, what do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the metro tracks. “What are you doing here at my metro stop?” She scoffed quietly, not letting him have the chance to lie to her. “You can tell Gideon that I take the metro just like any other person. Monty and Ari and I share a car, and normally I’m leaving the office before eleven. You don’t have to, like, spy on me.”

She watched as his eyebrows hit his hairline. He was confused, but she didn’t care. She was tired and her emotions were starting to creep back up on her. She wasn’t going to meltdown on the metro, and she was not going to meltdown in front of Reid.

Not after what he’d already seen.

“You… what?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she continued. Thankfully, the metro pulled up at that moment. She stepped onto the train and turned to face him again, gesturing to his general being. “Also, you look terrible. Don’t come in to work tomorrow.”

“Wait, no, Dakota-”

“Stop.” She said, putting every bit of force into her words, but making sure she didn’t sound aggravated enough for someone around them to try and jump in. The last thing she needed was a good samaritan to misunderstand their situation. “Just stop. Goodnight, Reid.”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before Kit moved away from the door and took a seat. She put her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

She didn’t notice him step through a door farther down, sinking into his own train seat, fevered forehead pressed against the cold redline glass as the train pulled away from the now empty stop.

#Brenna writes things #or at least she tries #Second Child Restless Child #SCRC #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #gaelic/irish #OC #female OC #Can anyone tell I hate Jason Gideon?#1x13 Poison #gap fill #TW illness #TW hospitals #tw minor character death #it's that one lady

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cutegirlmayra · 5 years

Note

Hey friend~! I recently developed a need for some Amy x Gadget (the custom hero wolf-guy) from Sonic Forces. I dunno why, I just think it sounds cute. :V I'll leave details up to you. Feel free to message me if we need to discuss specifics. (Also, I can totally draw a picture for this if you need one. dsgkjsd;lga)

You know I love you and pics for my prompts! >w

Your needs are my passionate, daily labor~

PROMPTS ARE STILL ON SHUTDOWN! Please don’t send me a prompt! I’m still working through the ones I have T-T

Commissions are open for writing! Please speak with me and we can customize your order! :Db Also, check specific rules before any purchases!

Prompt:

“I just miss him soooooo much!” Amy hugged the couch’s pillow, squinting her eyes shut and wagging her body back and forth in her hyper energy.

Gadget just nodded politely, but it was clear he was feeling a little awkward at her exaggerated emotions…

“My body just wants to leap out and embrace him! Can you blame me? We all thought he was-…” She grew quiet for a few seconds, making Gadget a bit worried about her and lean forward.

“… Ah! It’s too painful to recount!” she suddenly shoved the pillow into her face and spooked him, having him ‘yelp!’ in surprise and fall off the couch.

She peeked over the pillow at him on the ground, seeing that he may be feeling pain from the landing. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” she quickly got up and sat beside him, her hands on the sides of her face. “I just get so worked up about Sonic! My bad…” she tilted her head in apology, but Gadget just wanted up off the floor.

She took his hand and helped him up, which is when he realized her overwhelming strength.

“W-Woah…” he blinked, immediately back on his feet again.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

As she tilted her head, his vision grew uneasy as she was suddenly shining with a brilliant radiance around her.

“GAK!” he flinched back and let her hand go. ‘She… She’s so cute! Darn it, I’m attracted to strong women!’

“Hmm?” she seemed oblivious of what his face was conveying. “Did you hit your head when you fell or just your bum?” she didn’t seem to understand his odd behavior but stepped around him with a finger to her mouth.

“Hmm… You sure you’re alright?”

‘Too close!’ he flung his arms up over his head and covered some of his face, nodding assuringly with little sweat droplets spraying all around his nervous face.

“Well, if you say so. Hey! I have an idea! Let’s go and try to find Sonic!”

‘Bad idea.’ he lowered his arms, looking at her with some sympathy now. ‘Tails had found other dimensional Sonic, and the Sonic from our world is really busy with mission after mission. I should know. They give me all the dirty work when he’s off recovering or trashing an Eggman base…” he scratched the back of his head, looking away from her cheery self. ‘But I can’t just break her heart and say no… I’m supposed to wait for Knuckles to tell me where to go next but…’

It pained him, but he took a glance back at Amy, wincing when he saw how completely carefree and happy she was.

Her eyes were twinkling with hope and longing, it clutched at his heart and caused a deep, torturous pain to swell up in it. Like bowling balls being crushed up against his fragile, sensitive heart.

He clutched his chest, chibi-crying inside his mental image of himself. ‘SO CUUUUTTEEEE!’ he cried within his thoughts.

“You’ll be my partner this time, right?” she blinked rapidly, leaning up closer to him without restraint.

He mentally panicked, forcing his arms straight down beside him and turning his head which way and left her without a response.

‘She’s never going to take no for an answer! I’m supposed to stay at base, but I think this is more temptation then I can handle! I wasn’t even properly trained for the forces, how do they expect me to decline a sweet, beautiful young girl such an innocent request!?’

He swallowed hard, then shrugged with a nervous laugh of approval.

“Oh yay! Thank you, recruit!”

She lept into his arms.

Suddenly, those nerves turned to butter that her warm arms melted and he limped in her sturdy embrace.

He was in heaven, while the world around him was crumbling into oblivion.

He bent back a moment with a goofy grin on his face before she released him and pulled him at alarming speeds out from HQ. “Come on! I just know Sonic’s this way! Call it my womanly intuition!”

His eyes were spirals, ‘S-She’s so strong!’ his blush could leave a stream of light behind as she dragged him along, but he didn’t mind.

Amy was struggling to breathe. The over-turned road was their only defense against the flames from the giant Eggman robots, but Gadget fought against the bending of the cement collapsing on them.

It was like something he would run on at high speeds, the twisting roadways, but now it was a hazard they were trapped under.

Amy was on her knees, coughing into her hand.

The heat rippled over him and the smoke stung at his lungs, but the will to protect Amy was stronger than all that.

“Amy!” he looked behind him, “I need you!”

She opened her eyes, red from the dusty air mixing with the sting of flames.

“You’re stronger than me! Even I know that!” he cried out, it was the most he had ever said to her, maybe to anyone else in his whole life.

But he needed her amazing strength, her impeccable bravery, and charming optimism to get them out of this mess.

“AMY!” His voice strained as the road began to topple on top of him.

Suddenly, two hands were placed by his right arm against the falling cement.

“Huh?” He turned to see that same girl, strong and determined, pushing against the wall.

“Sonic wouldn’t want me to give up, either!” she nodded, a sound resolve in her dry mouth. “We have to let it collapse!”

“Huuuhhh!?!?” Did she have a death wish!?

“Trust me! Look at how it’s bending!”

He saw where her eyes were and looked down the swirling mass of road.

‘…Wait!’ he could see what she meant!

“It bends like a wave!” she explained, “If we let it fall, we can run through the tunnel and stay out of the destruction! We can make it if we run really, really fast!” he could hear her strength in her voice giving way, she couldn’t hold the wall of the road up much longer.

It wasn’t just that though, he looked to his grappler.

“Are you with me?” She closed her eyes, growing desperate as he could hear her grunt to keep her force against the road.

He smiled, “Always.”

She peeked an eye open, seeming shaken at his quick reply.

He kept a gentle hold on her eyesight, as he noticed her begin to see him differently, as though she saw light spring from around him too.

Then the road broke around Amy’s arms.

“Ahh!” she pulled back and grabbed onto him. “Run!”

The two bolted down through the lop-sided oval of the rolling road collapsing just at their heels. Gadget had his arm around Amy and she had one around him, it gave him the confidence to believe his next plan would work.

No matter how strong or fast Amy was, neither of them could move faster than this domino effect. They didn’t have enough boost…

He threw his grappler out to the side of a cliff.

“What are you doing?!” Amy cried out, a few pieces of cement hitting her head. “Ah!”

“Grr..!” seeing her about to get sweeped up in the whiplash of the falling structure, he pulled her closer and shot out towards the cliff.

He was right, the whole thing cascaded down the gap below in a slow falling crash once the line flattened at the end of its tail.

Amy clung to Gadget as they dangled on the side of the cliff wall, but she didn’t notice Gadget hitting his shoulder hard against the stone to protect her from the impact.

He was waning… and then…

“That… that was amazingly lucky. You saved us, Rookie… GADGET!” she suddenly saw him let go.

They began tumbling down for a moment until Amy summoned her hammer, “Not like this! I won’t let you die!”

She hooked her hammer to an underground, but now exposed pipe sticking out from the cliffside.

Using the remaining last bits of her strength, she climbed the rest of the way up to the city’s broken surface and placed Gadget down beside her, falling by his side and gasping for air.

The flames still licked the skies as she looked at his face.

Was he conscious?

“Gadget…” she lifted a hand delicately to his face, stroking some black soot and dirt off his cheek. “Thank you… You… did so great today. It’s all my fault… I put us in harm’s way to find Sonic… I should have thought more about you then myself… I’m sorry.” she hugged him, and without realizing it, Gadget smiled and softly opened his eyes.

He bent his head down and closed them again, but hugged her with a weak arm in return.

“I… thought more about you then myself, too.”

She gasped, rising her head up.

He smiled sheepishly, still a bit battered from it all and his shoulder driving him crazy, but he tried to remain a handsome, fallen hero if he could muster it long enough.

“I think… you did great too.”

She pursed her lips, tearing up.

“You really think I’m strong, don’t you?”

“Stronger than you know.”

She was crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe, but he left the sarcasm in his voice go unnoticed.

“…Gadget…” she went a little limp on him.

He took the chance to breathe a bit easier, but then moved up as she helped him sit better.

“Sonic’s… a lucky guy.”

“Huh?” She seemed surprised to hear him say that, as though she didn’t understand before shaking her head. “O-Oh, right. Uh-huh…”

He noticed the sorrow that suddenly stroke her face, and a glimmer of hope rose in him.

“Do you… fall for anyone that saves your life? Or just the handsome blue speed demons?”

She blushed and pushed him away, covering her face. “STOP THAT! That’s not true! OoooOOOOooohhh..!” she whined her infamous tune.

‘Ow, my shoulder!’ he twitched his hand and arched his back, not releasing a single word from his mouth. ‘Pain, pain, pain! But so strong! Chaos, I love that she’s strong but why now!?’ he gripped the air and bite at his lower lip, ducking his head down to not reveal how much pain he was in at her action.

“Hmph. I’m not easily swooned…” she turned away, but he thought for a moment that maybe she was lying…

“Well, if you can be, I wouldn’t mind being a hero instead of a rookie.”

She flinched and looked back at him, “You… I love Sonic!”

“For now, maybe.”

Her quills rose, perhaps in protest? But her mouth forced a frown as though trying to hide something.

“You're younger than me!”

“Is that your first excuse?”

In offense, she punched his chest. “No!”

“Ow..!” he let a piercing cry escape for a moment. “So… Strong…” it was his last hit point, so he fell back and let the darkness take him.

“Huh? Gadget? Rookie? Hey!” were the last sweet sounds he heard before slowly… drifting… away…

He woke up later to hear from Tails that he was stupid for letting Amy get her way, and was scolded by Knuckles profusely for letting her get away with manipulating him.

However, while Sonic was away… Gadget would make Amy flustered and nervous in his absence~

Though, she didn’t seem to ever return his affections, maybe thinking it was his odd way of teasing her but…

For Gadget? It was enough.

#sonic prompt #sonic forces #sonic forces prompt #gadgetxamy #amy rose #sonic forces rookie #sonic forces custom character #custom characterxamy #sonic

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard III: Avengers Assemble (Chapter 8) (B. Urie x Reader)

“GRENADE!”

On the Helicarrier bridge, the small device exploded, sending agents flying in every direction. In the smoke, Loki’s men entered, guns at the ready.

Fury knocked one out, using his handgun to shoot at another. While he moved to take care of a third, a fourth man entered. Unbeknownst to The Director, the henchman aimed his gun at his head, about to blow his brains out.

Agent Hill shot him in the head, eyes blazing. She was pissed.

And bleeding.

Giving her a short nod, Fury proceeded to join her in attacking the rest of the assailants. The place was chaotic; every available agent was playing defence, protecting the Helicarrier as best they could, while the tech employees scrambled in search of a hiding place.

Over the intercom, Agent Coulson’s voice sounded all throughout the ship. “We’ve got the Hulk, Thor and Snowflake on Research Level Four. Levels Two and Three are gone.”

Agent Hill yelled out almost immediately, knowing full well what a battle between three super-strong inhumans meant. “Sir, the Hulk will tear this place apart!”

“Get his attention,” Fury instructed calmly.

“Escort 6-0, proceed to Wishbone and engage hostile,” Hill said over the comms, “Don’t get too close.”

On the outside of the Helicarrier, a fighter jet pulled up. “Copy.”

The young pilot directed the jet over to where you, Thor and Hulk were fighting, seemingly evenly matched in terms of strength.

“Target acquired,” he spoke, aiming the jet’s guns at the Hulk, “Target engaged.”

Within a split second, a flurry of bullets were headed toward Hulk. The barrage of metal did no harm, each and every one of them bouncing off of his green skin.

It did no harm, but it certainly pissed him off.

Hulk roared, running at the window. Crashing through the glass, he leapt at the jet.

“Target angry,” the pilot panicked, screaming once the Hulk landed on his jet, “TARGET ANGRY!”

Landing on the nose, Hulk tore at the metal of the jet as it swerved in the air. The pilot tried to eject himself, but he didn’t manage to get very far, sicnce Hulk grabbed him and threw him and his seat off to the side.

Fortunately, the parachute deployed just in time, and he was able to make a safe getaway, propelled further away as the jet exploded, sending Hulk plummeting to the Earth.

✧✧✧

Research Level Four.

Groaning, you gripped the edge of a nearby desk station and steadied yourself, faint flecks of orange reflecting in your eyes as you watched the fighter jet explode.

“Shit,” you mumbled, sucking in a breath as you turned to look at Thor, “you think he’s okay?”

“He was able to battle the both of us without any issue,” he responded, standing up himself, “I am certain he is fine.”

Nodding to yourself, you tossed a quick glance around the mostly destroyed area, suddenly remembering why your altercation with the Hulk had happened.

“Loki,” you said, face hardening.

Starting for the exit, Thor spoke over his shoulder. “Help where you can. I have him.”

“Right,” you spoke under your breath, lightly chewing on the inside of your cheek.

You weren’t entirely familiar with the dynamic of Thor and Loki’s relationship, and from a S.H.I.E.L.D agent’s standpoint, allowing the brothers to interact without the prescence of another Avenger was an insansely risky move.

But you let Thor go it alone because as you just then remembered – you had another two men to deal with.

✧✧✧

The bridge.

Bullets were flying in every direction as the S.H.I.E.L.D agents fired at Loki’s men, trying to keep them at bay. Fury was at the forefront, shooting at the enemies.

“They are not getting through here so what the-“

Rounding the corner, Agent Barton fired explosive arrows throughout the area, wrecking havoc and disorientating almost everyone in sight. He fired one more arrow, which hit the control panel; the arrowhead broke apart to reveal some sort of USB device and inserted itself into one of the control plugs, hacking the system.

“Engine One is now in shutdown,” a computerised voice rang over the intercom as the Helicarrier began to tilt dangerously. Everyone in the bridge was knocked off of their feet.

“Sir,” Dallon cried out urgently, trying his best to keep himself upright as he rushed to his station, “we’ve lost all power in Engine One.”

Staggering over to some railings, Fury pressed one finger to his ear and spoke over the comm network.

“It’s Barton, he took out our systems. He’s headed for the detention lab. Does anybody copy?”

Down in the lower engine room, Natasha sat in the carnage of Hulk’s rampage, shaking. Slowly, she lifted a hand to her earpiece.

“This is Agent Romanoff,” she said softly, voice shaky, “I copy.”

✧✧✧

Detention centre.

Running toward the cage where his brother was being kept, Thor saw the glass door begin to slide open.

“No!” he yelled, running forward to prevent Loki from escaping, only to go straight through him.

Reappearing behind him, Loki shut the door, locking Thor inside the cage.

“Are you ever not going to fall for that?” he mused cheekily.

Angrily, Thor struck his hammer against the glass; the cage cracked, but the attack caused it to shake off the bolts securing it in place, threatening to send the god on a thousand mile decline.

Mockingly, Loki let out a short laugh as he treaded over to the control panel. “The humans think us immortal…” he looked at his brother with a questioning stare, “shall we test that theory?”

In a matter of seconds, the God of Mischief had pressed a button that opened a chute beneath the cell, which would drop Thor to what (for any regular person) would be certain death.

Coulson suddenly appeared, weilding a large prototype Phase Two weapon.

“Move away please,” the agent asked politely, trepidation only barely evident in his tone.

Loki stepped back from the panel and Coulson gestured to the gun.

“Do you like this? We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don’t know what it does. Do you wanna find out?”

The agent prepared to fire the weapon, but Loki disappeared. Reappearing behind Coulson, the god thrust the point of his dagger through the agent’s chest. Crying out, Coulson dropped to the floor.

“NO!” Thor hit his fist against the cage wall.

Returning to the panel, Loki pressed one more button, sending the cell – and Thor – flying from the ship.

Bleeding out and nearing his death, Coulson layed slumped against the wall of the detention centre, watching Loki as he turned to leave.

“You’re going to lose.”

Stopping in his tracks, Loki gave a brief glance over his shoulder. “Am I?”

“It’s in your nature.”

Turning so that he was facing the agent, Loki gestured with both hands as he replied. “Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky… where is my disadvantage?”

“You lack conviction.”

Loki’s face soured, and his tone turned harsh. “I don’t think I-“

Coulson took his oppurtunity, then, and fired the weapon. A blast of blue energy sent Loki flying through a wall.

“So that’s what it does.”

✧✧✧

Engine 3.

The Helicarrier was still falling, gaining speed as it declined. Iron Man was inside engine 3, attempting to kick start it by manually moving the huge rotors. He pushed the blades, flying faster and faster until they were able to spin on their own, leveling the ship.

“Cap,” Tony called out from inside the helmet, “hit the lever!”

Steve, who had been attacked by Loki’s men, was dangling from the side of the ship by a power chord. “I need a minute here!”

“Lever! Now!”

Cap hauled himself up, hurrying toward the lever.

Iron Man was pushed up against one of the rotors, which was now spinning too fast for him to escape.

“Uh-oh.”

Sucked into the blades, Iron Man was spun around wildly, trapped until Steve was finally able to pull the lever.

Now free, Tony was able to right himself and flew back to the ship, taking out the gunman who had resumed his attack on Steve.

Both men sat, absolutely spent, on the damaged, exposed floor of the Helicarrier. Looking out into the sky, they caught sight of a quinjet taking off from the deck of the ship.

Inside of it was Loki, who smiled down at the Helicarrier as it strayed further and further from his sight.

✧✧✧

Detention centre.

Fury rushed into the room, taking a kneeling postion beside Coulson’s limp body.

“I’m sorry, boss,” the agent said, gun still in his lap, “They got rabbitted.”

“Just stay awake,” Fury urged, tilting Coulson’s head, “Eyes on me.”

“Oh, I’m clockin’ out, here.”

“Not an option.”

Mustering up a weak smile, Fury’s right hand man reassured him one last time, “It’s okay, boss. This was never gonna work… if they didn’t have something… to-“

His breathing came to a halt. Regretfully, Fury stood up, letting the medical team through. He leaned against the railing.

✧✧✧

Corridor, near the infirmary.

You were running down the corridor, coming up on the room that Brendon and Aaron were in, when your godfather’s voice sounded out over the comms.

“Agent Coulson is down.”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

✧✧✧

Engine room.

Natasha stood on the catwalk, facing away as Barton was dragged away by some agents. She listened over the comms intently.

“A medical team is on its way to your location,” one of the other agents informed.

“They’re here,” Fury replied.

✧✧✧

Engine 3.

Tony and Steve stood together by the engine, listening quietly.

“They called it.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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justanotherwannabeclassic · 6 years

Text

Shutdown

Killian Jones is in love with the perfect woman, and now he's planning the perfect proposal. Unfortunately, real world politics are getting in his way.

Note: The Shutdown is officially over, so let's celebrate with fic!But first, let me use this platform for a request. 800,000+ federal works went two pay periods without their checks. A considerably number of federal contractors won't get paid at all. Many have turned to food banks, diaper banks, and other organizations that help those in need. Because of this unexpected increase in demand, many organizations of this type are now strapped thin when it comes to available resources. I highly encourage you to donate to your local area food bank, or even those in the DC-area which have a large number of federal workers. Any help is appreciated!

Special thanks to @distant-rose for encouraging me to finish this fic.

XXXXXX

He meets her in the summer only steps away from the White House.

It’s a place he usually avoids. He loathes tourists, and the White House during the Summer is the prime tourist hub. But Liam and Elsa are visiting, and because he wants to be a good brother/tour guide, he takes them to all of the highlights. He joins them on a tour of the Capitol Building, they get lunch from one of the hot dog vendors that line the Mall. They visit two of the Smithsonians -- the American History and Natural History Museums -- before focusing everything else.

By the time they get to the White House, the sweltering heat is messing with everyone, making Liam more irritable than normal, when Killian suggests popping into the Renwick for art and some much-needed AC. Elsa’s eyes light up, and Liam acquiesces, so Killian leads them away from fences and crowds to one of the Smithsonian's lesser-known galleries. There’s an exhibition with art from Burning Man or whatever outdoor festival is now hip with the youths -- maybe there is a reason Belle calls him an “old soul” -- and he wanders with his family for awhile. Just as they are about to go upstairs, Killian receives a call from his realtor about a property he’s considering, and steps outside to talk it over. It’s a quick and disappointing call -- the condo he was interested in already had a cash offer, that the seller was going to accept. To make matters worse, just as he ends the call, someone crashes into him, sending his phone flying into the hard concrete. The person who runs straight past him, dodging tourists and maneuvering down the stairs after someone else he hadn’t noticed before.

Killian, along with a few dozen other tourists, watch the proceedings. His phone forgotten a few yards away, his stands stunned as the blonde woman chases after a man. The person she’s chasing grabs an errant red bike left alone by an unaware tourist -- rookie mistake, he thinks, the tourist will have the pay for that -- and rides along the sidewalk until he can weave into traffic, earning a blare of a horn from a disgruntled cab driver. The woman throws her hands in the air, middle fingers raised high, when she realizes she’ll be unable to catch him.

He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he walks over to scoop up his phone -- the screen is definitely shattered -- and then makes a beeline toward the woman.

“Are you okay?” Killian asks. She turns at his question, and it takes Killian no time at all to realize that she’s beautiful. Green eyes and golden hair, and Killian’s always been a sucker for nice things.

“I’m fine. Annoyed, but fine.” She runs her hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “That fucking asshole got away.”

“Who was he?” He doesn’t know what compelled her to chase after the man. Did he steal something of hers? An ex? It doesn’t cross his mind to wonder if she’s the problem.

“To me? No one. But to the family he walked out on? Asshole.” At the quirk of his brow, she elaborates. “I work in bail bonds, and he skipped leaving his wife and kids to deal with the aftermath.”

“So what you’re telling me is that he probably deserved to be hit by that taxi just then.”

She cracks a small smile. “Something like that.” They fall silent for a moment, lingering but not quite knowing what to say. “Thanks for checking up on me,” the woman says finally, “you really didn’t have to.”

“Well, it’s not very often a beautiful woman crashes into you,” Killian tells her. He ducks his head, somewhat embarrassed, “I had to find out the reason why.”

Her eyes widen, and for a split-second Killian believes he has said something wrong until she gasps, “Oh shit, that was you? I really should be the one asking if you’re okay.”

He waves her off. “I’m fine. Phone’s a bit cracked, but that’s what insurance is for, right?”

Her face contorts in horror. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not big deal. Truly, I promise. In fact, watching you just now was impressive.”

Her eyes narrow. “Impressive? He got away.”

“And I’m sure you’ll catch your mark,” he says. “Someone who plows down strangers within sightline of the Secret Service doesn’t strike me as someone to be deterred.”

“Well, thanks.” Killian catches a hint of a blush, and considers it victory. “And, uh, sorry about ruining your vacation.”

“Vacation?” He quickly realizes that she assumes he’s here as a tourist. “Oh, no, my brother and his wife are the ones on vacation. I’m simply the one ferrying them around. Well, me and WMATA.”

“Well, then, I’m really sorry,” she teases.

“Hey now, it’s only caught fire once this month.”

“Back to Good, isn’t that the motto? Speaking of Back to Good and terrible taglines, are you sure everything is fine with your phone? I can help pay for a replacement once I catch this jerk.” She shoves her phone into her pocket, and pulls out a rumpled card. “Here’s my card. You can email me an invoice or whatever.”

He reads her name, Emma Swan, printed in large serif font. He like the flow of her name, almost as much as he likes the fire in her pretty green eyes. “Emma, you truly don’t have to worry about it.”

“Just let me, okay?” Emma asks, and he finally relents. There’s no use starting a fight over it. “Look, I have to fill out a report about this, but get back to me, okay?”

He nods dumbly, watching as she runs away -- a flash of red and gold. He considers tossing her card. He has insurance, and certainly doesn’t want to make her pay for his phone -- especially after hearing her qualify “once she catches the jerk.” But there’s something about her that makes him open up his wallet and put her card in his wallet.

He still won’t make her pay for his phone.

-/-

It’s not until well after Liam and Elsa leave and he settles back into his routine that Killian and he forces himself to get his phone fixed. Had it been a simple crack, he might have let it go, but lines spider-web across the front and bits of glass begun to chip off.

Emma Swan’s card has been burning a hole in his wallet, and not because he desires to be refunded. She is stunningly beautiful, and from his brief conversation, he’d gleaned that she was both funny and caring, and also that she appeared to have a code of honor -- something he appreciated.. He’d gone home with different women knowing far less.

But it still takes a few shots of rum on a lonely Saturday night to gather up the courage to send her an email. Even through the haze of alcohol, he knows he likely comes across as a little odd when she sends her a snapshot of him holding his new phone -- taken with his webcam -- with a message saying it’s all fixed.

I know you said you wanted to pay me back, and honestly you don’t need to do it. But if you feel so inclined to make it up to me, how about dinner sometime next week?

In the morning, he instantly regrets it. He has no relationship with this woman beyond a too-brief interaction, but he still feels a sense of loss at the idea of never hearing from her again. Perhaps it’s a sign he’s fully moved on Milah -- as much as one can move on from the untimely death of a loved one -- and that he’s ready to seriously again. Perhaps meeting Emma Swan was the kickstart to his future, and nothing more than that.

But perhaps not, because the following morning she responds.

This is a little be weird. It’s a good thing you’re cute. I’ll let you pick the place, but you have to let me pay. Does next Friday at 7 work. PS -Not creepy sex shit. Dinner only.

Killian smiles.

-/-

He takes her to a place in the Eckington neighborhood, a small restaurant that serves pub fare and where the bartender knows him by name. It’s not expensive, a fact that he kept in mind when suggesting places since she insists on paying. They sit outside, away from my prying eyes of the aforementioned bartender, where they can talk and dine under the stars and glowing lights strung around for ‘ambiance’. They light makes her hair appear more golden, and it’s there where he realizes that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He doesn’t tell her that, believing it to be too soon to make a confession. Instead he tells her, “You look lovely tonight,” which causes her to blush and reply, “I know.”

He’s beginning to really like Emma Swan.

They trade stories over burgers and beer. She elaborates more about her role as a bailbonds woman, and he fills her in on the inner-goings of his work at the State Department.

“I’ve gotta say, I expected you to be more of a British Embassy kind of guy,” Emma says, a hint of teasing in her voice when she finally makes note of his accent.

“You can take the man out of Britain, but you can’t take the Britain out of man, it seems,” he replies with a wink. It’s only after that he goes on to explain that he’s technically a dual citizen, courtesy of his father.

“I came here for school, and I suppose I never left,” he explains. There’s more to that story, of course, but the tale of his relationship with Milah is not one for first dates. It’s too serious of a topic this soon. He’ll tell her someday, if they progress that far. They stay late, and he almost regrets walking her back to her apartment. But before he leaves, he manages to ensure a second date and steal a goodnight kiss.

So this is what the start of forever feels like.

-/-

The more time passes, the more Killian begins to realize that his life can now be broken into “Before Meeting Emma Swan” and “After”. They go on more dates, and she helps him move into his new place once someone finally accepts his offer, and slowly but surely she becomes a fixture in his life.

He meets her friends -- Mary Margaret, a school teacher in Anacostia, and her husband David, a Congressional Staffer with the idealism that envies the cast of The West Wing. Ruby, the animal rights activist, and Regina, a human rights lawyer. In turn, he introduces her to his people. Belle takes an immediate liking Emma, as does Smee. Robin, the aforementioned bartender, also gives her his approval.

Slowly, but surely, their lives begin to meld together. They fill in one another about their work days. They attend happy hours together, brunches, grab fresh produce at the farmers market, basically doing all the sorts of things couples in this city do. Eventually, her friends begin hanging out at his haunts, and vice-versa. Robin the bartender meets Regina-the-lawyer, and before Killian knows it, everyone is getting coupled up.

It feels right.

Killian doesn’t want it to end.

-/-

It’s not all sunshine and roses, of course, but nothing ever is. They fight -- about going to fast, not going fast enough, over her messiness, and his willingness to just throw money around, they ways in which she is closed off and when he lets his ego get in the way. They work it out though, one of them eventually apologizing to the other. And the fact that they make it through these fights gives Killian just enough motivation to think that perhaps Emma Swan might actually be the one.

-/-

It takes one year and ten months after the day they met, three months after she finally moves into his condo, for Killian to buy a ring. He goes for something simple -- platinum band with a single solitaire diamond. He sends pictures to Liam and Elsa, shows Robin on a night when Emma is hunting down a skip.

“Think she’ll like it?” he asks, tilting the box to and fro so the diamond can catch the light and sparkle. God, he can’t wait to see it on her finger. Assuming she says yes.

She’ll say yes.

She has to say yes.

“It’s not about the ring, but the person asking it, my bean,” Robin replies, with all the sage wisdom only a bartender could have, “but you probably could have splurged on a bigger diamond.”

“You are absolutely not getting a tip tonight.”

Robin rolls his eyes, and gives him a free beer in congratulations.

“I’m tell you I’m going to propose to the woman of my dreams, and all you give me is a pale ale? Really, mate, that deserves something top shelf…”

“The top shelf is reserved for when I see that ring on her finger.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And yet you’re somehow still friends with me. Riddle me that, my friend,” Robin teases. His expression then turns serious. “I truly am happy you, and she will say yes.”

-/-

This is Killian’s plan:

They’ll have lunch at one of her favorite places in Foggy, and then he’ll suggest walking to the Renwick for old time’s sake. There’s apparently an interesting exhibit focused on the portrayals of fairy tale characters in art -- Mary Margaret had been gushing about, and one of his interns had commented about how “everyone is going for the ‘gram” -- so it’s bound to be interesting. And then, when they get there, he’ll drop down to one knee, and ask her to be his wife.

Assuming, of course, everything goes to plan.

-/-

It doesn’t.

-/-

Here’s the thing: Killian enjoys working for State. The benefits are good, and though he knows he’d get paid more as a lobbyist, his hours are stable and he has a better work/life balance than any of the Hill staffers he knows. He’s fine in his little federal government bubble, thank you very much. The biggest downside, along with navigating the bureaucracy of the US Government, is that every now and then his paycheck is affected by the whims of Congress and the sitting President. And, unfortunately, the whims and divided government are not in his favor, resulting in a government shutdown. The first few days he admittedly appreciates some time away from work. He sleeps in, and whenever Emma doesn’t have something to do in the early morning, they laze about in bed together partaking in very enjoyable activities. But as the shutdown lags, he finds himself eager to go back to work. He’s bored, and he honestly enjoys what he does. More importantly, he would also very much like to paid, along with everyone else whose world has been temporarily flipped upside down. Of course, there’s also a bit of selfishness present that has nothing to do with paychecks or the State Department.

“The Renwick is closed,” he sighs to Belle at the start of week two of the shutdown, as they sit on couch and binge the War and Peace miniseries that came out the previous year. The anniversary of him and Emma meeting is fast approaching, the ideal date for a proposal. But the Renwick doesn’t have the funds, and is non-essential, so its doors remained locked.

“You can still go to other museums. The Spy Museum is still open.”

“The Spy Museum is a godawful tourist trap,” he replies, earning an eye roll.

“I’m just trying to help.” She pokes him in the side. Like him, Belle is also furloughed from her position at the Library of Congress. They had originally met via a setup of mutual friends, and though their romantic relationship went nowhere, a friendship had blossomed.

“I wasn’t looking for things to do. It was more about wanting to propose to Emma.”

“I know, I was just ignoring that part.” She gets off of the couch and stretches before heading over to his bookshelf. “How many times do we have to tell you that it doesn’t matter where you propose? It will be perfect no matter what, because you and Emma are perfect couple for each other.”

“You sound like Mary Margaret.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She selects a book from his shelf. “Can I borrow this?”

“It’s Emma’s. You can ask, but I’m sure she won’t mind.” He waves her off, and Belle tucks the book into her side with a smile. “I know logically you’re right, alright? But it hardly changes the fact that I’d like to propose to her there.”

“And I’d like to go work, get paid, and not have to worry about my student loans. But, we can’t always get what we want.” She casts him a significant look, and Killian can’t help but feel like a complete asshole. He realizes then how petty he sounded.

“Shit. I’m was a terrible person just now, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe not terrible, but single-minded.” Belle has never been one to let his idiocy pass by, but she manages to always call him out with tact. He appreciates that about her. “Listen, Killian, you’re a romantic. It’s incredibly sweet, and I know Emma loves it. But don’t get caught up in your head waiting for the perfect moment or perfect place.”

-/-

He goes on a run the next day, forcing himself to get out of the condo. Emma is doing research on one of her skips, and he wants to give her space to work. Someone ought to be getting something done, and he knows she works better in silence.

As he runs, he follows a familiar path by the Potomac. The water always relaxes his mind. Once upon a time, he’d flirted with the idea of purchasing a houseboat, but that had been a dream of both him and Milah. When she died, he couldn’t bear to go through with it. Probably for the best, though Emma enjoys going out on the water with him, he knows she’d be less than thrilled to live on a boat full-time. And, honestly? So would he.

But, he still loves the water. He enjoys watching the way the sun sparkles off the surface and the sound of the gulls and ducks mingling with the light slapping of the waves against the concrete blockades.

On a normal day, he would turn around whenever he reaches the Mall, but he has extra energy to burn and the desire to push through. It’s quieter than normal, no longer overcrowded with families on vacation of eighth-graders gathered around on their school trip. Tourists are still around, but with the museums being closed, there are fewer places on the Mall for them to go. At least, he muses, it’s not like the last go around where they shut down the monuments. The trash, however, might rate as high as the tourists on the list of things he can do without. With the National Parks Service closed, trash has been piling. Volunteers and the local DC government both have stepped in,but it’s still a tenuous task.

Instead of sticking by the river, on whim Killian decides to cut across the mall. As he looks the right, he grimaces when he sees the Capitol Building. Gleaming white under the bright sun, it’s splendor is normally a beautiful sight, but today it only reminds him of dysfunction and everything currently going wrong. Every now and then, he would flirt with the idea of immigrating back to England. That had been an option shortly after Milah had died, but he hadn’t been ready to leave everything behind or the support system that he’d built. Besides, Liam had never been fond of Milah, and returning to London had felt like a betrayal to her memory at the time. Now, it’s not really option. Emma already has a strong support system here, and knowing her history, he’d be reluctant to ever ask her to give it up for him. Besides, even with a marriage, the immigration process is daunting enough. Emma needs to live somewhere where she didn’t need to count on his presence and their relationship to stay.

So in America he stays.

Though with as much whining Liam has done about Brexit…

He’s still unhappy with the mess. To a degree, part of his focus on the closing of the Renwick and the derailing of his engagement plan has been to distract himself from it all. He’s honestly one of the lucky ones. He has some savings -- far less after the purchase of the ring. Emma’s career, thankfully, isn’t tied to the shutdown, and though he loathes the pressure his current lack of income is placing on her, it could be worse. Belle doesn’t have anyone to help share the brunt of the lack of paycheck. He also knows many couples who both work for the federal government. So, he’s lucky. Has hasn’t been able to say a lot about that in his life, but with this he can.

Besides, he will (eventually) ask Emma to be his wife, and once she (hopefully) says yes,he be the luckiest man on the planet.

He runs to the Renwick, and stares forlornly at the closed doors. Technically, they’d met directly outside of those, but something seems off about asking right there. He runs his finger his hand through his hair, both Belle and Robin’s words playing through his head. Why does he want it to be such an event? Because Emma deserves something special. After everything she’s been through -- parental abandonment, bouncing from foster home to foster home, her stint in jail -- she deserves someone to make her feel special and adored..

With a deep sigh, he casts one last look at the Renwick, and turns to head home.

Of course, that’s when everything changes.

-/-

“Emma, love?” The condo is quiet when he walks through to doors. He’s unsure if she’s home. She very well could be scouting locations. Regardless of what she’s doing, he plans to take a shower. He’s sweaty from his run, and knows he probably smells awful. But if she’s home, he might be able to coax her into joining him after he soaps off.

He’s already worked his shirt off as he ambles into the bedroom, and he drops it when he sees her. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are splotchy -- it’s clear she’s crying. It’s then when he notices what’s in her hand.

The ring box.

“I wasn’t snooping,” she says, the words spilling out when she sees his eyes fall to her hands, “not intentionally. My pen ran out of ink, and I knew you always kept a few extra in your bag, and...” She lifts the box. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. You didn’t know,” he replies. He’s let her rifle through his bag in the past for legal pads, pens, spare chargers, and even gum. He’d been hiding the ring in his bag if only because he hadn’t needed it the past few weeks. Originally, it had been hidden in his sock drawer, but after she had borrowed his socks once -- “they’re warmer,” she’d said -- he’d changed his hiding spot. Perhaps he ought to have kept it in place.

He’s suddenly afraid. The sight in front of him -- Emma, tears in her eyes, holding the ring box and apologizing -- settles on him like a heavy weight. His tongue feels heavy. Did he get it all wrong? They’d talked about their future before. She’d said she wanted this, didn’t she?

“Do you like it?” he asks, because that’s the only thing he can think to say.

She laughs, the effect somewhat lost by the tears in her eyes. “That’s what you want to ask me?”

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and Killian wonders if she can hear it. “I want to ask you many things.”

“Yeah, but I think only one of them deal with a ring.” She extends her arm, and holds the box out to him. “So, are you gonna ask me or what?”

It takes him a moment to register what she’s asking. He takes in everything about her when it does. The green of her eyes, the upticked quirk of her watery smile, and the trembling of her hand. Even crying, she’s stunning.

Slowly, he takes the box from her, and drops down to his knee. He doesn’t have on a shirt and he smells of sweat, but he’ll do this right, at least.

“Emma Swan, will you marry me?” His voice cracks. He doesn’t care.

“Yes.”

-/-

They celebrate with their friends a week later, two days after the shutdown ends. The mood at Robin’s bar is jubilant -- everyone happy to both celebrate the engagement and the return of their paychecks.

“Wait just a second, you mean after all of that agonizing about the perfect proposal, you went and did it in your bedroom in nothing but your birthday suit?” Robin teases, his smile wide as Killian rolls his eyes.

“I had on pants, thank you very much,” Killian replies, struggling and failing to sound mad. He can’t be too annoyed. Robin carried through with his promise for free top shelf liquor, even after the restaurant took a beating due to the shutdown. Besides, Killian can’t quite take his eyes off the ring sitting on Emma’s finger.

“It was the perfect proposal,” Emma adds. She bumps his shoulder, and if he smiles any wider, Killian is sure he’s split his face in two. “Besides, I happen like him shirtless.”

“It’s true, she does.” He gives Emma a salacious wink, earning a laugh.

“Good thing you’re spending the rest of your lives together,” Mary Margaret chimes in from somewhere behind them.

“Good thing,” Emma agrees, pulling him in for a kiss. A few of their friends cheer. He can hear Ruby shout ‘Get a room!’, but he doesn’t care. Emma Swan is going to marry him.

That’s all that matters.

#CS AU #captain swan #cs ff #captain swan ff

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