#first watch through I barely looked at the hunting dogs other than being like ‘whoa cool’

[consumeroflemoans]

Watching through bsd season 5 again and I just realized that Jouno allows Tecchou to stab him

He can so easily avoid it.

But he allows it.

[dancingazaleas]

miche zacharias | beauty & the beast

this is for @izukine ‘s ‘fairy tale and mythical creatures’ collab! love you so much liyah <333

tagging: @yeagerslut @xenihime @fiaficsxo @mitsuluv @sukunas-lady @onyxoverride @rintarouss (cus ur a miche fucker. sorry for not warning u abt the tag)

edit: this is unedited, i’m so sorry for any typos.

warnings/tags: cursing, eventual smut, smut, nsfw, romantic sex, size kink(i guess if u squint?), fingering, oral sex/cunnilingus, missionary sex, vanilla

miche was always just a little bigger than anyone around him. he stood like a skyscraper at 6’5, towering over all of his peers. he was more broad one would be at the chest, a tailor once said his bust was around 150 centimeters.

miche was seen as an absolute beast because of this. and it didn’t help that miche’s hair was shaggy, stubble coating his upper lip and jaw, and he had a sniffing problem. he thinks the nose is really what sold everyone.

and in effect, miche was feared. feared by the people in his village, and sometimes even by his own friends. the dark and looming castle he lives in was where he forced to, along with his companions that stood up for the meek man that they called a beast.

the village often sent people who they’ve decided to shun to his estate, expecting for the beast to kill them in cold blood.

in reality, he just sent them to the next village over. he didn’t feel like being disturbed.

it was nothing different when he saw you running to him, tears falling from your pretty eyes while consistently looking over your shoulder. behind you, he noticed a crowd with pitchforks along with torches, screaming for you to get back here to burn you at the stake.

“help!” you cry, “help!”

you stumbled over your own feet, hands clamping down onto his clothed biceps and sobbing while looking at him.

“the next village over is—“

“no! sir, no matter where i go,” you shake your head rapidly, “i will be hunted. hunted for reading the books!”

you looked so desperate clinging onto him, eyes flashing when you cry once more, “you’re the only one who can help me!”

he looks back to the crowd that nears the gates of his home, silently wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his chest. the crowd skids to a stop, especially when miche steps forward and manages to yank a pitchfork from their hands.

“this girl is with me,” he announces, jabbing at the air to back them up, “leave now or die.”

the crowd gapes at the sight of you gathered to his chest, but backs off nonetheless. there was nothing they could do against the man that they call a beast.

miche leads you into his home, introducing you to friendly faces that were spread across the house.

“what happened?! did you get rid of the—whoa-ho-ho! who’s this beauty, michey,” someone with messy brown hair exclaims, eyepatch covering their left eye.

“hanji! quit being so disrespectful,” a man follows behind them, tugging them by their shoulders from behind.

“this young maiden was followed by a mob. she read the forbidden books, based off of her words she’s said to me. they planned on hunting her down even if she goes to the next village over,” he leads you past them to a bathroom.

“that’s saddening,” a baritone voice said, the frown evident in his voice, “she's staying with us i’m assuming?”

if his voice wasn’t enough to make you feel small, his looks definitely were. a blond man with bushy eyebrows and a prosthetic arm stood in front of you with something that you can say was a gentle smile. behind him lingered a shorter man, bags hanging from his eyes, one of which had a scar running through it and down to his lip.

“no shit, erwin. miche isn’t heartless,” the crude words make you crack a smile.

miche ignores their comments, “where’s nanaba? she needs a bath and i don’t fully trust her to be alone.”

“what am i needed for,” a feminine person waltzes into the room, a light look on her face.

“this young maiden needs to be bathed with a loose eye on them,” nanaba gently takes your hands into their own.

“what?! why couldn’t i do it?!”

“because you can barely bathe yourself, shitty glasses,” levi grunts and sits on a plush couch in front of the warm fire. you notice he has two prosthetic fingers.

nanaba leads you away before you can hear hanji’s response. you open your mouth to ask a question, but find yourself stuck on what to address nanaba as.

“you can address me as whatever makes you comfortable,” you find that she’s peering at you from over her shoulder.

“oh! i’m so sorry,” you sniffle.

“don’t worry about it, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. now, what was on your mind?”

“that man… miche, i think the townspeople called him, he’s really kind. he saved me from being burned,” you murmur loud enough for her to hear, “why?”

nanaba took you into a bathroom room and shut the door behind her, “i can’t say i know. the last person he took in was levi, and it wasn’t exactly his choice, more of erwin’s. i think he smells something in you.”

“that’s right, the townspeople wrote that he had the nose of a dog.”

“he does. he’s usually able to tell if someone is good or not just by their scent,” she turns on the bath, “i think he likes you.”

you deny her statement with a laugh, fanning your hand just before you get undressed. you doubt that a beast such as himself could like someone like you.

————

months passed, and as the days went on you found yourself falling in love with miche. the same man who used ‘beauty’ as a nickname for you would bathe in how you’d give a bashful and swat his arm.

truly, he was more like a bear. big and scary, but also cuddly—as much as a bear could really be—and soft. miche had a heart of gold, that much was obvious when he started to wear it on his sleeve.

he cherished his time with you, even if others were around and he wanted you to himself. he loves the wandering gazes you give when you sit under the wisteria tree in his garden. the look of curiosity that brightens your face, eyes wide and staring at the world he used to think was cruel.

miche tried not to be a sap. he hadn’t ever since he was born, and he didn’t want to start now. but he couldn’t help it.

if the world that shamed him and hurt him was able to create such a kind yet sarcastic beauty, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

but he was scared of hurting you. in more ways than one. mentally, miche was a quiet and seemingly unaffectionate person, even with someone he loved. miche also had a tendency to be blunt at times, and it has made you upset on multiple occasions.

physically, however, miche’s terrified of being with you just because of it. as you’ve observed, miche isn’t exactly small..

but you practically make him feel as such.

especially right now as you crack jokes with him and teaching him how to waltz. it doesn’t help that you’re leading the dance and that he was stumbling over your feet.

“miche, step this way with me,” you’re incredibly patient.

“i’m scared i’ll step on your foot,” you give him a stare.

“you already have,” you laugh, “it’s okay if you step on my foot, you’ll get the hang of it.”

eventually, he’s able to synchronize his steps with your’s. you trade off the leadership to him, hands on his shoulders. he fumbles a lot more than before, leading to you fumbling over him as well. your shoe presses into his own, and you wince for him while muttering an apology. he’s about to tell you it’s fine, but before he can, he’s stepped on your dress. you yelp and instinctively cling onto miche as you fall onto miche’s bed, dragging him with you.

his arm is immediately at the small of your back and his other hand manages to hold himself up. you flop back onto the mattress when he takes his arm away, cheeks flushed red as he stared down at you.

you look so pretty under him, hair spread beneath you and hands laying next to your head palms up. your pretty lips are parted and your eyes are wide and fluttering.

when he realizes he’s staring, he starts to get ready to get off of you.

“wait!” you gently hold his biceps, stopping his once abrupt movement.

your arms reluctantly and slowly wrap around his neck, eyes darting continuously to his face and to your arms. miche’s breath gets caught in his chest when you pull his face closer to your’s.

“miche… can i kiss you,” you whisper, breath tickling his skin.

miche’s too afraid to speak, so he nods.

your lips start to tingling whenever they’re connected to miche’s heat embarrassingly shooting through your body and to your tummy.

when he pulls away, you accidentally let out a whimper and rub your thighs together. miche’s face lights up again at how needy you look underneath him.

he kisses you again, intertwining his fingers with yours and leaning his weight onto them. he subtly shimmies your body up the mattress, tongue poking at the inside of your mouth. it elicits a soft moan from you, the noise shooting sparks straight to miche’s cock.

“love you,” he sighs with his lips trailing down your neck, large hands shyly starting to grope at your chest.

“love you too,” you bite your lip, watching him undo the buttons at the front of your shirt.

“is this all okay,” his lips tickle your skin as he drags them across the skin of your collarbones.

“yes… yes,” you mumble, slipping out of the shirt and your bra and throwing it somewhere across miche’s room.

miche nibbles at the skin on your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples. you sigh dreamily, hips wiggling from where they lay on the bed. he kisses down your tummy and slips the skirt you’re wearing off of your body.

you’re wearing plain white panties, embarrassment hitting you like a truck. miche doesn’t seem to care at all though, just slips them down your leg and throws them somewhere in his room.

you put a hand on your chest when he spreads your legs, trying to regulate your almost erratic breathing. you couldn’t believe that this was even happening.

soft pecks tickle your calf, slowly trailing up to your thigh and to the trimmed hair of your labia. breaths grow heavy when his tongue hesitantly prods at clit, fingers digging themselves into the wild sheets of his bed.

after seeing your small flinches, miche closes his lips around the bud. you immediately throw your head back as he starts to suck and lick at it, electricity shooting down to your toes that are curled over his shoulders.

he slips a large finger into you, bending it with caution. you buck your hips with a throaty moan, sealing your eyes closed when miche picked up the velocity of his pace.

unlike with waltzing, miche was getting the hang of it fast. so fast that he’s already slipping a second finger into you, thrusting it at a teasing pace that wouldn’t be able to get you off.

you cry out, the scent of pleasure coating your entire body. it has miche groaning against your clit, a loud and desperate moan being let out in response.

miche’s slipping in a third finger, continuously thrusting in and out whilst curling them.

“miche! miche!” you let a hand get tangled in his hair, gently tugging as if you were trying to rut against his face.

“gonna cum—oh my god! i’m gonna cum,” you whine breathlessly and miche continues at his pace.

you cum seconds later, legs trembling from where they lay over his shoulders. he pulls away and immediately wipes away your juices off of his face with the back of his hand, immediately rewarding you with a sweet and passionate kiss on your lips. you whimper against his rough lips, fingers tugging at the shirt he still had on.

he chuckles when he pulls away, hastily taking off his seemingly elegant clothing and throwing the sheets over your bodies.

miche knew it was going to make you both hot. and miche knew he was paranoid of anyone walking in, even though he knew that everyone wouldn’t bother him. but still, the sheets acted as a shield from the world.

this time was only for the two of you, no one else.

his hand pumps his cock whenever he starts to guide it to your stretched out slit. you don’t exactly realize just how big miche actually is until the head of his cock is pushing into you.

the sting that shoots through your body is immediate, and you immediately cling onto his back. you bite your lip whenever he keeps slipping himself in, pausing when you’ve managed to get a quarter of his cock inside of you.

you pant as tears prick the corner of your eyes, trying to relax your obviously tense body as miche tries to distract you with soft and gentle kisses. he whispers how good you're doing, even rubbing circles into your clit with the pad of his thumb to help loosen the tension.

when you calm down and tell him that you're ready, he continues to slip into you with slowed movements. the stretch is more painful than before and as he slides deeper and deeper into you, you feel like his cock gets bigger with each inch. you stop him again, taking deep breaths and telling yourself that you can do it. you only had a few more inches left, then you would feel good.

when he finally bottoms out, your breath leaves your chest. it feels like he’s in your throat and the intense feeling makes you cry again.

“so full, ‘m so full miche,” you whimper while he wipes away the tears from your face.

“i know, love, it’ll feel good soon,” his voice soothes you.

when you calm down again, the realization at how every part of miche’s cock reaches you comes down upon you.

“m-move, please, move,” carefully wrapping your legs around his waist, you whisper in his ear.

his thrusts start off slowly and deep, moans falling from your lips each time he bottoms out and the tip of his cock hits your cervix. when he realizes that you’re alright, he speeds up his pace.

the way he ruts into you makes you produce a broken scream, scratching at his back and throwing your head back. you’re already starting to feel that certain knot in your tummy again, and you wanted to try to hold it back but the orgasm crashes into you unexpectedly.

you sound so broken underneath him, digging your nails into his skin and squeezing him close to you.

“fuck! thank you, thank you,” you sob, “love you, love your cock.”

he grunts in response, ignoring how your walls suffocate him. he doesn’t help you ride out the orgasm, only speeding up his pace to chase after his own orgasm.

you whine at the sound of his skin slapping against your’s, heat spreading down to your chest. you’re going to come again with the way miche jackhammers into you desperately.

“miche, miche! fuck—please!” your vision whites out as your body thrashes under miche’s hold.

miche can’t ignore how hard your walls grip onto his cock, groans spilling out of his mouth as his orgasm creeps over him.

he orgasms with a breathy grunt, grinding his hips into yours and pumping his cum into you.

when he comes down from the euphoric high, he kisses your lips. your eyelids are heavy after miche pulls his softening cock out of you.

“love you,” he mumbles against your skin after he’s fetched a wet rag and cleaned you up.

you hum in response, too tired and weak to even reciprocate with words. luckily, he knows what you were trying to say. he pulls you into his warm chest, a soft and satisfied hum falling from your lips.

you drift off with his hand rubbing your back. the last thing you remember thinking was that miche was definitely a beast in some aspects.

[stardust-walker]

High Hopes: Chapter 28

Previous Chapters:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

word count: 1789

________________________________________

Spring

Dove found herself feeling safe for the first time in a while as she walked alongside Lori in the middle of the group. She was tired but she felt more hopeful than ever. It could be the sun shining all day for the first time in months or not feeling like she was about to freeze to death. Either way, she felt more hopeful about potentially finding a place for all of them soon.

The younger woman glanced back over her shoulder at the others that walked behind them. Glenn and Maggie were bringing up the rear of the group and seemed to still be on high alert. Carl seemed like he was about to talk Julian's ear off. At least the little boy had given Beth a break from his talking. He was a sweet kid, but he really did talk a lot when he had someone to listen. Carol stepped up along Lori's other side from where she had been walking with T-Dog. Dove turned and flashed the man a smile over her shoulder.

"Keepin an eye on my sister for me, T," Dove called back over her shoulder.

He laughed. "If she keeps up with the gun training, she might be the one keepin an eye on me." Dove let out a snort of laughter.

"You're learning quicker than most of us, Carol," Lori affirmed. The two older women had been more at odds lately than Dove would like to see. It wasn't that she blamed Carol, but Dove was always a little more compassionate of the two. After everything Carol had been through, especially with Ed, she couldn't necessarily blame her for going into self-preservation mode either. Dove would be the first to admit that Lori was a lot to handle.

Carol smirked slightly as she let out a hum of approval and tilted her head back to look up at the sun.

"You thought of any names yet," T-Dog changed the subject as he watched Carl speed past him. Probably on his way up to talk Beth or Hershel's ear off about something.

"Haven't really had much time to give it thought," Lori shrugged her shoulders as she instinctively placed a hand on her stomach. Nobody was sure how far along she was, but there would surely be another little life to keep track of sooner rather than later.

T-Dog seemed to straighten up a little bit. "Well, I think something like Theodore would be a great name." Julien let out a short laugh from behind him. "Something funny back there?"

"Theodore would be a pretty weird name if it's a girl," Julien called ahead.

"Theodora," Beth called back over her shoulder playfully which earned only a headshake from Hershel.

"Whoa why are we just saying she's going to name the baby after you? If she's gonna name the baby after anyone it's me!" Dove faked offense.

Carol raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Best friend privileges, of course." Lori playfully elbowed the younger woman.

T-Dog rolled his eyes. "Let's make a deal. You get best friend privileges, and you have to name something after me."

Dove let out a huff as she turned and began walking backwards. "Does a plant count or a dog?"

"Plants can count. We'll talk about the dog." They shook on it.

~

Finding food was still a whole hell of a lot harder than Dove thought it would be. She wasn't exactly much help with hunting as it was. The field hockey stick she had slung over her shoulder as she walked with the hunter said that much. Sure she had managed to duct tape some blades to the end of it so it worked better for killing a walker when she had to, but she even tried to avoid that.

She had cried almost all night in her tent after the first walker she'd really killed. Dove knew she had killed one back at the camp, but she'd been so focused on getting to Sophia and Carol that her body hadn't even acknowledged that she'd done it. She could almost hear one of her old professors lecturing her on defense mechanisms every time she thought about it.

"Gotta find some meat or somethin." Daryl's voice was barely audible and Dove merely nodded as Rick busted down the front door of the house. Of course there were walkers.

She grimaced as she watched Carl follow close behind them into the house. "I don't know how I feel about Carl doin this." Lori furrowed her brow.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Julian reassured Lori with a nod as he followed close behind them into the house.

It seemed like it took Rick forever to signal that everything was clear. Dove let out a grunt as she took the bag from Lori's feet despite the other woman's protests. She wasn't about to let a pregnant woman carry a heavy load.

The house was nicer than anything they'd seen in a while, that was for sure. Everyone settled down as Carl began to take the lid off a can of dog food. Dove's hazel eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Rick approach him from her perch beside Daryl. The whole room seemed to flinch as Rick threw the can across the room.

Carol placed a comforting hand on Lori's shoulder as Julien let out a heavy sigh and patted Carl on the head.

~

They didn't even get to stay long enough to talk about it. Walkers were everywhere again. Dove almost wanted to give up and stay but she followed just like she always did.

Dove decided to stay in the car with Lori while the others discussed a game plan. "How you feelin, mama?" Dove joked as she climbed over into the front seat.

"Bout as good as I look," Lori deadpanned.

"So pretty shitty then," Dove nodded sagely. There was silence for a moment before the two of them exchanged a look and a real laugh slipped out for the first time in what felt like forever. "We're gonna find something soon. I know it." She reached over and gave Lori's hand a squeeze.

A tap on the driver's side window made both of them jump. Dove furrowed her brow as she turned and opened the door slightly. "Jesus, you tryin to scare her enough to make her go into labor?" Lori let out another quiet laugh from over Dove's shoulder.

"Keep an eye on 'er. Me and Rick are goin huntin." Daryl instructed before he nodded at Lori.

"Try to find something good?"

"We'll try. Carl's on watch."

"Oh good." Dove smirked.

"Julian's with him."

"Well now I feel real safe," Dove rolled her eyes. Lori gave her arm a light slap as a small smirk crossed Daryl's face. Then he was gone.

~

Turns out, the two men had found more than any of them had counted on.

"You're kidding me," Carol mumbled under her breath.

Dove elbowed her sister lightly. "Wanna be bunkies," she whispered back as they approached the prison fence from the rear of the group.

"I'd rather share a bunk with Julian."

"Wow, harsh." Dove slung the other strap of her backpack over her shoulder as she tightened her grip on her hockey stick. Walkers could come out of anywhere if they didn't keep their wits about them.

Soon enough, the fence was cut and they were moving. A part of her felt like a teenager again; sneaking in somewhere she definitely wasn't supposed to go had always been a favorite past time. Never a prison, though. That much was new.

She ducked through the hole in the fence and began to hold back the other side for Lori when Daryl spoke. "I got it, go." Dove frowned slightly as she stepped back and watched Lori begin to make her way through the small hole in the fence.

"T?"

"He's right after her," Glenn reassured her as Lori stepped through and Dove placed a hand on her back to lead her forward down the fenced in pathway. They were all close by but in Dove's mind, the closer the better.

She felt claustrophobic as she saw the walkers closing in.

As they came to a stop, she could almost feel the certainty in Rick's voice as he began to spew ideas about ways to make it safer for all of them. For Lori and the baby.

"So how do we shut the gate?"

"A wonderful question," Julian piped up. Dove shot him a look. Rick seemed to be on thin ice with everyone lately. Might not be the best time to test the waters.

"I'll do it," Glenn offered. "You guys cover me." Dove didn't miss the panicked look that flashed quickly across Maggie's face before she tried to shoot down his idea.

"You, Maggie, and Beth draw as many as you can over there. Pop em through the fence. Daryl," Rick began to call out orders and Dove closed her eyes. She needed to focus on her breathing and not panic. The walkers were so loud and the fences were so close all around them. A part of her just wanted to volunteer to do the run herself just to be out in a more open space.

Her hazel eyes opened as she watched Carol run over towards Daryl to grab her own gun.

"I'll run for the gate," Rick said as Dove finally tuned back in fully.

"Don't sound so sure of yourself there, boss," she said quietly.

"Just keep close to Lori."

"Always do, sheriff," she shot him a playful wink as she hung back and allowed the woman space to open the gate for her husband. Had she expected a tearful goodbye? She wasn't too sure.

"Carl's a good shot," Dove raised an eyebrow as the two women stood watch at the gate.

"I wish he didn't have to be," Lori frowned.

"Crazy son of a bitch did it," Julian cheered from his perch beside Carl as Rick finally managed to close the gate.

Dove hated using a gun but she did her part. It was worth it for being able to have some safety.

A huge smile crossed her face as she linked arms with Carol to run into the field.

"We haven't had this much space since we left the farm!" Carol called over her shoulder.

Dove released her arm as they approached the pathway that cut down the middle of the large open area. "This is amazing!" She called out as she raised her hands above her head and spun in a quick circle. A loud laugh left her as T-Dog quickly ran up and nearly swept her off her feet as he embraced her.

It felt good to be home.

-------

@crossbowking @momc95 @chaotic-gary-king-stan

[maddrmatt]

Kairi’s Epic Journey: The Quest for Sora

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Chapter 9: The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up

Never Land

Up in the Never Land sky, there was a small ball of glowing light flying through.  Upon a closer look however, it would be revealed that it was a small woman with blonde hair, a green dress and wings.  It was Tinker Bell, the most famous fairy in all of Never Land.

Things had been pretty quiet in Never Land lately and the usually tightknit group of Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, and the Lost Boys had been off doing their own things.  Tink had just come from Pixie Hollow where she had been visiting with her fellow fairies.  Now that the visit was over, she was looking to rejoin with her other friends.

As she passed by Skull Rock, a strange sound came to her tiny ears.  It sounded as if there was some kind of commotion coming from within.

Flying in toward one of the holes that resembled eye sockets, she perched on the edge and gazed inside. What she saw was quite a surprise.

The Lost Boys were currently in the midst of a fight with a pair of unusual opponents: a redheaded girl dressed in pink and a yellow furred dog.  The girl was brandishing what appeared to be a giant flower covered key.

Tink had never seen the girl or the dog around Never Land before.  She wondered where they had come from.

But then, the fairy took a long and hard look at the girl.  There was something oddly familiar about her and the weapon she carried.

Then Tink’s eyes opened wide in sudden realization.  She had seen the girl before.

Turning around, she flew up and headed in the direction of the mainland.  She had to find Peter right away.

________________________________________________________________

In another part of Never Land, sitting on the limb of a tall tree, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up was playing on his panpipes.  After finishing his current tune, he let out a loud sigh.

‘It’s been pretty boring lately.  There doesn’t seem to be anything fun to do.  There’s no more Heartless to hunt down and even the old codfish hasn’t been up to something.  At least the boys have their treasure hunting to keep them amused.  Wonder if they’ve found it at Skull Rock by now.  Still, I sure wish something exciting would happen.’

No sooner than Peter had finished his thought, he suddenly heard a loud frantic tinkling sound. He looked up and saw his best fairy friend flying toward him at a fast speed.

“Oh, hey Tink! Glad to see you’re back. Everything alright in Pixie Hollow?” he asked as the fairy stopped in front of him.

Tink ignored Peter’s question and continued to speak in the same frantic tone.  Peter suddenly became concerned as he took in what the fairy was saying.

“Whoa, Tink!  Slow down!  The boys are in a fight?  Is it Hook?”

Tink shook her head and continued her tale.  Once she was finished, Peter’s eyes shot open.

“What?!  Are you sure it was her?”

Tink nodded in response.

“Then we’d better get to Skull Rock as fast as we can,” said Peter as he rose to his feet and took off into the sky.  Tink followed close behind.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Peter couldn’t help but feel a little elated.  ‘Looks like I got my wish after all.’

________________________________________________________________

“Take this!” shouted the boy in the bear suit as he threw his club at Kairi.

“Reflect!” shouted Kairi as she conjured up a barrier.  The club bounced off it harmlessly.

“Charge!” said the two boys in raccoon suits as they sped toward Kairi with their wooden swords brandished.

But before they even reached the girl, a growling Pluto leapt in front of them with his teeth bared. The boys immediately turned around and ran while the dog pursued them while barking wildly.

‘So far, I’ve been able to fend off whatever they’ve thrown at me and I’ve avoided hurting them. But is there any way out of this pointless fight?’ thought Kairi as she deflected more slingshot attacks.

“Attention!” shouted a voice from above.  Everyone gazed upwards to see Peter floating high above them with his arms crossed over his chest and a displeased look on his face.  Tink floated above his shoulder.

‘Peter Pan!  And Tinker Bell!  Hopefully, they can help me out of this mess,’ thought Kairi as she gave a look of relief.

“Pan!” exclaimed the boy in the rabbit suit.

“You’re just in time!” shouted the boy in the fox suit.

“This girl pirate was trying to steal our treasure!  But now that you’re here, we’ll stop her good!” exclaimed the one in the bear suit.

“You blockheads! She’s not a pirate!  She’s a friend!” Peter shouted angrily.

“Huh?” exclaimed all the boys at the same time as Peter landed on the ground and they all gathered around him.

“You remember that boy Sora I told you about?” asked Peter.

“Oh!  The one you saved from Hook along with Wendy, Tink and his friends?” asked the boy in the rabbit suit.

Kairi felt a little annoyed when she heard the last statement.  ‘Sora did a little more than just be saved by you, Peter.’

“That’s the one. And it just so happens that this girl is his friend, Kairi.  So, you all ought to be ashamed of yourselves for attacking her!” chided Peter.

“Well, how were we supposed to know that?!” exclaimed the one in the fox suit.

“Yeah!  We’d never seed her before!” said the boy in the bear suit. The one in the skunk suit nodded in agreement.

“You shouldn’t have attacked her!” accused the one in the rabbit suit.

“You started it!” said the two boys in raccoon suits.

The boys immediately started brawling with each other.  Peter ignored the boys’ fighting as he approached Kairi and smiled at her. “Welcome back to Never Land, Kairi! Glad to see you’re more awake this time.”

“Er, thank you, Peter.  And for the record, I wasn’t stealing anything from your treasure chest.  I was only looking in it,” said Kairi.

“Oh, well, no harm done then.  In fact, it’s great that you came back, Kairi,” said Peter.

“It is?”

“Yes.  Why, a few minutes ago, I was thinking how it’s been pretty boring lately.  But now that you’re here, I can think of a million things we can do.  So, first, let me show you around Never Land.  Always like to give the grand tour to friends,” said Peter.

“Um that won’t be necessary, Peter. In fact, there’s something important I need to talk to you about right now.”

“Oh, come on.  Let’s have some fun first.  You were so sleepy last time, you missed out on so much.  Just a quick fly around and then we’ll get to whatever you want to talk about,” said Peter.

‘Looks like I don’t have a choice. I’ll play along for now and maybe he’ll be more cooperative later.’

“Well, okay then.  But what about Pluto?” asked Kairi pointing to the dog.

“Men!” shouted Peter causing the boys to stop their fighting, stand at attention and salute.  “Head back to the hideout and take the dog with you.  But watch your shadows around him.  Dogs tend to bite them off.”

“Right, Pan!  Come on, doggy!” said the boy in the fox suit gesturing to Pluto to come to him.

Pluto looked hesitant as he gazed up at Kairi.  It was as if he was asking her if he should go with them.

Kairi was skeptical about trusting her companion to the boys who only a few minutes ago, were attacking them. But since Peter seemed to be able to control them, Pluto would probably be okay.

“Go with them, Pluto.  I’ll see you soon,” said Kairi.  With her blessing received, Pluto walked over to the boys and they all headed out of the cave.

Peter then turned his back to Kairi. “Hop on!”

“Are you sure you can carry me like that?” asked Kairi.

“Of course!  I’m pretty strong!  Just wrap your arms around my shoulders.”

Kairi walked up to Peter.  But before she could lay a hand on him, Tink flew right in between her and Peter and held her arms out.  She had a sour look on her face.

“Whoa!  What’s up with her?” she asked.

“Oh, she acts like this whenever there’s another girl around.  She acted this way with Wendy and Aqua too.  Never really understood why.”

A shock ran through Kairi’s mind. ‘Aqua’s been here too?  Just how many Keyblade Wielders has Peter met? I’m really going to have to ask him about that later.  Especially about that wooden Keyblade with Terra’s name on it.’

“Tink, just let me take her for a ride,” said Peter.

Tink shook her head.

“Tink, don’t do this,” scolded Peter.

Tink folded her arms and pouted. But she flew out of Kairi’s way and allowed her to wrap her arms around Peter.

Once she was in position, Peter rose up from the ground.  Kairi tightened her grip on the boy.

“Ready to see Never Land?”

“I guess so.  But can we not go to where the mermaids are?”

“Oh, you met them already?”

“Yes and they tried to drown me!” exclaimed Kairi angrily.

Peter laughed.  “Yes, that sounds like them alright.  Hold on tight!”

“Whoa!” screamed Kairi as Peter soared out of Skull Rock through one of eyeholes.  Following close behind was Tink who was completely red with anger.

________________________________________________________________

Much later, Peter was flying through the sky with Kairi on his back.  He had been all over Never Land, showing her the most notable places. Now they were heading back to Peter’s hideout.

Though still precariously holding onto Peter, Kairi had enjoyed every sight that he had shown her. She only wished that Tink would stop being such a sourpuss as she continued to trail behind with her arms folded and her face set in a jealous pout.

“So, what do you think, Kairi?”

“Never Land’s a pretty amazing place, Peter.  Thank you for showing me,” said Kairi.

“No problem.  But it’s too bad Sora never got a chance to see it the first time he was here.  The most he saw before he left was the inside of Hook’s pirate ship.”

Returning to the subject of Sora immediately brought Kairi down.  ‘He should be here seeing Never Land with us.’

“Oh.  I forgot to mention.  I’m really glad that you managed to get away from those bad guys in black coats.”

Kairi was surprised to hear that Peter knew about her being imprisoned by the first Organization. “How did you know about that?”

“Sora called on Tink and me a few times during one of his adventures.  And the magic that enabled him to call us also let us know what was happening even if weren’t there,” said Peter.

Kairi’s surprise increased.  ‘I had no idea Sora’s summons worked like that.  Wait.  He did mention that his summons from his first adventure like Mushu and Simba were aware of what happened.  I guess, even if the summons worked differently on the next one, the same thing applied and all of them are aware of everything that happened.’

Then a horrible thought came to her.  ‘Does he already know what happened to Sora?’

“Peter, how much do you know exactly? I mean, what was the last thing you remember Sora doing?”

“Well, let me think. The last thing I remember was him going with his silver haired friend to this stern looking old man.  I think they were taking some kind of test or something. After that, nothing else. Probably for the best.  Tests are boring.”

‘Peter’s knowledge of what Sora was doing must have been cut off when Riku and him started the Mark of Mastery exam.  Master Yen Sid did say they would lose all their powers and abilities at the start. So, he doesn’t know that Sora’s gone.’

Despite this fact, Kairi didn’t feel any better.  When she started on the journey, it never occurred to her how she was going to break the news of Sora’s fate to any friends of his she might meet along the way.

“Even though it stopped, it was pretty fun joining Sora in a way on his adventures.  Though I do wish he would have called on me more especially when fighting those guys in black coats.  I would have shown them a thing or two and we would have beaten them just as easily as Hook.”

‘No, you wouldn’t have, Peter.  Fighting the Organization, both the old and the new, is nothing like fighting Captain Hook. They are more dangerous than you think, and Sora would never have put you in a fight like that.’

“There it is!” exclaimed Peter pointing downward.  Kairi looked over Peter’s shoulder and saw a large tree with a hangman’s noose hanging from its longest limb.

“Is that your hideout?” asked Kairi.

“Yep.  Hangman’s Tree.  Prepare for landing!”

Once they were directly over the tree, without warning, Peter flipped over.  Kairi shrieked as the surprise caused her to lose her grip and fall feet first.

As Kairi closed in on the tree, she ended up falling through the top of it and onto a slide. She continued to scream as she slid until she came to a soft landing on a bed.

After recovering from the sudden thrill ride, Kairi heard a familiar bark.  She looked ahead and saw Pluto bounding up to her.  The dog leapt onto the bed and licked Kairi on the cheek.  Kairi giggled.

“Thanks, Pluto.  I needed that.  Good to see you got here safe.”

“Enjoy the ride down, Kairi?”

Kairi looked and saw Peter and Tink hovering close by.  She frowned.  “You could’ve warned me you were going to do that.”

“What fun would that be? Right, Tink?” asked Peter causing Tink to laugh.

“Not the most thoughtful pair, are they Pluto?” asked Kairi.  Pluto nodded in agreement.

Peter floated over to a thronelike chair.  After sitting down, he shouted, “Men!  Fall in!”

In response, the Lost Boys dropped down from the ceiling, hanging from their feet like bats.  Kairi gasped in surprise.

“Sound off!” ordered Peter.

One by one, the Lost Boys disengaged from ceiling and landed on their feet.  They each gave a salute while saying their name.

“Slightly!” said the one in the fox suit.

“Nibs!” said the one in the rabbit suit.

“The Twins!” said the two in the racoon suits.

Then the one in the bear suit dropped down and landed on his head.  “Cubby,” he muttered.

“Oh my gosh!  Are you okay?” asked Kairi as she got up and rushed to Cubby’s side.

“I’m fine.  This happens all the time,” said Cubby as he picked himself up.

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” said one of the Twins.

“Cubby’s head is the hardest in all of Never Land,” said the other one as the both of them pounded on Cubby’s head causing him to groan in pain.

“See?” they said together.

Kairi was about to object to their ill treatment of their comrade when suddenly, the Lost Boy in the skunk suit dropped into her arms.  He smiled up at her.

“Now I remember you.  Don’t think I forgot about you beaning me with a slingshot,” she said sternly.

The Lost Boy said nothing.  He just continued to smile at her.

Kairi became concerned.  “Can’t he talk?”

“Nope.  He never learned.  His name’s Toodles,” said Slightly.

Peter then stood up on his chair and announced, “This certainly has become quite a day and we have much to celebrate.  Now that Kairi’s here, she can be our new mother and tell us stories and do anything else a mother can do for us.”

The Lost Boys cheered.  Kairi, however, had a different reaction.

‘Mother?  Seriously?’

“And even better!  Since Kairi’s come to Never Land, Sora can’t be far behind. You’ll all finally get to meet him, and we’ll have many great adventures,” continued Peter causing the Lost Boys to cheer even louder.

Kairi’s heart sank.  ‘I’ve got to tell them.  But how am I supposed to do that?  How do you tell a group of boys who won’t grow up that someone they know is gone?’

“Uh, Peter?” asked Kairi.  But she was drowned out by the revelry of the Lost Boys.

“Peter!” Kairi shouted louder. Still, she wasn’t heard.

“PETER!”

After that outburst, Kairi found everyone’s eyes on her.  All of them looked confused as to why she had shouted.

“Something wrong, Kairi?” asked Peter.

Kairi let out a sad sigh as she set Toodles down on the ground.  “Something is, Peter.  I really hate to tell you all this.  But Sora isn’t coming.”

The Lost Boys gasped.  Tink jingled in confusion.  Peter floated off his chair and landed right in front of Kairi.

“What do you mean he’s not coming? I mean, if you’re here, he can’t far behind, right?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Peter.  But Sora is…” Kairi struggled to find the right word. “…lost.”

“You mean like us?  A Lost Boy?” asked Slightly.

“No.  Not like you at.  You see, during our last adventure, something really awful happened, and Sora was lost. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.  I’m looking for him and I was hoping that you could help me,” said Kairi.

“So, he was looking for you and now you’re looking for him?  Boy, you two seem to lose each other a lot,” said Peter.

‘You don’t need to remind me of that.’

Peter sighed and floated back to his chair.  “Men, it looks like we won’t be getting our great adventure after all.”

“Aww!” groaned the disappointed Lost Boys.

“But Kairi can still be our mother, right?” asked Nibs.

“I’m sorry, boys.  But that’s not why I came here.  I came here looking for Sora.  In fact, I was kind of hoping Peter or Tink may have seen him.  But it seems that they haven’t.  Is that right?” asked Kairi causing both the boy and the fairy to shake their heads no.

“You boys haven’t seen anyone like Sora, have you?  Brown spiky hair?  Dressed in red and black clothing?  Carries a giant key like mine but not as flowery?” asked Kairi.

“Nope,” said Slightly.

“Haven’t seed anyone like that,” said Cubby.

Kairi sighed and then held up the Wayfinder to look at it.  ‘Then why did it bring me here?’

“Well, if none of you can help me find Sora, then I guess I should be on my way.  It was nice meeting you all though even if we didn’t start on the right foot and I am sorry to disappoint you.  Uh where’s the way out?” asked Kairi.

The Lost Boys pointed in the direction of a passage.  Inside was a staircase that led upwards.

“Thanks.  Come on, Pluto,” said Kairi as she sadly walked toward the passage with Pluto trailing behind her.

Unseen by Kairi, as she was leaving, Tink waved pleasantly goodbye with a smug smile on her face.  She clearly was not too broken up about having to see her go.

“What’s the matter with her, Pan?” asked Nibs.

“I don’t know.  Sure, we’re not getting a new adventure with Sora.  But we’re not that sad about it,” said Peter.

“No one should be sad in Never Land!” exclaimed the Twins.

“Yes.  This is a place to laugh and have fun and never be sad at all,” said Slightly with Toodles nodding nearby.

“I agree.  Men, we cannot let Kairi leave so sad.  We must find a way to cheer her up,” said Peter.

Tink floated in front of Peter. She tinkled in an objecting tone to make it clear that she didn’t want Kairi to come back at all.

“No, Tink.  We are going to do this.  Sora wouldn’t want his friend to not have a fun time in Never Land. Right?” asked Peter.

Tink folded her arms and pouted. But she did give a begrudging nod of agreement.

“So, what can we do to cheer her up?” asked Peter.

“How about another treasure hunt?” suggested the Twins.

“Nah.  She already founded the treasure and she wasn’t even trying. She’s too good.  Hey, how about we take her to meet the mermaids?” asked Cubby.

“She’s already done that and for some reason, she didn’t like that very much,” said Peter.

“So much for your great idea,” said Slightly as he bopped Cubby on the head.

Then Peter’s face lit up.  “I’ve got it!  I know just what we can do for her!”

________________________________________________________________

Outside Hangman’s Tree, Kairi sat on a nearby rock.  Pluto was sitting in front of her while she gazed at the Wayfinder.

“’Follow in the footsteps of your special one and a broken heart may be healed.’  That’s what the woman in my dream said to always remember on this journey, Pluto,” said Kairi causing Pluto to look confused.

“Yeah.  I don’t get it either.  I also don’t understand much of the stuff she told me like it would bring me to where I needed to be and wherever that was, there would be a reason. But what could it be?”

Kairi let out a deep sigh as Pluto nuzzled up to her in sympathy.  “I knew getting Sora back wasn’t going to be easy.  But I never thought it would be this hard.”

“Kairi!”

Kairi turned back toward Hangman’s Tree.  Peter had emerged from one of the entrances and was flying toward her.

“What is it, Peter?” she asked dryly.

“Look, the boys and I are sorry about what happened in there.  Let us make it up to you,” said Peter.

“Thanks, Peter. But I don’t think there’s anything you all could do,” said Kairi as she and Pluto began to walk away.

“Oh, there is!  In fact, it may even help you look for Sora,” said Peter.

Kairi stopped in her tracks and turned back.  “Really? What is it?”

“You’re going to love this.  In fact, Sora actually wanted you to try it when he planned to bring you here himself,” said Peter as he floated up to Kairi and gave her a big smile.  

“Kairi, would you like to learn how to fly?”

________________________________________________________________

Onto the next chapter!

[emberbent]

Book 1: Fire | Chapter 5: Nightmares and Storms

Morning. Muted light came through the little window in her room, rousing Shinza from a bleak, colorless, soundless nightmare: in it, she had watched herself as something from inside her oozed out in sticky black tendrils from her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Her scarred fingers clawed at the floor in clumsy resistance, but her face remained expressionless. 

Shinza found herself sitting up in bed, having a hard time coming to wakefulness and shrugging off the hideous dread the nightmare had brought. She’d always been good at interpreting her own dreams and even the dreams of others she was close to, but this one was too unsettling to try to unpack; instead, she slipped out of bed, dressed, and went for a walk.

Deep purple clouds roiled angrily and obscured the sun, muting the normally vibrant colors of the shore. The waves, agitated as if in response to the threatening sky, crashed against the beach. The salty wind picked up in speed. Standing on the shore, facing the horizon with his fists balled up, stood Amrit. Shinza traversed across the rust-colored sand toward him, realizing she recognized that posture - the one he took on when deep in thought. As she passed the rocks, several dragon-iguanas locked eyes with her and watched her walk past.

Amrit heard her approach, but he didn’t acknowledge her right away. She came to stand beside him, looking out into the sea, trying to find whatever he was looking at. Finally, he said, “We would have been married twelve years today. My kids would have been turning turning ten soon.”

Suddenly, Shinza understood. Where they were standing was exactly where he’d lost Gao and their unborn children, and where he’d lost his limb trying to get them back. It was hard to think about. She looked down at the tide, rushing over their feet. Grains of red sand caught in the fine scrollwork of The Leg’s metal foot. She could easily imagine Amrit as a loving husband and father, laughing and joking with his wife and trudging across the floor of his home with one child clinging to each leg. The sudden starkness of him by himself in contrast made Shinza’s heart ache for him.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he gratefully put his hand on top of hers. “I can’t imagine how badly you must be hurting,” she said.

“Have you ever lost anyone like that?”

“No. I’ve been lucky so far. I have no idea what it feels like.”

Amrit took a deep breath and released it. “It’s like a stone,” he said; his voice was tired, like it took everything in him just to speak. For the first time, Shinza noticed the fine lines around his eyes, and the dark stubble coming in on his jaws. “Every day, you have to swallow it. But every day, it’s a different size. Some days it’s just a tiny pebble, and you don’t even notice it going down. Some days it sits heavy in your stomach, but you drink some tea and it helps. And then there are days when it’s a boulder. You can’t even see around it, much less attempt to swallow it.”

Shinza’s heart sank. Seeing her friend in such pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to alleviate it was excruciating. She squeezed his shoulder and said, “Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather be distracted?”

Amrit thought for a second and then said, “Distract me, please.”

“You wanna hear a joke?”

He looked at her for the first time that morning, brows rising as if daring her to try to make him laugh. “Okay.”

“What’s worse than raining capuchin cats and dogs?”

“What?”

“Hailing taxis.”

Amrit snorted and cracked half a grin. The dimple on the left side of his face appeared. “Where’d you hear that?”

“My little cousin told me.”

“You went to go see your family? How was that?” 

“Confusing,” she replied with a sigh. Then, after a beat, she looked at him and said, “I want to take the mastery test.”

“Whoa. Was it that bad?” he asked with concern. “What happened?”

Shinza pulled her sinking feet out of the sand and motioned for him to follow her down the shore. The gulls overhead called loudly to one another, coordinating to pick the dragon-iguanas off the rocks.

“It was actually really nice,” she said. “Until somebody brought up the the Avatar at dinner. I managed to play it cool, but they’re supporters of The Org. They were also trading some pretty disgusting rumors - like that the Avatar murders children to gain power. I just…”

Shinza paused, thoroughly disgusted as she recalled the conversation. “I can’t fathom how they could really think that’s true. How could you not question that?”

“It’s propaganda,” Amrit replied flatly. “People will believe all kinds of shit if they have a good reason to. No one’s immune to it, even if they think they are.”

“My aunt also said The Org is on a witch hunt,” Shinza continued. “Which I don’t think is a rumor. She said they’re starting in Republic City and just waiting for the name of the Avatar to be announced.”

“Good thing you haven’t been presented yet,” Amrit noted. “Maybe the world leaders will agree it’s best to keep your identity unknown.”

“I don’t think it’s going to matter,” Shinza replied. “My guess is The Org is probably further along with their plans than everyone thinks, or at least that’s the assumption I’m going with. Besides, something else happened - or at least I think it happened. I think my cousin Nhu knows who I am. If she does, I have reason to believe my secret is safe with her.”

“I hope so,” Amrit said. “So you want to take the test so you can move on and keep training.”

“Exactly. And I know you think I’m not ready, but I’m asking you as a friend, and not as your student: please let me do this my way. I need to know you have some faith in me.”

Amrit halted, looking guilt-ridden. The wind kicked at his high black ponytail. “Actually, there’s something I want to say about that.”

Shinza couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Amrit continued, “Please, just hear me out.”

She waited. He laughed nervously and rubbed at the back of his neck. “This is hard. Ah… I was wrong.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been holding you to a different standard because of who you are, and that’s not fair. I thought that since you have Fire Nation heritage and you’re the Avatar, you’d fit snugly into this ‘classical prodigy’ mold I had in my mind. But your firebending is different and unique and beautiful, mostly because of how much harder you’ve had to work to be able to even produce a flame. I’ve never seen anyone whose chi was blocked so badly and for so long like yours was. When that happens, it usually means a person never really fully opens up their bending abilities. This has never had anything to do with your lack of ambition, and I’m sorry I turned it into that. I’m sorry I haven’t shown my faith in you.”

Shinza wanted to throw her arms around him. Instead, she settled on a righteous smirk. “That really was hard for you, wasn’t it?”

For the first time that morning, Amrit’s smile reached all the way to his onyx eyes. “Yeah. It was. But you’re proud of me.”

“Very proud,” she purred. “And you’re proud of me too.”

“I’m…” Amrit looked away, still smiling. “In awe of you. And yes, extremely proud.”

“So you’ll call a meeting?”

“Yes. But let’s get inside. The Leg’s killing me.”

_________

The test came five days later. Shinza had dressed and received the red ochre markings on her face that indicated she was being tested. Then she was led out into a valley on the edge of the village, where a panel of five elders sat waiting for her. To the left of them burned the Eternal Flame, and above them all loomed the Cave of the Masters, although the Masters themselves did not appear. Surrounding Shinza were other tribe members - some she recognized as Amrit’s family and his former students, all of whom took their cue and initiated a stirring traditional song. Drum beats and chanting filled the humid air in the valley; the warrior closest to the Eternal Flame took some of its glowing energy and passed it to the warrior next to her, and so on until each person bore the flame. Rhythmically, they danced with the fire, creating circles of varying sizes and colors. Shinza, awed and with goosebumps cropping up along her skin, stood in the middle of it all until it came to an end. 

She faced the panel of elders, recognizing Amrit as the one sitting to the right of the chief. They all wore ceremonial clothes, and their ochre markings told their places in the tribe. Shinza had never seen Amrit the way he was now: impartial, regal, statuesque. He and the others took their seats, and the chief spoke.

“Avatar Shinza,” boomed Chief Mongkut. “We gather today to administer your firebending mastery test. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Chief Mongkut,” Shinza answered with a deep bow. From above, the sun’s rays beat down on them all. She felt the heat in her bare shoulders like a particularly energetic jostling from Amrit, grounding her, encouraging her. She could almost hear him whispering in her ear: you’ve got this. When she caught a glimpse of him, though, he was watching her as if she were a stranger.

“Proceed,” commanded the chief.

Shinza ran through every form she’d learned here on the island, stringing them into a tight, improvised dance: rapid, high kicks and flurries of punches; twirling leaps and swift spins on one bent leg. Fire blazed from her hands and feet, carefully controlled and white-hot, in streams and bursts, spheres and circles. She left it to the panel’s imagination to envision these moves being used in combat. Finally, when she was finished, she closed the path of her chi with a circling movement of her arms and bowed again.

Sweat matted her bangs to her forehead and rolled sideways down her face to drip off her nose. Panting, she waited. But no one said anything. Then she took a glance upward and saw that the four who flanked Chief Mongkut had all turned to him. He seemed to be deep in thought, eyeing Shinza as if she were a stone with some unknown ancient language carved onto its surface. 

“Thank you, Avatar,” he said. “That will be all.”

Shinza blinked stupidly, standing up straight and nodding her head in deference. Then she slipped away, looking back one more time at Amrit, who she found this time was looking back at her, wearing an expression she read as a combination of admiration and worry. Once the testing area was out of view, she stopped to catch her breath, wondering if she’d missed something. Amrit had told her what to expect: the opening ceremony, the passing of the Eternal Flame, and the feeling of intimidation performing in front of almost the whole village. But he hadn’t specified when she’d be handed her results. Maybe they always wait, she thought to herself. But the sinking feeling that she hadn’t passed crept along her soot-covered skin. Shoving her damp bangs upward off her face, she exhaled and wandered back through the town square.

“You didn’t fail,” she murmured to herself in an attempt to calm her rising anxiety. “You didn’t fail. You’re a perfectly adequate firebender.” But adequate isn’t good enough, replied her inner voice, which in this scenario sounded like her mother’s voice: calm, loving, and laced with the poison of disappointment. Her mother had never directly said it, but Shinza always got the hint: doing something if you weren’t perfect at it was a waste of time. An icy terror slid down her spine: what if this was as good as she got, ever? What if her training with the other elements went the same way? What good would she be to anyone then? A flash of the nightmare she’d had several nights ago resurfaced: black tendrils, scraping nails, silent mouth. What had that dream meant?

“Stop,” she hissed. Inwardly, she reminded herself that she hadn’t even been able to bend before she’d arrived here. Now, she’d done well enough for the panel of elders to allow her to take the mastery test. She’d done everything she could, and she’d continue to do all she could, because she had no other choice. Shinza closed her eyes and wiped away the image she saw of her mother and father, conjuring up instead the memory of that first day of training, when Amrit had insisted that there was nothing wrong with her. The thought brought her comfort, but it wasn’t enough. 

Opening her eyes, Shinza released the breath she’d been holding. She was proud of herself.

[unicyclehippo]

Hey, I hope you've had some moments today that will become happy memories! I have an ellie/dina prompt for you if you're up for it: adventures in the rain, either pre- or post-dance?

ellie shivers, a chilled wind catching her by surprise where it slips beneath the slightly wonky back wall of the shelter. she pulls her shirt down a bit, tucks it into her pants, and then has to suffer when immediately a drop of rain plonks down onto her exposed collar.

‘hmm. that was a, wow. that was an ugly face.’

‘you’re supposed to be sleeping,’ ellie says, and she pulls another face, just to make dina laugh. ‘couldn’t sleep?’

‘i don’t love storms,’ dina says, tone purposefully light, and the way she says it—not quite casual enough to avoid a slight hitch, or dina not trying to hide it from her, maybe—catches ellie’s attention as surely as a tap on her shoulder. dina doesn’t continue, even when ellie tilts her head and nods, keeping her own expression light, so ellie leaves it be. ‘we can switch, if you want. i’ll be awake anyway.’

ellie considers the offer for a half second before she nods; no reason for both of them to be exhausted. they shift positions quietly, trade near-silent laughs when ellie’s jacket hooks on a nasty jagged scrap of the roof, jostles a slop of water down her own back when she tries to free herself. dina helps her get free and she grins when ellie shakes herself vigorously, trying—and failing—to dry off like a dog.

they’ve bundled their packs in the corner, into an uncomfortable pillow, and ellie keeps her knife unsheathed at her thigh just in case, which she shows dina, who nods, eyes grim. ellie lays with her limbs loose, ready to move if the night requires it—knees up, one hand resting on her belly. the rise and fall of her own breathing, mixed with the sound of rain on the corrugated iron roof, sends her quickly into a light doze.

it can’t have been long—she’s not yet stiff and she doesn’t think she’s dreamed at all—when the first crash of thunder breaks through the sky.

ellie grasps her knife, holds it hidden by her leg. she scans the small shelter: dina, safe; entry way clear; ground puddled with water but not yet muddied; a brilliant flash of light throwing light across the inside of the shelter in even scored marks, the gaps between the slatted walls, and then nothing. she relaxes. another burst of light, and the answering call of triumphant thunder. as her heart rate evens out, no longer thundering in her ears, ellie hears a hitch of breath and looks to dina again.

‘dina,’

she doesn’t look to hear ellie. still, eyes wide and darting about—ellie guesses from tree to tree outside their shelter—she clutches the rifle more like a bat than a gun and ellie feels her back twinge in sympathy at how tense dina looks. ellie eases upright, chews on the inside of her cheek as she considers how to help.

‘dina,’ she says again, louder. ‘i’m going to take the gun, okay?’ setting her hands above each of dina’s on the rifle, she works the gun free of her hands—tight and unmoving, as though petrified, and ellie thinks about medusa and about the snake that swallows the world and basilisks all in a muddled, sleep-hazed way, and it’s silly but she’s relieved to feel that dina’s hands are soft and still flesh, if a little cold.

ellie sets the gun on what had passed as her bed, her knife next to it in easy reach, and when she turns back to dina she finds that her girlfriend - without the gun in her hands - is now hugging herself tightly. ellie bites harder at the inside of her cheek. it hurts, she hopes it jolts her brain into some kind of action instead of just making her stare at her girlfriend. sure, she’s never seen dina so still. dina is always on the move—always energetic, always ready to move, to help. even when she’s resting, she taps and fidgets and strokes and chews at her chapped lips and it’s endearing, yes, but more than that it’s dina, purely dina, an overflow from everything within her that she can’t contain, and ellie doesn’t know whether this stillness means she’s more controlled, or if there is very little going on within.

she has to do something, though, and she figures that if dina miraculously knows how to be good with ellie when she’s freaking out, maybe there’s some clue in there for what dina needs.

ellie reaches out and covers dina’s elbows, over where dina has folded her hands into the vulnerable soft of her waist.

‘dina,’ she says again, and squeezes gently. ‘can you hear me? can you feel my hands?’ she taps. dina doesn’t react, except that the darting of her eyes slows for a moment. ‘um. hmm, okay.’ ellie shifts then so she’s sitting between dina and the open entrance. she feels an itch take up on the back of her neck, every inch of her hating to leave her back exposed, but there’s been no sign that they’re being followed and nothing but the storm to disturb them so she forces herself to relax. checks to see if dina has reacted at all.

dina doesn’t seem to see ellie at all, seems to still be searching for something outside, jaw and neck and shoulders rigid, her breathing shallow.

it didn’t help, and ellie hates being so exposed, so she shifts back to the side and moves so that she’s sitting with dina on her left. pulls the rifle to her right hand side. she spreads her legs, left straight out and behind dina, pressed against her, and her right along dina’s right, bracketing her.

‘i’m, i’m right here,’ ellie tells her, and she sets her left hand on dina’s back, a solid and warm fixture for her, and keeps a careful watch for them both.

//

dina falls asleep a short time before dawn.

ellie catches her when she sags and she tugs her into her chest, wraps a protective arm around her.

the storm moves on too. it takes some time for it to pass completely—the thunder and the wind howl through the night for miles and hours, hunting down the lightning that darts away—and when the sun crawls up from behind the mountains, all that is left of it is a low fog and a miserable hanging cloud that drips a cover of slow, cold rain. miserable weather, and ellie decides then and there that they’re finding proper cover tonight. somewhere they can start a fire, chase the clinging chill from her skin.

she adjusts her jacket where she had wrapped it around dina’s shoulders, curses herself out in her head when the gesture makes dina grumble, and then shift, and then come awake.

‘wha—‘ she jerks up, nearly knocking ellie’s chin into her teeth, and casts dazedly about for some sign of where she is. ellie is relieved when she looks right at her and recognises her, the worry visibly flooding out of her. her arms fall limp at her sides, her eyelids drop in a very slow blink, relief and exhaustion mixed. ‘ellie,’ she sighs, reaches over to set her hand on ellie’s knee, clutch at her jeans.

ellie licks her lips. ‘hey,’ she offers, immediately kicks herself. ‘good morning.’

dina frowns over at her and ellie wonders if she had read her expression wrong; she looks worried, maybe?

‘dina?’ she asks hesitantly. ‘are you okay?’

‘am i—we could have been killed last night,’ dina says, voice ripping rough and quiet from her throat. despite the way she curls her knees to her chest, putting a barrier between them, she also curls her fingers tighter into the grasp she has on ellie’s jeans. ‘i stopped paying attention, you trusted me and i fucked up,’

‘whoa,’ ellie leans forward, halts herself when dina ducks her head. ‘um. we’re both alive,’ ellie says. she keeps her hand close to her own chest, not wanting to freak dina out, but she waves between them. ‘obviously we’re still alive. and i woke up, so it’s fine.’

‘it’s not fine, i—‘ dina stops. ellie waits; she’s quite interested in knowing what happened. ‘we need to—we should go, cover some ground today.’

ellie holds herself still, well aware that her form takes up a lot of the tiny shelter. she doesn’t want to make a sudden movement and have dina flinch again, so ellie waits until she has grabbed her bag and slipped out of the tiny cabin before she follows.

//

they find a mostly intact building later that day, deep into the afternoon, and ellie suggests they stop because she’s not sure what else they’ll find that’s better than this. the rain hasn’t let up at all, still miserable and grey and wet, obviously.

‘we can set up a few noise traps some way from where we camp. that way both of us can sleep,’ ellie suggests, and her words are jarring after hours of the two of them barely speaking. dina, hair heavy with moisture and slicked to her head, just nods. ‘you can start a fire, i’ll get the traps set up?’

dina nods again.

when she disappears into the office, ellie watches her leave. plants her hands on her hips and puffs her cheeks out thoughtfully.

‘what are you doing?’ she asks herself, shakes her head. ‘traps first, mental health second.’

she scours the place for cans and bottles and fragments of glass, puts together a few nifty traps. some she designed herself, some she copies from ones seen on the road.

by the time she returns, a nice fire is burning in a gouged out pit where some of the tiles had broken and been carried away, the ground exposed beneath. ellie doesn’t love the proof that other people know about this place, but she thinks—hopes—they’ll be alright for one night.

‘that’s nice,’ ellie groans, appreciative, and she shrugs out of her jacket and flings it over the back of a chair. ‘what do you think—jeans too?’

dina grins over at her. the heat of the fire looks to have put a bit of colour back in her cheeks and ellie beams back, pops the first button of her pants and then the second.

‘they’re a bit cold, aren’t they?’ dina agrees, and she stands, wriggles out of her own pants and hooks them over another chair, catching ellie’s when she tosses them over, the fabric slapping wet and heavy over her arm. ‘gross.’

‘you’re telling me,’ ellie agrees, grimacing. ‘i had to wear them.’

‘you didn’t have to fall into that pond.’

‘obviously i didn’t mean to,’ ellie grumbles but she takes the teasing with good humour. ‘i have a spare shirt—do you?’

‘mm, i think so.’

‘thank god for waterproof backpacks.’

‘thank joel, he found them.’

‘true.’ ellie grabs out her spare clothes, pulls her soaked and muddied shirt over her head and stops, blinded by the cloth, when dina puts a cold hand on ellie’s belly. she tenses, arms above her head, twisted in the wet shirt. ‘dina?’ ellie gasps when a hot mouth presses against her sternum, lays a series of kisses across her collar. ‘oh my god,’ she breathes, ‘dina, what,’

‘have i mentioned lately,’ dina says, and she kisses up the side of ellie’s neck so that she can hear her perfectly clearly, ‘that i love you?’

‘i—‘ there’s a gravity to the words, as new as it is familiar, and it’s like what ellie imagines standing on the moon might be like. recognising the earth in front of her but seeing it for the very first time. ‘can i finish taking my shirt off?’

dina hums. ‘i guess.’ when ellie doesn’t move, dina flicks her fingers up over the planes of ellie’s abs and then takes the shirt, pulls ellie free.

ellie searches for dina’s face immediately, sees the red in her cheeks only partly from the heat of the fire. the steadiness of her lovely, oh so pretty brown eyes. ‘i love you too,’ she tells her, and she reaches her hands up to cradle dina’s face with utmost care. dina isn’t fragile, she’s strong and brilliant and incredible and she proves that every day, but still ellie likes to be gentle. the world is hard and they take enough knocks. she likes the idea of being someone who helps dina forget about all that, if only for a little while.

‘oh phew,’ dina says. ‘bit awkward if it were a one sided kind of thing.’

ellie rolls her eyes. waits a moment. then,

the kiss she gives dina is exquisitely careful; she’s careful to kiss dina the way she likes the most, long and soft like they have all the time in the world and just an edge of desperate, which ellie can’t really help because kissing dina feels like it’s too good to be true sometimes and ellie wants, wants more, wants to be closer, wants to show dina in every way she can, for as long as she is able, that she is loved.

dina walks her back against the desk, claims another kiss from her before they part, breathing heavy on both their parts.

‘i’m sorry about last night,’ dina says, and ellie loves her and wants to reassure her that it’s fine, that they can talk about it whenever, but dina’s hand is burning hot on her thigh and ellie’s brain is turning to mush.

‘uh huh,’ she manages.

dina smiles at her, fondly. her fingers stroke at the tense muscle of ellie’s leg—ellie is sure dina would know the medical name for it but she doesn’t, all she knows is that it feels crazy good when dina massages at it. ‘i don’t want to talk about it yet,’

‘okay,’ ellie breathes. focuses, frowning hard to clear her thoughts, so she can tell dina, ‘we can talk about it whenever, or not at all, but i’m here for you and,’

‘you held me.’

‘um.’

‘i remembered that while we were walking,’ dina tells her. ‘thank you.’

ellie feels shame slink through her, cold and barbed. it plucks at her insides, makes her squirm. ‘i didn’t know how to pull you out of it,’ she admits. ‘or if i should, or if you were okay, or what i could do.’

dina shrugs. ‘i don’t know either.’

‘it’s—something we can figure out together,’ ellie offers, very sincerely, and she watches her girlfriend lean in and kiss her very gently before she snaps at the band of ellie’s underwear.

‘these?’ dina says, voice serious. ‘these have got to go.’

//

they share out their cold dinner after, wriggling toasty toes maybe a bit too close to the fire. feels good, though.

‘thank you,’ dina says quietly, leaning into ellie’s side.

‘oh i assure you, it was my pleasure,’ ellie drawls, a bit incredibly smug, and she relishes in dina’s surprised laugh.

‘not that,’ she laughs, slaps ellie on the thigh. ‘but thanks for that too.’

‘you’re welcome.’

‘i meant,’ dina says, narrowing her eyes in a warning for ellie not to interrupt, and ellie smiles sweetly back at her, tilts her head so she can drop kisses onto dina’s freckled shoulder, ‘mm that’s nice. i meant thanks for looking out for me.’

‘i know,’ ellie says quietly, and she pauses in her administrations. dina nudges her. she starts up again, and when she speaks, she kneads at the tense muscles in dina’s back instead for compensation for not kissing her. ‘you’re my, my girlfriend and i love you,’ she says simply. ‘i would do pretty much anything for you.’

dina hums. knocks her foot against ellie’s. ‘same.’

‘say it. please?’ ellie pouts dramatically and dina clicks her teeth threateningly, laughs when ellie waggles her eyebrows. she does kiss ellie again, follows through on her promise and bites that lip. ‘don’t make a joke again,’ ellie asks as best she can, not wanting to move too far from kissing dina.

‘why would i make a joke?’

‘you said some dumb thing about one sided confessions and,’

‘i love you too,’ dina interrupts.

ellie knows it, and beams. ‘good to know. does wonders for a, a lass’s confidence to know that.’

dina rolls her eyes. leans comfortably against ellie’s shoulder again. ‘we’re really gonna have to deal with both of us being smartass shit heads our whole life, huh?’

‘yeah.’

‘wow.’

‘pretty cool, right?’

‘can’t think of anyone better at the moment,’ dina shrugs and ellie pinches her side in a gentle reprimand, but smiles when she feels dina’s laugh shake through her, and they’re warm and happy and safe and if the storm returns that night they don’t hear it, curled together by their fire and protected by the sturdy building around them.

[ezilyamuzed]

Everyone Needs A Sam - Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Summary: Two Sam’s in the Winchester family is better than one. 

Reader is Named Sam, or sometimes called Red, a nicknamed given by Dean.

Warnings: Language. Some fluff. Some Angst. Mentions of Menstruation (you know because some people get grossed out).  

A/N: Sam Winchester is often now referred to as Sammy, it was just easier. While the confusion in two Sam’s is funny, it can be tough to write. There is a lot here, but it is leading up to some interesting development to say the least. Obviously women aren't typically this psycho when about to hit their period but when you live with the Winchesters and kill monsters for a living your rational is bound to be a little messed up. Also Charlie is in the mix because I love and miss her. Killing her off was one of the biggest mistake the writers ever did!  Ends in Dean’s POV.

As always comments and feedback are welcomed (GIVE ME LOVE). Any errors are completely my own because I am human. If you want a tag in this or anything pop into the ASK box. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

“Hey Sam it’s time to…whoa,” Sammy stumbled on his words as he pushed your slightly ajar door open. 

Laying there in a spooning position while soundly sleeping was his brother with his long legs and arms wrapped around you tightly like he was a dog with his favorite playmate. He chuckled to himself as he took out his phone to take a picture of the sight, possible blackmail for later. Whatever had happened last night between the two of you was interesting to say the least, but not of importance at this moment. Daylight was burning and there was a job to do.

Sammy pulled the door slowly into a closed position, waiting a few seconds from the moment he had heard the soft click of the lock meet the frame before pounding on the door hard to pretend like he had just gotten there.

“Rise and shine Sam,” he yelled while listening to an audible groan from the other side. “Time to hit the road. I’m packing the car, you go wake up Dean.”

Hearing Sammy’s beaming voice at 5:30 in the morning was not your favorite thing. If you didn’t like him as a person so much, you might have shot him after the first time he did it. He knew that you would reluctantly wake up though because in a few moments if there was no trace of you slowly becoming a functional human for the day, he would be back to it again often growing only louder and more persistent.

Something heavy weighing you down where you laid as you tried to focus your vision to your surroundings. You shifted under whatever it was only to meet something hard pressing itself agianst the lower half of your backside. Your eyes shot open, your vision now clear as you looked to see that it was Dean wrapped around you, holding you down in your place. You swiftly glanced down at yourself and sighed in relief that you were still clothed since you couldn’t even remember anything past the second sex scene in the movie. All you could really remember was laying your head down on Dean’s shoulder while he laid his arm around your shoulder, the simplest touch that made you feel relaxed and at home after feeling pretty crappy all day yesterday. 

You tried to shift yourself slowly from his sleeping grasp, not wanting to wake him and have the awkward conversation that would be bound to happen. Almost to the edge of the bed was when you felt him unconsciously shift forward, making you feel the hard press in your backside once again. Was that his…shit. The shock of what was happening while you steadied yourself on the edge was enough to push you fully over, tumbling hard onto the floor.

“Ow. Shit!”

Dean popped up immediately from his slumber to the sounds of your body hitting the floor and your cries, both wide-eyed and ready for an attack. He looked down to you now rubbing your butt, wincing in pain caused by the hard fall.

“What’cha doin down there Red?” he smirked while wagging his eyebrows.

“Yoga,” you hissed while turning up your nose in annoyance. “What does it look like?”

He laughed at your sarcasm while looking over to the clock that sat on the small table by your bed.

 “Why are we up this damn early?” he moaned while flopping himself down on your bed again.

“Because your brother is ready to go and I sure as hell am not going to let him walk in here on us…”

“On us what? Sleeping?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

“I just…,” you mumbled while pushing yourself up to your feet. “I just don’t want him thinking something is going on.”

You watched his face turn into a scowl like you had been talking about a crazily impossible concept. It wasn’t though, you were both human with functioning parts. Well, his you could only assume were by what you had just felt when you woke up. You bite your lip trying not to think about how strong it had felt against you. If your hormones hadn’t already been out of whack, they sure as hell were now.

Dean shifted up from the bed and stretched out his arms above his head, making his shirt rise up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his strong muscular torso, which was surprisingly tanned although you never saw him out in the sun without at least one layer of clothing on. Along the bottom on his sides where the top of his jeans began, his hips had a strong ‘V’ pattern that was created by the bulging muscles in his abdomen leading your eyes down directly to where it pointed to…

“Ahem,” you heard him clear his throat aloud. You turned quickly on your heels as you could feel your face becoming flushed from being caught in the act of looking a little…too hard. A low chuckle behind you came from him as you could hear the bed squeak as he lifted his weight from it. “I’m going to go take a quick shower.”

When he left the room you fell down on your back hard against your bed while staring at the ceiling. Why on earth did you have to look there? Why did you have to feel it pressed against you? Why the hell couldn’t you stop yourself now from thinking about it? Was this just Mother Nature playing a cruel joke on you, getting you all hot and bothered by the feeling and the glimpse? Were you actually allowing yourself to think of Dean in that way? He was unbelievably mesmerizing in every way but honestly…so was his brother. They both had something different and unique about them that you absolutely loved to be around. You would never want to risk what you had by becoming a “girlfriend” to one and straining a relationship with the other Winchester. 

Pretending that they were unavailable and untouchable to you was the only way you found yourself able to push down any thoughts that would often come through your mind. It was definitely not easy with the random winks and suggestive comments that would come out of their mouths… especially from Dean’s. He was the worst, but after a while you just assumed that it was his own coping mechanism with dealing with the perpetual loneliness that the job entailed. Sam on the other hand was just more…sweet, for lack of a better word. Letting you play with his hair and carefully listening to you when you would complain about whatever was bothering you. Last night though, you remembered how Dean showed his sweet side which was not very often. He actually went out of his way to bring you your favorites and some necessities that you were definitely going to need in a couple days when Aunt Flow would stroll into town. Jesus, why did they both have to be so damn handsome and loving?

“Sam! Come on! It’s time to get your stubborn ass out of bed!” Sammy yelled loudly through your door.

You got up while groaning again, hating that you couldn’t just go back to sleep and forget your ‘wake-up’ call from Dean, however going on a hunt was just what you needed to distract yourself. Moving to the door, you swung it open wide to Sammy still standing there with a shit eating grin sprawled on his face. 

“I’m up,” you scowled giving him a stern look while rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Didn’t know if you were too tired out from last night,” he smirked.

“Excuse me?” you snapped back, wondering if he had known if something had happened between you and Dean.

“You were fuming mad last night,” he stated calmly with a little shrug. “I figured you were hiding out in here awake all night probably thinking of 100 ways that you could kill us in our sleep.”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “More like 104 Sammy.”

“Dean is getting done in the shower,” his voice trailing off as he started to move away from your door towards his own. “Be ready in 10?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved him off. “You are making coffee though!”

“Already done!” he boomed back while still making his way down the long hall to double check if he had forgotten anything that they might need. He stopped in front of Dean’s door that was slightly ajar. His brother was already dressed and moving the clothing he would need into his green duffel, nodding his head rhythmically to a tune that was playing in his head.

“You seem chipper this morning,” Sammy commented with a sly smirk. “Have a good nights sleep?”

“One of the best I’ve had in a long time,” he replied while tossing his red flannel shirt on top of the others. “Why?”

The sly smirk grew wider across Sammy’s face as he gave a little shrug and replied innocently “nothing.” 

It was kind of obvious to Sammy that Dean had started to become attracted to you, but there was no way that he was your type. No, you probably liked guys that didn’t hide away their emotions who listened to you whole heartedly and allowed you to live your life fully, not stepping in the way of it. Sam only had assumed that what you had meant by being tired of pretending was about how you had to act like what his brother was doing didn’t bother you. He knew it was. Hell, it bothered him every time Dean would step up to the older brother role and tell him what to do. Dean was almost as bad if not worse than his father sometimes. 

No, the guy for you was not his brother. He agree that the two of you barely had anything in common other than bad T.V. shows and movies melting their brains. He had more in common with you than that, besides the obvious of being both Sam’s. You were incredibly intelligent, almost completely fluent in Latin and Enochian. You also had this light inside of you, often making him feel that no matter what things were going to be okay. And damn did he think you were beautiful. All the scars from previous jobs, the little way you would crinkled your nose up when something was off, and how your eyes held so much passion in them. 

Sammy long ago had already realized how drawn to you he was, finding blissful pleasure in in their late nights together, even when you were surrounded by books in complete silence. He didn’t exactly have the best track record with relationships though. Something always happened to them that was out of his control, so he himself pretended not to notice your loving stare and full body smile that lit up the room. It was better that way for everyone. 

He had almost told you the other night as you cuddled into his arms, nestling yourself into his grip while tearful. You were way too drunk though. Nothing you said would have been real and honestly he wasn’t sure if you would even remember it at that point as he had noticed the once filled to the brim decanter now more than halfway gone. Letting you fall asleep in his arms while watching your face as you dreamt was a memory that he was going to hold onto for long time. 

“Who drank all my creamer?” you shouted while burying your face in the fridge in search of the sweet cream that was explicitly yours, but somehow would suspiciously deplete a little more than usual everyday. 

“Definitely not me, Red,” Dean commented while pouring the straight black coffee into his thermos, leaving just enough for you. “Maybe we have a ghost around.”

“Maybe it’s the moose,” you pondered out loud while opting to just go ahead and drink it black, maybe the bitterness of the beans would help to wake you up more. 

“So are we good from yesterday?” Dean coaxed nervously, hoping that the bipolarness of your hormones had finally calmed down. 

“Yeah, we are good,” you laughed while pouring the remnants of the coffee into your cup. “You still owe me a new bra though.”

Dean chuckled out loud and nodded in agreement while you scrunched up your nose to the bitterness of the black coffee you had just tasted. 

“Ready to go?” Sammy questioned as he entered the room.

You both nodded your heads to answer him, moving towards the garage where Baby slept comfortably. For the next 4 hours you laid sprawled out in her backseat, while the boys and you came up with a game plan as soon as you got to the town. After checking in two rooms at a tiny motel, you all separated to cover more ground. Sam was taking the preacher, Dean was taking the women’s clinic (of course) and you got the sheriff’s department about the missing people. 

Honestly, you had the easier job because you had become so used to flirting your way with the donut loving bunch, that they often didn’t even question your fraudulent credentials. Thank goodness Dean wasn’t there because he would have probably punched the poor deputy that was drooling all over himself and made the sexist comment about how a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be working a case alone, which he was more than happy offer his services to. Giving him your best bitch face you gently reminded him you were a federal agent, a complete lie but he didn’t know that. 

The missing people you had come to find out all had two things in common. One, they were complete assholes. Imagine the worst people to have at a BBQ, and that would be them. Racist, narcissistic, sexist, disgusting, greedy pigs. Almost the complete box set for Dante’s seven deadly sins. Second, they all disappeared without any trace while leaving valuable possessions and people behind.

Walking out of the station you wanted to scream as the heels pinched deep into your feet, making walking easily almost impossible as you limped a little to ease the pain. 

“Hey bitch! Need a ride?” 

You turned your head quickly to see who the hell would have called you a bitch only to be met with the smiling firecracker that you had come to know and love through the Winchesters.

“Charlie, I almost shot you,” you smiled as you approached her little yellow car’s driver window. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking out a case,” she retorted. “Guessing you are doing the same.”

“Yeah, so far not a lot to go on,” you rolled your eyes to the sheriff’s department. 

“Well get on in. We can share what we know so far!”

Inviting Charlie to bunk down with you only made sense in your mind, it was nice having another girl around that understood somewhat how much of a pain in the ass boys could be. Dean and Sam had been surprised but thrilled at her appearance when she was the one to open up the door and let them in as you changed out of the tight pencil skirt and opting for your worn out jeans and t-shirt to relax in for the rest of the day. 

“So you are going to join us then,” Dean stated while not allowing for any room for argument to the decision.

“Yeah, I have to hang out with my favorite Sam,” she smirked while giving a side eye to Sammy that was proudly smiling. “Not you, ya big lug. The other Sam. Us girls have to stick together around you two.”

You giggled to yourself in appreciation of the loving but silly nature of Charlie, she was a breath of fresh air when you started to feel like things were going crazy with no way out. Both boys gave a growl as they pretended to be hurt by her words, but they knew she was right. Dean had suggested that you all that you hit up the little tavern down the road for food and drinks since it was already now past a normal persons dinner time and the most that any of you had eaten was a power bar with lots of coffee to drink. Catching up together over a drink with something fattening that would most likely clog your arties sounded like the perfect plan. 

It was rather busy when you all arrived but you found a small booth in the back. Dean and Charlie sat on one side, while you and Sammy sat on the other. After about a 20 minute wait for someone to come by and take your order, you were starting to get more than hungry, you were now hangry. Excusing yourself to find someone capable of taking your orders, you left the three of them to talk amongst themselves.

“I think Red is going to murder someone soon if she doesn’t get fed,” Charlie observed as she watched you scowling at the gossiping staff by the bar. 

“Yeah, this is the wrong time of month to piss her off,” Dean snickered. Charlie raised her eyebrow to him, while mouthing ‘what’. 

“Female thing,” Sammy chimed in. Charlie pushed up her lips and nodded her head, knowing very well what that all entailed. She quietly watched the two boys that she has come to love like brothers watch you to ensure that you had a handle on what was going on, and didn’t need back up. Both of their eyes followed your every move and gesture as you tried so hard not to make the young waitress cry out of nervousness towards your obvious annoyance. 

“So…” Charlie popped her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “Which one of you has tried sleeping with her yet?”

Dean and Sammy shot their heads directly towards her, wide-eyed and frozen like they were deer spotted by headlights. Caught unexpectedly without knowing what to say or do. 

“That’s what I thought,” she snickered. 

You were now walking back with the terrified waitress trailing behind you, right on your heels. She promptly asked everyone what they wanted to eat and drink before running with haste towards the kitchen.

“I guess there is one benefit to the whole monthly visitor thing, you are scary as hell,” Dean chuckled. 

Sammy tilted his head at his brother mouthing “really dude.” Dean just shrugged it off and leaned back into his seat seeing you clearing looking annoyed with Charlie giving him a disapproving look on his side.

“So what do you have on the case so far Charlie?” he spoke up trying to shift the attention away from him. 

Charlie had about the same as all of you, basically everything just occurred overnight with no rhyme, reason, or connection to each other. The boys had checked for sulfur, EMF, and even hex bags at the locations they visited but came up with nothing. It was a perplexing case and you were now more than glad to have the extra pair of eyes on board. 

“Maybe a trickster?” you suggested while finishing off your burger that had come out in a rush. Guess Dean was right, being scary did have its benefits. 

“Does fit the ‘just desserts’ scheme,” Charlie agreed. 

“If it was him, he would have already been messing with us by now…and not in any type of fun way,” Sammy commented nervously while flashbacks of being turned into a car, having his balls crushed, and campaigning an ad for genital herpes ran through his mind. The whole ordeal still haunting him nightly.

“Yeah,” Dean smirked. “By now I’m sure that Red here would be turned into an animated princess with one of us coming to save the day.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, giving him a stern look. 

“You know the typical damsel in distress,” he shrugged.

“Is…is that how you see me?” you stammered.

Ever since the boys had found you knocked out by the Demon you had felt like you had to prove to them that you weren’t helpless. That you could take care of yourself. So many times you had noticed that when things started to get real, they would put themselves in between you and the danger like you couldn’t handle it. You could. You weren’t one of those helpless women that they had to save. You were a hunter just like them. You had pretended that you didn’t notice that they had been treating you definitely than anyone else and you were getting tired of pretending that it didn’t bother you. Now Dean’s words proved what you had suspected, they thought you were just another girl who they needed to saved. 

Dean looked at you in confusion as he noticed that your eyes began to welt up. He looked to his brother and Charlie that were equally as perplexed to your reaction.

“No, Red, not at all. It’s just that he likes to... mess with people’s... weaknesses,” he suggested, which only made the tears you were holding back now come flowing down your face.

“So because I’m a girl I’m weak? I can’t take care of myself?” you snapped while getting up from your seat, making all the patrons now turn towards the four of you. “You know what Dean, I can take care of myself and I will.”

You walked right out of the tavern before even giving him a chance to say anything else, the cool night air hitting your hot skin felt wonderful as you took it all in. As you made your way through the parking lot you heard a female voice speak up amongst the parked cars. 

“Men can be such pigs huh? Wouldn’t you love it if they could only see what it was like for once?”

You let out a little laugh and said “yeah” before continuing to the hotel alone. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would calm you down. Maybe even tomorrow you would actually allow yourself to have a real conversation with them about why you had basically acted like a child throwing a tantrum in public. They really didn’t deserve that, but it had been growing on you for so long it was bound to snap out at some point. You now felt guilty for your actions as you slid into the musty bed sheets of the dark hotel room all alone while pondering what on earth you were going to do in the morning.

 __________________________________________________ 

“What the hell was that?” Dean stammered as he watched Samantha leave in a hurry with tears falling down her eyes. Charlie punched him in the arm hard.

“Dude! Super insensitive!” she replied giving him a hard look.

“What?!?” 

“Seriously? Do you two not get it?” she probed while shifting her eyes between them. “Oh my… Okay, let me break this down for you. Sam is a hunter. Sam is also a girl. Girls for fucking ever have been told that they are weak and have to be saved by a big strong man and what do you do? Basically just tell her that her being a girl is a weakness!” 

“Charlie has a point Dean,” Sammy chimed in.

“You are fucking right I do!”

“It’s not like we exactly… treat her equally sometimes,” Sam offered in embarrassment as he realized that more often than not there would be arguments on who would be taking point, them usually against her. 

“Yeah but she likes all that girl stuff too,” Dean added.

“You can want to be a Queen, kick some ass, and save the day too Dean,” Charlie commented.

 Dean and Sam both sat quietly back knowing she was right. 

“Whatever, I need a stronger drink,” Dean grumbled. 

He walked up to the bar and leaned on it while rubbing the scruff on his face in frustration over how the hell he was going to fix everything with Samantha now. A young girl moved next to him while flashing him a flirtatious smile. She was cute, but he wasn’t interested. She moved her face now closer to his, making him raise his eyebrow to her. 

“Hey, there sexy. I’m Sam.”

He tried to hold back the laughter but failed as he turned to walk away. “Sorry darling. Two Sam’s are enough.”

The next morning Dean woke up from his restless night’s sleep before the sun had fully risen. He could hear snores in the bed next to him as he stumbled towards the bathroom to get dressed so he could go and grab coffee, along with Samantha’s favorite creamer. He rubbed his unusually smooth face while he yawned and entered into the ceramic tiled room. His bladder was ready to explode so he positioned himself in front of the toilet to pee while reaching and felt the unexpected. Instead of finding his penis, his hand reached into the slick wet folds of a vagina. In a quick motion he moved to the mirror in front of the sink and his stare met the eyes looking back at him. They were Samantha’s eyes. Holy shit, he was in Samantha’s body! How did this happen? Where was she? He reached up and felt his chest, realizing that it was her soft, yet firm bosom. They were just like he had imagined, but he never imagined that he would be feeling them on himself like this! Crap! He heard movement of a bed in the other room like someone was waking up, he ran to the doorway, using the frame to steady his balance while staring wide-eyed at a waking up Charlie.

“Charlie! I have tits!”

Bitch, Gimmie (You asked for it):  @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @curly-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @hobby27 

[ghostbustermelanieking]

noise echoing (part two of two)

sequel to silent conversations, season 11 au, part one

my depiction of msiv had to be pretty heavily altered because of the fact that the entirety of msiv is about looking for jackson, which isn’t actually an issue here, so. some scenes and scenarios stayed the same. warning for violence.

Life returns to normal again. They watch William a little closer, but he seems to be genuinely remorseful for scaring them, with no intention of ever doing it again. They don't talk about it more than they need to. William has apparently inherited his mother's ability to not talk about things, and Mulder and Scully are more than happy to not relive those three terrifying days.

Life is good, even. William hangs out with friends occasionally, but he spends most of his summer holed up in his room reading or watching Netflix, or out in the woods with the dogs. Scully spends the summer writing a series of medical journals, and Mulder pecks away at a book he's been saying he's going to finish for years. They take X-Files where they can find them nearby. They break their rule only once: when Skinner disappears for a few days in the fall. Mulder is hesitant, even with the monster tease in Skinner's apartment; he doesn't want to leave William. Scully says, “It's Skinner, Mulder,” and that's really all it takes to convince him. William spends the next few nights at Jordan's house while Mulder and Scully hunt their boss down in Kentucky.

“I'm glad you went,” William says after it's all over. “I like Skinner. He definitely does way more for you guys than any normal boss. And besides, it sounds like he really needed your help.”

“Mr. Skinner,” Mulder says at the same time as Scully, in that mocking tone that makes her glare. She's been correcting William on that ever since he started imitating Mulder at age three, which Mulder has always found absolutely hilarious and William followed suit. They share a smirk across the dinner table. “I agree, Will,” says Scully, giving them both a stern look that relays exactly what she thinks of their comments. “But I don't know how much help we ended up being. Your father fell into the hole instead of getting Skinner out of it.”

“Mr. Skinner, Scully,” Mulder says playfully. “And besides, that wasn't my fault, I was blindsided. You're the one who left him in the hole!”

Scully jabs the fork at him. “He told me to go, Mulder, we were in pursuit of the suspect! And besides that, he was injured.”

“Exactly,” Mulder says. “Exactly why you should've gotten him out and tended to him.”

“He got himself out,” Scully says defensively. “Exactly why I think he could've handled it himself. I mean, who knows what would have happened if we hadn't come… but Skinner was very capable on his own.” Mulder makes a face at her, clinking his fork against hers like a sword.

“Wait, wait, wait,” says William, pointing his fork at the both of them. “You left your boss in a hole? After he'd been impaled?”

“It was circumstantial, William,” Scully says mildly.

He laughs, swishing his fork around his plate. “How have you guys not been fired yet?”

“I've asked myself that question every day for over twenty-five years, son,” Mulder says. “This isn't even the worst we've done, as a collective.” Scully swats his shoulder with a napkin.

William faces his junior year head on, with loads of homework and the fear of the ACT looming. Mulder and Scully look for any trails from the men who came for William over the summer, but there are none. The leads have dried up. They are all waiting for the day that someone will send people after their son again, but that day seems far off and distant. They remain on edge, keeping their guns in their bedside table and jumping at unexpected sounds, and the paranoia never fades as 2017 turns to 2018. An incident resulting from a birthday dinner for Scully leaves them even more on edge, with a series of drones coming to the property and an automated vacuum trying to set the house on fire. It's quickly figured out that the attack is a result of Mulder not tipping at the robot sushi place they go to, which culminates in William stealing Mulder’s phone and tipping before the house gets burned down. The three of them bicker over whether or not Mulder’s typical cheapness caused the attack, whether or not it is unwise to go to a robot sushi restaurant, and other fun targets as they clean up the house once again. (“Your jobs are ruining our home,” William says sourly as he sweeps up broken glass. “This,” Scully says sternly, jabbing a finger at him, “had nothing to do with our jobs.” “But it was an X-File,” Mulder adds, dropping a mangled drone in a garbage bag. “Shut up,” Scully and William snap in unison.)

Life is normal. Aside from the expected paranoia and surprise visits by an army of drones, life is normal. Life is normal until it isn't.

---

In the spring, William starts having nightmares again. Scully is startled out of sleep one night by the sound of him crying out from his bedroom. On instinct alone, she climbs out of bed and rushes to his room, finds him only asleep, tangled up in the blankets and tugging at the sheets like when he had bad dreams as a child. Fed raises his head from the pillow to give her a sad look.

“William.” She shakes his shoulder to try and rouse him. “Will, wake up.”

His eyes fly open, as dark as Mulder’s in the dimly lit room. Scully wishes she could remember when they turned from the clear blue of her mother's to this dark color, but she cannot.

“Mom,” he mutters, struggling to sit up. He reaches out and scratches Fed on top of the head. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.” He sounds sheepish, apologetic. Mulder's son through and through.

“Will, are you okay?” Scully asks, straightening the comforter on his bed. “Did you… see something?”

His face stony serious, he nods. “It's starting,” he says. “Soon, it's starting. And we need to be ready. We need to stop my grandfather before it all ends.”

---

When they come for him, they come when he's at school. He didn't see that one coming. He never sees the important things anymore.

A part of William is relieved. It's easier to blindly protect people here.

He's walking to class with his friends, laughing and talking about the end of school and finals and their upcoming senior year when he remembers he left his book on the wall outside, where they had sat and eaten their lunch. “I'll be right back,” he says, and breaks away from the cluster, pushing through the busy hallway towards the doors to the outside. When he gets there, he finds two men dressed in black suits and sunglasses. One is holding his book. The other has a corner of his jacket lifted to show off his gun.

“You'll want to come with us, kid,” says the guy with the book.

“And you'll want to come quietly,” says the guy with the gun. “Or we’ll make sure each and every one of your friends in there have a bullet in your skull. And then, before we hit the road? We'll pay a visit to your home and do the same to your parents.”

William goes. He's terrified, but he goes, because what the hell else can he do? He can't let them hurt the people he cares about. He steps closer to them and feels the gun jab hard into his side; a huge hand closes down on his shoulder, guiding him towards the car. He's praying that someone will see, will help, but no one does.

He's already forming a plan in his mind: how to overpower them as soon as they're far enough away, how to telepathically contact his parents, but as soon as they get into the big black car, the book guy pins him to the seat with his overlarge hand.

“We were warned about your powers,” says the gun guy. “Don’t worry; we have a remedy for that.”

And the needle slides into William's neck, a cloud of drugs overtaking him before he can fight back.

---

When Monica Reyes shows up at their office, Scully's first instinct is to be confrontational. The first thing she sees is red-hot rage. All she can think of is that Monica took her son in her vision. Monica, who helped bring him into the world. She's barely even in the door before Scully is out of her seat, gun aimed.

Monica's hands fly in the air. “Whoa, Scully,” Mulder is saying, hand flying to her shoulder.

“Mulder, you remember what we saw,” she hisses, not looking away from her. “What she did.”

“You know,” Monica says. It's not a question. She does not look afraid; she does have guilt on her face. Just a touch of it.

“I saw what you do when the world is ending,” Scully says, her hand wrapping hard around the gun. “What you do to my son.”

“Dana, you need to listen to me,” Monica says slowly, sincerely. “It's not what you think. I'm here to help you.”

“Scully, maybe we should listen to her,” Mulder says, a hand hovering over her shoulder. “She can't have Will, he's still at school.” His voice is lined with uncertainty, though; they have lost the luxury to say, He's just at school, and believe it.

“I don't have William,” Monica says, but Scully can hear the but in her tone. She hesitates a moment, her hands quivering in the air.

“Who has William?” Scully asks, and God help her, her voice is shaking. (Not again, she pleads, not again, not again.)

Monica sighs, bowing her head slightly. “It's Erika Price and her associates,” she says. “They were disappointed that Mulder had never made serious on his claims of killing his father. They hope that Spender's love for the boy will give them their opportunity. That they can lure him there and take care of him for good.”

Mulder makes a small sound full of fear beside her. Scully's hands are shaking, but she carefully lowers the gun a few millimeters. “And why are you here?” she snaps carefully.

“Because years of infiltrating the fucking Syndicate once I found out Spender was still alive has taught me one thing,” Monica snaps. “These people—both branches of them—need to be stopped no matter what. And I want your son to be safe. This is the best chance to make sure of all of these things.”

Scully sets the gun down flat on the table, presses her hands into the edge of the table to steady them. “They have William?” Mulder asks in a quivering voice.

“Yes.” Monica is giving them a look full of apology. “I am so sorry. But I can assure you that they won't hurt him. They want him unharmed.”

“Oh, great,” Mulder snaps. “That's so comforting. What happens after Spender is dead, when they don't need him anymore?”

“Do you know where he is?” Scully says, her ears rushing with white noise. “Will you take us to him?”

“Of course, Dana,” Monica says with a great deal of apology in her voice. “I want this to be over just as much as you do. I'm sorry it ever happened in the first place.”

Scully's fingers twitch, itching to grab her gun. She wants to shoot someone, to hurt the people who hurt her son. “Will you wait outside for a second, Monica?” she says sharply. “I need to talk to Mulder for a minute.”

Monica meets her eyes sincerely, nods her head and steps outside the door, closing it behind her.

As soon as the door is closed, Mulder grabs his phone and dials William's number. “Mulder,” Scully tries, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing it. Trying to comfort him. “Mulder, if he's in school, he's not going to answer…”

“He'll answer,” Mulder says, gripping the phone hard and putting it up to his ear. “He'll answer if he sees it's me. He knows…” His voice falters, trails off, and he clutches the phone harder.

“Mulder, I think she's telling the truth,” Scully says shakily, as much as she hates to admit it. “I think we have to go with her. I think that might be the only way to end this.”

“Damn it!” Mulder slams the phone down on the desk. “Voicemail. Goddamnit.”

“Mulder.” A tear slips out of her eye; she wipes it away impatiently. She wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Mulder, please.”

“Let me call the school. Just let me call the school.” He wipes his eyes, his nose. He's not looking at her. “Scully, we have to know for sure before we go with her. We have to know that we can trust her. Just let me call the school. I have to know if he's there.”

Scully's throat is sore, clogged up. She nods. Mulder picks up the phone and starts dialing. Scully steps away, straightening her jacket. She wipes her face again, steps out of the office where Monica Reyes is waiting.

She's standing against a pile of boxes, arms crossed over her chest, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. “How did you know?” she asks.

Scully leans against the opposite wall, sniffles before answering. “How did I know what?”

“That I was working with Spender.”

Scully clears her throat before answering, carefully. “Well, you dropped off the radar when you and Doggett got the X-Files taken away. That was one indication. But I knew for sure after… after William and I had a shared vision. Of the contagion. What happened when Spender released it. I sent William with you to keep him safe, because I… because I still trusted you.” She inhales sharply. “But you took him to the smoker.” She wipes her face again with a trembling hand. “So. That's how I knew.”

Monica swallows nervously. “Dana, listen,” she says. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I was telling the truth. I'm a double agent. I have been ever since William was a baby. Ever since I found out Spender was still alive.” She takes an uncertain breath. “I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would blow my cover,” she says. “I never thought it would take this long. It took me fifteen years to figure out their plan, and two years to try and stop it.”

Scully nods. She can feel her stomach turning over on itself, the burn of bile at the back of her throat, and as nausea overtakes her, she runs for the bathroom. The door slams behind her as she bends over the toilet, retching. “Dana?” Monica is pounding on the door. “Dana, it's okay. We're going to find him and he'll be okay. This will all be over soon, and you can go back to your lives…”

She clutches the toilet bowl with both hands, knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip. She's shaking, quivering on her knees on the tile floor. Tears drip off the end of her nose. She's so cold. Will, she thinks desperately. Will, please, can you hear me, please answer. Please. There is no answer. She rests her head against the porcelain bowl, breathing hard.

When she exits the bathroom, Monica is waiting for her, mournful look on her face. “Dana, I'm sorry,” she says. She reaches out and touches Scully's elbow. “I should have told you years ago. Are you okay?”

Scully nods. She offers a small smile, the biggest she can muster, but it fades quickly. Monica squeezes her arms before letting go. Her eyes are sad.

Mulder exits the room, his face white. “They counted him present in homeroom this morning, but I had them check and he wasn't there for his last two classes, and you know Will wouldn't skip class,” he's saying, but then he seems to see her. “Scully, are you okay? You look sick.” He reaches out to touch the side of her face with a gentle hand.

She nods, swallows back the horrible taste in her throat and steadies herself. “I'm fine, Mulder. Let's go get him.”

---

The last time her son was kidnapped, she and Monica drove off to Canada to save him. What followed was a tumultuous series of events in which she thought Mulder was dead, she thought she had to choose between Mulder and William, William indirectly caused the death of his kidnappers, and she thought her son was dead. Monica comforted her as she cried in the ashes, holding William close. She'd told Mulder about it years later, after he came back, when William was completely safe, napping on Mulder's lap with his thumb in his mouth. It hasn't felt real since it happened, a dark fairy story.

This feels real. Her son is gone again, and she and Mulder are blindly following Monica Reyes in an attempt to bring him home. He is older now, able to fight back, but his whereabouts are less mysterious: Scully knows exactly who has him, but has no real idea what their intentions with him are, and she is terrified.

The smoker is in South Carolina, Monica tells them. When they go to tell Skinner, he reacts in a similar way that Scully did, distrusting of Monica. It takes a few more minutes to convince him that Monica is trustworthy, and this largely comes as a result of Mulder snapping at them both angrily. “We don't have time!” he shouts, smacking Skinner's desk with the flat of his hand. “We're wasting time right now. Time my son doesn't have.”

Skinner sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “Mulder, we may not have time on any front,” he says, ignoring Monica and addressing the two of them. “Kersh is up in arms about some conspiracy you were talking about on the Tad O'Malley show…”

“That was me,” Scully says. Mulder and Skinner both look at her with some surprise; she crosses her arms over her chest tightly. “William saw it coming,” she says. “He said it would start soon. I knew that this was the only way to warn people, by feeding that crackpot information and letting it spread like wildfire.”

Skinner sighs again. “Well, whoever did it, Kersh is ready to shut you both down. He was ready to do it later this evening. You can report William's abduction, but I doubt he'll let you work it…”

“This goes so much further than William, sir,” Scully snaps. “The fate of human civilization could depend on what we do here today.” She looks at Monica out of the side of her eye, who nods. “And besides that,” she adds tightly, “he's our son and I don't give a damn about protocol. We're going for him. And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it on the down low.”

Skinner looks between the three of them, reluctant. And them he stands, reaching for his gun. “I'm coming with you,” he says.

Scully blinks. “Sir?” she asks, uncertain.

“You're right,” Skinner says. “This is important. And you need backup. I'm coming.”

Scully exchanges a look with Mulder. He looks frightened and relieved all at once. He reaches for her hand, squeezed it briefly. We're coming, she tries, and hopes that William can hear her.

“I'll get us on a flight to South Carolina,” Monica says.

---

When William wakes up, it is to the sound of gunshots. A sound he's entirely too familiar with. His mind is still swimming, his stomach turning, assumedly from the drugs. He turns on his side, curling into a ball. God, he thinks. Oh, god, I hope that isn't anyone I care about getting shot. He lays his head flat on the floor and tries to breathe evenly.

He lets his mind wander, tries to see what he needs to see. He checks on his friends first, makes sure the men told the truth about not hurting them if he came willingly. They're all fine, Jordan and Theresa and Ben, they're fine. He breathes out a sigh of relief, his knees against his stomach. He checks his parents next and finds them on a plane. Headed for him, wherever he is. Skinner sitting in the seat behind them and that woman from his vision, Monica something, across the aisle. His dad sleeping fitfully against his mom's shoulder, making distressed sounds in his sleep. His mom sitting back in the seat, her hand pressed to her stomach like she's nauseous or something. He screws his eyes shut and thinks at her: Mom. Mom, can you hear me?

The vision fades, but he hears his mother's voice, loud and solid in his mind. Will? Oh my god, sweetie, are you okay?

I'm fine.

Oh my god. William, do you know where you are? We're coming to find you.

No, I don't know. I just woke up. I'm sorry. He swallows back the bitter taste of nausea in his throat and tries to sit up. His head spins like a fun house ride.

It's okay. It'll be okay. Will, is anyone there? Are you alone?

I'm alone in the room, but I heard gunshots a few minutes ago. He scoots backwards across the grimy floor, sitting with his back against the wall. He's too tall to sit like this, curled up in a ball like a little kid.

Hang tight, Will, his mother commands. Hold on, we're coming.

---

William isn't sure how long he stays huddling against the wall. The gunshots have been stopped for a while, but he can still hear people moving around in the house. Not close to him. Every now and then, his mother will call his name in his mind and he will answer, I'm here.

And then, the sounds of moving don't seem so far away. There are echoing sounds down the hall, sounds he gradually recognizes as footsteps, and he clenches his teeth. Mom, someone's coming, he says, nearly shouting. He needs her to hear, hopes she is close.

There's no answer. Static in his head. Mom, are you there? he tries. Can you hear me? Mom!

Nothing. It's like there's a block somehow, another presence in his mind, and he fights against it to no avail. There's no connection, and the footsteps grow closer, closer until the door swings open and a man that William has only ever seen in dreams and visions steps in.

I've been eager to meet you, William, says the man who stinks of nicotine, and it takes William a few good minutes to realize that he isn't speaking out loud.

---

“He says that someone is coming,” Scully says in the car as they drive through Spartanburg, her voice full of panic. “Something’s blocking me, I can't say or hear anything else, but the last thing he said was that someone was coming.”

Mulder’s hand clamps around hers. “Monica, do you know where we're going? Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” Monica says from the driver's seat. “We're twenty minutes away, just hang on.”

Mulder turns to Scully, squeezes his hand. “Can you hear him?” he asks, almost pleading.

She shakes her head. “No, but you know how it is, it doesn't always work. Can you hear him?”

He shakes his head. She lowers her head, hair hiding her face, and he wraps his arms around her briefly. In the front seat, Skinner dutifully ignores them. Monica watches the road.

“We're going to find him,” he says quietly.

“You said that the last time,” she murmurs.

He shakes his head. “This is the last time. I'm ending it now. This is never going to happen again.”

She presses her forehead into his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. “It's going to be okay,” he says.

She nods. He rubs a hand over her back before pulling away. He reaches for his gun, pulls it out and turns the safety off. He watches Scully reach for her own gun, her hand brushing slowly over her stomach as she goes.

They drive, towards whatever will happen next. The end of the world or the salvation of it. All that seems to matter to Mulder is his son.

---

“What do you want from me?” William snaps, careful to speak out loud as he gets to his feet. He hates this man, has only seen flashes of what he's done to his parents over the years, but he knows he has plenty of reason to hate him.

The man smiles. He stinks of nicotine. “I wanted to meet you,” he says. “To get to know you. To carry on our family legacy.”

William balls his fists in his pockets. “You are not my family,” he spits. He wants nothing to do with this man.

“I'm your grandfather, William,” the man says in a charismatic tone that has William itching to punch him. “And I think you'll find when my plans fall into place that I'll be some of the only family you have left. You and myself and your mother, we'll be some of the sole survivors.”

His vision, nearly two years old, his dying father. William clenches his teeth, snaps his chin with a mind-force behind it that would normally send his target flying. But he finds a sort of resistance, a wall against the force he's sending forth that locks the old man in place. He pushes harder, and the man pushes back with a force that almost sends William to his knees. Blood drips out of one nostril. For a moment, they're locked into a bottle of strength, until William gives out. Weak, he slumps against the wall, wiping blood off his face.

The man—his grandfather—smiles, satisfied. “These parlor tricks won't work on me, my boy,” he says. “Although I know they have worked before for you. My apologies.”

William's eyes narrow, fury building inside him, and in one solid moment, he runs at the man. Telepathically, his grandfather might be stronger, but physically, William outweighs him. He slams into the man like they're playing football, shoves him into the wall. His head cracks against the door frame. William doesn't stay in place for long; he runs past him, feet pounding the floor.

“You won't get very far, my boy!” the smoker calls from behind him, already getting up. There's no way he should be okay after that, William heard the smacking sound of his skull, but he is.

“Like shit,” William hisses through his teeth, running faster. He's going to get out of here. He wants to go home. He's tired of this being his life.

---

The place that Monica takes them to is a sprawling manor house on the edge of a murky green lake. She leads them straight to the front door, uses a key to get them in.

Inside the house, they find several corpses in the front foyer. Men with bullet holes in their foreheads. Mulder’s fingers twitch around the gun as they pass the bodies.

“We'll split up,” Scully says in a low voice. She doesn't think William is dead, but then again, she doesn't know, does she. “You two clear the house. Mulder and I will find William.”

Monica looks like she wants to argue, but Skinner nods wordlessly. They head in opposite directions from the foyer.

Mulder and Scully walk together through the house. They pass a woman in the next room, sitting in an armchair with a similar bullet hole in her forehead. “Erika Price,” Mulder says in a low voice. The woman he met in New York. The woman who Monica said ordered William's abduction.

“If she's dead,” Scully says, her fingers numb and cold around her weapon. “If she's dead, then what happened to William, Mulder?”

Their answer comes too quickly. Gunshots from the direction Skinner and Monica went off in. Pounding footsteps upstairs. Someone is running away.

Their eyes meet briefly, and then they are running too, following their son's footsteps towards the back of the house.

---

The smoker has gotten back on his feet and is in pursuit. William can feel it.

He takes a wrong turn and ends up at a series of glass doors at the end of the hallway. Outside, a balcony. He doesn't think, only pushes through the glass doors and locks them behind him with a look.

Inside the house, he can hear more gunshots. Someone is here, someone is fighting, and he doesn't know if anyone can help him. But he does know one thing: bullets can very easily shatter glass. He isn't any safer out here than in there.

William's eyes scan over the side of the house, his mind racing. He sees the trellis, the white ladder-like thing covered in vines that nearly reaches the ground. He doesn't think, just swings a leg over the railing and balances himself on the trellis. As he lets his weight fall onto it, he digs his fingers hard into the greenery. He begins to climb down it like a ladder. His heart is pounding, pounding. He doesn't think about what he's doing, and once he's only a few feet above the ground, he lets himself drop and composes a silent thank you to Coach Ruthers for making him climb the rope in gym as a kid.

He begins to run again, as far as he can until he hits the edge of the lake, the dock bobbing in the water. He stops at the edge, breathing hard, considering whether or not to swim for it. His parents might be in the house.

And suddenly, he can sense it. His grandfather approaching, calling his name. William can't think straight, so he projects as the first person that comes to his mind. Someone he hopes that his grandfather won't want to kill right away.

“Fox,” his grandfather says when he sees him, as if this is a surprise. Addressing William as his father. “I heard your associates downstairs, but I didn't expect to find you down here.”

William doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Does he not know? he thinks in a panic. Does he not know about the projection? Or does he just want to see Dad? His heart thudding, he starts to move away until he sees the gun pointed at him.

“You really don't give up, do you?” says the smoker, cocking his gun. “But then, you have so much to lose. It's what we have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” William hisses in his father's voice.

“I need the boy,” the smoker says, and William's skin crawls. He's drawing closer, gun aimed at him. William backs up, closer to the edge of the lake. “The boy is mine. My grandson, my successor in the future ashes of the earth.”

“The boy would rather die first,” William snarls, and he would, if he had to choose, but he really doesn't want to die. He's scanning behind the smoker, hoping that his parents are inside. Mom, can you hear me? he tries. Dad?

“You have no right to the boy,” the smoker says. “He may be your son, but he exists because of me. You and your Scully have me to thank. And now your time with him has ended, I'm afraid.” He raises the gun.

William's heart is thudding so hard he can hear it. He considers dropping the projection. Reconsiders, tries another approach. “You'd shoot your firstborn son?

“Shot my second-born son once,” his grandfather says with a hint of satisfaction. “But I need you to know, Fox, when I gave you life, I never fathomed the moment would come when I would need to end it.”

“I don't think you can do it,” William says, trying to play his cards right, trying to get out of this. This was such a stupid plan, he should have jumped, or screamed for help. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. Mom, he thinks, desperate. Mom, Dad, help me, I'm out here. I need help, please.

“Then you don't know me very well,” says his grandfather, and shoots.

---

Scully sees the smoker going down the stairs, out the door. He doesn't see them. He's going for William, she thinks, grips Mulder’s sleeve and tugs. He sees what she's looking at, nods. They follow him, staying back far enough so that he doesn't see them.

The smoker gets outside before they do. They hang back, watching him from around a corner, when Scully hears the clock of a gun at the back of their heads. “Drop your weapons,” the man behind them says evenly.

Their guns clatter as they hit the ground. They raise their hands together, exchanging nervous looks; Mulder’s eyes are dark back and forth from her to the doors where Spender exited. Scully feels a flickering of irritation in her mind, annoyance and fear; We don't have time for this, she wants to scream, our son needs us.

“Keep your hands in the air and turn around,” the man says. They obey, shoulders against the wall. The man smirks at them like a jack-o'-lantern. “The famous Agents Mulder and Scully,” he says smugly. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Where is my son?” Mulder hisses through his teeth. “What did you do to him?”

“That's not your concern now,” says the man. “I have orders to shoot you—” He prods the side of Mulder’s face with the barrel of his gun, and Scully grits her teeth, furious, ready to tell this man apart. “—on sight. So I think you should just come with me, and…”

The back of the man's head explodes in a mess of blood. They both jump at the loud sound of the gunshot. When the man falls, they can see Skinner standing behind him, gun still smoking.

Scully's mouth hangs open in astonishment and relief. “Sir…” Mulder says.

“Go,” Skinner snaps, waving his gun at the door. They grab their weapons and go.

They start out running as they approach the water, but they both slow as they see what is happening. The smoker is holding Mulder at gunpoint. The smoker has Mulder at gunpoint at the edge of the water, but that isn't possible, because Mulder is right beside her and has been since Washington. He's saying something with Mulder's voice, but this is all impossible, it can't be him. Scully can't breathe. She gropes for Mulder and finds him right beside her, a solid and warm mass.

“Then you don't know me very well,” says Spender, and fires.

The bullet hits the not-Mulder in the forehead, and it's only then that Scully realizes who he is.

Her scream shatters the windows and splits the sky in half.

---

The smoker doesn't seem to hear or acknowledge Scully's scream. He's watching Mulder's body fall into the water. Mulder’s son wearing his face.

His father has just killed his son.

“Hey!” Mulder roars, with a fury so deep that he can feel it in his teeth, in his bones. The smoker whirls, and Mulder shoots him. He fires again and again, shooting his father as he draws closer and closer. He can feel every bullet.

It isn't just his bullets hitting Spender. Scully is shooting, too, walking beside him and firing again and again. Their bullets hit Spender together, dozens piercing him again and again.

When Mulder hears the click of Scully's gun that means it is empty, he surges forward. He pushes his dying father into the water with all the fury in his body.

He once told himself that if he killed his father, it would be for his son. He wasn't wrong.

His father falls into the water with a splash.

“William!” Scully screams, and she's running towards the water, she's close to jumping in, but Mulder catches her before she can.

Night has fallen. The water is dark and cold, and he can't see his son's body.

His body. He is going to throw up. He wants to scream.

“William!” Scully is pushing at his arms, clawing at him. “Let me go, Mulder, I have to…”

“Scully, stop,” he says, holding her against him.

“He's down there!” she shouts, bucking in his arms, almost falling over the edge. “He's down there, he's hurt, I have to get him out of there, Mulder…” Her voice is wobbling horribly, her fingernails digging into his arms. She sobs once, a hollow sound.

“He's gone,” Mulder says, and it doesn't feel his words, his mouth moving. He's not here, he's somewhere out in a field in summer where it's warm, and his son is there and Scully, and they are happy….

“Our son,” he says, and it sounds like sobbing, and he meant to say is gone, but he can't make the words come. He's shaking, clutching Scully to him just to tether himself to the ground. It can't, it can't be true. No. “Our son,” he whispers.

Scully is limp in his arms, even if she's still struggling. She's sobbing, her shoulders shaking. He thinks he hears her whisper their son's name.

He presses his tear-smudged face into her hair, whispers, “Scully.” She's shaking in his arms, and he's crying, too. He moves his cheek against her hair, and then he sees it: a white hand gripping the side of the dock, trying to pull himself up. It can't, it can't be, but… “Scully,” he says, more insistent.

“What…” Her eyes flicker across the dock until she sees it, and he feels her freeze against him.

Mulder lets go of her, falls to his knees at the edge of the dock and grips the wet hand. He pulls it, pulls the person up onto the dock, the quivering, dripping person, and it is his son, his son soaked to the bone, water cascading off his shoulders. Shaking, a bullet hole in his forehead.

“Dad,” William says, his teeth chattering. “Mom…”

Scully makes a small, whimpering sound. Falls to her knees beside them and wraps her arms around him. Mulder gathers them up against him, holding his son against his chest, rocking them. “William,” he's saying, the words spilling out of his mouth. “Oh my God, Will…”

“It's okay,” William is saying, “it's okay, I'm okay, it's okay…” But he's crying, he's sobbing with his face half pressed against Mulder's jacket.

“Shhh,” Scully says, and she's got a fistful of Mulder’s shirt, clutching William with one hand and Mulder with the other, and she is comforting William as if he's still a small child. “Shhh, baby, it's okay, we've got you. He's dead now. We've got you.”

William's taking shaky breaths, nearly hyperventilating and shivering with cold, but he's breathing, he's alive. His son is alive. “I'm sorry,” Mulder says, and he means for saying William was gone, but it could be for any number of things. William takes a few more shuddering breaths, shivering hard. The lake water is getting them all wet, but he doesn't care. Scully is crying and William is crying and they're all three trembling, sitting on the cold ground, murmuring things that blur together and don't seem to make any sense.

His son is alive. His father is dead. It's finally, finally over.

“It's going to be okay,” he says into Scully's hair. William nods his agreement. Scully makes a choked sobbing sound, tightening her grip on them both, sniffling into his chest. “It's going to be okay,” Mulder whispers. “It's okay. It's over now.”

William nods again. “It's over,” he says. “It's over.”

He rocks his son and his wife back and forth. It’s over and they’re together and they’re alive. For now, that seems like enough.

[almaasi]

Here’s a handy post with ALL 15 of the Destiel fics I posted this year!! (Total word count for the year: 366,181.)

2017 has been a year of drama, demisexual Cas, and dogs. (Seriously, a LOT of dogs.) Wow, I did awesome - and I think my personal health journey is well-reflected in the topics, from depression recovery and weirdness in January to fluff and smut in the last months of the year.

I hope you enjoy reading these even more than I enjoyed writing them ♥

✦ Mostly In Silence · 4k · G · hurt-comfort + depression recovery

Dean returns home to the bunker, only to find Castiel is lost in a deep depression. Taking their cues from the night sky (perhaps holding hands, perhaps sharing their first kiss), Dean helps Castiel rediscover a small but shining sense of hope.

✦ Lucid Nightmare · 10k · T · basically weird meta about fanfic AUs

there’s fire in this city // sirens, ghosts, and earthquakes // one night, you protect me // and we run until dawn breaks //

Or:

A spooky, fluffy, mind-warping existential-themed half-fic half-poem, in which Dean saves siren!Cas from a real-life waking nightmare and drives him to Bobby’s house for safety. But as Cas reveals more about himself and his past, Dean comes to realise he has to let his new winged friend enter his mind and dreamwalk, or else Cas will die.

✦ A Place and a Feeling · 24k · NC-17 · fluffy drama + domesticity + smut

Human AU. Dean Winchester still hasn’t found the perfect little house in the suburbs he’s always dreamed of. On the off-chance that another meeting with his totally adorkable realtor could finally change everything, Dean keeps going back to Castiel’s agency. Like Cas always says, home is both a place and a feeling. But what if the place Dean’s looking for is Castiel’s house, and the feeling is Castiel himself? Sometimes the most unprofessional choices lead to the most enjoyable personal consequences. This is one of those times.

✦ Our Garden Home · 36k · G · cute overload fairy AU

Flower fairy Dean has caught a thief in his trap. As it turns out, it wasn’t a mouse stealing his food. It was Castiel: a hissy, bitey bat sprite with one wing and a forlorn, lonely heart. Dean offers a warm space in his nest, where Castiel can stay until Springtime comes around again. However, Castiel becomes more than just a guest. With a little effort, he helps make Dean’s nest a home.

✦ Night Exhibition · 27k · NC-17 · friends to lovers + smut (rimming!)

Welcome to the world’s most generic museum. In the café, you’ll find Dean, putting dinosaur cut-outs on his award-winning apple pies. In the gift shop, you’ll find his snarky yet devastatingly handsome friend Castiel, folding t-shirts for a living. But Castiel has a second job as a night watchman, patrolling the marble halls and protecting the museum exhibits after dark. One night, Dean asks to tag along. He could never resist a crisp blue uniform, and he’ll take any opportunity to have his friend show it off. It might take all night, one dance, and a playful sex act (or five) in a few unusual places around the museum before either of them realise… maybe Dean’s interest was never about the uniform. And maybe their friendship was already something else.

✦ What We Ache For · 93k · NC-17 · hurt-comfort + domesticity

Working as a prostitute (that’s ‘sex worker’ to the decent folks), Castiel has heard more than his fair share of odd requests. When he’s paid to spend a night with Dean Winchester (handsome, dork of all dorks, has a nice car… secretly a cop), the last thing Castiel expects to hear are the words “I wanna make love.” That’s the one thing he’s never done before – so Dean is going to show him how to do it. But then, barely a month after that night is over, Castiel finds himself in a difficult situation, and Dean is mistakenly summoned to help. They begin to share again: Dean’s apartment, the spare bed, their deepest secrets. Over time, with the support of Dean’s brother Sam, a mystery dog, and lots of cuddles, kisses, comfort, and tea, maybe Cas can finally be loved the way he deserves.

✦ Purple Horse in a Coffee Shop · 8k · G · fun & silly office romance

Nobody expects to see a purple horse at a Pride parade. So, naturally, Dean Winchester is surprised to meet his office co-worker and long-term crush, Castiel, riding atop a magnificent steed - and dressed in full wizard regalia, no less. Somehow, Cas thinks he (and his decked-out horse) are wearing grey. They visit a coffee shop with their friends and family, trying to get to the bottom of this mix-up - and apparently the purple horse is coming too.

“One medium black coffee with two sugars; one macchiato; three small soy lattes; one large decaf with a caramel shot - and ten apples, please.”

✦ Unconditional · 2k · T · hurt-comfort + meta about Dean & John Winchester

Over the years, Dean’s learned a lot about himself, and the way he loves those around him. Now Cas is back from the dead, and he came back human - and hurt. As Dean soothes Cas’ wounds in the front seat of the Impala, an ache in his heart drives him to find words to explain.

✦ The Wireless · 58k · NC-17 · solar punk + the most holy-shit thing I have ever written imo

Cas Novak hosts a popular radio show, entertaining hunters with his psychic powers. But, in a world where monster-hunting is commonplace, he harbours a powerful secret: he’s not human, but an angel, surviving in a society unsympathetic to his kind. For six years, Cas has read out news stories describing a particularly impressive man: Dean Winchester, distinguished hunter and accidental prophet of God. Not by chance, Cas meets Dean at a sunny autumn carnival, where Dean’s taken a job at a kissing booth. One kiss - perhaps two - and they’re already old friends, sharing fairground food, a carousel ride, another kiss on the ferris wheel… Finally, safe in the tent Dean shares with his brother, Castiel feels comfortable enough to reveal those unknown pieces of himself. But come morning, bigger events separate the trio: an ancient beast is waking up, and a fearful world desperately needs to be united. Now Castiel has a reason to confess his true nature, broadcasting live on Hunter Radio. Of course, Dean is listening. And it’s only a matter of time before he replies.

✦ Marshmalloween · 33k · T · lighthearted “teenagers vs. a haunted swamp” adventure

In an attempt to be the world’s coolest guardian, Dean takes his seventeen-year old brother Sam and all his friends to a ‘haunted’ swamp for Halloween night. Even if the ghost stories are a load of baloney, at least the alligators are real. Dean is unexpectedly reunited with his childhood friend (and crush) Castiel, kickstarting a fun night of Halloween antics - marshmallow toasting, bottle spinning, kiss exchanging, and spooky storytelling around the campfire. But when Sam and his dog both go missing, Dean realises the stories his mother once told him are all true. Monsters are real. And unless Dean, Cas, and all of Sam’s friends can figure out how to bring Sam back, he might be lost forever.

✦ Restaurant Revelations · 4k · G · fluffy relationship reveal

Dean and Cas have something important to tell Sam. They don their cheap rental tuxes, and Cas takes out dinner reservations at an exclusive restaurant just for the occasion. Sam is surprised enough when he and Cas make it through the door. But Dean shows up five minutes late, and the restaurant’s security protocols surely make it impossible for him to join them. The secret password is “fiancé”. And somehow Dean knows without being told.

✦ Stumble and Fall · 20k · G · dog adventures + cuddles

Dog AU. Ever since Dean was a puppy, training to be the world’s best sniffer dog, he hasn’t been able to sleep alone. His newest mission takes him well out of his comfort zone: he’s teamed up with a search-and-rescue mutt named Castiel (who, presumably, still has the vet’s thermometer stuck up his ass). But Dean was never built for snowy mountains – and only by snuggling up tight will he and Castiel share enough heat to make it through the night. Except, once Dean is home safe, he finds himself pining for his canine friend…

✦ Pretty Panties and the Pool Shark · 6k · G · kid fic

Castiel is beginning to understand how deceitful his fellow ten-year-olds can be. All the other boys in his swim class keep trying to convince him that there’s a live shark in the pool. And now Dean’s claiming that the panties in his bag belong to his sister, when Castiel knows for a fact that Dean doesn’t have a sister. Castiel is sick of being lied to. But, once Dean reveals a few truths, perhaps they can find a way to make sure the other kids’ teasing comes back to bite them - so to speak.

✦ Whoa There Cowboy · 5k · NC-17 · cowboy kink smut

If you’re gonna jerk off, watch something you find sexy, Dean said. There’s a dirty cowboy movie on TV, and that suits him perfectly. But he never expected that Cas would want to watch him.

✦ The Emporium of Christmas Enchantments · 28k · G · Christmas magic + cute overload

Every night when the clock strikes twelve, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop come to life. Dean is a little wooden soldier, so easily distracted by the pretty dolls. However, in the nights leading up to Christmas, he feels drawn to a very different kind of toy: Castiel, a kindhearted cowboy displayed on the other side of the store. Dean and Castiel spend all their time together, spreading joy and festive cheer throughout their miniature community. But once the Christmas rush comes around, will fate allow them to stay together? (Perhaps… with a little sprinkling of Christmas magic, even the wishes of simple toys can come true.)

[imagineteamfreewill]

October

Title: October

Pairing: Reader x Sam

Word Count: 2,004

Summary: You and Sam go for a morning autumn walk and it ends up being more surprising than either of you asked for.

A/N: This is my submission for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ’s Colors of Fall Challenge. My prompt was #20: October. Feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy!

X

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_______________

“Come on, Sam!” you cried, pulling on his arm again. Sam let out a groan in response, but you ignored him and tugged harder. He didn’t budge from the bed, however, and finally you decided that you’d have to convince him to leave the bunker some other way.

Sighing, you plopped down on the side of the bed and wiggled your fingers underneath his prone form. It took you a minute, but you finally found what you were searching for—the bare strip of skin just below Sam’s navel. You couldn’t hold back your grin when Sam jerked away from you with a loud yelp.

“Jesus, Y/N! Your fingers are freezing!” he exclaimed as he scooted away from you and pulled the blankets over himself so he was better protected from you.

You laughed as he turned onto his back and adjusted the covers, and then you reached for him again. This time, however, Sam was ready for you, and he quickly grabbed your wrists, effectively keeping you from touching him.

“Oh good, you’re up,” you grinned, ignoring the annoyed look he shot you as he dropped your wrists. “Now we can go for that walk you promised me!”

“Y/N,” Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know that I normally get up early, but I was hoping we could sleep in a little today. We just got back from three back-to-back hunts…”

“I know…” you replied. Now that he was truly awake, you could see that Sam even looked exhausted, which was rare for him. After a moment, you scooted closer to him and laid down. “I guess we can put it off a little longer.”

Sam used one arm to tuck you against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you felt him smile as he did so. Unable to resist smiling in return, you simply closed your eyes and let the warmth from Sam’s body soak into your own.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” he whispered.

“Not today you haven’t,” you murmured in reply, smiling wider when Sam draped his arm over your waist and laced his fingers with your own.

“I do,” Sam said. “More than anything.”

You hesitated to reply, biting the inside of your cheek so you could keep yourself from blurting out something without thinking. After a second, you let yourself ask, “Do you love me more than sleeping in?”

Sam was silent for a long moment before he finally let go of your hand. “Alright, let’s go.”

Grinning, you leaped out of the bed and began to get dressed. Sam was slower in getting to his feet, but that didn’t in any way diminish your excitement. He headed into the bathroom while you were searching the closet for your favorite of his flannels.

You were dressed and about to burst from the anticipation by the time Sam finally emerged from the bathroom.

“Whoa, are you okay, Y/N?” he asked, his pink lips hinting at his trademark smirk.

You rolled your eyes in response and bounced on the balls of your feet as Sam pulled on his jacket. “Are you ready yet?”

Sam finished zipping up his coat with an amused shake of his head, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head before tugging open the bedroom door.

You grinned wide and raced out into the hall the second it was fully open, making sure to grab Sam’s hand on the way out so you could pull him behind you. “Come on, Sam! You’re going too slow!” you cried, grinning wider when you heard Sam laugh again in response.

“I’m going just as fast as you are, Y/N!” he told you as you rounded the corner and pulled him into the library.

Dean was settled in at the first table with his headphones on as he watched a show on Netflix that you’d gotten him into earlier that month. When you passed by he glanced up, but he didn’t say anything as you yanked Sam up the stairs and through the door that led to the staircase up to ground level. Pleased with Dean’s lack of response—you didn’t want to put off your work any more than you already had—you grinned wider with each step you took toward the outside bunker door.

Once outside, you came to a halt and breathed in deeply, letting your eyes close as the chilly October air filled your lungs. Sam didn’t pull his hand from yours quite yet, and you listened as he took in a deep breath as well. After a few more moments, you exhaled and opened your eyes, then looked over your shoulder to give Sam a smile.

“Are you happy now?” he asked, his lips curved up in a smile.

“Very,” you replied. “Which way should we go? You know the trails around here better than I do, considering you made all of them.”

Sam’s dimples deepened as he tried to hide the hint of pride your words brought up in him. Still smiling, he looked both ways before finally nodding toward your right. You squeezed his hand and started walking, keeping your pace slow until Sam fell into step beside you. The two of you didn’t let go of each other’s hands as you walked down the makeshift path he’d beaten in after years of running in the woods that surrounded the bunker, and you couldn’t help but be in awe of the fiery orange leaves that created a canopy over you.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to see everything better.

“It is, yeah.”

“I wish every season was like fall.”

“If every season was like fall, we wouldn’t be able to go on walks in the snow or go to the beach when we have free days in the summer,” Sam told you, his voice soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb the solemn quiet of the trees. “But, if every day being like fall made you happy, I think I could do without those things.”

Smiling, you glanced over at him. “Really?”

Sam nodded. “Really. Now come on, let’s keep walking. There’s a hill up here with a good view,” he said. He began to walk again, leading you up a short incline.

You gasped when you saw what he was talking about. Before you stood hundreds of trees, each one varying in shades of oranges, reds, greens, and browns. They stretched covered a mile of land at least, then transitioned into a field of golden corn stalks that would no doubt be soon turned into corn mazes if they already hadn’t been.

“How did you find this?” you asked, your voice so filled with awe that it was almost inaudible. Slipping your hand out of Sam’s, you tread further up the hill until you were standing on the precipice. Sam followed you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind so that your back was pressed against the front of his body.

“On accident,” he replied as he looked at the landscape from over the top of your head. “I took a detour on a run because my usual route was blocked with snow and I ended up here. I’ve been planning to bring you up here for a while, but things always came up and I couldn’t until now.”

“Well, I love it,” you said, turning in Sam’s arms. “It’s beautiful and we need to come here more often.”

“Deal,” Sam smiled. He leaned down to give you a kiss when you pulled away, frowning and looking off to the side. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I…” You trailed off and held up a hand for Sam to be quiet, then slipped out of his grasp and ventured closer to the bushes on your right.

After a long moment, a tiny whimper came from underneath the changing leaves.

“I think there’s a dog or something under here, Sam!” you cried, getting down on your hands and knees so you could peer past the foliage. Once you got closer to the ground, you reached inside and pulled out the tiny brown puppy that had been hiding in the bush.

Sam crouched down beside you and met your eyes when you looked up at him. “He’s so small, Sam. We can’t leave him here,” you murmured.

The puppy was shaking in your arms and you quickly pressed him against you, then wrapped your jacket around him as best as you could. It let out another whimper, causing you to look down at him. The moment you met its chocolate-brown eyes you knew you were a goner, and you couldn’t help but bite down on your lower lip as tears welled up in your own eyes.

“Sam, he’s got no home… We have to take him back to the bunker with us.”

“Dean won’t like it, Y/N…”

“So what? He doesn’t like a lot of things, but this little guy’s so sweet! How can Dean not like him? I mean, look at him; he’s terrified and he needs love!” you pleaded. “He has no home and he’ll be really good, I promise. Besides, I know you’ve always wanted a dog!”

After a few seconds, Sam relented. “Alright,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He got to his feet and held out a hand so you could stand easier.

“I’m gonna name him October,” you grinned as you scratched between the puppy’s tiny ears. It snuggled happily against you, even though it was still shivering from fear and cold.

“October?” Sam asked. He started walking back the way you had come and you followed close behind, alternating between watching where you were stepping and making sure the puppy in your arms was still doing alright.

“Yeah! It’s an important month for us now. I mean, October is when he found us.”

“Don’t you mean when we found him?”

“Nope,” you replied, meeting Sam’s eyes when he turned his head slightly to glance back at you, “I meant what I said. October found us because he knew that we’d take good care of him. Didn’t you, October?”

October yipped and you could feel his little tail begin to wag underneath the heavy fabric of your coat. You grinned at that and hurried your pace so you could get back to the bunker quicker.

“We’ll need to give him a bath, plus get food and a bed,” Sam said as the two of you neared the bunker’s entrance.

“He already has a bed,” you replied. “He’ll sleep with us. Won’t you, little guy? You’re gonna sleep with us, aren’t you?”

October’s tongue peeked out of his mouth for a brief moment as he yawned, and you suddenly found yourself smiling from ear to ear while you waited for him to stick it out again. Sam’s deep laugh caught your attention and you looked up to find him watching you with an amused expression on his face.

“You really like that dog, don’t you?” he asked. You nodded in response. “Well then, I guess I better be thinking of more reasons for why we should have a dog, considering all my old ones didn’t work on Dean.”

Grinning, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “Thank you!” you squealed, causing him to laugh once more. “Say hi to your new daddy, October!” You lifted the puppy up to Sam’s face, then laughed when it sniffed him and tried to chew on his hair.

Much to your relief, Sam laughed as well. He carefully took October from your hands and cradled him close. Almost immediately October’s eyes fell closed, and he let out a big yawn as he snuggled closer to Sam’s chest.

“I think he likes you,” you told Sam, smiling wide.

“Good, because I like him too.” Sam paused for a moment. “But if he pees in our bed, you’re the one who’s cleaning it up.”

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[saltships]

Summer Guardian (jack x merida)

At Jack’s first Summer Solstice (party) since becoming Guardian he meets a peculiar Summer Guardian. They clash and they fight and they’re seemingly opposites but Jack just finds her fascinating.  

“Whoa--who’s that?” Jack asked, strawberry halfway to his mouth and blue eyes staring at the mess of red curls that just passed him. The wild curls of fiery hair were loose and kept getting in the way of a sunburned face with a spattering of freckles everywhere, with a pair of sharp summer blue eyes that seemed to look through rather than at everything and everyone. Jack bit into the strawberry, sweet flavor bursting on his tongue as he studied the girl. She was about his age, maybe a little older, at least that’s what he thought. Jack still wasn’t sure how old he was. 13? 14? 15? No older than 16 for sure but he was definitely no younger than 13. The girl was wearing an old fashioned blue dress, ripped at the skirt and every time she moved, freckled flesh would flash. The sight made his face hot, but considering the time he grew up it wasn’t all that surprising. On her feet were a pair of sturdy looking brown hunting boots, and strapped across her back was a quiver filled with homemade arrows and a hand carved bow. It was his first Summer Solstice, and there were plenty of Guardians he had never met but he was sure he would have remembered her.  Most Guardians were either much younger than him or much older, physically at least. Jack grabbed Tooth’s sleeve and tugged, pointing unashamedly at the girl who’s face suddenly started turning red with anger. “Who’s that?”

“Don’t point Jack, it’s rude,” the fairy scolds him gently. Tooth follows his finger nonetheless and upon seeing who he’s pointing to her face lights up. Tooth does a little mini twirl in the air, forcing him to let go of her wrist. She’s almost bouncing in midair as she chats excitedly, “That’s Merida! She’s one of the Summer Guardians.”

“Summer Guardians?” Jack jerked, looking at the fairy queen in surprise. “I thought we were the Guardians.”

“We are,” Tooth looked amused. “But it’s a big world Jack filled with a lot of people. We may be powerful and immortal but there’s only so much even we can do. Our team is Spring and Winter, loosely anyway but we focus on protecting kids. Their innocence and their fun before they have to grow up.  Merida is about the summer, about passion and protecting somebody's youth. No matter how old they are.”

“I’m gonna go say hi,” Jack straightened up, her explanation going over his head a little. There was an itch in his feet, he wanted to go over and introduce himself to her. She was the first person he had met in a long time that actually looked his age. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea Jack,” Tooth stopped him before he could take a step. “You’re about as much of a Winter Spirit as you can get and Merida’s as much of a Summer Spirit as the sun itself. You guys are literally opposites, traditionally opposite spirits don’t...interact.”

“And when have I ever done things traditionally?” Jack asked, giving a sunny grin that made her brain fizz and sigh dreamily. When she got her bearings back he was already across the room. Tooth sighed and rubbed her eyes, well at least this Solstice Party won’t be boring much longer. 

“---and than I told him if he wants it, he’ll need to take it from meh!!” The girl laughed, the laughter of her friends joining her quickly as she threw her head back. As Jack came closer he saw the air around her shimmer and her outfit shifted in and out of view, before it changed permanently. Now she was wearing a pair of cut off jean shorts, flip flops and a gray tank top. Her hair was still loose and wild, and she still had her weapons slung across her chest. Her entire outfit made him feel like his face was on fire. He stuffed his hands self consciously in the pocket of his beat up hoodie. Jack shifted from foot to foot just on the outside of Merida and her little group. How was he going to approach her? He took another look at her and the way she looked---face open and joyful and practically fire red from all her laughter---gave him pause. Than he grinned slyly, an idea forming in his head. He stuck out one hand and quickly formed a snowball in his head, reeling back and throwing it. 

Splat!

It hit her dead center in the side of her head. Jack started laughing, loudly and without restraint. She looked ridiculous, melting snow in her hair---he was too busy laughing to notice that the snow as melting much, much, much faster than was normal---a sudden stiffness in her limbs. He looked up to catch a look on Merida’s face and----Oh was all his mind could think.

She looked pissed.

“You little fucker!! What the shite is wrong with you, you little pissant?!?!” Merida screeched, a Scottish burr he hadn’t noticed before deep in her voice and eyes flashing. Her hues suddenly reminded him of a typhoon or a hurricane. 

“Oh come on, that was funny. Admit it,” Jack grinned, leaning causally against his staff. This, he was used to. People being angry at him. He knew how to handle angry because even that was better than someone not knowing he existed.

“I can assure you it was not, you little shite gobbler,” Merida scowled, face turning an interesting shade of red. For his part, Jack’s ears were bright red from her course language. She stomped up to him---he noticed she was shorter than him, about 5′ 6″ to his 5′ 10″---and poked his chest. He resisted the urge to rub it, that hurt. “What is your problem? Just thought it would be funny to throw things at someone you’ve never talked to, let alone met?”

The way she said it, with her pink mouth pinched and hair like snakes writhing on her head, made his hackles raise. He went to grab her wrist as his mouth opened, “I was just trying to---ahhhh!!”

He let go of her wrist as if it had burned him, which it had. There was steam coming from where their skin had met, her wrist had an angry red imprint of his hand, and his palm almost looked like it was boiling.

“What the fuck?” Merida hissed, jerking her hand to her chest, sparks in her blue eyes. She looked at him, fixing Jack with a look that made his chest tighten. She looked afraid but at the same time...thrilled. She was breathing hard, the look on her face told him she wasn’t really all here. “I need to go.”

The next time Jack sees her, he’s crouching on a statue in the middle of some park in the middle of somewhere. It was well into spring but there was still a nip in the air, allowing him to be there. He was watching a couple of ten year old chasing each other, playing freeze and their carefree laughter ringing in the air. It bought a smile to his face and made his chest feel lighter. 

“You ever envy them?” Jack’s head snapped to the side to see Merida next to him, sitting on the shoulder of the statue and bare feet swinging back and forth. She was still wearing her cut off jean shorts and tank, but at this angle the swell of her thighs made him swallow. He focused quickly on her face. 

“What?”

“The kids, you ever feel jealous of them? They’re alive and we’re...not. They get to grow up and live their lives, they get to change and we’re stuck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jack laughed, feeling the need to bring a little lightness to the sudden levity in the air. He blinked and suddenly he was in the form of a 10 year old him, complete with messy snow white hair and big blue eyes. He winked at her and suddenly he was back in his usual form. Merida goggled him, mouth hanging open a little. Something like pride swelled in his chest at the look she gave him. 

Pink lips pealed back to reveal teeth as she laughed. He noticed her teeth weren’t exactly the pearly whites of modern times. They weren’t horribly yellowed and mangled though, it looked as if she still had all her teeth and they looked white enough. Good genes also attributed to the straightness of them. When she was alive, Merida was either royalty or rich, Jack decided. Jack’s teeth, on the other hand, were almost gleamingly white. He couldn't remember what his teeth looked like when he was alive but he was assuming they only looked this white because of his powers. When the Moon brought him back, his powers seemed to wash out all his colors in a pale white-blue light. His skin, his hair, his eyes, his teeth. His teeth weren’t straight though, not horribly crooked but clearly out of alignment. You’re staring at her teeth Jack, and wasn’t that just the creepiest thought he’s had in a long time. He’s been hanging around Tooth and Baby too much.

“Can yeh turn inta somethin’ else?” Merida asked, eyes sparkling as she looked up at him. Jack shook his head, finding his voice had abandoned him. The excitement in her eyes waned slightly, “Oh...”

“But I can make stuff!!” Jack yelled, getting to his feet and hovering in front of her. He held a hand and concentrated, in a flurry of white snow a 3 inch tall snowflake suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand. He looked at her hopefully, wanting to impress her in a way that wasn’t unlike how he wanted to impress Manny or North or Tooth. 

“Whoa...can yeh make somethin’ else? Anything besides a snowflake?” Merida asked, eyes fixed on his creation curiously. 

“Yeah, I can make anything,” his powers were fueled by his imagination, if he could imagine it he could make it happen. The Guardian of Fun grinned at her, “Name it.”

“A bird,” Merida grinned back at him, an echo of a kid in her smile. With twitch of his fingers and another swirl of snow and it changed into a hummingbird, hovering inches above his palm. 

“A cat.” Another flurry and there was an all white tabby cat stretching out across his palm.

“Dolphin,” the tiny mammal did a flip midair.

“Gecko,” it winked one lazy eye at her.

“Snake,” a slow flick of a forked snow tongue.

“Dog,” it bowed to her in his palm, tail wagging.

“A horse.” Her voice sounded sad but he was too busy focusing to notice.

“A---a---a bear,” this time he did notice how hesitant her voice was. Jack looked up to catch the sad look on her face as she stared at the dancing bear in his palm.

“Are you okay Merida?” Jack asked, closing his palm and destroying his creation.

“I’m fine,” Merida shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere.

“Try again,” Jack frowned, crossing his arms and balancing his pale feet on his staff. 

“I said I’m fine Snowflake,” Merida scowled, face slowly getting redder. It was a little more than distracting if Jack was honest. Well, it would be distracting if he didn’t suddenly feel irrationally angry and irritated at her. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jack glared at her. It was true, her face was too expressive, she could never lie convincingly, not to mention he had the idea that she was unnecessarily blunt and would rather hurt someone’s feelings than lie to their face. Jack couldn’t lie even if he wanted too, his pale skin would heat up and it would look like he was suffering from heat stroke.

“Are you calling me a liar Frost?” Merida got her feet, balancing on the shoulder of the statue like it was nothing. 

“If the shoe fits,” he says sarcastically. 

“Fuck you Snowflake,” she snarled and with a bright flash of light she was gone.

“My name is Jack Overland,” he says to the empty air.

The next time he sees her, Jack is the one seeking her out. It’s been nearly a month since their encounter on the top of the statue in the park and it’s made his stomach twist uncomfortably every time. He doesn’t know why but the look on her face when she asked him to make a bear--equal parts pain and sadness and guilt---makes him feel personally guilty for it. 

She’s in a field, about 20 feet away from a group of three bulls-eye targets fixed in front of her. She’s back in that old timey blue dress he saw her in the first time. He didn’t notice before but there’s a rip that looks girl-made running up the side of her leg, flashing pale skin when she takes a step. She’s got an arrow notched in her bow, face serious and stance wide but relaxed. Jack watches Merida take a breath, than release the same time she exhales. It hits dead center.

Jack applauds her, loudly and it makes her whirl around, another arrow notched and pointed at him before he could even blink. Now he’s even more impressed. “That was awesome!”

“Thanks,” Merida said primly, lowering the weapon, but he can tell she’s pleased by his compliment. She cocked her head to the side, the argument they had the last time they met seemingly forgotten in her mind. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh you know---just taking in the sights,” he says causally, leaning against his staff. He can’t stay here long, the heat is already starting to get to him and he feels deeply uncomfortable. Like there are needles poking into every inch of skin painfully and like he’s wearing four layers too much in 95 degree heat. But Jack can’t just leave things how they were the last time they met. “How old are you?”

“Don’t know you you’re never supposed to ask a lady real age,” she says sharply but with no real bite. 

“Oh come on, I’ll tell you my age,” Jack goads, never mind the fact that he didn’t actually know his real age.

“Don’t you have amnesia?” Which apparently she knew about, darn.

“My spirit age,” he covers with a little smirk.

“Fine, I’m 535 years old, give or take a few decades. Now how old are you Snowflake?” Merdia asked, quick to turn on him.

“You’re a lot older than me, I’m surprised I’ve never heard of you.”

“I’ve heard of you. The Guardian of Fun and a troublemaker from what I’ve heard,” her eyes sweep him up and down. He feels pinned by those blue eyes. She smirked, “Too bad I haven’t seen anything to prove it.”

Jack leaned forward, his own blue eyes sparking with delight. “Is that a challenge?”

“You tell me,” Merida grins suddenly and he finds himself suddenly not minding the heat as much anymore.

[ahoyshippers]

Witch Hunt

Part One

ReaderXSam ReaderXDean  intro to my first fanfic 

NO WARNINGS.... YET (little violent, not to bad though) 

You have been help captive by a voodoo witch. She took you because of a strange gift you possess. Your “gift” aids he in killing those who have wronged her. One day some hunters show to kill the witch, but they weren’t expecting you. 

Strings

          You knew one day your gift was going to come back to bite you. And by “gift” you mean biggest pain in your ass. For 20 something years you have had no problems, other than everyone thinking you are a anti-social nerd, and then one day you are snatched out of your Montana apartment by some bitch saying she needs you for her rituals. You are not the type that makes friends, no one will be looking for you. No one will know you are missing. Now you find yourself in the humid, heavy air of Louisiana. This psycho is claiming to be a voodoo witch or something. The “witch”, she was tall with dark skin and very short hair. She wore a lot of jewelry and had very lose fitting hippie clothes on. She southern accent was thick and her dark eyes bore into your soul and you knew right off that she was evil. You have never seen anything or anyone this evil. What the hell are you going to do now?

          Months have passed. And this lady wasn’t kidding about being a witch. The things she could do, and what she did with your gift, ugh, it made you sick. She did dark things, killed so many people. And you were unable to stop her.

           She kept you chained by your ankle to a wall in her old run-down shack behind her house. The cuff dug into your skin and you always seemed to be bleeding. The place was crawling with mosquitoes and other critters and you were covered with bites. Your only form of entertainment was singing any song you could remember and watching the spider in the corner catch its prey, very Game of Thrones style sometimes. But, no matter how awful this place was, it was heaven compared to her “spell room”. On the days she needed you, she would attach a thick cuff and chain to your neck, like you were some demon dog and walk you into her home. From there she would latch you to another wall and begin her work. Of course, you tried to run away on the way to her home, but the bitch had super human strength and could throw you like a rag doll by the chain. You were sure it was spell bound. No way anyone could man handle someone like she did with you.

            Once attached to the wall in her “spell room” things would start to get disturbing. The witch leaves you alone in the room for a few minutes and would emerge with paint on her face and arms. Symbols would cover her arms in white paint and her face paint would resemble a skull. She would start speaking in an strange language, nothing you have ever heard anyway, and would dance around this alter in the middle of the room. On this alter was candles, a bowl, a book, a cage with some poor little animal trapped inside, a picture of the target and some of their random possessions, like she raided their pockets. The last time you were in here there was a tube of Chap Stick and a receipt that belonged to the poor bastard.  She would dance a few times around the alter and chant the spell. Pull a knife from a belt she wore and make a small cut on her hand and let the blood pour into the bowl. Then she would walk over to you, take your arm and make a similar cut on your hand, catching your blood in the same bowl. After saying a few more words in her strange language and would dance her way back to the alter, take the small creature and slit its throat, emptying it into the bowl. With more chanting, she would throw the random possessions of her victim into the bowl and light it on fire. Once the fire was out she would stuff the charred contents into a doll. All that mess for a damn voodoo doll.

               She would do with the doll what she saw fit. Slowly torturing the person with needles, very cliché, or tossing them in a fire pit. Once she threw the doll over and over against a wall for hours, you assume breaking every bone in the victim’s body, they must have really pissed her off. She says my gift gives her a better connection with her targets, that it makes her bond to them stronger and makes it easy to pick the next victim. In other words, i help with her hit list. A day or two after each ritual she will come to my shack and show me the local paper, with her victim in the obituary or in the damn cover. The unusual deaths make good headlines you guess. You’ve seen the face and name of everyone that you “helped” her kill. The witch has forced you to suffer through 12 of these rituals, and she is preparing for the 13th.

                 You find yourself back in the room, cuff around your neck, sitting against the wall of the spell room. You hear rustling coming from the cage at the altar. Looking up you say, “oh no… not a bunny” the fluffy spotted creature was shaking with fear in his cage. ‘At least it’s not a puppy again’, you think. With a creaking sound from the door you know the witch has entered the room. Closing the door, she gets right to work, wasting no time. She begins her dance, throwing her head back as she chants. She takes her knife and makes the cut into her hand. Spinning on her heel she makes her way to you. You tense up, the cuts don’t hurt much, they are always shallow and begin to scab the next day, but you still cower when she approaches. The witch takes your hand and the feel the slight pressure of the blade. You brace yourself.

                 BOOM!

                 The door to the spell room is kicked in. The blade cuts very deep into your hand when the witch jumps with a start. The pain makes your vision blur, but you have the sense to apply pressure to the wound with your other hand.

                 “Let her go you bitch!” yelled a thundering voice. Spots still compromising your vision you barely make out two figures standing by the door.

                 “Hunters!” the witch hissed. In one fluid motion, she raised you in front of her as a human shield and put the knife to your throat. “Take another step and she will be a goner”

                 The figures moved from the door but did not advance. “let her go and we will consider making your death a quick one” said a different voice.

                 “You want her so bad, come get her.” The witch challenged. With a hard shove, she launched you toward the taller of the two men. The slack in your chains were short. The chains drew you back with the same force that the witch had pushed you. You lost your balance. As you fell you heard running feet and two gun shots. Then your head hit the ground, lights out.

                 You wake with a splitting headache. Squinting you let your eyes adjust to you new surroundings. You are tucked into bed in a simple room. Brick walls, a bed, a night stand and a dresser are the only things in here. Your heart rate spikes. “what the fuck?” you whisper as you remove the blanket and notice your ankle. It has been wrapped with a bandage. You inspect your hand as well, it has also been tended to. You stand on weak legs. They are shaking before you can even take your first steps. You are dressed in only the rags that the witch forced you to wear. With cold bare feet, you lightly walk around the room looking for something to protect yourself with. Nothing but a lamp that was on the night stand. Lamp in hand you tip toe your way to the door, opening it slowly. You are relieved to find that it doesn’t creak. Silently you sneak down the hall. ‘where the hell am I?’ you think. You make it to a turn in the hall way when you hear heavy footsteps. Trying to breath quietly you brace yourself against the wall, lamp in hand ready to fight your way out of this strange place. As the man rounds the corner you raise the lamp up and thrust it hard, hitting him in the face.

                 “Owe! Fuck!” he yells, dropping a tray he was carrying. Some plates and utensils hit the floor. Food spilling everywhere. You notice a knife clattering on the ground. Quickly you grab it and take off down the hall before the giant man can even get his bearings. “Wait! Dean!” he shouts as you race down the hall.

 You round another corner and run into another man, hitting him head on. The wind is knocked out of you and you hit the ground. When he bends down arms reaching for you, you swing the knife at him.

 “Whoa, calm down tiger. We are not trying to hurt you.” He says as he effortlessly takes the knife from your hand.  The taller man reaches the two of you. “You let this girl get the jump on you, getting sloppy Sammy” Dean says with a crooked smile. Looking back at you “Look we didn’t know where to bring you after we stopped the witch, we brought you to our home so you could heal and maybe we could get some answers from you.”

                 Dean out stretches his hand again, hesitantly you take it and he hoists you to your feet. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam. What is your name” his green eyes seemed nice. The first nice pair you have seen in countless months.

                 “You killed the bitch?” you ask, voice hoarse. Dean smiles “Hell yeah we did. We had her crying like a baby for a minuet too”

                 You let out a sigh of relief, “good.” Taking in both of the men standing in front of you. The tall one had long hair almost to his shoulders, and a nice shiner forming from where you got him with the lamp. His eyes were nice also, but he seemed worried. Worried about you? The shorter man with the green eyes seemed to have a since of humor about him. “My name is (Y/N)”

               “Nice to meet you ma’am. Now we have some things we would like to discuss with you, but first my brother thought you would like to take a moment to shower and eat beforehand.” Said Dean.

                 Your eyebrows shot up. A shower, when was the last time you had a real bath? The morning of your abduction? ‘god’ you thought, ‘I must smell horrible’. “Yes, thank you, a shower would be amazing”

                 “Great, Sammy will show you the way” dean smiles turning on his heel. “take your time, I’ll make another batch of pancakes”

                 “You can follow me (Y/N)” Sam said leading you down the hall.

                 “I’m sorry about you face, and the lamp… and the tray of stuff. If I broke anything ill pay you back.” You said sheepishly

               “Honestly done worry about it, if you didn’t try to fight us we would have been more concerned” Sam said with a chuckle.  He opened a door across from the room you woke up in.

                 The bath room was clean. White tiles and a mirror that covered one wall. You gasped when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your hair was a rats nest, your cheeks sunken in, large dark circles under your eyes and dirt. Dirt was everywhere. Tears began to fill your eyes. “I look like a savage”

                 “you look like someone who has been through hell, my brother and I have been there too. I got you a few things from the drug store, I don’t know what girls like to use. I hope I got everything you would need.” He points to some plastic bags sitting on the counter. “Towels are in the cabinets and the water gets hot fast so beware. If you need anything stick your head out the door and holler for one of us. Is there anything I can get you?” Sam asked, still a hint of worry in his eyes.

                 “I cant think of anything at the moment, thank you…. Sam is it?” you ask

                 Sam nodes his head. “Sam” he confirms. “like I said, holler if you need anything” with that he was out of the door.

                 You dump the contents of the bags out on the counter. You almost start to cry when you see all of the items Sam bought for you. Who are you kidding? You are balling your eyes out, you have never been so happy to shower in your life. You strip from you rags and load the shower with everything you plan on using. “God, I hope they have a lot of hot water” and turn on the shower.

                 What feels like an hour later, you reluctantly emerge from the shower. You don’t remember feeling this clean I your whole life.  Wrapping a towel around yourself and grab the comb from the counter top and attempt to brush the knots out of your hair. You rinsed your hair repeatedly and let conditioner sit for what felt like forever. The comb is useless. The hair will have to go.

                 Opening the bathroom door, you yell “Sam? Dean?”. In no time Sam is jogging to your door

 “(Y/N), everything ok?” he askes

 “Everything is fine, but do you have any scissors? The mess that is my hair is not letting up” you try to say jokingly even though it breaks your heart knowing you will have to part with your hair. Your locks was a safety blanket of sorts.

 “ugh yeah, give me a sec” Sam says dashing down the hall

 Moments later and was back at your door, knocking before peaking his head in. “I have the scissors” he hands them to you. “would you like some help, I’m not much of a barber but I could try” he says shyly.

 “I think I want to do this alone. But thank you.” You say, very aware that you are still in only a towel and Sam is failing at keeping his eyes on you face. Not that he isn’t trying.

 “ok ill leave you to it, um, I put some clothes on your bed, it is stuff from the bunker, we can take you shopping later if you would like.” He smiles shyly again and ducks out of the door.

 After a few more tears and many inches of hair in the trash you really looked at yourself in the mirror.  The shower did wonders. You are skinnier than you would like to be, real food will fix that. And a bit of rest in an actual bed will rid of the dark circles under your eyes. Your hair looks healthy now that you can run your fingers through it. The new length hangs just above your shoulders. The real magic happened with the lack of dirt caked on you, no wonder Sam kept looking you up and down, you looked completely different than the savage that attacked him earlier.

 You cross the hall to your room and throw on the clothes Sam left out for you. A t-shirt with some symbol of the left breast and a pair of sweat pants that were a bit big on you, but hung on your hips. You sighed with relief. This is the best you have felt in almost a year.

  “time to face the music” you whisper to yourself and walk out the door to have that talk with your saviors.

[thepathsofdestiny]

Trail of Embers, Ch. 4 - Eyes in the Dark

~*~ Glory, Marta, and David have had a long week. As they head out onto the road and put Halcyon City behind them, the trio takes a moment a breathe, rest, and (re)discover each other- three wandering souls, out in the wild. Read it on AO3 here.  ~*~ Marta dreams. She is sitting on a cliff, gazing out at the sea. Her legs dangle over the ledge and she kicks them, like a child. Her mother is with her, a smudged blur in her peripheral vision, robed in midnight blue- a memory from too long ago, coalescing from fog. She stands, and finds herself in a copse of trees- smoothly, seamlessly, as is the flow of dreams. There is a man sitting cross-legged on the grass before her. His head was a stag’s skull, crowned with antlers, lit from within by a gentle sapphire light. Vines spill out the back of his skull and lie draped across his shoulders, his arms, in a semblance of long hair. He smells like the land; of honeysuckle and tilled soil. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Marta lifts her head, sees the glint of red and gold, tastes the tang of smoke in the air. He is coming. The stag-headed man fixes Marta with his empty gaze, blue fire in an antlered skull. His voice comes out like gravel, like crumbling stone. Do not let him in. ~*~ 

Marta woke with a soft gasp, her cheek resting on smooth fabric. She instinctively nuzzled the cloth before she caught a flash of black and red and remembered where she was. She snapped awake, jerking back and banging her head on the low ceiling of David’s sedan. She mewled in pain, the beginnings of a blush coloring her cheeks. “I am… so… sorry,” Marta eked out, wincing. Glory stared at her, her dark eyes rimmed with red. Unnerving as Glory’s piercing, unblinking gaze was, there was a hint of mirth buried beneath the ice. Glory’s smiles rarely made it all the way to her lips, but they always started in her eyes. “It’s okay,” Glory said. “How did you sleep?” “Okay,” Marta shrugged. “Weird dreams. You?” “I didn’t sleep,” Glory said flatly. “And I don’t dream.” “Oh.” Marta looked past Glory and out her window. They were at a fueling station, framed by trees, fog, and a cloudy sky, with the dim yellow lights of a mini-mart only barely cutting through the gloom. “Come on,” Glory said, tipping her head towards the window. “I was just going to ask if you wanted anything.” ~*~ “Good lord, David, you’re still driving that hunk of junk? It’s so old it still runs on gas.” “Yeah, and you still sell it, so what does that say about you?” The shopkeeper grinned. He was an older man, in a denim vest over a white T-shirt, with a gray beard and a trucker’s cap. Steve Wilk, owner of Wilk’s Fuel Station and Auto Shop (and Mini-Mart), the last little island of civilization before trees and fog took over. “You going on some kinda trip?” Wilk asked, amused, as he scanned and bagged a veritable mountain of protein bars, energy drinks, string cheese and soy jerky. “It’s for a job,” David explained, a growing number of shopping bags hanging from his arms. “I’m going to be out of the city for awhile.” Glory appeared, silent and inscrutable. She dropped another pile of goods on the counter just as Wilk had finished bagging the first- aspirin, rolls of gauze, bottles of quick-sealing trauma spray. Marta followed behind, adding a number of boxes to the pile- tampons, teabags, chemical hand warmers. She glanced up at David. “...I get cold,” Marta said, sheepish. David reached into the pile and picked up a bottle of trauma spray. “‘For the instant sealing of open wounds’,” David read. “‘Like stitches in a bottle.’ ...Y’know, don’t all three of us have some form of healing magic?” “Say you’ve just received a traumatic, painful, bloody wound,” Glory said, tone flat as always. “What would be easier: concentrating on a healing spell, or shaking a spray can and pressing a button?” “Point,” David admitted. Wilk stared at the trio. “Just what kind of trouble do y’all think you’re gonna run into?” “Bears,” Glory said, deadpan. She took an armful of shopping bags and left, Marta following close behind. Wilk watched them go, shaking his head. “There’s an interesting girl,” Wilk muttered. “She’s my boss,” David cut in. “And she’s paying for all this, so-” “Easy, boy. Meant no offense.” David mumbled a non-response, handing over his credstick. Wilk scanned it and handed it back, along with the rest of the crew’s supplies. “Did you hear about the fire?” Wilk asked. David hesitated. “Which one?” “South side. Took out a church, a homeless shelter…” David’s expression darkened. “Yeah. That was a shame.” “There was another one, up at the docks. Some chemical fire. But this one, they’re saying, this one was the gangs. Bunch of thugs bombed the place. Can you believe that?” Shadows flashed across David’s eyelids. The Branded. The mob. The sorceress. The fight in a burning church. The daemon seizing his skin, fighting him for control. David sucked in a breath. “I really can’t,” he muttered. “Nasty. Nasty stuff. It’s shit like this that makes me want to get out of this city, myself.” Wilk smiled. “...Can’t, though.” “Why’s that?” “Come on, kid. I can’t skip town. I gotta wait for everyone else to do it, so I can fuel ‘em up on their way out. You think I’d miss out on all that business? I’d make a fortune.” David chuckled. Grinned. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Wilk. I gotta go. Say hi to the dogs for me, would you?” “When was the last time you saw ‘em, huh? They’re gettin’ big. Real big. They’ve been dying to see you again.” Mr. Wilk reached out and gave David’s hand a firm shake. “You take care on your little road trip, son.” “Thanks, Mr. Wilk.” “Oh, and David?” Wilk called, with David halfway out the door. “The next time you want to buy me out of jerky and string cheese, you call ahead, first!” ~*~ Scarcely an hour out of Halcyon City, and already the urban sprawl gives way to one-lane roads, thick woods and log cabins. The sky remained gray and gloomy, and fog seemed to follow them wherever they went. It was as if the Nameless Queen’s ghost had risen from the burning ruin of her church, and had come to haunt their steps. Everywhere they looked, it was gray, gray, gray. It was gray in the misted woods closing in around them, and it was just as gray in the shifting shadows of astral space, where David now lurked. In astral space, the light of life blazes like stars. But as David scanned the lodge, he saw only the faintest traces of memory, echoes of its previous inhabitants, glimmering like moonlight through the trees. David blinked, and the faint glow of astral space receded back into the darkness of reality. He eased open the door, pistol drawn. He crouched in the shadows, reaching up to key in his comm. “All clear,” he whispered. The lights came on, and David practically jumped out of his skin- only to feel Glory’s hands on his shoulders in an act of questionable reassurance. “You’re okay,” Glory said tonelessly. Marta stood behind, smiling sheepishly beside the light switch. David exhaled, holstering his pistol. This lodge wasn’t quite like the one David was working at four days ago, when Glory charged in, killed all his coworkers, and only spared him because, he was forced to assume, he asked nicely. That lodge had two storeys, couches, and bedrooms on the second floor. This place, meanwhile, could charitably be called a lodge, when in reality it was more of a ‘shack’. That being said, it was still roomier than David’s car, so nobody was really complaining. “Nice place,” Marta said, glancing up at the lumen strips incongruously set into the walls. “Electric lighting kinda ruins the look, but- Oh! A fireplace!” “Let’s start a fire, then,” Glory said. “I don’t want anyone coming by and wondering why the lights are on in the middle of spring, with hunting season months away. Do we have any firewood?” David poked his head out the back door. “Hopper’s empty.” “I’ll go find some, then,” Glory said. “Do you have a hatchet?” Marta asked. Glory extended her hand razors with a click of metal. “I’ll manage.” She waggled her clawed fingers at Marta, a playful smile in her eyes, before stepping out. “Keeping the lights off is one thing,” David said, “but what about the car?” “I can take care of that,” Marta offered. “Come on. I’ll show you something cool.” Outside, David shut the trunk with a thud, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and stepping back. “Okay,” Marta said, cracking her fingers. “Watch this.” David watched, fascinated, as the tips of Marta’s hair began to shine like hot coals. Traceries of blue light flowed down her arms and gathered at her fingertips in a coruscating cloud of energy. Marta blew a kiss across her palm. The spell dusted across her hands and coiled around the car like wisps of smoke. David’s vision shifted and blurred, like heat haze, and just like that, his car had vanished. David reached out, groping for his car in the seemingly empty air. He could feel it beneath his touch, and could hear himself tapping on the roof. He blinked and slipped into astral space. There he could see it, tinged with the lingering traces of their auras- Marta’s in blue, David’s own in gold, with a shadow where Glory’s should have been- but to his eyes in realspace, his car was as good as gone. David whistled, impressed. “Whoa,” he breathed. Marta beamed. “It’s- It’s, y’know, not perfect. The illusion only works if it’s not moving, so no taking it with us on the go. We can run or hide, not both.” “Still. That’s a hell of a trick,” David said. He looked up at Marta, suddenly sheepish. “But, uh. You can make it visible again, right? All our food’s still in the trunk, and uh… I can’t see where to put the key.” ~*~ Glory returned from her firewood-hunt soon after with an apology and an armful of moist wood. (“It rained last night, remember?”) Fortunately, Marta then used her magic to draw the water out of the wood, making them properly dry and oh-so-flammable, and a spark from Glory snapping her mechanical fingers took care of the rest. Their little fire crackled in the hearth, borrowed, like so many other things- shelter, stillness, time. Who knew how long this safety would last? But despite everything, a moment of calm managed to settle over the trio- a trio who met under decidedly un-calm circumstances. Marta took a deep breath and sighed, savoring the moment’s peace. The three of them were assembled on the floor around a collapsible cot they were all using as a table in the sparsely furnished lodge. To her left was David, gnawing on a piece of soy jerky. He was fiddling with his PDA, putting together a playlist to sync to his comm. Marta could hear the first few muffled seconds of each track as he considered it; plaintive strings, melancholy piano, blaring synth and everything in between. To her right was Glory, also studying her PDA, her eyes fixed in her characteristic intense, unblinking stare. Glory wasn’t too close, but neither was she too far away. Marta was between them, facing the fireplace. She sat in the shifting firelight, their little borrowed hearth so unlike the blaze that had consumed her church. Scarcely a day ago, she’d been a nun, living a life of charity and piety in the service of the Nameless Queen. Now, look at her. She’d fought daemons and sorceresses, pulled people out of burning buildings… She’d stepped out of her life of quiet devotion for all of 24 hours, and now here she was, on the run, with friends old and new, both of whom had already saved her life at least once before. How much difference a day makes. Unlike David and Glory, Marta wasn’t looking at her PDA. She was shuffling her deck of Tarot cards, handmade and hand-painted. They had been a gift from Sister Shelley, long ago, when she’d first joined the abbey. ‘They’ll tell your fortune’, Shelley’d told her, ‘and if you don’t care for what they tell you, you can use just them like regular playing cards.’ Honestly, Marta wasn’t really looking at her cards, either. She was just shuffling them so she had something to do with her hands. It was Glory who really held her attention. Glory, who sacrificed herself, body and soul, to break free of Harrow and The Horned King. Glory, who literally carries the weight of that sacrifice everywhere she goes. Glory, who, even after escaping The Horned King’s grasp, dove right back into Hell to pull Marta and the other kids out. Glory, who, years ago, caught first Marta’s eyes, then her heart. Glory, who, even now, clung to Marta’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go. “Marta?” “Huh? What?” Marta blinked. “You’re staring,” Glory said, peering over the top of her PDA. “Do I have something on my face?” Glory’s eyes glinted in the firelight. Marta sucked in a breath. “Um. Yes, actually. D’you mind if I…?” Glory nodded her assent, leaning closer. Marta reached out with a tissue and dabbed at a few rust-red flecks on Glory’s cheek. In the firelight, one could almost believe they were freckles. Marta pulled away, trying not to dwell on how warm Glory had been beneath her hand. “Blood,” she said, simply. “Don’t worry,” Glory said. “It usually isn’t mine.” “Usually,” Marta echoed, watching the shadows flicker across Glory’s face. “Thanks,” Glory said lightly, returning to her work, while Marta gathered the willpower to finally wrench her gaze away. Marta fixed her eyes forward, embarrassed and annoyed at her own feelings. It had been years since she and Glory had been together. Even then, it was as part of Harrow’s Apostles, his inner circle of wives and, frankly, accomplices. They were just teenagers, then. Just kids. Marta could barely remember it all, through the intoxicating haze of The Horned King’s influence. Then Glory snapped. The Horned King pushed her too far- deceived her into killing her own mother. That moment of grief yanked her out of the fog, and she disappeared. She got the surgery that gutted her magical potential and cut her off from The Horned King, and vanished into the shadows, beyond Harrow’s reach. Then she came back, years later. She rescued Marta, rescued Harrow’s acolytes, and purified the Heart of Feuerstelle, the fragment of The Horned King that Harrow was using to force their obedience when words alone were no longer enough. Their reunion was short-lived. Marta left to rediscover herself, now that she was cut free from Harrow’s poisonous influence. And she promised she’d get back in touch once she’d figured things out again. Well, here she was, and Marta did not, in fact, have everything figured out. She didn’t have all the answers. But she sure kept the feelings- even after all this time, it was like riding a bike. You never really forget. Marta heaved a weary sigh, fanning her cards out on the cot. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and drew a card, holding it up to the firelight. A woman, robed in blue, seated between two pillars- the darkness and the light- with a banner or veil stretched behind her, separating the conscious from the unconscious. The High Priestess. Patience. Insight. Intuition. The unknown. Marta made a face. “You think that’s funny?” Marta muttered, and shuffled it back into the deck. ~*~ Marta dreams. She half-expects to see someone berating her for still carrying a torch for Glory. Maybe she’d be on a stage, under a spotlight, in front of a leering, laughing crowd. Maybe there’d be someone looming above her, mocking her. Maybe it’d be her parents. Or Harrow. Maybe even The Horned King himself. Marta doesn’t dream of any of these things. Instead, she is back in the Wood. The Heart of Feuerstelle sits before her, his antlered skull of a head lit from within by a tranquil blue light. He sits, serene, even as fires burn in the distance. Smoke drifts into Marta’s face and stings her eyes. One by one, torches appear in the clearing- rising up out of the ground in an eerie imitation of trees taking root. Six. The Heart’s voice rumbles through Marta’s head like a tremor in the earth. Six jewels in the crown of the Horned King. Six torches ring the clearing, but only four are ablaze. Two of them stand unlit, weeping black smoke into the air. The Heart leans forward. He sighs. Smiles, if a skull could be said to smile. A cool breeze passes over Marta, ruffling her hair and whistling through the trees, smelling of honeysuckle and tilled earth. The Heart speaks, his voice like thunder. You’re almost halfway there. ~*~ Daylight came- technically, if not literally. The weather stayed gloomy as ever, with clouds overhead and fog blanketing the road. The loamy earth and sweet honeysuckle of Marta’s dream gave way to wooden floorboards, charcoal, and a sizzling skillet. “I’m sorry about this, boss,” she heard David saying. “I’m, uh, not really a cook.” “That’s fine. These aren’t really ingredients.” “That’s the last time I go grocery shopping at a gas station,” David muttered. “But I meant more along the lines of, ‘this is my first time cooking in a fireplace’.” Marta blinked herself awake, her vision settling into place. She pushed off of her bedroll, sitting up. David was kneeling by the fireplace, Glory sitting nearby. He had propped a grate over the coals, and was tending to a small pan, the smoke making his eyes water. “I feel like I’m doing this wrong,” David grumbled. “I’m getting smoke all up in my face.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” Glory offered. “Yeah, actually. Would you mind chopping up some potatoes?” “Alright. Do you have a knife?” “Just use your claw-thingies.” “You want me to use my hand razors? Do you have any idea where those have been?” Glory turned, and caught Marta’s gaze. She smiled at her- figuratively, as Glory’s smiles so rarely made it to her mouth- and in the dim morning light her eyes glinted like lit coals. “Good morning,” Glory murmured, the warmth in her voice pricking Marta’s heart like a fishhook. “G- Good morning,” Marta returned. The flush across her cheeks was twofold; first, from the blissful thought of simply waking up to Glory, and second, from the embarrassment of such a little thing getting her so flustered. Glory held Marta’s gaze for a long moment. Their eyes glinted in the firelight, brown and amber edged with red, the mark of the Horned King’s influence lingering on them both. Marta swallowed. Even before the surgery, Glory had a habit of staring right through her... “Mornin’,” David chimed in, oblivious, and Marta exhaled, quietly grateful. “Good morning, David,” Marta smiled. She lifted her pendant, the icon of Venus, and slipped it around her neck. “What are we having?” “Breakfast! ...Sort of!” David announced, with something almost, but not quite, resembling pride. “We’ve got eggs, sort of, and uh, sausage, sort of. And potatoes. Those are real. I’m like… ninety percent sure.” “I don’t know if I like those odds,” Marta teased. David made a face. He held out the skillet and Glory dropped in a handful of chopped potatoes, hissing as they hit the pan. “Come on,” David protested. “Doesn’t that just smell delicious?” “Well. I mean...” “It certainly smells.” “Thank you, Glory. That’s… that’s real helpful.” ~*~ For all their needling, in the end, David really could make a halfway decent batch of skillet potatoes. Although, next time, he’d prop up the grate a little higher for better temperature control… and maybe put the potatoes in first, so they have time to get tender before the eggs start to burn. It was still miles better than soy jerky and string cheese, although, admittedly, that wasn’t a very high bar. Marta sat back and sighed, satisfyingly full. Glory and David were both poking at their PDAs; Glory, studying her screen and scribbling notes into a pocket notebook; David, his eyes darting quizzically between his PDA, the still-warm skillet on his lap, a spatula, and a little box of coarse salt. For one reason or another, Marta found herself smiling. It had been a hectic few days. To simply enjoy a meal with friends, old and new, felt comfortingly domestic and mundane. That is, until David snapped to attention. He jumped up and pressed his ear against the wall, the skillet falling off his lap and hitting the floor with a thud. “What-” Glory began. “Get down,” David hissed. Marta dropped flat, her pendant clanging against the floorboards. Glory followed suit. David crouched by the wall, his hand hovering over his thigh holster. Marta felt the rumbling along the ground. She exhaled, sliding into astral space. She saw Glory beside her, a shadow threaded with green, and David by the door, his aura glimmering gold, urgent, attentive. She saw them- a cluster of glowing red, ambling past like a meteor in slow motion. She felt the weight of their tires on the pavement, the rumble of engines. Marta exhaled, vision snapping back to reality. “Two vehicles,” David reported, peering out the window. “Red pickup, then a big white van. Probably driving slow ‘cuz of the fog. Gone now.” David exhaled, returning to his spot at the folding camp bed they were all using as a table. “Sorry, guys,” David said. “False alarm. Probably.” “Better safe,” Glory shrugged, returning to her notes. David glanced at Marta and Glory, looking up from his PDA’s extranet article on how to clean a cast iron skillet when you don’t have access to running water. “You know,” he began, shaking some coarse salt onto the pan and starting to scrape, “I’d meant to ask this earlier, before the, y’know, stuck-in-a-burning-building thing. But how did you two meet?” Marta and Glory shared a look. “It’s a long story,” Marta offered. “We’ve got time,” David said. “We met through Harrow,” Glory said. Her eyes were flinty and hard. “That’s all you need to know.” David withered under Glory’s stare. Eventually, Glory exhaled, tucking her PDA into a coat pocket and rising to her feet. “I’m taking a walk,” she announced icily, slipping out the back door. An uncomfortable quiet settled between them. Marta cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “No, I’m sorry,” David muttered. He set the pan aside, half-finished. “It’s a touchy subject. I probably shouldn’t pry.” “That ‘touchy subject’ is the foundation of this whole trip,” Marta said. “I’m just a bodyguard,” David shrugged. “...Who, admittedly, just let his primary walk off into the woods without him. But still. Glory doesn’t have to answer my questions.” “No,” Marta pressed. “If you’re going to help Glory in this hunt- if you’re going to follow her into Hell- then you deserve to know exactly who you’re after and what you’re getting into.” David considered that. Swallowed. Nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough. So… how did you two meet?” Marta let out a long, tired sigh. “It feels like a lifetime ago…” ~*~ Marta told David everything. Haltingly at first, then all at once, like a handful of misplaced pebbles triggering a landslide. How she first joined the cult as a teenager, sucked in by Harrow’s looks, his charm, his bright lure of freedom, the promise of independence from an unjust, uncaring society. How he put her to work, combing the streets for kids who’d be open to what Harrow had to say- and how, over time, they’d hang on to his every word. She told him about how they touched up an abandoned hunting lodge in the Schonbuch Forest and transformed it into Der Feuerstelle, The Fireplace, Harrow’s compound and castle. She told him about what she became: a face of the cult, recruiter, kidnapper, a den mother to the acolytes, a wife to Harrow himself. Harrow made her dye her hair fire-red, as a symbol of her status. She was favored among the cult; Harrow’s queen and right hand. All this time, Harrow hadn’t resorted to using dark magic to control his followers. He lured them and kept them, with words alone. Harrow’s poisonous charisma was enough to utterly consume Marta’s thoughts. She was obsessed. Poisoned by his words. Addicted to his body. And then, on a routine scouting sweep for potential recruits, Marta found Glory. Glory was homeless. Penniless. Young. Vulnerable. Beautiful. That’s what Marta thought. She couldn’t let someone so beautiful simply starve on the street. So Marta reached out her hand… and Der Feuerstelle swallowed Glory up. Over time, the influence of The Horned King began to grow. Little changes piled up over time, little things that went unnoticed in the haze of Harrow’s worship. His iconography spread throughout the house, in etchings, wood carvings, decorations on the shelves, the walls, the mantelpiece in the lounge. Antlers everywhere. Antlers and flames. Der Feuerstelle might have been Harrow’s house, but it was The Horned King who truly reigned. The daemon’s presence was intoxicating. Harrow’s followers hung on his every word, and leapt at the chance to please him, no matter what his demands. Petty theft. Robbery. Arson. Kidnapping. Assault. It didn’t matter. Harrow spoke, and his disciples obeyed. He was the king of Der Feuerstelle. A narcissistic criminal whose pockets swelled with blood money while lovestruck addicts clawed at his feet. And Marta was the one who gave Glory the invitation. Marta was Glory’s gateway drug. Glory was special. She climbed the ranks much as Marta did, and soon found herself counted among Harrow’s inner circle. Glory commanded respect from the acolytes, and soon became charged with carrying out Harrow’s will on expeditions outside the lodge. If Marta was the matriarch, then Glory was the muscle. Together, they formed the pillars of the household. But then something went wrong. Glory went out on an expedition and never came back. And with Glory missing, Harrow’s influence began to crack. No one knew why Glory had suddenly disappeared; or if they did, no one was saying anything. Some of Harrow’s followers proposed that they search for Glory, Marta foremost among them. But there was no search. Harrow set aside a room of the lodge, placed a shining stone on an altar and declared the room off-limits. And, just like that, the whispers of dissent grew silent. “I don’t remember much after that,” Marta said, her expression clouded. “There’s just a heat, and this stinging feeling, like smoke getting into your eyes. Anyway. A year ago, Glory returned to Feuerstelle with a shadowrunner named Poplar. They purified the spirit that Harrow had press-ganged. That snapped me out of my… trance, I guess. They broke us out; me and the kids that were still around. Glory went back to Berlin. I went to join the Sisters. And, well. You know the rest.” David sat, pensive, his fingers steepled. Marta watched him, wary. She was waiting for the judgment; waiting for the surprise, the outrage, anything. She was waiting, anxiously, for David to react to the years of messy, damning history she’d all-but-vomited onto his lap. She was waiting for him to berate her; to call her stupid, gullible, desperate, foolish. He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t say anything; only met Marta’s eyes in the dark, and kept his maddening quiet. David opened his mouth, as if to say something. Marta leaned forward, expectant. David slumped in his seat. He closed his mouth and heaved a sigh. “Man…” David’s caught Marta’s gaze. “That’s some fucked up shit.” Marta barked a laugh, despite everything. “...Yeah. I’m- I’m sorry to just dump that on you all at once. I just thought you needed to know.” David smiled. “It’s fine. For your part, I think you needed to tell it.” Marta grinned in return. David was right. In her time at the abbey, she’d only divulged her checkered past as a cult matriarch in bits and pieces, hiding behind imperfect memory and ambiguity. There was something truly refreshing about being able to lay the truth bare. She’d known David for scarcely a day, but Marta thought he could be a friend. He made for a decent enough confessor, at any rate. Marta shivered. Marta wasn’t sure what she’d expected David to say, but he’d taken her impromptu honesty hour completely in stride. Her anxiety left her in sighs, in smiles, only lingering in the tips of her fingers. “What about you?” Marta asked, shuffling her Tarot deck if only to occupy her restless hands. “What’s your story?” “Well, shit,” David shrugged. “I don’t have anything like all that. Honestly, I’m kinda boring. Even my aura’s boring. You can read me, if you want.” “Can I, really?” “Yeah. No skin off my nose.” Marta exhaled, sliding into astral space. David’s aura unfurled before her, a pale, smoky gray, threaded with luminescent gold. His magical potential coiled around him like smoke, only coalescing into two distinct spells: the ability to heal minor wounds, and the ability to sharpen one’s aim. Even these two spells didn’t crystallize in his aura like they would a professional, textbook mage. Self-taught, then. Intuitive. Adaptive. He could be an Air magus in the making, if he could get the proper training. “I’m nothing special,” David was saying, as Marta returned to realspace. “I’ve got a few drops of magic in me, but that’s never paid my bills. I never had any real aptitude for book learning, but I’m in decent shape, and I’ve got decent aim, so I went for a career in CorpSec. I was there almost ten years. I was even on track for a position at Knight Errant. But…” “But?” David let out a breath. “...I quit.” Marta blinked. “Why?” “I don’t know,” David shrugged. “It just sort of… happened. That’s when I went freelance, and moved to Halcyon City. I packed up my gear, my coat, my car, and tried to make it on my own.” David smiled, rueful. “It didn’t work out as well as I hoped. I was broke for a while. But there weren’t so many contracts, and there wasn’t as much fine print and corporate PR to sift through. So that was a plus. And, well… I got by. More or less.” Marta nodded. “So how did you meet Glory?” “Glory saved my life,” David said softly. He broke into a grin. “Well, more like she spared my life. I was on a job, guarding some little cabin in the woods. Easy money, standing on a porch and taking in the air. Turns out I should’ve looked into my client more carefully. They were there laying the groundwork for a Firepact cell.” Marta cringed. “...Yikes.” “Yeah, ‘yikes’,” David snorted. “So imagine my surprise when Glory charges out of the woods to kick our goddamn teeth in. Blows out a guy’s chest with a high caliber revolver round. Uses her claws to tear two other guys to shreds. Only spared me, I can imagine, because I asked nicely- in other words, begging and damn near pissing myself. I still wound up getting kicked into a tree because I said something stupid. Blacked out for a bit. When I came to, she was gone.” David shook his head. “Just left bodies behind.” “I’m sorry,” Marta said. “Don’t be too sorry,” David said. “Sergeant Castor was alright, but the other two guys were dicks. Besides, we were rent-a-cops. Mercenaries. Mercs who make it to retirement are one in a million.” Marta nodded. She shuffled her Tarot deck, somber. “Anyway,” David said, breezing past. “I ran into Glory again on another job. That night, if you can believe it. Long story short: she saved my life for real, that time. And then she offered me a job. As her bodyguard, which, y’know, only gets more laughable the more I see her fight.” “Still,” Marta smiled in gratitude. “I’m glad you were with her, even for a little bit. With how much danger she’s been in, with who knows many people coming after her… I hate the thought of Glory facing that alone.” “But she’s not alone, is she?” David asked. “She has you.” Marta’s Tarot deck slipped from her fingers. Her cards scattered across the floor, a flush coloring her cheeks. “That’s…” Marta bristled, crossing her arms across her chest. “...I don’t know what you mean by that.” “Oh boy,” David sighed. He started gathering up the fallen cards. “Look. I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business. But, if you’d like my unsolicited opinion-” “Which I don’t.” “-I think you should tell her.” Marta’s expression softened. She sighed, picking cards up off the floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marta murmured. “I think you two are adults,” David said, “and it’s better to have stuff like this out in the open instead of letting it keep you in knots.” David handed her his pile of cards. Marta took them, muttering muted thanks. David sighed. He reached out, snagging one last card that had slipped under the cot they were using as a table. “Why did you go with Glory?” Marta asked. “Honestly? A job is a job,” David admitted. “Nothing personal. But it’s personal for you, and for Glory, too. I don’t know this Harrow guy, but he sounds like a real scumbag. He sounds like he deserves every bit of karma coming his way. So if I can help you guys make that happen, I will. In the meantime, I’ll be happy just getting by.” “That’s all?” Marta wondered. “If you just wanted to make a living, you could have stayed in CorpSec. I’m sure that’d be a more comfortable life. If you stay here, you’ll be a fugitive. Is that what you want?” David shrugged. “You could’ve stayed with the Sisters, helped Sister Shelley rebuild the church. The Firepact’s gunning for Glory. Once she left the city, you’d have been safe- now you’re a fugitive, too. Why did you stay?” “Glory’s my-” Marta bit her lip. “...friend. I couldn’t let her do this alone. But you don’t know her, David. The Firepact is dangerous. What if you get hurt? What if you get killed? You don’t owe her anything.” “Yes, I do,” David said. “She saved my life, remember?” “I just…” Marta sighed. “I just don’t want you to die for her.” “Wouldn’t you?” Marta paused. She looked at the floor, shuffling her Tarot deck. “I’m a mercenary, Marta,” David said softly. “I know the numbers. Chances are I won’t retire. I could die working in CorpSec, or for Knight Errant, or as a freelancer. I could die, no matter who my boss is. But what Glory’s trying to do… I don’t know. I want to do this. This feels like something big. Something important. I haven’t known her as long as you have, but I know she’s someone worth following. Even into Hell.” Marta nodded. David handed her the card that had fallen under the table. She held it up to the light- an eight-spoked wheel, so like a compass, with no mortal hand to guide it. The Wheel of Fortune. Circumstance. Change. The hands of fate, spinning out of mortal control. “I don’t think Glory needs a bodyguard,” David said. “But I think she needs you.” Marta took a deep breath. She swallowed. Nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll-” Marta paused as a strong breeze buffeted the cabin, carrying the scent of coming rain. The back door swayed open. A figure slipped inside before the door closed again, a shadow in the dim light. Glory. “You’re back,” Marta blinked. “Where did you go?” Glory decided not to disclose that she had briefly stepped outside to escape bad memories, and then been promptly preoccupied by a stray cat that was wandering through the undergrowth. “I got distracted,” Glory said flatly. “Now’s not the time. Get down. Mr. Wen, the road.” Marta tucked away her Tarot deck and fell flat onto her stomach. David crept up to the window and peeked outside. They could hear it; the sound of engines, of tires creaking over pavement. The sound grew louder, got closer, before it faded into the distance. “Damn it,” David muttered. “Two vehicles. Red pickup. White van. Damn well the same ones from before.” “Pack your things,” Glory ordered. “We’ve stayed here too long.” ~*~ The rain came, haltingly at first, then all at once. It came down in fat, wet drops, turning the ground into mire in a matter of minutes. Marta, for her part, was untouched by rain. Since abandoning the Horned King as the source of her magic, her affinity for water meant she didn’t have to worry about getting wet. A bubble of Marta’s magic kept the driving rain at bay. David and Glory were grateful; but they still weren’t too comfortable, perched as they were in the boughs of a tree. “Four guys on foot,” David reported, squinting through his rifle scope. “Hunting dogs. Five, maybe six. There’s something up with their eyes. A glow, like fire. So, I’m guessing hellhounds.” “Fun,” Glory muttered. “The rain will cover our sound and our scent,” Marta chimed in. “It’s not too late for us to just give them the slip. We can circle behind them, get back to the car, and get out of here before they make it back to their vans.” “No,” Glory shook her head. “We slip away now, they’ll just be back on us later. We stop this tonight.” Glory turned, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “Marta, can you shroud this location?” “Yes,” Marta nodded, “but the dogs are magically active. They’ll sense us hiding, even if they can’t see us.” “The shroud will still keep the hunters from getting a shot off,” Glory said. She dropped to the ground with a splash, flicking out her hand razors. “Stay here,” Glory said, glancing up at Marta. “Stay safe. This shouldn’t take long.” “But-” “Don’t worry about me,” Glory smiled in her eyes, not quite reaching her mouth. “Just stay close to David until we get this over with.” Marta opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “...Alright.” “Mr. Wen? The dogs, if you please.” “You got it, boss.” Marta took a deep breath and sighed. Pale blue power gathered at her fingertips and coalesced in a glyph around the base of their tree, hiding them from view. David shouldered his rifle and swept his aim, while Glory turned, coat-tails flaring in the wind, and strode out into the storm… ~*~ Two hunters picked their way through the mud and the muck, rifles tucked under their arms, cheap plastic ponchos flapping in the wind. Their pack of hunting dogs had vanished ahead of them into the woods. With the fog, and the pounding rain, if not for their incessant barking, they would’ve lost track of them already. “Shitty day for a hunt,” one of them muttered, boots sloshing through the sodden undergrowth. “Pay’s gonna be worth it,” his partner replied. “The boys are gonna have steak tomorrow.” “Yeah, and if the fuckin’ dogs are having steak, imagine what we’ll have,” the first hunter grinned. “We’ll have some fancy shit wrapped in gold foil. Whassat called? Pheasant.” “Man, there ain’t no pheasant ‘round here. They’re in, like, China.” “We’ll import it, then. We’ll have the money-” An explosion rocked the woods, and the two hunters snapped to attention, their rifles shouldered, peering through their scopes and into the dark. The edges of a red-hot fireball curled into the air, rising above the trees. Seconds later, it happened again: a sharp bang, like a grenade going off, and a curl of flame and smoke. “D’you see ‘em?” the hunter hissed, urgent. “Man, I don’t see a damn thing.” And he really couldn’t. In the dark, and the fog, and the rain, there was nothing in those woods but the glow of distant fires and the shadow in the trees. Movement. Splashing footsteps, flashing steel- The hunter went rigid, reaching for his throat, fingertips hooked and numb. His blood fountained into the air in a ghastly mist, damped down by the rain. His partner swiveled and took his shot. Strong hands jerked his rifle up, and he fired over the phantom’s shoulder. The butt of his rifle slammed back into his sternum, the impact jarring it from his grip. It swung up and cracked him in the chin. He fell to one knee, and had his neck broken by a home-run swing. Glory dropped the rifle in the mud and kept on running. ~*~ The hellhound was huge, by dog standards. It was an English mastiff before its Awakening, already one of the biggest dog breeds out there. But when its spark ignited, its dormant magic transformed it into a beast- a three-foot tall battering ram, corded with muscle, glowing with magma beneath its skin. In realspace, it was a shadow through the trees, only given away by its eyes, smoldering like hot coals. In astral space, its aura, fire-red, blazed like a torch. Three rifle rounds punched into its body and cut its thread, its aura going dark. In realspace, its body did the opposite- it exploded in a huge, bright ball of fire and cooked meat, its volatile metabolism erupting in some catastrophic, arcane reaction. David exhaled, adjusting his scope. He slid back into astral space, hunting for targets, seeking the bright lights in the charcoal dark. “Is it always like this?” Marta asked from her perch, while David fired another aimed burst that set a hellhound off like a bomb. “You watching from a distance, while Glory’s out there, in the thick of things?” “In theory,” David said. He dropped another distant hellhound, its dying explosion throwing up mud and steam. “I mean, I’ve only been working for her for, like, four days. But that’s the plan. More or less.” “I see.” David glanced back at her, his vision sliding back into realspace. Marta was a shadow beside him, stricken and pale in the dim, misted light. “...Hey. She’s gonna be fine,” David said gently. He clicked out his empty rifle magazine, reaching into his coat for a fresh one. “You’ve seen Glory fight, haven’t you? She’s a monster. She can take care of herself.” “I know,” Marta murmured. “I just… wish she didn’t have to.” Marta suddenly grabbed David’s arm. He looked up, sliding a new magazine into his rifle. “What is it?” David wondered. Marta didn’t know. But she could feel it. A tremor at the edge of her aura. A distortion. A whistling- Marta kicked off the branch she was standing on and shoved David off his perch. Three magical bolts slammed into her and exploded in a plume of flame. ~*~ Glory ducked behind a tree an instant before a high-powered round tore a chunk out of the wood. She drew her revolver and coiled out of cover, firing into the dark. Two shots blew out chips of tree bark. The third yanked the hunter off his feet like a bad actor being pulled off stage. A bolt of magic exploded against the tree beside her, gutting its trunk in a burst of flame. The tree toppled over in a cloud of sparks and splinters, nearly severed at the waist. Glory ducked out of the path of the falling tree, only to spot a hellhound bearing down on her, charging through the mud. Fire gathered in its mouth, trailing embers in its wake. Glory spun around the bolt of magic the hellhound vomited in her direction. It seared past the small of her back and exploded against a tree behind her. The hound leapt at her, and Glory followed through with a spinning kick that pancaked the beast against a tree trunk. Glory shot it in the chest. It exploded against the tree, its arcane metabolism igniting like a firework. Glory jerked to the side, spun by torque. A hellhound’s jaws clamped around her wrist. Its weight and momentum wrenched her arm around, the heavy impact forcing her to the ground. Glory cried out in pain as she hit the muddy ground. She rolled to her feet, shaking her arm, but the beast had sunk its teeth into her augmetic musculature and would not let go. Glory grimaced and plunged her claws into its heart. The beast glowed white, and then exploded in her face. Glory dragged herself up out of the mud, dizzy with pain and fatigue. She clutched her stricken arm to her chest, the augmetics straining. An organic arm, she knew, would have been broken and dislocated, or worse. In the distance, Glory heard the frenzied barking of more hellhounds. Just how many of these damn things were there? “David, I need you to take care of these dogs,” Glory said into her comm. Glory coughed, gagging on soot. She tapped her commlink. “David?” ~*~ David hit the ground with a splash, his ears ringing. He should’ve known. The first rule of astral space is if you can see them, they can see you. And Marta was a Mage, more powerful than he was by a country mile. No wonder they’d be drawn to- “Marta,” David breathed, falling to his knees beside her. Marta was sprawled on the muddy ground, haloed by the burning skeleton of the tree beside them. For someone caught in an explosion, she was remarkably, surprisingly intact. Marta coughed, and blinked, her vision settling. She sat up in David’s grasp, the shimmering traces of a pale blue barrier lingering in the air around them. Her fingertips brushed against the icon of Venus hanging from her neck. “Thank you, Hecate,” Marta smiled. David blinked. “Who?” Marta abruptly pulled David behind her, her fingertips shining blue. A dozen bolts of fire sailed through the air towards them. At Marta’s command, a wall of water rose up to meet them. They struck the barrier and exploded into wisps of steam. Through the swirling water of Marta’s barrier, they could see the pack approaching: another half dozen hellhounds, their handlers undoubtedly close behind. The pickup truck and the white van from before. The ones that had passed their cabin twice. It hadn’t been the same ones, after all; there were two teams. Two hunting parties. And just because they managed to get the drop on the first one didn’t mean they were ready for the second. David swore under his breath. He shouldered his waterlogged rifle, misfired, and swore again. “Marta,” David began, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The pack was closing in. “Can you gather all the water on the ground into one big puddle, deep enough that the hellhounds can’t just run through it? And can you do that while making sure the two of us stay totally dry?” Marta swallowed. Nodded. “I think so. Why?” David drew his pistol and racked the slide, a soft blue glow coming from the base of the grip. “No reason.” Glyphs traced themselves in the air around Marta’s hands. Magic thrummed in the air, the rain and water around them standing to attention, heeding her silent voice. Six hellhounds broke through the treeline. They charged forward in a frenzy, jaws trailing spittle and embers, scenting Marta’s magic in the air like blood in water. Marta’s wave surged around their feet. Their charge slowed to a trot, then a crawl, and finally, a paddle, as the water rose around them and they couldn’t simply run on through. The wave held them, halted in their tracks. In a circle around David and Marta’s feet, the soil became parched and pale. David fired. The gel-tipped phasic rounds burst as they struck the surface of Marta’s wave. Azure lightning cascaded through the pool, surging into the pack of hunting dogs. They shivered, convulsed, and went still, weeping smoke and steam from their singed bodies. Marta exhaled, and released her hold on the wave. The water receded back into the muddy earth, and for a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain. David turned to her and grinned. The rifle round punched through his chest in a spray of red. David staggered took two halting steps forward. Marta caught him in her arms, fear rooting her in place. She stared down at the ragged hole in the back of his coat, looked up and saw the shadow in the trees. The spent shell fell by the hunter’s foot. He slid the bolt back in place, took aim- His shot exploded off of Glory’s shoulder in a burst of chipped ceramite and sparking metal. She let the force of the shot spin her around. She drew her revolver, took aim, and fired. ~*~ Their healing power merged together, the scent of honeysuckle and tilled earth mingling with that of seafoam and rain. David gasped awake, coughing. He sat up too fast, clutching his head when the dizziness hit him. He groaned, prodding at the frayed hole in his shirt and the unbroken skin beneath. “Oh, man,” David muttered. “If I had a nickel…” “You’d have two nickels,” Glory said. “Three if you count the stun round,” David smiled, despite everything. Glory helped David to his feet with her good arm, clutching the other to her chest. Already, the soft green glow of the Heart’s healing power was coiling like climbing ivy around the damaged limb. He glanced behind her, to where Marta was lingering close at hand. “Everyone alright?” David asked. “Compared to you?” Marta asked. “Fair.” David shrugged. “Come on,” Glory said. “There’s something you should see.” David made his way over to the last of the fallen hunters, leaning on Marta for support. The hunter was lying in a puddle, bleeding out from a shot to his stomach courtesy of Glory. Blood darkened the mud around him. The man lifted his head and glowered at the trio. David’s lips curled in disgust. “You shot my dogs, boy,” Mr. Wilk spat. “Well, you shot me,” David grumbled. “So I guess we’re even.” David searched for the tell-tale glint of fire in Mr. Wilk’s eyes, but found nothing. He exhaled. “He wasn’t enthralled,” Glory said flatly. “None of them were. If they were, the Rose Compass would have sensed something, before.” David gritted his teeth. “Every man has his price,” David said, his voice cold. “Don’t you judge me, boy,” Mr. Wilk said, pulling himself up to his elbows. “I’m just a man trying to make a living. To provide for his family. You’re a mercenary too, boy, or did you forget? A job is a job. You would’ve done the same.” “Would I?” David asked. He reached into the mud and pulled out Mr. Wilk’s hunting rifle. He examined the scope, drew back the bolt, then slid it back into place. For a moment, Marta thought David might shoot him. Instead, David simply slipped the rifle into a canvas sleeve on his back and walked away. “...Little vulture,” Mr. Wilk spat, indignant. “Business expense,” Glory shrugged. She turned and left him there in the mud, Marta following at her heels.   ~*~ The rain cleared, but the mood stayed sour. They drove just long enough to put their encounter with the hunting party behind them, before they stopped and found somewhere to make camp. David, normally the most talkative of the three, was quiet the whole way. When they stopped to make camp, he disappeared into the tent and fell asleep almost immediately. Driving must have worn him out, Marta thought. That, or being shot in the back just a few hours before. Marta sat on an uncomfortably moist log, shuffling her Tarot deck to steady her fingers. Briefly, she considered using her magic to dry it out. But after summoning that wave against the charge of hellhounds, re-casting the concealment spell on David’s car, and, most importantly, subconsciously shielding herself from that explosion… Marta sighed. She was spent; magically, physically, mentally. But when Glory took a seat beside her, her heart still skipped a beat. “I can keep watch,” Glory said, flexing her still-recovering arm. “You should get some rest. That tent is really only big enough for two, anyway.” “I’m okay,” Marta said. “Suit yourself.” Marta exhaled, gazing up at the sky. The clouds were clearing, and the moon was shining through. “So this is what you do?” Marta asked quietly. “This is what you’ve been doing, for all this time?” “Yeah. More or less.” Marta shuffled her Tarot deck, her fingers still trembling. “All this… danger. All this fear, and bloodshed. And for what? Nothing. Nothing but your own survival.” “Sometimes surviving is the best you can do,” Glory said, her eyes distant. “I can’t believe this,” Marta said. “All this time, while I’ve been at the abbey growing tomatoes and ladling out soup for the homeless, you’ve been fighting. You’ve been getting back at the Firepact, punishing them for what they did to you. For what…” Marta swallowed hard. “...for what I did to you.” Glory shook her head. “It wasn’t you. It was the daemon.” “Not in the beginning,” Marta pressed. “I fell for Harrow. No magic involved. I ate up his lies. And then I turned around and did the same thing to you.” Glory exhaled through her nose, staring blankly ahead. Her silence was agonizing. “Glory,” Marta asked, her throat tight. “Do you… hate me?” Glory took a deep breath. “A little,” Glory admitted. The words turned Marta’s insides to ice. “If you had never found me on the street, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t be hunting Harrow down, fighting off Firepact assassins at every step. I wouldn’t even have these,” Glory said, holding up her cyber-arms. “...So… yes. Part of me hates you. A small part. I can’t not, after everything that’s happened.” Marta’s voice was tight. “...I understand.” “But,” Glory continued, “I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re here with me, Marta. And I’m glad you got out.” “You got me out,” Marta whispered. “You broke me free of Harrow’s control. You saved those kids. You saved me. I…” Marta hesitated. “...I love you for that.” Glory stiffened. She fixed her gaze straight ahead, letting out a sigh. “...I think…” Glory said, choosing each word carefully. “...you may be confusing adrenaline for some other emotion.” She reached out, placing a hand over Marta’s. Beneath her cool touch, Marta’s shaking hands stilled. She exhaled, idly drawing the card from the top of the stack. A woman, bearing a sword in one hand and a set of scales in another, a blindfold around her eyes. Justice is blind. But so is love. It was the sign she needed. The courage she couldn’t find. “I love you, Glory,” Marta breathed. “I love you now, and I loved you then.” “What we had with Harrow was not love,” Glory warned. “I know,” Marta said. “He got in our heads, poisoned us to worship him- but what we had was real. What we had was not the daemon’s doing. We’re not the same people we were before. We can try again.” Glory heaved a sigh, squeezing Marta’s hand in hers. “Do you really believe that, Marta?” Their eyes met in the dark- brown and amber, ringed with red- both of them touched by fire, but neither one consumed. There was still some blood flecked on Glory's cheek, light enough that one might hope they were freckles. Marta didn't care. None of that mattered right now. Marta summoned the last of her courage. She traced a fingertip down Glory’s cheek and curled her hand beneath her chin. “Believe this,” Marta whispered. They were so close. They were haloed in moonlight; wreathed in rain. All that lay between them was just an inch of indecision. And very soon after, not even that. ~*~