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comically-callous · 3 months ago

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What the wind blows in

Logan Howlett x gn!Reader

Warnings!!: Some language (barely), reader has a dead dad, but it’s not a significant part of the story. I think that’s it

A/n: This is heavily inspired by the scene in X-Men Origins where Logan is taken in by those nice old people. But, it’s supposed to take place maybe a day after X-Men origins. I liked writing it. Might do a part 2 if enough of you ask for it 😋 Requests are open. Please send me X-Men requests. Please. PLEASE. PLEASE!!!!!!!!

As soon as you got off of the bus, cold winter air seemed to bite at your exposed skin, sending a small shiver down your spine as you began to walk down the long, winding road that would eventually lead to your your home.

When you’d left the house for some groceries earlier that day, you’d figured you’d be fine with just a coat. But, now you were internally ridiculing your past self for not grabbing some gloves and maybe even a hat or scarf on your way out.

Your fit of self discipline was interrupted when you caught a glimpse of the door to your old barn closing. You stopped, staring at the door for a moment to see if it would move again. When it remained motionless, you began cautiously walking toward your front door, eyes never leaving the barn for more than a second.

As soon as you were inside, you locked the door and went to swiftly put the paper grocery bags down on the counter. You’d worry about putting them away later. Right now you had to make sure there wasn’t an intruder on your property.

Arming yourself with a kitchen knife, you walked back to the front of your house and peeked out of the small window on the front door. It didn’t look like anything was out there. That would have to be good enough.

You stepped outside, holding out the knife, and cautiously walked over to the barn.

You would’ve liked to have been calm in this situation, like some badass that wasn’t afraid of anything. But, truthfully you were pretty terrified. If there was someone in the barn, were you supposed to just tell them to leave? What if they try to attack? You’re not mentally prepared to kill someone; even if it is out of self defense!

With a deep breath (that did nothing to ease your nerves), you opened the barn door.

It was quiet and there weren’t any visible signs that someone had been there.

“Hello?” You called out, immediately comparing yourself to the first character to die in a bloody horror movie. God, you hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

You swore you heard some shuffling somewhere in the barn and you had to refrain from screaming and sprinting back to the house. Swallowing down your fear, you walked into the barn, eyes sweeping over the area until you finally saw him.

On the floor of the barn, practically curled up into himself and shivering was a man in clothing that was absolutely not appropriate for the weather.

“What are you doing?” You immediately asked, grip on the knife tightening.

He looked up from his spot on the ground and for a moment when you were looking at those big, brown eyes you felt a twinge of sympathy.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble.” The man said, raising his hands slightly so that you could see them. “I was just….” He let out a sort of huff. “I was freezing out there.”

Your guard lowered just slightly. “Why were you out here in the freezing cold anyway?”

“I….” He trailed off. You should’ve assumed he was coming up with a lie. That’s what any rational person would think. But, something about his expression made it seem like he was genuinely trying to figure out why he was out here. “I was looking for the nearest town.” He finally said. He took a pause, looking a bit frustrated with himself as he spoke his next sentence. “Listen, I don’t have anywhere I can go. I don’t even know what state I’m in, and I’ve been aimlessly walking down empty roads looking for some kind of civilization for…. I mean, probably for hours now. I just need somewhere warm to rest for a while.” You could tell he was trying to explain his situation calmly, but he was still shaking like a leaf from the cold.

“Just let me stay in here for a night.” He said. “I promise you won’t even know I’m here.”

You looked at him in silence for a moment, thinking it over. Caution lights definitely should’ve been going off in your head. If you were making rational decisions today, you wouldn’t have ever even come out here. You would’ve stayed in your house and called the police the second you suspected a trespasser. But, now you were here, and now this cold, and frankly pathetic man was asking (almost begging) to stay here. And maybe you were an idiot for feeling sympathy for a guy that was technically breaking and entering. But, in the moment, none of that mattered and none of that changed your answer.

“Get up and follow me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Get up and follow me.” You repeated. “I don’t want you to freeze to death out here.”

And that’s how you ended up with a stranger in your house.

The first thing you did was give him a warm blanket which he gladly wrapped around himself. Next you lit the fireplace.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you stood and walked to the kitchen to finally put your groceries away.

“Logan.” He replied. “You?”

“Y/n.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgment. “This is a nice place you’ve got, Y/n.”

“Oh, thanks.” You glanced up at him. “My dad gave it to me.”

“Your dad gave it to you?” He repeated with a sarcastic chuckle. “He must be loaded.”

“Oh, no. I mean-“ You cleared your throat. “Uh, I inherited it. When he died.” You said awkwardly.

“Oh.” Logan’s face fell and he looked away.

You cringed internally and quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh-“

You interrupted him before he had the chance to decline. “I’ll make you something.” You turned away and began pulling ingredients from your fridge to make a sandwich. You made it in silence. He ate it in silence (apart from a muttered “thank you” that he gave you when you initially gave him the food).

You were the one to finally say something.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking….” You began. “Are you, um…. Homeless?” You asked carefully.

Logan chuckled dryly. “Something like that.” He replied.

“And you said you don’t know what state you’re in?”

“Nope.”

“Virginia.”

“Jesus.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.�� Logan glanced over. “Just not anywhere close to where I thought I might be.”

You wanted to ask more questions. Ask how he ended up here, where he was planning on going, if he really didn’t have anywhere he could go. But, you figured he probably didn’t want to answer a lot of questions right now. So, you instead made an offer.

“You can stay here for the night if you need to.”

He looked over to you, looking a bit confused, maybe surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged.

Logan chuckled dryly. “You make a habit out of trusting strangers this much?”

“No.” You answered truthfully.

“No?” He repeated. “What’s so special about me?”

You swore he gave you a quick Look up and down. But, you told yourself you were seeing things. You told yourself you didn’t see his lips almost twitch into a smirk.

Instead of answering the question, you got up and straightened your clothes a bit. “Do you need anything?” You asked.

Logan leaned back a bit, clearing his throat. “Some warmer clothes would be nice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh— Sure thing.”

You sort of left Logan alone for a while (other than giving him some of your dad’s old clothes and showing him the guest bedroom where he would sleep for the night). It was mostly because you didn’t want to admit that he’d flustered you earlier and you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to fluster you again.

But, alas, your hospitable nature got the better of you. The sun had gone down and the soft ambient noises of nature shifted from birds chirping to crickets.

You knocked on the door to the room Logan was in, holding a fluffy blanket.

“Yeah?” He called from inside the room.

“I’ve got something for you.”

A brief pause. “Come in.”

You entered and tried giving a small, polite smile to him.

“I worried you might be cold.” You said, holding up the blanket a bit as if he couldn’t clearly see it already. You walked over and set it on the bed next to him, still neatly folded up from when you grabbed it from the closet you kept all of the towels and blankets in.

“You don’t have to use it. I just figured I should bring it, y’know, just in case. Um—“ you shifted a bit awkwardly. “If you need anything else, my room is right down the hall. So, feel free to as-“

“Why’re you being so nice to me?” He asked, cutting you off.

You paused briefly, not knowing how you should answer that. When you finally did answer, it wasn’t really a proper reply to what he said. “What?”

“You’re being oddly sweet to a guy you only met today after he broke into your private property.” Logan said plainly. “Why? You’ve got every reason not to trust me, and yet, here you are, giving me extra blankets cause you’re worried I’ll get cold.”

Okay, well, when he put it like that, it made you sound like an idiot. Now you really didn’t know what to say. You just stood in silence for a moment before speaking again. “I don’t know.” That definitely wasn’t the kind of answer that was helpful at all. You continued. “You needed help. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Logan took a moment before shaking his head. “There aren’t many people in the world who do stuff like this without asking for something in return.”

You shrugged. “Well, maybe I’m one of the few that just wants to be nice.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at you. He looked at you like he was trying to figure you out, like if he looked hard enough he’d know if you were telling the truth. “You’re good.” He finally decides.

“Thanks?” You reply, the compliment catching you off guard a little bit.

“Too good. Guys like me don’t deserve to be treated nice by people like you.”

You shake your head. “I disagree.”

“Yeah, that’s cause you don’t know me.” Logan chuckles dryly, but you don’t laugh.

“I mean it. If I thought you were a bad guy, I would’ve called the police by now.”

He hummed. “Can’t argue with that.” He said. “Still, I wouldn’t consider myself a good person.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” You decide, giving Logan a small smile.

Logan chuckles softly. “You’re like an angel.”

Your face immediately begins to heat up and you turn away so he doesn’t see your flustered state. “Thanks, uh…. I’ll let you get your sleep now.” You try your best to sound casual as you walk to the door.

“Y/n.” Logan calls before you can shut the door behind you. You turn back to him and hope that the darkness of the hallway hides your flushed cheeks. “Thank you.” He says sincerely, his eyes not leaving yours for a second.

You take in a deep breath. “It’s not a problem.” A beat passes. “Goodnight.”

As you walk down the hall to your room, you find yourself silently hoping that Logan’s stay lasts a little longer than just tonight.

#fanfiction #x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #x men fanfic #x men fanfiction #x men x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader

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gazs-blue-hat · 1 year ago

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Books and Bombshells (Small Town UA) Gaz x Reader (Keys)

An: Part of my small town UA. This time we are meeting Keys! Once again, big shout out to @ghouljams for the inspiration and @plumteaa-remus for listening to my brainrot.

Warnings: none I can think of (LMK if I missed any)

Word Count: 2,132

Summary: Gaz decides to explore more of the little town he finds himself staying in. He also runs into this cute lady at the library.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYBODY HERE OR ON ANOTHER SITE TO REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR FEED MY WORK TO AN A.I OF ANY KIND.

The team had been staying on the farm for about three weeks now and Gaz was starting to get a little bit of cabin fever. Lamb had mentioned that there wasn't much to do in town. There was a small bowling alley as well as a movie theater. (Though the theater was just a large bedsheet pinned up against the back side of some guy's barn that he charged people 2 dollars to put a movie on.)

Lamb did mention there was a library in town that had a decent selection of books that might interest him. That's how Gaz found himself walking in the center of this small town.

The town itself was incredibly small with most businesses huddled in the middle with residences spiraling out from the center. A large lake bordered one side of the town that spread to the neighboring states. The roads were well kept and the people he passed were friendly. More than once someone stopped and tried to start a conversation with him.

"Hey there stranger! Welcome to Heighton!" A kind lady pushing a stroller called to him. He simply waved and smiled. "Oh! haven't seen you around here. Are you new?" An older gentleman said while sweeping the sidewalk by his storefront. Gaz simply said he was 'just visiting'. "Nobody just visits Heighton. You'll be moving in here sooner or later." The old man said with a smile. Gaz just nodded and continued walking.

Now, the Library wasn't a large government building like he was used to back home. This library looked like a house that had been repurposed. There were small flowers that were painted on the stone ramp leading up to the front door. The pillars of the porch had been painted to look like classic books.

Above the entry way were delicate wooden letters that spelled out 'Heighton Library'. Gaz smiled at the cute decorations and opened the door for a young woman who was wheeling herself out of the library. "Oop! Sorry sir! I didn't see you!" She said with a cheery smile. Gaz smiled as she wheeled herself past him and then down the street. The people here were so kind! It was very different than other places he had been to. These people seemed to genuinely care for one another. It was a welcome change. A cool breeze welcomed him as he walked into the library, carrying the soft sounds of white noise, a clacking keyboard and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. "Welcome in! If you need any help finding anything, please let me know!" A kind voice called from within the house. Books spread in all directions around him. Most of them were organized alphabetically and by genre, but some had clearly been accidentally put back in the wrong place by perusers.

Absentmindedly, Gaz picked up the books and found their proper places. The selection here was honestly pretty good. The library sported a decent amount of fiction and nonfiction books. One of the rooms had been dedicated to a children's section and the floor was littered with various educational toys. Drawings decorated the wall of that room done by children of their favorite books.

As he rounded the corner, he could see that the path to upstairs had been roped off with a sign saying 'Private residence past this point'. He couldn't up but stick his head over the rope to get a look at some pictures that were hanging on the wall. One of them had a picture of a woman hugging a man, holding a diploma of some kind. Another picture showed the same woman wearing Navy dress Blues while hugging a person that looked a lot like the vet that had been to the farm a few days ago.

Before he could see anything else, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him made him jump. "Can I help you find anything?"

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The day began normally for you. You rolled out of bed, took your morning shower (while singing along to a new song your favorite artist had recently released) and brewed your morning coffee. You never really had many people coming into the library for books really. You mostly had them coming in to borrow equipment. You had a wide selection of tools and manuals that people would checkout like books.

The only interaction you had all morning was a young woman stopping by to return a sewing pattern. She was even wearing the dress she had made with it. "Oh Maryanne! It looks so lovely! It suits you just right." you praised. She blushed and handed the little packet back to you. "Thank you miss Keys. It took a while for me to get the fabric and all. Miss Lamb recently brought me some more of her fabric. I know she doesn't make much fabric but she makes some that doesn't irritate my skin as much." She explained. You nodded as you replaced the packet in the folder that held the patterns.

"You did a stunning job Maryanne. You should honestly show those off to someone. I'm sure if you opened an Etsy shop, people would be eager to buy things from you." You praised. Maryanne blushed deeply and shook her head.

"I think I'll just keep making clothes for myself for now. I want to get really good before I start advertising myself." She said softly. You nodded in understanding. Putting yourself out there was a huge deal and while Maryanne was a wonderful person, she didn't take criticism very well. It is very possible that she would receive just ONE slightly bad review and she would give up her craft forever.

"I understand Maryanne. Would you like another pattern while you're here? Or perhaps some crocheting hooks?" You asked. Maryanne picked out a specific pair of pants from the pattern catalogue. "I wanted to make miss Lamb some pants. I always hear her complaining that none of the pants she can buy fit her properly, her leg being gone and all." You smile and nod.

"I'm sure Lamb would really appreciate that! Heaven knows I have hemmed and altered enough of her pants. I wish you luck!" You say as you write in the ledger what she checked out. She smiles and waves as she wheels herself off. You hear her make a slight squeak and start talking to someone.

You smile and go back to the document you were reading before she came in. Lamb was looking at some specific information about one of the operations they had done in the Middle East about a year ago. They were helping stop a terrorist cell from releasing a deadly gas on a civilian population. There had been a friend of Lamb's working on the op as well. A man named 'Alex Keller'.

It had originally been said that he died in the op but by pulling a few strings and looking into some seal documents, you were able to gather that he was alive and also had a prosthetic like Lamb did. Now you were on the hunt for some way to contact him so Lamb could reconnect with her friend.

As you were typing you heard the door chime ring out. "Welcome in! If you need any help finding anything, please let me know!" You called into the air. You wondered who Maryanne had been talking to and you sighed, closing out the document you had been looking at. You stood up, cracking you back a bit and walked towards the front of the library where you saw a rather handsome man looking up the stairs at your pictures on the wall. You felt like you knew this man somehow but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Lamb had mentioned a few days ago that the 141 was staying at her farm until things cooled down, but for the life of you, you couldn't remember which member this was!

"Can I help you find anything?" You asked, turning your head to the side like a curious owl. The man cleared his throat and shook his head. "No ma'am. Just admiring your collection of books. I honestly expected something smaller." he said kindly. You fought to keep yourself from blushing at the praise.

"Ah well, I try to keep a little bit of everything on hand just incase someone wants it. Did you find anything that caught your eye?" You asked kindly. You didn't know why but you felt very comfortable talking to this man. Usually you hesitated to speak out to anybody but the cute man before you seemed so easy to talk to. His smile was kind and genuine. he stood with an easy posture that made her feel like an equal rather than someone he was looking down on. You analyzed his attire and you couldn't help but blush a bit more. He wore a simple ballcap with the Union Jack on it with a T-shirt and jeans you recognized as belonging to Lamb. This for sure was a member of the 141, but which member still eluded you.

"I noticed you had a few books in the (fave Book series) series. I was wondering if you happened to have the third book. I haven't managed to read that one yet." He said kindly.

It took all of your energy not to squeak and clap your hands in excitement. People are here didn't really focus on books like that and you had been stuck info dumping about the series to Skip who had kindly told you to 'Make a blog and yell about it on the internet.' Which you had done.

"Oh my God. I love that series. I actually have the third book upstairs, let me go grab it really fast." You spat out. Your words came flooding out of your mouth like raging river, it was honestly impressive that he was able to catch any of it. You scrambled up the stairs and grabbed said book. "Okay okay okay, SO!" You started explaining what you loved about the series and what you had marked in your book. The books in your personal collection were all annotated with little notes scribbled in the margins and on little sticky notes you had glued onto the pages.

The stranger listened intently to every word, adding his own opinions here and there every so often. he matched your energy too, excited to talk about this series that he loved. Nobody else on 141 had read it (Price had tried to read it, bless him).

Before either of you knew it, the sun had set and the moon was high in the sky.

"Oh shit. Lamb is gonna kill me if I don't wake up in time tomorrow." He said while setting down his cup of tea. Both of you had eaten dinner and were having a cup of tea as you continued to discuss the book. You nodded and set your cup down as well. "She's got you roped into helping her with the farm work right? Classic Lamb.." You said with a fond smile. You escorted him out of the library, still talking about the series. You flipped over the open sign to read 'closed' and you turned off your porch light. "I never even asked, what's your name again?" He said with a chuckle. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep you from blushing again. His laugh was so magical and it sent butterflies fluttering through you. "I'm (Y/N) (L/N). But you can call me 'keys', ev-

"Everybody around here does." He finished for you. He smiled and extended his hand out for a shake. "I'm Kyle Garrick, but you can call me-" it was your turn to interrupt him.

"Gaz! Gosh that was bugging me. I couldn't remember which member of 141 you were!" You said with a smile as you clasped hands with him. His hand was so warm and so big. It felt like your hands were meant to fit together.

"Lamb been talking eh?" He smiled. You shrugged.

"Only to us. Tens said you met her already. The last person you guys need to meet is Skip then." You replied. Your hands were still clasped. he hesitantly pulled his hand away from you and looked at the library again. "Have a safe walk back to the farm! Give Nikon a pet for me!" You called as he turned his back to walk to the farm.

It wasn't half way into his journey that he realized he had forgotten the book. No matter, it was an excused to come see you again. "Keys....interesting name." He mumbled as he looked at his hand that you had touched, the skin still tingling from the contact.

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Tag list: @plumteaa-remus

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #small town ua #keys #to be linked

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

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if everything could ever feel this real forever

word count: 4.3k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, allusion to sexual content (nothing explicit but minors please be aware!)

recommended listening: everlong | foo fighters

a/n: broke down and wrote for ratty matty. alternalty titled four times matthew thinks you’re the one and one time he knows (4+1′s are fun to write, pls don’t fight me). also pls ignore the fact i don’t know how airports work, i’ve only ever flown domestically lmao

Matthew feels different when you’re around.

You don’t turn him into a completely different person. He’s still himself – an absolute pest at times – but more genuine. With you he can feel everything deeply, say whatever’s on his mind without the fear of being judged. It’s the best kind of different, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. His teammates constantly ask him when he’s going to lock you down; put a ring on your finger and change your last name, but he needs to be sure before he makes such a big commitment.

one

It’s the beginning of July, and you’re sweating buckets in the back of an Uber. The driver has the air cranked, but nothing seems to alleviate the heat. You know it will be worse in St. Louis so you do your best not to complain, but it’s hard. Taking two weeks off to visit your boyfriend in his hometown sounded like a great idea, but reading the weather forecast has you re-evaluating the trip.

Your phone lights up in your lap, and you eagerly unlock it. It’s a text from Matthew. Have a safe flight. Text me when you land. Tayrn will be there to pick you up – Brady and I’s on-ice got extended. I’ll see you when I get home. Love you.

Though you wish he could be the first person you see when you touch down, you understand that his job comes first. Besides, your re-unification will be more private this way. I get to see the best Tkachuk first, fuck yeah you reply, before following it up with Love you too Matty. See you soon.

Soon after sending the text you arrive at the entrance of Calgary International Airport. With a polite thank you to your driver, you grab your suitcase and head inside. The working air conditioning answers your silent prayers and you feel your body slowly return to a normal temperature. Check in is fast, and before you know it you’re breezing through security. A slightly nervous traveller, you’re at the gate earlier than you need to be. The plane doesn’t take off for another two hours. You don’t mind the wait, listening to a couple of podcast episodes and grabbing a snack at the lounge before boarding.

The five hour flight passes in the blink of an eye. St. Louis is busier than Calgary, and it takes you longer than you thought it would to get through customs. Once passed immigration and at the baggage carousel you let Matthew know you’re safely inside the city limits. You grab your obnoxious suitcase – a bright red thing with a giant Flames logo that Matthew thought would be funny to give you – and set out to find Tayrn. She’s easy to spot, waving a giant poster with your name on it. Abandoning nearly all airport etiquette, you rush through the crowd to see her. Over the years she’s become a little sister and close friend, and you really wish you could see her more frequently.

“Y/N!” Taryn squeals as you wrap your arms around her. The pair of you embrace for another moment or two before making your way to her car. Neither of you can stop talking, so excited to be in each other’s presence.

“It’s so nice to be back,” you sigh. “I really do like St. Louis.”

Tayrn giggles. “You’re just excited to see Matthew.”

Though she isn’t wrong, you swat her bicep in faux annoyance. “What? Can a girl not enjoy a nice Midwestern city?” You push your sunglasses up onto the bridge of your nose before continuing. “Besides, I only came here to see you. I see enough of Matt at home.”

She rolls her eyes but extends her arm so you can fist bump her. With a quick look to make sure the way is clear, Taryn exits the parking spot and heads in the direction of your temporary home. The open sunroof allows the wind to whip through your hair and you struggle to tame it enough to put it in a ponytail. One Direction blasts from the stereo, and you join Taryn in screaming the lyrics until your lungs hurt. Being on vacation, even if it’s only to St. Louis, is so freeing. You don’t have to deal with work deadlines or friendship drama. All that matters is spending time with Matthew.

When you pull into the Tkachuk’s driveway it’s empty. It’s Thursday afternoon; Chantal’s at work, Keith is golfing with friends, and the boys are at the rink. You take a few minutes to unpack, filling Matthew’s drawers with your clothes, before joining Taryn by the pool. St. Louis is just as hot as the city you left, and the travel has left you feeling below average. A quick swim is sure to be the perfect remedy.

The water is the right kind of cool, and alleviates any stress you were possibly feeling. You’re properly in vacation mode now, lounging on pool floaties and gossiping with Taryn. An hour later when Matthew returns home you’re in basically the same position. Stepping out into the yard he sees you urging Taryn to turn around so you can place sunscreen onto the one spot she missed, laughing all the while at some ridiculous celebrity rumor she’s telling you. Seeing you get along so easy with his sister, and the rest of his family, makes his heart swell.

In the couple of months you’ve been separated, Matthew’s thought a lot about his future. Specifically about his future with you. When he closes his eyes he can see it clearly: the two of you married with children and a dog, living in a house in the mountains and loving life. It’s idyllic, and even though he knows you’d say yes if he asked you, Matthew still can’t bring himself to do it. There’s something in the back of his brain telling him to wait until he knows with absolute certainty that you’re it for him.

Not wanting to be separated from you for a minute more, he snaps out of his daze and scurries over. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and pressing a kiss to the base of neck, he relishes in how you mould to him immediately, not even questioning who it was.

“Welcome back baby,” Matthew mumbles into your skin.

With a chuckle you wriggle slightly in his grasp, allowing yourself to face him. You press a kiss to his lips and it feels like heaven. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, you suppose, because you could stand here kissing Matthew your the rest of your life and be happy.

“Hi Matty,” you giggle against his lips, parting from him only to rest your forehead on his and twist a curl around your finger.

From somewhere inside the house you hear Brady yell, “Jesus Christ, you two, get a room.”

Without taking his eyes off you, Matthew replies, “Fuck off Brady!”

two

The energy inside the Saddledome is electric. It’s the Flames’ first home game in nearly a week, doing an east coast road trip and sweeping every team they faced. Six games later the team is on a nine game winning streaking and are hoping to keep it going. You know how much it matters in this moment – the playoffs are fast approaching and all points they can tally up are needed.

You had decided months ago to buy rinkside tickets for this game, planning to surprise Matthew. He loves when you sit in the regular crowd, cheering and spilling your beer like any old fan. It’s humbling for the both of you, and honestly you enjoy it. Though you love those in the Better Halves box, you were a hockey fan before dating Matthew and sometimes like to enjoy games by yourself. Plus, your friend was supposed to be in town and join you at the game, and you figured she’d like to experience how insane the area is firsthand.

So you do your best to quickly shimmy around those blocking your seat, beverage in hand. It was all you could do to get to the rink on time, sitting in the dense downtown traffic for nearly three quarters of an hour after rushing out of work. You wanted to make it before warmups started to make sure Matt knows you’re there supporting him. No one really bats an eye at you, which you’re thankful for. In no way are you notorious, but it wouldn’t take a die-hard fan long to recognize you. Sitting down and letting a soft sigh escape your lips, you carefully place your jacket over the seat beside you. At the last minute your friend had to cancel her trip to Calgary, leaving you solo. With a quick look at the clock you see that warm up will start in just under a minute. The players begin to step onto the ice as you sip your beer. Matthew is yet to notice you but you don’t take offence. He’s in the zone and most likely won’t realize you’re sitting right in front of him until halfway through the third period.

“Look daddy, it’s Matthew Tkachuk!” you hear a young boy shriek in excitement. “He’s so fast, I want to play just like him.”

You turn to look and see two rows above you there’s a father and son, who looks around eight. He’s wearing a jersey identical to yours, and from the sounds of his excited chattering it’s his first game. Seeing the young boy so happy to be here, to see your boyfriend, has your heart swelling. You want to make this a game he’ll never forget.

“Hi,” you smile at the father. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I know Matthew quite well. Would you like me to get his attention so your son could meet him?”

A shocked expression makes its way onto the dad’s face, but he doesn’t react negatively. “You’d do that?” he asks. “Riley loves Matthew. Wants to be just like him.” When you nod, he lets you approach the boy.

“Hey there Riley, I’m Y/N,” you say, smiling and extending a hand to him. “I’m a special friend of Matthew’s. Would you like to meet him?”

The boy looks at his father tentatively, and only once he nods encouragingly does Riley respond to your question. “Yes please.”

“Why don’t you come down here with me and we’ll get his attention?”

With a little help from you, Riley climbs over the seats and plops unceremoniously beside you. You help him straighten out his jersey before beginning a conversation. He tells you he plays in a local youth league and wants to make it to the NHL one day. When prompted, you explain to him that you work a boring office job that you love even though it makes you angry sometimes. It’s all very formal, but after cracking a few jokes you get him to loosen up.

Matthew, still not having noticed you, begins to skate along the boards in your direction. “Watch this,” you whisper-yell to your newfound friend, “I bet he’ll jump super high.”

As soon as Matthew passes your spot you bang on the glass and scream his name. Sure enough, his skates lift a good three inches of the ice and he shrieks. Teammates around him laugh and the look on his face is priceless when he discovers you’re the culprit.

“Babe!”

You smile. “Matty, this is my new friend Riley. He wears number nineteen just like you!” A glance at the boy lets you know he’s starstruck, and your eyes lock with Matthew’s.

He leans down and rests his hands on his knees, at eye level with the child. “Hi Riley,” he begins. “I’m Matt. I like your jersey.”

After that, Riley’s a tap that won’t turn off. He details every bit of his day to Matt, and even though their voices are muffled a bit from the glass they get on like two peas in a pod. Matthew is great with children and doesn’t shy away from having legitimate conversations with them. He talks to them like they’re people, which is something you admire about him. The warmup time runs out, but before he heads back to the dressing room Matthew hoists his stick over the glass, giving it to Riley. The younger boy beams and waves goodbye. You blow Matthew a kiss, which he gladly returns, and turn your attention away from him as his figure retreats.

“Is he your boyfriend?”The question makes you laugh.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, to which Riley just shrugs.

“He called you ‘babe’, and my mommy calls my dad that. That means you’re in love,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

Matthew cannot pay attention in the locker room for the life of him. He’s trying really hard to listen to everyone’s hype speeches, but his mind keeps wandering back to the interaction you shared during warm up. You looked so happy watching him interact with the boy you found god knows where within the arena. It’s then he realizes he wants to watch you act like that for the rest of his life. He wants to see you bring excited children to meet him because you have the power to make their nights. His suspicion is confirmed when he steps onto the ice and looks in your direction, finding you and Riley pressed up against the glass cheering loudly.

three

The Giordano’s are hosting an end-of-season barbeque before everyone scatters into the wind, and you’re going to be late. No matter how much you reminded Matthew of what time you had to leave he still started getting ready as you were finishing up. This typically wouldn’t be a big deal, but he has recently started taking care of his curls, and the routine eats up a lot more time than he anticipates.

“Matty, are you almost ready? There’s going to be no parking!”

His footsteps echo off the hardwood floor as he comes towards you. “That’s what you’re worrying about, baby? Parking?” Matthew laughs, pulling you into his side and kissing the crown of your head.

“Yeah Matt, I am. You know I have parking anxiety.”

“I’ll drive then,” he says sweetly. “Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve driven us. Have some fun tonight.”

The short drive across town is full of laughter. Neither of you are great singers, but it doesn’t stop you from belting out lyrics at the top of your lungs. At some point Matthew breaks out a rather terrible impression of Axl Rose and you just have to post it to your instagram story. Captioning with a simple microphone emoji, you slip your phone back into your sweater pocket. Though most certainly warm enough to spend the entire evening outside, Calgary currently has a bit of a proclivity for wind, and you’d rather be prepared. Outside of Mark and Lauren’s house Matthew finds a spot and parallel parks with ease.

“Shut up,” you mumble, poking your tongue out at him.

Matthew ruffles your hair in retaliation before jumping out of the vehicle, booking it around to the other side so he can open your door. He isn’t slick about hiding his intentions, grabbing a handful off your ass before leaning down to kiss you. Though you’d much rather stand in the cul-de-sac and make out with your boyfriend, you both have appearances to keep up. You get him to stop being a pest kong enough that you can enter the party and pass him off to his teammates.

You congregate with some of the other girls in the corner of the yard, and enjoy a drink while the sun sets. It’s fun to gossip with them, to catch up one final time before most of them leave. You’ll be staying in Calgary, job tying you down for the foreseeable future. The only thing that’s better than spending time with your friends is glancing at Matthew from across the space.

He’s enjoying himself, glass of water in hand. When he offered to be the designated driver he was serious, and he took the shit the boys were giving him in stride. Though you’ve only had one gin and tonic and can’t feel the effects of the alcohol, you’re glad he’s staying true to his word. The heightened water intake makes his skin glow, and you’re having a hard time staying focussed on the story Lauren is telling. He catches you staring and shoots you a dazzling smile. Tired of keeping your distance, you excuse yourself from the conversation and saunter over to your boyfriend.

“Hey Y/N,” Noah says breezily, raising his glass to you in mock salute. You wrap your arms tightly around Matthew’s waist.

“Hanifin,” you smile. “I’m really sorry to do this, but I need to pull Matt away for a quick second.”

No one in the group is the least bit surprised. The two of you have a reputation for being young and in love, sneaking off often and doing everything that entails. Once the two of you are alone you rest a hand on his chest, dangerously close to the button of his shirt. You then move kissing along the underside of his jaw, pressing your body closer to his to ensure he gets the point.

“Needy baby?” Matthew tries to smirk, but his voice wavers when you reach the junction of his jawbone and earlobe.

Declining to speak, you continue your actions until he’s just as desperate to get home as you. Though you try to be sneaky as you exit through the back gate, you won’t be surprised if you wake up to a few crude text messages. You’re too far gone to care, solely focussed on showing your boyfriend how much you love him.

The entire ride home Matthew can barely focus on the road. Not because you’re doing anything particularly risqué, a few too many close calls have put you both off of initiating things in the car, but because he doesn’t ever want to stop sneaking away from events with you. It’s exhilarating in more ways than one, and he hopes the feeling never goes away. Being with you, his best friend, is something he wouldn’t trade for the entire world. So what if he gets chirped by the boys for having precariously placed marks on his back.

four

September brings a chill to Calgary, but you couldn’t feel warmer. Matthew is due home this afternoon after nearly four months of being away. Of course you visited him in St. Louis, and he even flew back to the city once, but the two of you were mostly separated. Your shared apartment felt cold and lonely without him to annoy you, so you had spent as much time away from it as possible. No longer do you have to fall asleep with Matt’s side of the bed stone cold.

Though you know he likely won’t care, you’re nervous about the new decor. In an effort to make yourself feel better in Matthew’s absence, you completed some home renovations. Most are superficial, like a new sectional and an ungraded home speaker system, but you had redone the entire kitchen after scrolling through pinterest. The cabinets are a bright yellow, and the walls are a warm cream. Subway tile has also replaced the previous backsplash. You’re quite proud of the way it looks – doing pretty much all of it yourself and only calling your dad when you really needed help.

You spend much of the morning not doing anything productive, pacing the hallway back and forth. It’s nerve wracking and exciting to have Matthew home. Things will go much smoother with his presence even if he can sometimes be the most annoying person on the planet. You force yourself to eat a small meal before continuing to wear holes into your floor. He’ll arrive in a matter of minutes, and you’re practically vibrating with how much your legs are shaking.

A key twists in the lock, as though it’s a Pavlovian response, you bound towards the front door. Not even letting him step over the threshold you wrap yourself around him as tightly as possible. Matthew giggles sweetly, and you swear it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and soak through his shirt. In a very ungraceful waddle Matthew carries the both of you inside your home and shuts the door lightly.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Matt asks, obviously concerned because this is more emotional than any homecoming you’ve ever had.

Through hiccupping sobs, you stutter out, “I painted the kitchen cabinets yellow and you’re going to hate them. And then you’ll want to break up with me but I won’t be able to take them with me.”

“Woah woah woah, slow down baby,” he soothes, rubbing circles on your back. “Why am I going to hate it?”

When you can’t come up with a justifiable answer, he knows your anxiety just got the better of you. Repositioning you slightly so you’re tucked into his side, Matthew walks through the apartment to see the kitchen for himself. He’s blown away by its beauty, and he can see just how much work you put into it. The room is so much brighter and inviting – he can’t imagine having any other kitchen now.

Once you ramble off an apology for being so dramatic that he won’t accept, the two of you settle into the couch and start a reality television marathon. It’s a tradition that both of you take very seriously, and though he’d never admit it to anyone but you, Matthew looks forward to watching the outlandish dramas. The night is quiet, with you getting through quite a few seasons of Desperate Housewives, and at some point you fall asleep on Matthew’s chest. He knows he should gently move you off of him, start to unpack his bags, but he can’t tear himself away.

He can’t help but stare as you snore softly. There’s nothing Matthew would like more than to spend the rest of his life relaxing after coming home to you. If he’s being completely honest, St. Louis doesn’t feel like home as much anymore, and he finds himself counting down the days until he can return to Calgary. Matt supposes you’re the defining factor, and even Antarctica would feel like home to him if you were there. He never wants to lose that feeling.

+ one

There’s ten seconds left on the clock. Ten seconds until the Calgary Flames will become Stanley Cup champions. You’re holding your breath – you know a lot could happen in such a short amount of time. The lead isn’t as wide as you’d like it to be, only one, and you squeeze Taryn’s hand tightly. Everyone in the friends and family box is just as amped up as you. If the choice had been yours, you’d be sitting in the stands of the Saddledome, but in event the Flames win you need to be with everyone else if you want to join the team on the ice.

Matthew carries the puck up the ice, and you audibly gasp. At the last second, a Bruins defenseman is blocking his view of the net. Not letting the scoring opportunity go for his team, he snaps a pass backwards to Elias Lindholm. A nano-second later the puck is in the back of the net. You possibly scream the loudest of anyone in the box, jumping into Brady’s arms excitedly.

“Holy shit, they’re going to do it,” you whisper, and Brady nods enthusiastically. The clock now only has two seconds, and there is virtually no way the Bruins can make a comeback.

You untangle yourself from your boyfriend’s brother and approach his parents. “How exciting is this!” Chantal gushes.

“So fucking exciting,” you say honestly. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something.”

The Bruins’ head coach is halfway through his timeout, so you have to talk fast. You explain that you want to hang back while the family celebrates with their son and brother. Keith and Chantal try to argue, but you insist. You want them to be the first people to greet him as a Stanley Cup champion.

A horn signals the return to play, and you return your attention to the ice pad below you. Everything seems to move in slow motion; all you remember is the final whistle being blown and getting crushed in a group hug by everyone else in the room. Your voice goes hoarse from screaming, and tears stream freely down your face.

The party continues for a short time in the box, but then you’re being led through the arena and out onto the ice. Nodding in the direction of Matthew, you urge the Tkachuks to greet him. You congratulate other members of the team, snapping candid pictures of everyone to share in the group chat later. So many families will treasure the photos that you can’t bring yourself to stop, trying your hardest to grab everyone.

Once enough time has passed for Matthew to properly be congratulated by his family, you make your way towards him. Wasting no time, he skates over and lifts you off your feet. Your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, and if you weren’t so proud you’d have reservations about sticking your tongue down Matthew’s throat in a packed arena.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper against his lips. “My champion.”

Matthew blushes profusely at your words, and you can tell he likes them. “Couldn’t have done it without you supporting me,” he responds, leaning into your touch as you rake your fingers through his hair.

While you celebrate with the rest of the team, holding babies and snapping pictures, Matthew realizes he can’t live without you. No one else will fit into his life as perfectly as you. There’s no one he wants besides you. Matthew makes a mental note to go through your jewelry box in the morning to get your ring size. His mom always said he’d know when someone was ‘the one’, and now he understands what she meant.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#the sections got shorter and short lmao #oh well #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #calgary flames imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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true-blue-megamind · 4 years ago

Text

Daylight and Dark Ch. 3 - Ares

Photo by Joe Waranont

Some Yuletide silliness and... At last! Enter the villain!

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit. WARNINGS FOR ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: brief description of violence.

There is nothing NSFW in this chapter, but it is a bit long, so I am adding a Click Here to Keep Reading link. You can also read the entire entire fiction HERE.

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There were moments in life when Roxanne couldn't help but think about perspective: about how funny it was that a person could never clearly see the road to their destination until that destination had been reached. She'd felt that way one bitter winter morning, in her office, when she had suddenly realized that she was becoming one of those sentimental hack reporters she'd always hated. She'd felt that way on the long-ago windy spring afternoon when she had finally understood that she would never have feelings for Metro Man, and she'd felt it on the early summer day last year when she'd learned, to her own surprise, she was in love with his former nemesis. Roxanne had that same feeling tonight. Stepping out of the taxi Megamind had insisted on paying for she'd immediately been met by three brainbots, two of which immediately took charge of her small suitcase. Greeting them with pats, she had walked the last block through the biting December chill with her unusual escort bowging at her heels. The little cyborgs had darted away once their charge reached Megamind's invisible doorstep, probably to inform their master of her arrival. Now she stood alone and stared at a cross-stitched sampler, hung incongruously beside what appeared to be a solid wall, which read: "Lair Sweet Lair" in slightly crooked letters. What was he up to?

That September afternoon on the balcony, after the first night they'd made love, had been a turning point in Roxanne and Megamind's relationship. She had expected that, of course, but now that she had arrived at this still-mysterious milestone in her life, something in the back of her mind teased that it had been even more important than she'd realized. They had shared deep, personal sorrows, hidden from all other eyes, and an impenetrable glass wall had been removed. She realized, at this moment, that something undefinable had happened as well. Ever since that day, something had begun building between them, unnoticed and unspoken, creating a channel into which two spirits were poured and mingled. Try though she might, however, that something refused to slide into focus. It was both elating and terrifying, for Roxanne had not fully expected the cozy intensity that she and Megamind had found. How was it possible to feel so relaxed, so at home, around someone that being near him was like snuggling into a favorite sweater, while still feeling so powerfully and passionately attached to that same person that he made you antsy, strangely warm, and a little nervous? How was it even possible to feel simultaneously self-conscious and comfortable in the first place?

The oddity of those emotions was disconcerting enough, but worse still was the fact that Roxanne had realized that she no longer loved solitude, because solitude meant Megamind wasn't around. True, she still enjoyed many of the same quiet hobbies— reading books, binging sci-fi movies, solving crossword puzzles—but now she was only happy if a certain blue alien was beside her, busily sketching design schematics for his latest invention, or pointing out in hilariously descriptive detail why a particular piece of film prop "space tech" wouldn't actually work at all. She had always disdained those couples who seemed to be attached at the hip: the sort that showed up to every party together and skipped any function one of them couldn't attend. Now it seemed she was becoming half of one. Worst of all, she didn't mind. She liked it. She was sublimely happy with it.

What is wrong with me?

She and Megamind had fallen into an easy rhythm as serene and unquestioning as the deepest friendship, yet had retained all the fire and ardor of a new infatuation. A traitorous little voice in her head asked if this was the way people felt before they got married, moved to the suburbs, gained ten pounds, and started daydreaming about babies. She refused to listen, refused to even consider the possibility of leaving chic professionalism for matrimonial doom, but that same little voice reminded her that it wouldn't be so bad as long as it was with Megamind. Despite all her denials, Roxanne had to admit that something new had grown between herself and her favorite hero, inching up, bit by bit, undetected, until suddenly she noticed it was all around her. Small kindnesses, shared moments, camaraderie, and passion had all built into something beautiful, strange, and a little scary.

Which is what brought her to tonight and her current situation, as she stood shivering in the winter evening, looking at that foolish sampler and wondering why the sight of it set alarm bells ringing in her head. Megamind had invited her over, insisting that he had a Christmas gift that couldn't wait for Christmas, and she had not considered the oddity of the date until this moment.

Why now? Why tonight?

That was it. Roxanne's eyes widened with a realization that should have been obvious. Today was December 12th. Exactly eighteen years ago Margaret Ritchi, Roxanne's mother, had taken a turn too quickly, swerved on icy pavement, and ended her life. Although it wasn't unusual for Roxanne to visit her lover in the middle of the week, it was unlike Megamind to ask her over at a specific time, especially when she had just gotten back into town, tired after a business trip, which indicated that he probably had something planned. It would be exactly like him to researched old traffic incidents just so that he could invite her over to cheer her up on the anniversary of her mother's death.

The question was, was he just planning on distracting her from her memories, or did he have something more serious in mind?

"Miss Ritchi," Minion appeared through the hologram wall, less than two feet away from Roxanne. She had to crane her neck up to look into the fishy face set atop his six-foot-tall robotic body. "Miss Ritchi, if you please, could you come inside? He's been watching you on the monitor for ten minutes and he's starting to worry."

"Oh, I… Of course. I'm sorry Minion. I just—"

It was always odd watching a fish smile. "No apologies needed. Just come inside before you freeze."

He ushered her through with the wave of a metallic arm, and Roxanne stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her as he followed.

"Oh, my…"

Garlands. The Evil Lair was strung with garlands of faux evergreen twigs, plastic holly, and red and gold ribbons. Multiple strings of colored lights, hung with no apparent order or plan in mind, blinked, chased, and sparkled in crisscrossing lines until the flashing dials and blinking buttons in the workroom looked like no more than additional decorations. In the middle of the yuletide chaos stood a massive Christmas tree, its top nearly lost in the shadows of the high ceiling. Brainbots hovered and buzzed around it, trimming it in a haphazard fashion that Roxanne suspected explained the random order of the rest of the decorations. Most of the items being hung on the tree were normal— glass balls, silvery snowflakes, diminutive, jolly Santas— but every now and again a brain bot added a shiny bit of wire or a large metal nut. Christmas carols were blaring from the nearby stereo.

"Roxanne! What do you think?" Megamind's happy voice startled her from her contemplation. He jumped down the last two industrial steps leading up to the second floor, his face glowing with good cheer and one arm sweeping out proudly to indicate the scene. Roxanne turned her eyes back to the seasonal décor and the happily buzzing robots. After the initial shock, it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it was almost cute, like the messy decorations of enthusiastic children.

"It's wonderful," she answered, turning back to her lover with a genuine smile.

He beamed at her. "I'm so glad you like it! And look," he added with a sly smile. "We've got rocket-toe!"

"Mistletoe, silly," Roxanne smiled, leaning up to give him a soft kiss.

"Rocket, missile, what does it matter? Missiles have rocket propulsion systems."

"Uh-huh," Roxanne's expression was all wry amusement.

"The early Soviet Vostok rockets were based on the R-7 ICBM," Megamind informed her. "So I can see no reason whatsoever why rocket-toe should be any less—"

"Megamind?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's still called Mistletoe."

"Potato, tomato, potato, cucumber," he answered with a teasing grin.

Roxanne laughed. "Cucumber? Really? Why cucumber?"

"Well, they both grow on vines. Yet tomatoes are technically fruits while cucumbers are vegetables."

Roxanne laughed. "I always thought that was kind of weird. I mean: why?"

"They're gourds."

"What?"

"Cucumbers. They're gourds."

"Megamind, I was talking about the tomatoes-are-fruits thing."

"Ah, well, botanically, they're ripened flower ovaries that contain seeds, and—"

"Sir—" interjected Minion.

"And this will really blow your mind: so are zucchinis!"

"Sir—"

"Think about it: cucumbers and zucchinis, so similar yet so different."

"Sir! Didn't you have something to show Miss Ritchi?"

"Oh! Of course!" his face lit up, and he grabbed Roxanne's hand. "Come up! You'll love this! Wait until you see the dining room!"

"Dining… But you don't have a—"

"We do now! Follow me!"

He pulled her bodily past the command room and back up the metal stairs, her surprise growing with every step. The conference room near the kitchen— which had never seemed to serve much purpose since any meetings involved only Megamind, Minion, and, during the last several months, Roxanne— had, indeed, been transformed into a cozy dining room. Another garland swagged across the doorway, and a dark wood table, set as if in expectation of a festive meal, displayed a centerpiece of holly and ribbons surrounding three crème-colored candles. Beside the industrial stairs leading to the third floor— their banisters also bedecked in Yuletide fashion— the plain bathroom that had once served the offices over the factory had been updated and expanded. It looked as if it belonged in a wealthy grandma's house— if Granny had decided to go Goth. A largely unused, cavernous storage space had been turned into a sitting room. It proudly boasted not only a black leather sofa, matching recliner, and built-in dark wood bookshelves stuffed with second-hand volumes, but also an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove that Roxanne was almost certain was against fire codes. In one corner, a more elegantly decorated Christmas tree— probably Minion's work— stood glittering with white lights and antique glass ornaments.

Even that wasn't the most shocking addition to the new living space, however.

"Megamind, there aren't any external walls here. How on earth did you put in windows?"

"Isn't it great?!" he threw himself into the chair, grabbed a remote control from a side pocket, and aimed it at the window. Instantly the view of Metro City Beach was replaced by a forested mountain range.

"It's absurdly simple, really: just a high-definition plasma monitor that I mounted behind framed glass and connected to video feeds that I've had set up in various locations! That conversation we had last autumn about your apartment windows gave me the idea. Look! If you don't like the view, you just change the scenery with a press of a button!"

He clicked the control a couple of more times, bringing up a snow-covered prairie, a quaint French village, and a tropical reef.

"Minion picked out the last one," he explained. "It also interfaces with the supercomputer, so you can use it for research, calls… Look, the frames retract for a better view!" he demonstrated. "Then you push this button, and... voila!" A holographic keyboard had appeared in midair above the remote. Megamind set the device down, and, to Roxanne's astonishment, began typing. A browser popped up on the "window," and he navigated to a video featuring winter scenery to the accompaniment of a Boston Pop's Christmas album.

"Megamind, that's really amazing," Roxanne managed. "All of this is, really... I mean, you've made it so—" she almost said "homey," but bit back the word and finished with: "comfortable."

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" There was something warm in his voice that both thrilled and frightened her. "Oh! Oh! Oh! But it gets even better!" He leaped up and tugged her out of the room. "Let me show you what we've done upstairs!"

The third floor, once comprised of large executive offices, was where Minion and Megamind slept. Roxanne had been there many times in the past weeks, though she was admittedly usually too preoccupied to give much attention to the décor.

Megamind's room had changed from a blacked-out bachelor pad to a stylishly Gothic bedchamber. The walls were a rich blue. A full suite of carved ebony furniture—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, and chest of drawers— had replaced the previous collection of mismatched thrift finds. The ornate four-poster sported a new satin coverlet set in hues of gray, black, and cobalt, and was piled with silky-looking ash-colored pillows that Roxanne suspected matched the sheets. An impressionist oil painting of a historic street at night— rendered almost entirely in blue shades and black shadows— and a large mirror both hung in antique silver frames. Two lamps and a small chandelier, all wrought iron, completed the picture. It belonged on the cover of Evil Lair and Garden. Or maybe as the set of a photoshoot for Bad Boys Weekly. That would be better. All it lacked was its sexy male occupant lounging on the covers. The thought made Roxanne shiver with delight.

Minion's room reminded her of a garden pool, all greens, browns, and teals. Its bamboo furnishings and simple stone accents gave it a slightly Asian ambiance. The style was completely different from Megamind's Vampire Chic bedroom. Full of clean lines and abstract art, it looked more like a post-modern interior design catalog than a Goth culture magazine.

"He picked everything out himself," Megamind was saying. "You should have seen him, like a kid in a candy store! When I told him I wouldn't invade his privacy by bringing you to his room, he was utterly offended! He insisted that if I didn't show you he would never speak to me again. And that I could expect literally everything he cooked to be smothered in mayonnaise for at least a week!" The blue man made a show of shuddering in horror. Looking around, he added: "I should have let him redecorate years ago."

"I'm curious, why is there no bed?"

"Roxanne, he's a fish. He lives in a fishbowl."

The grin she gave him was three parts knowing and one part sly triumph. "And so he has a bedroom because….?"

Megamind blushed a little under his blue tint. "Well, I mean, you know..."

Cocking one arm to rest on her hip, Roxanne gently poked his chest with her other forefinger. "I always knew you were a big softy deep inside, even when you were a supervillain."

He spluttered. "That isn't… I am not… I was disgustingly horrifying! And..."

She laid a finger over his lips. "I always knew, and I love you for it." Smiling into his emerald eyes, she tilted her face up to give him a long, deep kiss. "Now, before you take me back to your new bedroom, tell me: what's that other door at the end of the hall?"

"That, well," He smiled and rubbed one ear, a nervous gesture she had come to adore. "That's my early Christmas present to you. Come have a look."

He took her hand gently this time, and when he pushed open the third door, Roxanne's mouth fell open.

"Ta-da!" he spun to face her, cloak billowing. His tone was all bold showmanship as he swung his arms wide to encompass their surroundings, but Roxanne knew him well enough to recognize the uneasiness hidden behind the bravado.

She stared around wide-eyed at the vaguely familiar round room. Everything in it had been changed so completely that it took her a moment to recognize the place she had awoken during her final kidnapping. The industrial elevator and second floor had been removed. A spiral staircase now led to a cozy loft and catwalk lined with wooden bookcases. All of the equipment had been moved out, the domed walls and ceiling had been expertly plastered and painted, and, where there had once been a telescope with mechanical shutters, there were now two glass doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. It was… perfect. Wonderfully, frighteningly perfect. Her own style—too formal to be modern but too clean to be antique—her favorite colors—sage green, sky blue, and soft ivory with cheerful red accents. The bookshelves—obviously custom-made to fit the curving walls—and few other pieces of furniture were warmly-stained oak that exactly matched the contents of her apartment. There were several empty spaces where she was clearly intended to move in her things. Roxanne knew she should have been thrilled—all the work, care, and expense he'd put into this would be enough to make any one of those silly interns goofy with elation—but all she could feel was cold dread.

"I was thinking we could put your living room suite upstairs to make a reading nook! And look!" He grabbed another remote control from a bracket on the wall. "I've renovated the alligator pit!" With the push of a button, a round trap door—one the reporter remembered with something almost like fondness— opened, and a half-moon desk with a cushy office chair rose on a platform to click into place with the rest of the floor. "I've, ah, also included controls in a hidden wall panel. I know how you lose remotes." He paused expectantly. "So, what do you think?" His smile was starting to look a little forced around the edges.

"Wow, Megamind," she tried not to sound unhappy. His feelings could be so easily crushed, though he excelled at hiding it. "This is…unexpected..."

His face fell slightly, and she searched quickly for something more positive to say.

Deciding on gentle honesty, she added: "I mean, this is exactly the way I would have decorated it myself. I had no idea…"

"Really?" God, she hated the vulnerable hope in his eyes.

"It's beautiful. It is. And sweet. But…"

"But?" he urged uncertainly, nervously fiddling with one of the studs on his black leather gauntlet.

"It just… This… All of this… It's happening so fast." It sounded like a canned response even to her.

True to form, her blue-skinned lover tried to put on a brave face with humor. "Oh, come on, you already sleep here more than you do your own place. This would make everything easier."

"Megamind, this is serious. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."

"If there's one thing I've learned from all my battles, it's that there are some things you'll never feel ready for, but if you really want it, you just have to jump in anyway."

"Okay, but this? We've never even discussed me moving in, and this is just one step away from being married, and… I just…" she sighed. "I love you. I do, but I've never lived with someone before, and I… I need a little time to think this over." she finished lamely. Seeing his unhappy face, she added: "I'm not necessarily saying no, just...not yet."

"But Roxanne—"

"This is a wonderful gesture, but it's so sudden. I just don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Please, Roxanne, Sweetheart, say yes. Stay here with me," his voice took on an almost pleading tone. "It doesn't have to feel like we're living together. That's why you have a separate bedroom. Whenever you need time to yourself, you know I'll always give it to you."

"Megamind, it's not—"

"This doesn't have to be any more than you want it to be."

"Megamind, please—"

"I'll never invade your privacy unless you want me to." He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "And when I do, I'll invade it very, very well."

"That isn't what—"

"I promise I'll be the best roommate you've ever had. We share a bathroom," he indicated the door on the left-hand wall. "The plumbing was insufficient for two, but there is a double sink. And I can use the facilities downstairs if you need me to."

"That's really sweet, but it's not the issue. I'm not ready for this."

"Stay anyway."

"I can't"

He crossed his arms. "Can't, or won't?"

"Why are you being so pushy about this?! You never push! And now you're asking me to give up my apartment, change my life… Megamind, that's a huge decision!"

"You're right. I never push. I've never before asked you for anything unless it involved protecting this city. But you know what? I'm asking now. This is the only request I've ever made of you. So please, please do this for me."

"Damn it, Megamind, that is so unfair!" Hot tears stung Roxanne's eyes. "I can't! Not yet! I'm not ready! And it's really low of you to pull that never-asked-for-anything card!"

That hit a nerve. "I am NOT pulling a card, Roxanne! I'm being very, very honest!"

"I didn't mean… I just…"

"I'm offering you everything! My home! My privacy! A place in every aspect of my life! I am offering you—a reporter!—all my secrets! I'm offering my feelings, my time, my vulnerability! I'm pulling out my heart here, Roxanne, pulling it out and laying it at your feet! Don't pay me back by stomping on it!"

There was ringing silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Megamind said at last. "That was… It wasn't fair of me to say..." He drew in a deep breath. "I just really need you to stay here."

Roxanne swiped at her eyes in frustrated, jerky movements.

"I think I'd better go."

"No! Wait!" he grabbed her arm.

"Let go!" She demanded. He did and she stormed toward the door.

"Roxanne!" Megamind dodged around to block her path. "Roxanne, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave yet. Please listen to me! I know you're upset, but please let me explain!" He braced his back against the door as she tried to push past him. "This isn't just about me wanting you close! This is about your safety!"

"My… Oh, God, now you're starting with the helpless damsel crap?!" She tried to push past him again. "Let me out!"

"I will, Roxanne, as soon as you hear what I have to tell you."

She glared at him. "Let. Me. Out."

"Sweetheart, please..."

"Megamind, I mean it!" she yelled. "You promised me! You said no more real kidnappings! You promised! Let me out!"

The pain in his eyes was like a punch to Roxanne's heart, and that somehow made her temper burn even higher.

"You promised!" she said again, her voice rising nearly to a shriek.

"That's not what this is, Roxanne! If you would just listen I wouldn't have to do this! You think I like feeling like a monster?!"

"Then stop doing it!"

"I can't. Not when you're trying to run away rather than listen. Look, you're angry. I don't pretend to know why, but I accept that you are," His voice was deliberately calm, emotion simmering underneath, but he held his ground, pressing his weight back harder when she scrabbled for the doorknob. She wanted to slap him. "But, Roxanne, I still need you to listen," Megamind lifted one hand like he meant to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, closing his fingers on thin air. "I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but things have changed. Something's happened, and now… Metrocity isn't safe for you anymore."

That stopped her in her tracks. "Megamind, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to bring this up until I could gather some more information." Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I didn't want to worry you, not until I had a plan…" He sighed. Reluctantly, Megamind handed over a folded letter. His lover opened it to reveal oddly formal calligraphy.

My Dear Hesperos,

I have recently undertaken a business proposition in Metro City, which I understand is under your protection. In general, I applaud your intelligent planning and remarkable success in execution, but I wish you to understand that I cannot allow my operations to be jeopardized. Although your newfound love of justice and position as Defender of Metro City are both, to say the least, surprising, I shall not disparage your change in career. However, I believe that you also have seen enough of the world and society through the eyes of a villain to know that law and justice are, too often, completely disparate, and that sometimes an act of villainy is the only truly righteous course. Therefore I am sending this correspondence as both a professional courtesy and as an offer of peace.

Out of respect and remembered fondness for you, I desire to find a mutually beneficial compromise. It is therefore my hope that this communication will achieve two purposes. First, I wish to assure you that, as my plans currently stand, my activities within your city will neither be aimed against the populace at large nor intended to undermine the normal daily operations of the city itself. I will not, however, insult your intellect or my honor by claiming actions will be viewed, by the strictest interpretation of the law, as anything other than criminal. Nonetheless, be assured that it is my intention to complete my business quickly, discreetly, and without any more loss of life than is necessary. Second, I wish to cordially advise you not to attempt to dissuade me. I do not desire harm to come to you, or any dear to you, but I am a gentleman of business and must protect my interests. If you will consent to allow me to complete my task without interference, you will hardly notice my presence. However, if you take it upon yourself to trouble me, I am afraid I shall have to extract a dire price.

I would take no joy in harming a lovely young lady like Miss Ritchi, but accidents do happen, especially to those who oppose me.

Yours in Good Faith,

Ares Coeus

Roxanne felt slightly cold by the time she finished reading. To think that two minutes ago she'd been worried about whether Megamind wanted to become too serious!

But she hadn't become a star reporter by letting fear control her. "Wow, okay. So, this is... Not what I expected." She looked at him. "I'm sorry... I..."

"It's alright, Love. And I understand. Believe me, it's thrown a wrench into my gears, too."

She nodded, forcing her mind to focus as panic tried once again to drown her natural spunk and curiosity. "Ares? Like the god of war?" she managed a wry grin. "Really? That's a little dramatic." Her attempt at a smile smile felt wrong, like it was stretched too tight.

Megamind didn't share her humor. "Yes, Sweetheart, like the Greek god of war."

Something about that name tugged at the depths of her mind. "I think... I think I remember hearing something about him now. Ares escaped Metro City Prison for the Criminally Insane when I was in the fourth grade. No one except you had ever done it before. No one except you has done it since. People were panicking. Some parents wouldn't let their kids go to school." She paused. "That was weird, now that I think about it. They never did that when you escaped."

"I was not just the local supervillain but also a recognized super-genius. My escaping was almost expected, even if they did everything they could to prevent it. That was just another Tuesday. But Ares' escape wasn't part of the show. They couldn't tell themselves it was only because of my extreme brilliance and ingenuity; not when the escapee was another human. That made it more... real."

Roxanne nodded and cleared her throat. "So… Hesperos. Is that you?"

"Yes. It was Ares' name for me. Hesperos Oldwin."

"Oldwin. That doesn't really fit the pattern. All the other names he chose sound Classical."

"You're right. It doesn't. Ares was obsessed with Greek myths, among other things��especially with both his namesake and with the story of the titan Cronos eating his own children, who were then reborn as gods—but the ancient Greeks didn't have a word for 'blue.'"

"Seriously?"

He made a brave attempt at a chuckle. "Clearly they didn't appreciate the finer things, at least where colors were concerned," His weak smile couldn't seem to hold onto his lips, and quickly fell away. He sighed. "Anyway, Ares gave me the name Hesperos Oldwin because it means Morning Star Blue Sky. The blue part is obvious—"

"Hmmm," she agreed

"And then, of course, my escape pod came from the stars and fell from the sky one morning."

"So he was, what? Your friend? Why is he threatening you?"

"I think I was the closest thing to a friend Ares ever had, but that wasn't very close. More like hero worship." At Roxanne's look, he grimaced slightly. "Remember, I was young and… less brilliant."

"But you liked him?"

"'Like' is too strong a word. Ares was… strange, but he enjoyed my company when I was a boy because I was the only one who could keep up with his intellect, even beat him at chess, although I quickly learned that outsmarting him too much led him to abandon me for days on end. He could be… disinterested, but more often he talked to me, sometimes for hours, when he wasn't locked in solitary confinement. I thought he was cool— smooth, sophisticated, well-spoken, smart, tough— and maybe I liked finding someone fairly close to my own age who didn't revile me for a change." He studied his black boots. "Maybe it made me feel special that I was the only other person he bothered naming."

Roxanne gently lifted his chin. "You were lonely. I can't really blame you."

"I can." Megamind sighed. "As I grew older I began to realize that some things about him were just… off. It wasn't until years afterward that I learned 'morning star' is also the meaning of the name Lucifer, as in the devil in most Abrahamic religions. By that time Ares was already gone, but I have the feeling the parallel wasn't an accident. The worst part is, I don't think he meant it as an insult."

"Okay, but how much of that is just a persona? You once said that the difference between a villain and a supervillain is presentation."

"Minion said that," he reminded her.

"It's still true."

"This is different."

"I don't mean he's necessarily a supervillain. You grew up in prison. You're better at analyzing criminal minds than any psychiatrist I've ever heard of. I've seen you figure people out so fast it's almost like mind-reading. I'm guessing Ares isn't his real name, so clearly he's putting on a show. How much is him and how much is just an act?"

"Oh, you don't understand!" Megamind threw up his hands and began pacing. "Ares does not play at evil insanity. He's the real deal! No one in that prison ever crossed him. Convicts, guards, even the warden feared him. Most people, even criminals, have limits… lines they won't cross, but Ares… He had no lines. He would be a perfectly nice and polite man until someone did something he didn't like—anything, a tone of voice, the wrong look—and then, in a flash, he could turn horrible and callous. He would get this cold smile on his face, and you knew sometime soon something truly terrible was going to happen to that person. And it never bothered him. Not even a little."

"You make him sound like a monster."

"He is."

Roxanne stood up and stopped his pacing with a hug. "No, Megamind. He's just a man."

With a sigh, Megamind gently pushed her away. "Roxanne," he looked her in the eye. "I was twelve when Ares was arrested. He was only a few years older than me, not quite a legal adult, but they sent him to a high-security facility for the criminally insane. Do you know why? When he found out his father was cheating on his mother, Ares murdered both the man and his mistress. And not in a crime of passion. He searched, learned, planned, and prepared. He found out about the spa resort his father often took his mistress to— an exclusive and very discreet place outside of town—"

Roxanne was starting to feel a little sick. "Oh my God… The Nelson Case. You knew that guy?"

"Yes. Ares' real name is Eric Nelson."

"I read about that trial for a paper when I was in college. Did he really kill them in the steam room?"

Megamind nodded. "He told me all about it. Bragged. The fake ID, the forged credentials, the Social Security System hack… And then he got a maintenance job at the spa resort. Even though he was rarely around guests, he was always in disguise, even changing his mannerisms and the way he walked… He learned how the steam system worked, created a bypass for the safety measures…." Megamind shuddered. "Roxanne, he literally steam broiled those people alive. And he watched. He stood there and he watched. His own father…" With a shake of his head, Megamind added: "He wasn't even sorry. Ares called himself a 'soldier of righteousness,' and insisted it was the legal system that was corrupt."

"How could he think that?"

"He's crazy. But he's also calculating, cold, and cruel. That makes him dangerous. When his twisted sense of honor and justice is incensed, he is capable of truly horrific things." Megamind sighed again. "After Ares escaped prison, he joined a paramilitary organization, but apparently his philosophies were too... extreme even for them. The last I heard, he was working as an assassin, but he only takes certain jobs that he feels are in line with his off-center views of right and wrong. He's so good at making his murders look like accidents that no one— not even in the criminal underworld— really knows what his kill count is. Even so, the sorts of 'accidents' he causes… Let's just say people don't hire Ares if they want the funeral to be open casket."

"Maybe he's not serious." Even to her, it sounded more like a plea than a suggestion. "What if he's just playing mind games with you?" Roxanne trailed off as she studied her lover's face.

"No. Ares isn't like other villains we've faced… like I was. This isn't something he does for fame, money, petty revenge, or for the simple reason that he's bored out of his skull and needs intellectual stimulation. He doesn't play games, or if he does, he plays for keeps."

It felt as if ice had replaced her spine. "And you really think he'll do it? That he'll find me?"

Green eyes met hers, and something in their depths made the ice expand to fill her stomach.

"Megamind?"

He glanced away again, like he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sweetheart, there were..." his throat bobbed.

"There were photographs enclosed with the letter," he answered quietly, as if lowering the tone of his words would somehow lessen their impact. "They were… One was of you standing just inside the glass doors of your balcony—"

"Oh my God." she breathed, moving to collapse into the desk chair.

"One was of you leaving the news station. The last was of you jogging in Hill Top Park." He finally met her gaze again. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry… He has already found you." He knelt beside her, turned the desk chair to face him, and took her hands in his, looking earnestly up at her. "I have to try to stop him. You know I do. I'm the good guy now. But I can't do that and watch your back at the same time. Not if we're apart. That's why I really, really need you to stay here."

Something in her vaguely understood that she should care about that, but it suddenly seemed as if her brain, overwhelmed with terror, had opted to turn itself off. Her heart, in contrast, was screaming and she felt like she might be physically ill. This, Roxanne decided distantly, must be what a panic attack felt like.

"What about… my job?"

"Telecommute."

Her laugh sounded bitter and wild in her own ears. "I'm an on-scene correspondent. I can't telecommute."

"Then take some time off," he offered gently. "We'll talk to the station, or have the officials contact them. This is little different from a witness protection program. And it's only temporary. They'll have to understand."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll make them."

Roxanne buried her face in her palms. She heard the tread of leather boots, the sighing swish of a cape, and deft hands began massaging her shoulders. Megamind's voice spoke gently behind her.

"Roxanne. Listen to me. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. We are going to get through this. He hasn't found this place, and I've made some alterations to ensure it stays that way."

"How do you know he hasn't found your hideout?" she asked between her fingers. "You can't possibly know that."

"He hasn't. Trust me. His letter was sent to my fan mail post box. Ares likes keeping people off balance, making them feel he has the upper hand. If he had known where my Lair was, he would have found a way to deliver it directly here. He didn't, which means we're safe. I've been working on some enhancements for a while, but Minion and I have put in a lot of hours to finish them quickly. This entire building is now outfitted with a cloaking shield: a hard light hologram similar to what the holowatch produces. I took it down briefly when I saw you approach, and put it back up once you came in. Now all anyone will see is an empty, condemned building. No dome, no signs of life, nothing."

Turning the chair to face him, she suddenly threw her arms around Megamind and held him close. He knelt to let her hide her face against his neck. Like a child awakened from a bad dream, Roxanne buried herself in his warmth and breathed in the comfort of his scent.

"I really am sorry," her words were muffled by his skin. "I'm so very sorry."

He ran gentle hands up and down her arms. "I am too."

"You shouldn't be."

"If you weren't with me, this never would have happened."

"No. People assumed I dated Metro Man, and they would have assumed the same about us."

"I should have realized sooner. I should have done better."

"You're doing your best."

"We both are."

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you."

"You didn't know."

The moment of weakness passed, and Roxanne gathered herself, gluing pieces of broken confidence back together with spunky determination and brave humor.

"Yeah, well, you know, you could have told me this sooner and saved us the trouble of arguing," she jibed halfheartedly, her crooked smile appearing through tears.

His answering grin was weak, and a little sad. "I didn't want to have to tell you. Not now, not tonight. And I didn't want to ruin your holidays." His shoulders drooped slightly. "Tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up. I wanted to make you happy, not terrify the living daylights out of you."

"But I thought you liked terrifying me. Why else did you kidnap me all the time?"

"How else could I spend time with you? Besides, you were never truly scared of me. Annoyed, yes. Sometimes even angry, but never scared." He wrapped her in an embrace. "And I happen to think you're extremely sexy when you're angry."

That drew a tearful laugh from Roxanne. "Right, because, you know, that's one I've never heard before." Sighing, she looked back at her new bedroom. "Thank you for everything you've done, Megamind. If it's okay, I'll enlist the brainbots' help in moving my things tomorrow."

"I'll be glad to have them give you a hand, but we should do it late at night. That's when Ares… works. He'll be less likely to be watching your apartment."

They were silent for a moment.

"Well," Roxanne's voice held a tone of determined calm. "At least we have a plan."

He smiled. "We have a plan."

There was another pause.

"So..." casting around for something to say, Roxanne landed on: "how long has Ares been in Metro City, and what do we know so far?"

"Not much. I got the letter last Thursday, but Ares has been laying low. I've had brainbots guarding you twenty-four-seven."

"I thought I saw more of them around than usual. Wait," she looked around her room with new admiration. "You managed to get all of this pulled together in six days? That's... Darling, that's beyond impressive! That's amazing!"

"Five days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes, to be precise," Megamind answered, standing up and managing another gray smile. "Incredibly Handsome Genius, remember? You'd be surprised what can be done with a little determination, a large budget, and thousands of tireless laborers."

"Large budget?"

"I have contracts with various companies for a cut of the profits from all Megamind merchandise sold, among other things."

"Seriously? That's not standard hero procedure, is it?"

"Being a good guy doesn't exactly pay well."

"Wayne never did that."

"Ha. Metro Man was adopted by a multi-billionaire. He has a trust fund big enough to support an entire third-world country, not to mention that all of his abilities are inborn. I, on the other hand, have supplies to buy, bills to pay, evil inventions to construct..."

"I thought they weren't evil any more?"

"Well, evil only to evildoers." His burgeoning grin faltered. "Roxanne, be honest, are you angry at me? For not telling you sooner? I know you always hated it when Metro Man treated you like a powerless victim, and I want you to know that isn't why I didn't tell you. I just wanted the brainbots to do a little reconnocense first. And, as I said, I wanted you to enjoy the holiday season before I threw this at you."

Drawing close to him, she cupped his cheek and looked sincerely into his face. "No. I'm not angry. Not now that I understand." She hugged him once more. "But from now on I need you to trust me enough to just tell me things. I can't be prepared if I don't know."

"It's a deal."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He kissed her cheek. "I suppose it's possible I could have handled it a little better."

She finally managed a real grin. "Maybe a little." She held her hands a foot apart. "Like this much."

"Oh, come on, not that much." He moved her arms closer until her palms were only a couple of inches apart. "Maybe that much."

"This much," she spread her hands even wider.

His mouth quirked. "Now you're just being unreasonable."

Despite everything, they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air.

"I'm glad I'm here," Roxanne said.

"Me too." He held her, kissed her brow. "You'll be happy here, Sweetheart. I'll do everything I can… I want this to be comfortable, and good… You like having your own space, and that's fine, but I want you to know that this is your home, too. Always."

She felt herself smile, although the expression lacked its usual confident strength. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes Roxanne felt she practically lived in his hideout already. Well, the past few weeks had been an exception. While the blue hero had dealt with a plot by the Doom Syndicate and the usual holiday season uptick in thefts, Roxanne had been forced to travel, first covering a rare blizzard in the Upper Penninsula, then a meeting of the newly formed Michigan State Disability Caucus in Lansing, and finally attempts by members of the state legislature to conceal certain business interest's tax frauds. She and her lover had only been able to steal occasional dates during her brief returns home, and he had spent one night in a Lansing hotel with her. Even when life wasn't so busy, however, the reporter and her lover rarely spent the night at her apartment anymore. Not since Ms. Farley, a sweet but nosy elderly woman who lived next door, had caught Roxanne out in the hall one evening and invited her over for what had turned out the be the most awkwardly embarrassing cup of tea in all history.

"Listen, Dear," the old lady had said amicably after a few minutes of small talk. "Between you, me, and the lamppost, I just want to tell you that I am really very happy you and our hero have such a healthy and loving relationship, but— I really hate to bring it up— but maybe three in the morning is a little late for… nocturnal activities? And… well… you might just ask him to be a little more circumspect about his language? It's only that Len Paszek mentioned that his little boy asked last week what all those funny words the Defender kept shouting meant…"

Megamind had blushed fuchsia when she'd told him, and admitted that one of his new friends on the police force had laughingly informed him they had received no fewer than three noise complaints from other tenants in Roxanne's building.

"He seemed to think I needed to be congratulated?" the blue man had said uncertainly. "He kept slapping my back and saying I must be doing something right?"

Roxanne had felt her own cheeks burning. "I… um… yeah, that's a… pretty normal human male bonding ritual…"

"Humans are strange," Megamind had informed her.

They'd spent almost every night at the Lair ever since.

"Sir, Code C and C," Minion's voice crackled from the vicinity of his master's left hand, disrupting Roxanne's thoughts.

"Code what?" Megamind asked into his wrist.

"Cookies and cocoa!" Minion explained. "Come and get it while it's—No no no! That is not a toy! Drop it! Drop it right now!"

A sound suspiciously like breaking china echoed through the watch's speaker.

Megamind and Roxanne looked at each other and laughed again. It felt good. "I suppose we had better go downstairs while the cookies are still edible," the blue hero said. "You don't mind, do you, Roxanne? It's just that— well, you know— Minion has planned out this entire evening, and it really means a lot to him…" he trailed off as Roxanne gave him his favorite knowing smile.

"Thank you and Minion both for planning tonight. Of course I want to be a part of it." She sighed, looking down one more time at the disturbing letter. "Let's just take a step back. We can deal with this tomorrow. Besides," she brightened slightly. "I wouldn't miss Minion's home baking for anything."

Megamind chuckled again. "Be sure to tell him that." With a dramatic flourish, he swept his cloak behind one shoulder and offered her his arm. "Now, Miss Ritchi," he purred in that tone that always melted her down to her toes. "If you'll come with me, please, I fully intend to spend the next several hours cuddling by the stove, if only I could find a beautiful, intelligent woman to cuddle with."

A small, very grown-up and professional part of Roxanne hated that Megamind always knew how to make her blush. The rest of her, however, adored it.

"I think I can oblige," she answered, linking her arm through his.

He returned her smile and led her downstairs.

7 notes · View notes

fantasyoverreality98 · 5 years ago

Text

Fight the Darkness

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Author’s Note: Yes, I have written another fanfic about Gaius x MC. I can actually see potential for this one to have more than one part though so maybe I’ll write a continuation in the future, we’ll have to see. There is some sexually suggestive content in this one so just keep that in mind when reading. Anyway, I think I should take a break from obsessively writing fanfic and do something else for a bit. As always, sorry for any potential grammatical or spelling mistakes.

Word Count: 3,333

---------------

Gaius Augustine was a murderer. He was her murderer. And she had never wanted anyone more in her life.

“Amy, where did you go? Call us back, please. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She ignored the message from Adrian, deleting it immediately after listening.

The town was small, the chances of him being here were extremely slim, and yet she just knew. Somewhere, probably in some desolate manor, the object of her obsession was lingering.

She felt him more than heard him. Smirking, Amy continued to walk down the empty path, into the trees. The sword on her back served as a comfort. No matter what strange creatures may lurk inside the forest, she could fight them off. Years of training had prepared her for whatever might come.

A branch snapped off to her right, and Amy whirled around, drawing her weapon. She laughed to herself when a rabbit ran out from the shadows. Momentarily relieved, her guard dropped.

That was when he decided to strike.

“Took you long enough.” She spoke with a breathy voice, staring up at the hooded figure. “I was beginning to think I might have to resort to more extreme measures to draw you out.”

“How did you find me?” Gaius kept her wrists pinned against the tree beside her head, his face inches from hers. The hood kept most of his features shrouded in shadows, but he looked just as he had twenty-five years earlier.

Amy leaned into him, her chest brushing against his as she breathed heavily. “It’s a secret.”

He stared into her eyes a moment longer before letting go, taking a step back. “Do your friends know you’re here?”

She rolled her eyes, pushing off the tree. “No. I left without saying anything.”

Gaius looked as if he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He pulled his hood back, looking exactly as he had a quarter of a century earlier. “What are you doing here?”

“Always with the questions.” Amy took a step toward him, trying not to grin when she saw that he looked flustered. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for you.”

“Amy—”

She held up a hand, and he stopped speaking. “Why is it that I haven’t heard from you at all since you left? You’re a hard man to find, Gaius Augustine.”

He studied her with interest, desire shining in his eyes. So, she wasn’t the only one who had never forgotten those moments on the boat. “I didn’t want to be found. I’ve been moving around over the decades.”

“Well, I found you. It took me a while, but I did it. Good luck getting rid of me now.” She broke out in a grin, and, to her surprise, he laughed.

“Now, why would I want to be rid of you?” Gaius looked as though he was about to reach out for her, but he hesitated, letting his arms drop back to his sides. “We should get out of here. Something evil lurks in these woods.”

Amy couldn’t resist answering, trying her best to maintain a serious expression. “Is that something evil you?”

Gaius scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I am the least of your worries.”

The temptation to continue teasing him was overpowering. After twenty-five years, she felt an uncontrollable urge to torment him with her bad jokes. “Tell that to the mortal Amy that you ran through with Jax’s sword.”

It took a minute for him to answer. “Do you plan to spend all night reminding me of all my evil deeds?”

“Maybe not all night. I did come here for another reason.”

With a long sigh, he turned away and started to walk back toward the town. They’d been walking for a few minutes before he finally spoke again. “How is it that you have managed to stay just as insufferable as you were twenty-five years ago?”

Amy shrugged, her face starting to hurt from smiling so much. Teasing him was just too much fun. Sure, she could tease all of her friends back home, but the sort of ammunition she had for Gaius beat any joking insults she could ever throw at them. The amount of murder jokes she could make was insane.

God was she ever fucked up.

“So, how’s your redemption been going?” Amy wanted to fill in the silence, the idea of them walking without saying a word too serious. She genuinely wanted to know what he’d been up to.

Gaius stared at the road ahead, frowning as he considered the question. “I guess you can say I’ve done a few more good deeds. I’ve been trying my best.”

They ended up walking to an abandoned house on the edge of the town. It wasn’t a manor, but it was close enough. Amy bit her lip to hold back a laugh. The man sure did like to live up to the dramatic.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” She bit her lip harder when he glared at her.

“Are you coming, or are you going to stand out here making horrible jokes all night?” Gaius looked like he regretted bringing her back to his house. If it could even be considered a house. It was more like a ruin.

Amy followed him inside, taking in the decaying structure. Her nose wrinkled when she studied what looked like a petrified animal corpse. “This place is absolutely disgusting. Not exactly the romantic or sexy reunion I was hoping for.”

“We had sex in a tiny room on a boat. I have trouble believing you would be opposed to this place. Your standards don’t seem very high.”

“Hey!”

Gaius didn’t look at her, but she could see him fighting back a smile. He started to chew on his bottom lip, turning his face away from her. She watched him attempt to clean, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Fine, I guess I deserved that.” Amy sat down in a chair. It immediately broke under her weight. Scowling, she struggled to her feet, brushing the dust off her clothes. “Did you really have to pick the setting of The Haunting of Hill House for your temporary home?”

He still didn’t look at her. “Is that a film? None of your references make sense to me.”

“Forget it.” The problem with hanging around a three-thousand-year-old vampire was that they never understood pop culture references. For the first time since finding Gaius, Amy missed Lily.

Lily. Her best friend who was probably going insane trying to find her. They had barely spent any time apart since defeating Rheya. Amy would have to send a postcard one day, just to let everyone know she was okay.

The silence inside the house made the situation more awkward. Both of them knew, though neither of them had said it, that Amy had come here because she wanted Gaius. And not in a friend kind of way.

“So, do anything badass lately?” Amy couldn’t get any lamer if she tried.

Gaius stared blankly at her. He blinked, looking like he just might answer, before he shook his head and went back to ‘cleaning.’

Wind howled outside. A storm was on its way. The sky had been full of dark clouds when they were walking back to the house, the air chillier than it had been when she’d first arrived right after sunset. It was probably past midnight now.

“Why are you really here?” Gaius finally stopped pretending to clean and looked up at her, throwing a broken chair leg over his shoulder. Something else fell from the projectile, the sound of shattering glass filling the room. “You can make all the murder and sex jokes you want, but I think we both know that you came here for a reason.”

Amy crossed her arms over her chest, pacing the length of the room as she searched for an answer. It had been stupid to think he wouldn’t question her. No normal person traveled around the world searching for someone they should do their best to stay far away from. Just because she decided to give him a second chance didn’t mean that the two of them would remain close.

Rain started to fall on the house, the cracks in the roof allowing water to drip down onto them. Amy ignored the ice-cold raindrops that fell on her, sliding down her spine. “You know why I searched for you.” The vagueness of her answer would no doubt irritate him.

“That does not answer my question, Amy.”

The storm outside seemed to slow for a moment. Her eyes flickered over to Gaius, who was standing near a crumbling fireplace. Finally, when she figured she could only put off answering for so long, she turned to face him. “Because I have feelings for you. What else do you want me to say? And don’t lecture me again on how it’s wrong because I know. I know.”

Gaius didn’t answer her. He stayed beside the fireplace, watching her without a word. Amy wasn’t sure whether she should feel relieved that he didn’t react to her outburst, or if she should worry that it meant he didn’t feel the same way. The worry slowly turned in annoyance, then anger.

“Can you just say something!” Her voice boomed, the sound startling both of them. Swearing under her breath, Amy closed her eyes, digging the heels of her palms into them, trying to block out the sensation of darkness that had started to sweep over her.

Hands grabbed her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face. She waited until the feeling had passed before opening her eyes to look at Gaius. His eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. The last time she had seen him look so terrified was when she’d broken Rheya’s control over him.

“I thought Rheya’s powers were gone,” said Gaius, looking as though he feared she might snap again. “Didn’t they disappear in the opera house?”

Amy was breathing heavily, trying to shove the darkness back down. “That’s what I thought too. But then one day, about a year later, I got so angry that—” She shook her head, trembling at the memory. If Adrian hadn’t been there to talk to her, she had no idea what might’ve happened.

Whatever darkness that had possessed her inside the opera house when she drained Rheya’s powers hadn’t disappeared forever. For a short time, she had believed it, thought that life would return to a relatively normal state, but it seemed outside forces had other plans. The temptation, the possibility that she might be able to bring Jax back still haunted her. It followed her everywhere she went, a voice that was not her own whispering deep inside that she could do it. All she had to do was embrace the darkness.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I get it.” Gaius was standing so close to her that his breath hit her face. He inhaled sharply, staring at her lips.

Desperate to both forget about what had just happened and satisfy the reason she had come here, she tilted her head back to brush her lips across his. He let go of her hands, pulling her closer. She sighed when he put his thumb under her chin and tilted her head further back, kissing her harder.

Thunder boomed somewhere in a distant field, the force of the sound shaking the walls of the decrepit house. The rain found its way inside, soaking their clothes. Lightning flashed outside, so bright that it flared behind Amy’s closed eyelids. Every touch felt more intense than it ever had before.

“Is there a bed in this place?” she mumbled, holding back a laugh when she felt Gaius frown against her lips. “Just curious.”

He shook his head, pulling her with him to the battered couch a few feet away. “Those beds have several inches of dust on them. And other unappealing things.”

“Couch it is, then.” Amy laughed when Gaius pulled away to look at her, running his fingers along her face. “Don’t look so surprised. You were the one who said I have low standards.”

Before he could retort, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her. He fumbled with her jacket, moving without complaint when she shifted to be on top. Amy’s chest heaved as she slipped the jacket off, pausing for a moment before she pulled her shirt over her head immediately after.

Gaius started to breathe heavier, his eyes drawn to the place where he had stabbed her so many years ago. The scar had mostly healed, but the skin was slightly discolored. It had always struck her as odd that a scar remained, but she guessed it was because the wound was from before she’d been Turned.

“You’re looking a little overdressed.” Her voice was lower than usual. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone. Years, she was sure.

Gaius smirked, letting her undress him as he lay beneath her. She ran her hands down his stomach once she’d got him out of his clothes, digging her fingers into his skin as she ground herself against him. He moaned, sitting up to kiss her.

The rain continued to beat against the house, the only sound in the room besides their heavy breathing and the occasional quiet moan. Amy pulled away long enough to slip her underwear off, her heart pounding harder than before when she straddled Gaius’ lap again.

They moved at a slow pace, his hands running up her back to unclasp her bra. She threw it on the floor, trying her best not to think about how filthy it was. The couch itself wasn’t any better. But she didn’t care.

“Amy—” Gaius spoke her name with a sigh, brushing his lips across her chest as she moved above him. He swore under his breath when she picked up her pace, his nails digging into her skin as he gripped her hips and helped her to move faster.

One of his hands made its way between her legs, and she bit her lip as she felt herself getting closer to finishing. His name slipped past her lips as a whisper, her forehead resting against his as her breathing grew ragged.

Amy took a trembling breath, moaning quietly, and stopped rocking her hips against him, the two of them sitting in silence once they’d finished. The pitter-patter of rain filled the house, the storm finally coming to an end.

“This was one of the reasons why I came here,” Amy said, a breathy laugh escaping her when Gaius rolled his eyes. He sat up and pulled her off of him, running his hands through his hair.

“You make it hard for me to focus.” He turned to look at her, not looking like he was too concerned about focusing. “Do you plan to stay long?”

She rested her head on his shoulder, grabbing his hand and lacing her fingers through his. “Who said I planned on leaving at all? You’re the reason I left New York.”

Gaius sighed, staring at the shattered window across the room. “The others will come looking for you. I doubt they would appreciate knowing I’m the reason you ran away.”

“Who says I care what the others think?” She stood from the couch and slowly got dressed, feeling him watch her the entire time. “They won’t ever understand the way I feel about you. I gave up thinking they would get it a long time ago. I wasn’t happy there. I belong here. With you.”

He stood and got dressed, turning to face her, the tension that was between them when she first arrived now gone. “I will never understand how you can even stand to look at me after everything I’ve done.”

“The conversation we had on that boat changed my perspective. I like the real you a whole lot better than the person you were under Rheya’s control.” She reached out to run her fingers across his face, and he leaned into her hand. “Plus, the whole having sex with you right after that kind of helped you win me over.”

Gaius laughed, his teeth gleaming in the dark room. “You are irresistible.”

Amy grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. “I thought I was insufferable.”

“One can be both irresistible and insufferable.” He cut off her response with his lips, dragging her back to the couch. A puff of dust shot out from the cushions when they dropped down, and Amy coughed, making a mental note to find them a more suitable place to stay the next night.

Eventually, the rain stopped, the world outside growing quiet. Amy struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to enjoy every second she could with Gaius after twenty-five years apart.

“How are you feeling now?” His question startled her. She had thought he might have fallen asleep.

With a shrug, she continued to trace random shapes on his chest. “Okay. The darkness went away, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Gaius shifted, and she lifted her head to look him in the eyes. “Does that happen often?”

“What? The whole earth trembling, voice booming thing?” She could see that he didn’t appreciate her attempt at making another joke. Amy sighed, rolling onto her stomach to look at him properly. “No. It only happens when I can’t control my emotions. The last time it happened, I was thinking about Jax again.” A figure jumping in front of her to prevent Rheya from turning her Feral flashed in her mind and she closed her eyes, trying to rein in the pain.

“Do you—” Gaius gulped, the fear in his tone not going unnoticed. “Do you think you could ever get as bad as you did in the opera house again?”

Amy didn’t have an answer to that question. The thought of ever returning to that state of mind terrified her. In that moment, she had felt truly unstoppable. A lust for power had overwhelmed her. If that ever happened again, she wasn’t so sure she would be able to resist it a second time around.

For over two decades, the thought of what if had haunted her. Almost as much as she missed Gaius, she missed the feeling of invincibility that Rheya’s power had given her. To bring Jax back, to help her friends in whatever way she could…power like that was irreplaceable. It was tempting beyond belief.

“How long are we staying here?” Amy forced a smile, a hint of hunger starting to creep in. She couldn’t be completely certain if it had anything to do with thinking about her hidden powers.

Gaius watched her, curiosity shining in his eyes. “I move every few weeks. I planned to leave in a few days.”

“Great,” she answered, putting her head back on his chest, shutting her eyes before the conversation about Rheya’s power could continue.

Twenty-five years ago, Amy had absorbed the power of the First Vampire. For a fleeting moment, she had felt the fate of the world placed in her hands. Then, mere minutes later, she had made the decision to choose love. The love of her friends had overpowered the hunger for power. And she had been content. Most of the past twenty-five years had passed without incident.

But Amy could feel a darkness gathering deep inside of her. It came in flashes, brief moments where she lost control and her voice shook walls. The endless possibility still flowed through her veins. One day, she feared it might burst. Darkness could only be contained for so long before it enveloped everything in its path.

Ignoring the claws that seemed to dig themselves further into her heart, Amy closed her eyes, reminding herself that she was with Gaius now. The years of pain were over. She would overcome this thirst for power in no time. It was nothing. She would be fine.

Just fine.

#choices: stories you play #choices fanfiction #bloodbound #bloodbound 3 #gaius augustine #gaius x mc #gaius augustine x mc #the amount of fanfic i've been writing can't be healthy #i should really be doing my school work

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perhapsapremise · 5 years ago

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[A day late, but here it is, the final fic in the holiday advent 2019 challenge. Day 12, prompt: auld lang syne. on ao3]

“Yeah, mom,” he says into the phone. “It’s coming down pretty hard.”

He stares out the window. It’s dark out, and snow sweeping across the highway in the wind, with the headlights he can barely see ten meters in front of the car.

Renly gives him a quick look of sympathy, but quickly turns back to the road. He’s been driving for the last two hours, insisted on switching with Robb the last time they’d stopped for gas. Robb was fine to keep driving, he’d said, even though he’d driven all day yesterday and most of today. Two days of driving was nothing. Renly had not been convinced.

They shouldn’t still be driving, by now. When they’d stopped last night, because it was late and they were exhausted, there were only four short hours away from home. Robb figured they’d easily finish the trip in the morning, they’d reach their destination in time for lunch. The important thing was that they got here today, and that seemed like a given.

Unfortunately, the universe seems to have decided to spite Robb, specifically, and it had started snowing heavily last night, with no sign of stopping.

Between digging their car out, waiting for the snow to be cleared out of the parking lot, and navigating the small town streets, most of which still hadn’t been cleared, they hadn’t even gotten out onto the highway until early afternoon. Robb hoped it’d be smooth sailing from there, but unfortunately the blizzard that had snowed the town in had decided to park itself firmly between Robb and his home.

The road was intermittently icy, and with the visibility as bad as it was, they couldn’t even see it coming. They’d been crawling along the highway at about 30kph for most of the day. Usually, with the roads this bad, Robb would’ve even tried driving today, would’ve waited it out at the hotel until the conditions got better.

Today was no normal day, though. It was December 31st, and he’d been fiercely determined to make it home, today. When he’d suggested pressing on and driving through the day, with a hint of desperation in his voice, Renly looked concerned but agreed without argument.

Now, though. Now, it’s 10:14 pm, and they’re still 120 km away.

Over the phone, his mother asks if they’re gonna make it home tonight.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” Robb says, trying to sound normal around the lump forming in his throat. “We’ll probably have to stop somewhere for the night. You guys’ll just have to celebrate New Years without us.”

He tries to inject some lightness into his voice, to avoid showing the frustration and despair that were welling up in his chest.

He missed whatever his mother said to him over the phone. “Yeah, we’re, uh, we’re stopping soon,” he says quietly. “Tell everyone I said hi.”

“Alright, Robb,” she says. “Love you.”

“Bye, mum,” he says. “Love you too.”

Renly takes his hand as he hangs up and stares despondently out the window.

“There’s a town coming up in a couple minutes,” Renly says. “We can stop there.”

“Alright,” Robb says.

The town comes into sight a few minutes later, a blur of light barely visible through the blizzard. They drive around a few minutes, looking for somewhere to stop.

Eventually, they pull up to a shabby looking motel.

Robb’s been staring dejectedly out the window the whole drive through town, and Renly must’ve noticed. “It’ll be okay,” he says, touching Robb’s arm gently. “We’ll get back tomorrow.”

Robb nods absently, stepping back out of the car. He shouldn’t be surprised that their plans didn’t work out, it’s just the most recent in a long series of disappointments. This year had started out so well; he was nearly through university, he had a decent job, and he had Renly. His family was doing perfectly well.

Soon enough, though, everything went wrong. There was an accident that left his father dead, and his little brother permanently disabled. Robb was away, when it happened. He could barely believe it when his mother called him. Didn’t believe it, deep down, until he flew home for the funeral and saw his father's body lowered into the ground.

Now, at the end of the year, his family was shattered - left scattered across half the continent, wracked with grief, and on top of that their financial situation was now precarious. Then, the cherry on top of a horrible year, Robb got stuck working straight through the holidays, only to finally get off yesterday.

The thought of going home for New Years had been something of a lifeline for him. It was the first time his family would all be together since the funeral - the first time Robb would see any of them, because he was stuck working in a far off city because he couldn’t afford to lose his job, on top of everything.

It wasn’t just a celebration, in his mind. It was the start of something new, with his family - some sort of healing, maybe. Or, at least, starting to move past the grief that had haunted them this year. Some kind of catharsis, maybe. But this year had robbed him even of that feeble hope.

He swallows around a growing thickness in his throat.

Renly checks them into the hotel while Robb stands behind him, presumably looking miserable. Robb takes the room key he’s offered and heads for the door.

“Wait,” Renly says, gently tugging his sleeve. He tilts his head to the far end of the lobby, and Robb sees the shabby pub attached to the shabby hotel. It’s run down and dark, but packed with people, either townspeople celebrating the new year or others trapped here by the blizzard.

He gives Renly a reluctant look.

“Let’s just go in for a minute,” Renly offers, raising his hands in a placing gesture. “You know, warm up a bit.”

At the moment, Robb really wants nothing more than to go to their room, fall into bed, and wait for the sweet release of unconsciousness. But Renly is giving him a sweetly pleading look, so Robb, reluctantly, agrees.

It’s dark, inside. On the tv is some sort of New Years countdown, chatter of the other patrons fills the air. He takes a seat at the bar, facing away from the tv. He doesn’t feel like thinking about the new year, right now.

Renly orders them drinks and starts talking to someone on his other side. Robb gently tunes them out, mulling over his own drink in silence. He listens to the murmur of conversations around him, and lets his mind wander. He tries to relax, to let go of his disappointment.

Then, pulling him out of his thoughts, a single voice breaks through the chaos of the bar, shaky and a little off key, but the words are clear.

Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to life?

Then, as if a spell is cast over the room, the chatter slowly quiets to a halt, and the other patrons join in singing.

Should old acquaintance be forgot, for auld lang syne?

Nearly everyone in the pub is singing now, and they’re moving together, taking each others hands. He feels Renly, next to him, lacing their hands together. A stranger, on his other side, offers up his hand. Almost to his own surprise, Robb takes it.

He hears Renly’s voice, floating through the air next to him, joining the song.

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne

Robb sings with them, and he feels a swell of emotion rising in his chest.

It’s midnight, now; the start of a new year. Tomorrow, he’ll be with his family, and they can move forward, start again. He’s ready to say goodbye to this year, to all the dread and sorrow it had given them. He’s ready to let go.

We’ll pass the cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

He tightness his hand around Renly’s and he sings with all the emotion he needs to let out, right here, right now, in this shabby bar in a small town by the highway.

As the song winds to a close, he turns to Renly and kisses him softly, into the new year.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Says Renly, giving him a soft, completely genuine smile.

It’s a new day, a new year, a new start. Right now, he believes, that things will be better. He takes Renly’s hand, and smiles.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #robb stark #renly baratheon #robb x renly #got #asoiaf #fanfic #got fanfic #my fanfic #writing #my writing #edit #mine #this was a little rushed but I really like the concept #also help I'm to invested in the pairing

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dreadhaus-literature · 6 years ago

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{January Collection} #25 (Part One)

Vacancy Sign

Theme: Familiar Friday

If I can’t have you, neither can he. Or...can we?

January in Texas means very little; you might get a reprieve from the scream of summer bugs and the humidity but the sun still shines and if you ain’t careful you’ll start sweating through your jacket.

Monica bumped the taxi door closed with her hip, squinting behind her sunglasses as the driver shuffled around to the trunk to collect her suitcase. Research for writing can lead an author to exotic locations...but that wasn’t exactly how Monica would describe this dying Texas town. That being said, it was the perfect location to gather research for her latest YA novel; a nearly vacant town with a populace in the two dozens just whispered of mystery and she could feel the inspiration tingling the tips of her fingers. Monica may be pushing her dresser in front of her motel door to sleep tonight but it was a small price to pay for adding another best-seller to her anthology.

“Now,” the portly driver spoke up as he set Monica’s suitcase by her boots. “Are ya real sure this is where yer wantin’ to stay?”

Monica glanced up at him and noted the concern on his weathered face, but she wasn’t put off by it. She wasn’t a little girl and she wasn’t white. She knew this place was questionable, but an artist sometimes has to suffer for their art. She nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m sure!”

The driver, Ted, still seemed unconvinced, scratching beneath his cap. “...There’s a nicer city about 50 miles up the road, miss. I’ll take ya there, no charge.”

Now that sent alarm bells ringing in Monica’s head and her brows tucked in at the center, folding her arms. “Is it not safe here, or something?”

“I just been hearin’ some rumors--”

“Well now, Ted, i ain’t hearin’ you scarin’ tourists away from our purdy li’l town, am I?”

Monica and Ted both turned, and Ted swore beneath his breath immediately at the sight of the Sheriff’s car. The alarm bells in Monica’s head didn’t quiet even at the arrival of law enforcement--if anything, they were louder than ever. Sheriff Hoyt was clear to read on his nameplate and his hat threw his weathered face in harsh relief as boots crunched over gravel, closing the distance between them in a few lazy strides. Monica swallowed thickly even as Ted backed up toward his taxi.

“An’ speakin’ of purdy, ain’t you a li’l georgia peach.” Sheriff Hoyt rolled the toothpick between his teeth as he drank Monica in, head to toe, like a man allowed a drink after a hard day’s work under the Texan sun.

Monica fought off a grimace, honestly beginning to consider Ted’s offer for a free ride to the next town--but she turned at the sound of him slamming his trunk closed. “...Ted?”

“I’m real sorry, miss, I just, I got another fare. I gotta git,” Ted didn’t look up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed for his driver’s door.

“Aw, you leavin’ already, Ted?” There was no denying Sheriff Hoyt didn’t sound the least bit disappointed by this turn of events. One might think he turned up just to scare Ted away.

“I haven’t even paid you--”

“You keep it! Buy yerself somethin’ nice if ya--when ya get outta here.” Ted slammed his door closed and locked it in the same motion. “Y’all take care, now!”

“Bye Ted,” Hoyt lifted his hand to wave as Ted backed out, nearly slamming into his police cruiser before peeling out, leaving Monica staring in disbelief at the retreating car. She felt a little like being left in the woods surrounded by wolves, especially as Hoyt’s arm came down, sweeping around the small of her back and gripping her hip. “Now, don’t mind him, girlie. Ted’s a nervous fella--ya’d think he’d be a better people person, drivin’ one of them cabs, but I guess ya can’t learn stupid.”

Monica didn’t know whether or not she was supposed to laugh at that, but when she gave him a smile he grinned back. He didn’t seem to notice how forced it was.

“Hoyt?”

“Luda Mae! Look what just blew inta town,” Hoyt swept Monica away from the road and up toward the general store that also doubled as a motel in this blip of a town. On the porch was an elderly woman who looked tough as nails, but as soon as she laid eyes on Monica her entire expression softened and she took on a more motherly appearance.

“Well now, ain’t she just a peach blossom,” Luda Mae reached out with one hand for Monica.

“That’s what I said, Mama, that’s just what I said!”

Monica had heard plenty about small towns and she’d seen enough horror movies to know what to expect from small southern towns, and it didn’t surprise her in the slightest the town sheriff was the son of the shopkeeper of the only store in town. She couldn’t help but put her hand in Luda Mae’s, though; the old woman quieted the warning bells in her head and though her hands were a little calloused they were soft, doughy, as she was a larger woman who likely gave damn good hugs.

“What brings ya to our neck of the woods, child?” Luda Mae asked, but then immediately shouted to Hoyt, her voice taking on a whip-like quality. “Hoyt, make yourself useful and get her bags off the street. Can’t ya see she’s a fancy city girl? Can’t have her clothes collectin’ dust.”

“I’m goin’ Mama, I’m goin’.”

What might have been an insult coming from someone else didn’t sound it when Luda Mae said it; she seemed to genuinely be complimenting Monica and she followed that up with a gentle pat to Monica’s arm that was threaded through hers.

“I’m sorry honey, you was sayin’?”

“U-Um, I’m just in town doing some research.”

Luda Mae squinted behind her thin-framed glasses. “Research? You some sort of scientist?”

Say what you will about uneducated country folk, but coming from Luda Mae it was almost adorable. Monica shook her head quickly, unable to help smiling up at the matronly woman. “N-No, I’m an author, actually! I’m writing my next novel about a small town, and...this seemed as good a place as any.”

“Oh, it’s a great place! I’ve raised my whole family here!” Luda Mae led Monica around the wraparound porch as she talked, and Monica noticed the motel was connected to the store via the porch’s walkway. Behind them, Hoyt was thudding along on confident boots, hauling Monica’s suitcase as he listened to his Mama talk. “We Sawyer’s have lived in this town our whole lives. They say it’s dyin’ around us but we’ll keep it goin’.” Luda Mae gave Monica’s arm a pat.

“Yeah, folks like you droppin’ by sure keeps the blood flowin’ like wine ‘round these parts,” Hoyt quipped but it earned him an immediate glare from Luda Mae.

“No, Hoyt, I think this beautiful city girl is exactly the type to change all that. An’ I’m sure you’ll find the boys’ll agree with me.”

Hoyt grumbled under his breath at the immediate rebuttal but he didn’t say anything else, and Monica felt she’d missed an important exchange, because Hoyt was no longer eye-fucking her. In fact, he wasn’t looking at her at all--

But that didn’t mean others weren’t.

Jedidiah “Bubba” Sawyer crowded around the broken slat at the back of the general store’s storage room; he squinted behind the mask covering his face, almost ripping it off in agitation because he couldn’t see her like this. Sweat dripped from his brow beneath the mask but he ignored it, and he ignored his younger brother’s curious grunt from behind him. If he blinked, if he looked away for even a second, she might walk out of sight and he couldn’t bear the idea of losing sight of her that quickly. After all, she was the most beautiful girl Bubba had ever seen. Bubba’s breath quickened until he was nearly panting; he didn’t understand what was happening but his chest was burning, his heart feeling like it was on fire the longer he stared at her. The way she moved, the way she smiled up at Mama, the sound of her voice--she was perfect! Like those pretty princesses Mama sometimes read to him about from the picture books. She’d always told him if he was a good boy he’d get a princess, too! Chop Top always laughed at him about it, told him that monsters don’t get the girl, princes like him do, but Mama can’t be wrong--and she wasn’t! The princess was here! She was here!

Thomas “Tommy” Hewitt grunted again but was again ignored, and he narrowed his gaze at his older brother. He slammed his cleaver down on the cutting board, his grunt turning into a half-growl and Bubba responded by waving a meaty hand as if to shut him up. Thomas’s lip curled beneath his half-mask, wondering if Bubba was staring at a dog again. The big lug was easily distracted by animals--or anything, really, and Thomas understood why he was often confused with being the older brother. But no, Bubba was oldest, and he was actually a Sawyer. Thomas was adopted, had been since birth, but he didn’t feel any less of a Sawyer even with the last name difference. Luda Mae, Mama, had told him she’d let him keep his last name to honor his birth mother, who’d died to bring him into the world. Thomas had never known her, or any other Hewitt; all he knew were the Sawyers and though Bubba was only a couple years older he was still the older brother. They’d been raised side by side, both suffering from the same degenerative disease that some doctors thought was a result of impure drinking water, while others, outsiders, might claim incest resulted in their malformed faces. Thomas didn’t know and he didn’t give a shit, to put it frankly. He just knew his face was ugly and he wore a mask to cover up the ugly. It was the same reason Bubba wore his, though Thomas didn’t know why Bubba made his face worse by cutting into it sometimes. He also understood Bubba felt worse about his face because he actually wore other people’s faces as his own. Thomas only did that when they had company over.

The boys couldn’t speak, a result of their disease, but they’d been raised together and non-verbal cues were as good as words between them at this point. Thomas grunted, again, and when Bubba didn’t acknowledge him the younger Sawyer butcher picked up a ham hock from the bloody table and flung it at his older brother, now absolutely fed up with being ignored.

Bubba flinched when the bone connected with his broad shoulder, curls bouncing as he whirled to babble angrily at Thomas for interrupting him. Thomas gestured with both arms out as if to say, ‘What the high holy hell are you lookin’ at?!’

Bubba waved Thomas over with one excited hand, and Thomas lumbered around the table, heaving a sigh through his mask. His eyes were full of boredom.

‘If you’re showin’ me another dog, Bubba, I’m gonna thump ya.’

Bubba flattened his hand on Thomas’s broad back, placating. ‘It ain’t a dog. Look.’

Thomas pressed his face against the slat, fully expecting to see a goddamn dog, but what he saw instead about knocked him on his ass. Who was that? Their dying town had seen it’s fair share of visitors, and they all ended up the same way--on the Sawyer table--but none of them had ever looked like her. Thomas was frozen in place, Bubba’s hand on his back, patting at him excitedly as he babbled away but Tommy wasn’t hearing a word of it. The pretty young thing on Mama’s arm was walking past the slat and Thomas drew in a deep breath and his eyes near rolled back in his head as her perfume kissed his nose. She smelled like what he figured heaven smelled like. A man like Thomas was surrounded by blood and grit, dirt and gristle, and he wasn’t used to pretty and he wasn’t used to good smells either--but this girl was everything he wasn’t and goddamnit did he want her with every bone in that hulking body. He was immediately, painfully hard and he couldn’t help ripping his gaze from her just to look down, a little confused by the reaction he had to her.

Bubba’s babbling increased in volume, as if to say, ‘Me too, me too!’

Thomas looked up, leaning a little to the right as Mama, the pretty girl, and Hoyt moved past the broken slat and he growled a little as he began to lose sight of them. Bubba, confused by the growl, tried to shove Thomas out of the way, who shoved back immediately. The brothers straightened up, shoulders square as they communicated through growls, angry babbling, and stiff spines.

‘I saw the princess first!’

Thomas’s lip curled. ‘So?’

‘So you don’t get her! I do!’

‘You won’t even really look at her! You’ll get shy.’

Bubba’s broad shoulders sagged a little. ‘...It ain’t my fault she’s so pretty.’

Thomas’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. No matter the two’s disagreements, Thomas couldn’t be mean to Bubba, and it was true he saw the princess first. So, what’s a little brother to do?

‘We’ll share her.’

Bubba’s head cocked to the side. ‘Like when there’s only one piece of pie left an’ Mama makes us split it?’

‘Exactly like that.’

Monica heaved her suitcase onto the queen sized bed, pleasantly surprised when no dust kicked up from the weight. The room was nicer than she’d first imagined it to be, given the state of disrepair a lot of the town seemed to be in. Luda Mae had been insistent she take the nicest room at the motel anyway (even if that did seem a bit like an oxymoron), and for some strange reason Monica hadn’t had to check in or even pay. When she’d asked about it, Luda Mae had just waved a hand and said something about southern hospitality. Monica didn’t know much about that sort of thing but it seemed like a strange business practice...but who was she to complain? Hoyt had become much less creepy after that weird exchange on the walk to the motel and when he’d told her to give a holler if anyone bothered her, she actually felt he meant it.

Despite the room being cleaner than she’d expected it was still decorated like 1975 and Monica didn’t bother hiding her grimace at the paisley wallpaper and the lace curtains that would do absolutely nothing when the sun rose in the morning. She also couldn’t help but notice the lace curtains were not exactly...the right choice for a motel that was on the ground floor. The only comfort she had, and it was mild at best, was that she had the room on the corner so one of her windows faced the outer Texas plains and not the main city road. Monica placed her hand on her hip, figuring she’d just change in the bathroom rather than her room. Problem solved, right?

For the most part, she’d reason with herself, fishing her cell phone out of her purse. After tapping out a quick text to her best friend, Monica pulled up her agent’s number from her contacts and launched the call. It was just easier; he’d be asking a million questions and she’d rather not wear out her fingers before she got out her laptop and began writing.

“Keil? Yeah, I made it--what the hell do you mean, have I started writing?! I just fucking got here!”

A few feet away in the General Store, the sign at the door was flipped to Closed so a Sawyer family meeting could take place. Hoyt moved away from the door, leaving the sign still swinging slightly as he slipped his hat off, scratching his hairline. Around the general store’s cafe tables the Sawyer clan was settling in; from the Butcher boys, Thomas and Bubba, to Chop Top and Nubbins, who worked as the family’s scrappers and trappers. Uncle Monty was wheeled up to a table near the front by Luda Mae, and even Grammy Verna was present, sitting by her daughter, who was standing at the front of the tables. Other assorted cousins and siblings filtered in front the back door, and one might be right to assume half the town’s population was in the room.

“All right, all right, settle down now,” Luda Mae, the matriarch of the Sawyer’s now that her Mama Verna had moved away the next town over, rapped her knuckles sharply on the table top to quiet the clan. “We got business to talk.”

“What’s this Uncle Hoyt’s been sayin’, about some new meat?” Chop Top Sawyer propped dirty boots up on the table, only for Hoyt to smack his nephew’s feet right back off the table.

“Boy you better straighten up when Ma’s talkin’ or I’ll knock yer damn teeth in.”

“Aight aight! Shit,” Chop Top swore, slowly pushing himself back upright in his seat--trying to ignore Nubbins giggling at him like a little boy. “So who is this, Ma? She gonna be Sunday dinner?”

Immediately, both Thomas and Bubba reacted, with Thomas slamming his fist on the table in protest and promise of violence if anyone so much as even tried it and Bubba blubbering angrily, standing up to the entire family just for their pretty, pretty princess! The entire clan reacted, because as much as the two were known for obeying the family, you didn’t push the Butchers.

Luda Mae smiled proudly at the boys’ reaction; it was exactly as she figured, and you know what they say. Mama always knows best.

“Figure you got your answer there, Chop Top,” Luda Mae placed her hands on her wide hips. “The li’l peach ain’t gonna be Sunday dinner, but she is comin’ over for Sunday dinner.”

Murmurs of curiosity and disbelief ran through the clan, with cousins and uncles exchanging looks and raised eyebrows. The cannibalistic family usually only had company over for one reason, but they were gathering this was a special occasion--they just didn’t know why.

“I been promisin’ the boys a princess since they was spittin’ age,” Luda Mae continued, silencing the clan again. “And I know damn well some of y’all thought it was a joke.”

At this, Chop Top coughed and Nubbins looked around, but it was no surprise those two had been tormenting Bubba and Tommy for years. Hoyt smacked them both across the back of their heads with one fell swoop.

“Well, it ain’t a joke. Like the river run through the dry of Egypt, she’s finally here.” Luda Mae rubbed her hands together with a proud smile. “She’s as sweet as she is pretty, and she’s gonna clean up the Sawyer line real nice like. She’s book smart, boys, so she’ll be good for you, good for you an’ the future Sawyers she’s gonna give us.”

Thomas and Bubba exchanged glances, with Bubba’s smile so wide beneath his mask it actually hurt but he didn’t stop, didn’t shy away from the pain. Mama was saying exactly what they wanted to hear! The pretty princess was going to stay, she was going to be theirs! Bubba slung his arm around Tommy’s shoulders, giving his younger brother an excited shake and even Tommy couldn’t remain stone-faced at the announcement. He was smiling, genuinely, leaning into Bubba’s excited one-armed hug.

“So wait, Mama, what the hell?” Chop Top spun in his seat, looking from Tommy and Bubba back up to Luda Mae. “Why do the two retards get ‘er? She’s so damn pretty, Nubbins and I should--”

“Chop Top I will not have you callin’ the boys that word.” Luda Mae’s tone cracked like a whip and the entire room fell silent. Her eyebrows were near her hairline, one finger pointed at him in warning. “They do plenty for this family and it’s high time they get somethin’ for it. If you want a girl so damn bad, you pick out one of the pigs.”

Nubbins began giggling again, ducking Chop Top swinging at him.

“Now that goes for all of ya.” Luda Mae pointed at each and every one of the Sawyers. “Yer gonna clean up good when you come for dinner tonight, and yer gonna be on your best damn behavior. I picked this girl out for my boys and if you run her off, I’ll let them do what they do best to ya.”

That threat, that promise, hung in the air like a body from a noose. It was no secret Bubba and Thomas made excellent use of their chainsaws and some gazes drifted to Monty’s stumps of legs. They’d use it on Family if they needed to and it was apparent by their visceral reactions anytime this new girl was brought up they wouldn’t hesitate when it came to her.

“Does this peach have a name, Luda Mae?” Verna glanced up at her daughter. “I wanna get started on an embroidery for her, hang it from the family fireplace with the rest of ‘em.”

“Her name’s Monica,” Luda Mae’s smile was nothing short of motherly. “Our li’l miracle baby.”

Stay tuned for Part Two tomorrow--Prompt #26: Monster/Mirror!

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : january 2019 #{character} : bubba sawyer #{character} : thomas hewitt #{ this got WAY out of hand }#{ but i was just SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT AMG }

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waywardnerd67 · 7 years ago

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Writing Your Story: Chap. 6 - Masquerade Gala

Summary: Raelyn must make an appearance to a Masquerade Gala to promote the Supernatural books. Dean accompanies her to the Gala and she runs into a mysterious suitor who literally sweeps her off her feet. Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel and Raelyn Nichols (OFC) Pairing: Dean X Raelyn (OFC) Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Word Count: 3750 A/N: I hope y’all are ready for some adorable boyfriend Dean in a tux. As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

Raelyn stepped out of the dressing room as Sam was sitting in an oversize chair in the department store. “Wow…” Sam’s eyes traveled her body in the dark forest green gown. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” She asked as she twirled around and Sam let out a low whistle. “Good wow. Great wow. That’s the dress, Raelyn.” Seeing Sam’s beaming smile, she looked in the full length mirror and gave herself a once over clapping her hands in approval. The floor length gown had a halter top with a bit of a collar. The green color made her dark green eyes pop out and her porcelain skin shimmer. She liked that it was not too low cut in either the back or front but showed off just enough skin to be sexy. The simple A-line cut of the skirt showed off her hourglass figure perfectly. She went back into the dressing to change into her regular clothes and said, “Sam, thanks for coming with me to dress shop. I just don’t trust Dean to give me the truth on what looks good on me.” Sam chuckled. “No problem, Raelyn. I had fun hanging out with you today.” She smiled walking out of the dressing room and Sam snatched her dress out of her hand to pay for it. “Oh, come on, Sam. I can pay for it myself.” He shook his head, “Nope. I feel like an older brother sending his little sister to the prom. Remind me to give Dean a threatening talking too before you guys leave.” Raelyn started laughing as they walked up to the counter to pay.

Raelyn had her duffel strap over her shoulder and her arm up in the air carrying her dress as she walked into the garage. Sam walked over grabbing the dress from her and laid it in the back seat on top of Dean’s tux so it would not get wrinkled. She set her bag in the trunk next to Dean’s bag. “Got everything?” he asked as she went over her mental checklist and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good to go.” Dean shut the trunk and walked to the driver’s side getting in. Sam opened the passenger door for Raelyn and once she was seated he shut it leaning in through the window. “Be careful and drive safe.” He said as Dean nodded to him. Raelyn smiled at him, “Always.” Sam chuckled and tapped the top of the Impala as Dean started the engine. Raelyn waved as they drove out of the garage and Sam closed the large doors. Raelyn was looking through her bookbag nestle between her legs on the floorboard. She pulled out her Bluetooth speaker and set it on the seat between her and Dean. He glanced down at it and back up at her. “I don’t want to spend six hours with my headphones on being rude. Figured I would play my music for the both of us.” She gave him a cheesy smile as he chuckled. As she browsed her playlists Dean spoke up, “Play your favorite song for me.”

Raelyn sat for moment thinking and then started playing Fitz and The Tantrums ‘Hand Clap’. Raelyn started singing and clapping along to the song as Dean was laughing. Raelyn loved seeing Dean relaxed and happy. He had one hand on the steering wheel while the other was resting out the open window. His smile was breathtaking because it was genuine. Over the next several hours they listened to music, talked, stop and ate at one of Dean’s favorite burger places in on the border of Kansas and Colorado. They pulled into the hotel parking lot in the late evening and seeing Dean’s face as he walked into the hotel suite was hilarious. The gala organizers had given Raelyn a complimentary suite with a large living area, bedroom with a king size bed and a jacuzzi bathtub that was calling her name. Dean walked around the room in awe and immediately flopped down on the sofa. “Man, this place is amazing. Motel rooms will never be the same.” She chuckled as she set her bag on the bed and hung her dress up on the back of the bedroom door. As Dean ordered room service for dinner, Raelyn took a long bath and let the jets in the tub relax her aching muscles. When she walked out in her pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt hearing Dean on the phone.

“Sammy, you should see this room. There’s little mints on the pillows and the bed is memory foam.” Raelyn rolled her eyes and answered the door when there was a knock. A small cart was rolled in by a waiter and she signed for the food giving the waiter a tip in cash. She lifted the larger dome to see a bacon pizza that smelled delicious. She then lifted the second small dome to see a large chef salad with two sides of ranch dressing. “I know you don’t like eating greasy food all the time so I also got you a salad. Did I do alright?” Dean’s voice startled her but she looked up at him as he took a slice of pizza and bit into it. She nodded picking up the salad and dressing heading towards the sofa. They sat in silence eating until Raelyn’s phone rang. “Hey Eric.” She watched Dean look over to her and cocked one eyebrow up. “Just wanted to make sure you got into town. Isn’t the room amazing?” She chuckled, “Yes, the room is amazing. What time do I need to be up and presentable by?” She asked as Dean was now tilting his head to one side. “The hair and make-up team will be there around three o’clock tomorrow so be showered and ready by then. I also need to know your date’s name.” She looked over to Dean, “My date’s name is Dean Wesson. I should mention that he likes to lead a private life so no pictures please.” She listened to Eric groan, “Fine, but then you have to walk the red carpet by yourself then.” Now it was Raelyn’s turn to groan. “That’s fine Eric, now I would like to go and finish my dinner and go to sleep.” She ended the call with a small growl. “My agent is a pain in the ass but he is part of the reason I am successful.”

Dean let out a small laugh, “Dean Wesson, really?” She rolled her eyes as she took a few more bites of her salad. “What was the whole thing about pictures?” he asked as she got up putting her bowl back on the tray. “There is a red carpet entrance that is filled with press. Normally, the ones who are invited walk the red carpet, talk with reporters and pose for pictures with their dates. I always walk alone because I never like being linked to anyone. A man in your line of work doesn’t need any publicity.” She turned to see Dean was deep in thought, “What?” she asked. “I’ll walk down with you. I don’t care about my pictures being taken. Hate to lose an opportunity to show off how a grunt like me could possibly get a woman like you.” She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. He had rendered her speechless. “Anyway, we should probably go to bed so we can well be rested for tomorrow. I’ll take the sofa.” Dean started to pull out a pair of sweatpants to change into from his bag. Raelyn walked up to him and hugged him taking him completely off guard. “What is this for?” he chuckled. “For being understanding and going with the flow of everything. So, basically just being you.” She smiled up at him as he blushed. As he was in the bathroom she crawled into bed leaving the door open so they could see one another but as she laid her head down on the fluffiest pillow she had ever felt she drifted off to sleep.

Raelyn tried to move but felt her hands bound behind her. She looked around but everything was blurry and there was a long ringing in her head. “Come on, wake up so I can see the panic in your eyes.” Hearing the familiar gravelly voice her eyes snapped open. She tried to scream but was unable to. She saw a body lying in front of her. Judging by the length of his body and long sandy brown hair she was looking at Sam. Raelyn looked around the room and saw Castiel in a corner trying to get back up but the Hooded Man punched him repeatedly causing him to fall back into the corner. She screamed into the rag that was tie around her mouth. “Stay down angel boy. I would hate killing you earlier than I had planned.” He looked over to Raelyn and she heard him snickering. “Ah, she’s awake. Fantastic, now the real fun can start.” He cuffed Castiel to a drain pipe that was near him and Castiel struggled against the restraints. “They have angel warding on them so no popping off.” The Hooded Man stated as he tied Sam’s hands behind his back and his feet to together. “Now, wait right there so I can get this show on the road.” He walked out of the room and Raelyn vigorously tried to push the rag from her mouth and down on her chin with her tongue and lips. Once it was below her lip she looked to Castiel, “Where are we?” Castiel had blood covering majority of his face and his voice was cracking as he spoke, “An old house near Kansas City. Raelyn, I should have known. I should have warned you.” She heard the Hooded Man coming back. He was dragging an unconscious Dean into the room who was bound at his hands and feet. Raelyn looked up into the pitch black hood only seeing electric blue eyes. “This… this is for you Raelyn.” He seethed as he brought out a jagged knife. Dean was coming to as he laid facing Raelyn. Tears streaming down her cheeks as the Hooded Man stood behind him bring the knife down into Dean’s chest. “Raelyn, I…”

Raelyn shot up screaming and sobbing. “Raelyn! Shh, Raelyn it’s okay. I got you.” Dean was holding her as she cried into his chest. After a few minutes she finally calm down. Dean got up to get her a bottle of water and a washcloth. She took a few sips of water as Dean carefully wiped her forehead and cheeks with the cool washcloth. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch trying to slow her rapidly beating heart. “Another nightmare?” She nodded taking a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it?” She looked up into his worried eyes and she flashed to seeing him being stabbed. She shook her head as tears began prickling at her eyes again. “Okay. You don’t have too. I will just be right on the couch if you need me.” He went to get up but she grabbed his arm. “Please stay.” Her voice was just above a whisper but filled with anxiety. Dean nodded as he climbed into the bed next to her. They faced once another and he gently ran his fingers through her hair. The repetitive motion helped Raelyn to relax enough to fall back asleep. The only thing she dreamed of was fields of endless shades of green.

The next morning, Raelyn woke up to Dean already being up, showered and dressed. He was acting like a kid on Christmas morning getting her up and dressed. She pulled a beanie down over her hair and was dragged by Dean out the door. The walked around downtown Denver getting brunch at a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant. They went on a tourist buggy ride that took them to a breathtaking overlook to see the mountains. Raelyn was staring off when she heard a familiar snap of an iPhone camera taking a picture. She slowly turned to Dean who had taken a picture of her and his red cheeks gave away his guilt. She laughed and stood in front of him with her own camera in selfie mode snapping a picture of the two of them. The tour guide offered to take a picture of them in front of the mountain and Dean pulled her into his side with his arm around her shoulders. Around two o’clock they came back to their hotel to relax before the glam squad came to make Raelyn into a real girl. They were sitting on the sofa at opposite ends watching a movie on tv. He would glance at her and when she would glance at him he’d turn his head quickly his cheeks turning pink.

Promptly at three o’clock Maxi and Drea came waltzing into the room like they owned the place. Maxi pushed Raelyn into the bedroom to start getting her ready while Drea fussed over Dean. His terrified face was the last image she saw as Maxi closed the doors. “So, when did you meet Mr. Dreamboat?” Raelyn loved Maxi but she was always nosey. “We meet a few months ago. He is just a friend and doing me a favor by escorting me to this event.” Maxi scoffed as she began to work on Raelyn’s hair. “You keep telling yourself that he’s just a friend, but from the few moments I saw you two in the same room he wants more.” Raelyn gave her a pointed look through the mirror and Maxi held her hands up, “Okay, okay I’m shutting up. I think I’m going to keep your hair simple tonight. A light curl at the ends and down with a longer swoop bang.” Raelyn smiled nodding as she sat back and enjoyed being pampered. Soon after Drea came in to do her make-up. “Your man in there is stubborn but I wore him down.” Raelyn smacked her forehead, “Oh jeez. First, he is not my man, he is just a friend. Secondly, what did you do to him Drea?” She chuckled as she started applying a light foundation on Raelyn’s face. “I did his hair and put some product in it. Really, I could have been worse but you would have thought I was killing him.” Raelyn was full on laughing now thinking of Dean putting up a fuss about having products in his hair. Drea always raved to Raelyn about her perfect skin and how she never had to use too much make-up on her to glam her up. “It’s women like you that put me out of business. Okay, now go slip into your dress.”

After a thousand compliments from the girls and a few touch ups. Raelyn stepped out of the bedroom ready to go. She looked around the living area to see where Dean was when he came walking in through the door. He stopped suddenly when his eyes landed on her and she stood motionless seeing him in a traditional tux. “Oh yeah they’re ‘just friends’.” Maxi and Drea said at the same time as Raelyn rolled her eyes at them. “Thank you for making me look like a girl. You can now leave to gossip all about me in your own room.” Raelyn said as Dean opened the door for them, “Goodnight ladies and uh, thanks for the hair gunk.” Drea winked at him as she passed him. Once they were alone in the hotel room an awkward tension started building between them. “I was going to pour myself a drink would you like one?” he asked as she nodded. She admired him as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The tux fit him perfectly showing off his muscular body but especially his broad shoulders. When Raelyn looked up to his hair she realized why Drea was so proud of herself. Raelyn had confided in them one time that she was a sucker for guys with a fauxhawk and she had styled Dean’s hair just as so. Dean handed her a glass and held his up, “To a night of shining a spotlight on an amazing woman.” Raelyn clinked her glass against his.

A limo was sent to pick them up and Dean acted like the perfect gentleman helping her get in and out of the limo, holding her clutch and hooking her arm in his. When they approached the red carpet a tall African-American man came up to them. “Damn Raelyn, you are going to knock the socks off of these reporters. You must be Dean. I’m Eric Collins, Raelyn’s agent.” The two men shook hands and Eric guided them to the beginning of the red carpet. “Dean, you’ll stick back here with me for a few minutes while she answers some questions and then get ready to be blind for about an hour after all the flashes.” Dean chuckled nervously but then smiled down at Raelyn, “Knock ‘em dead.” She smirked up at him and made her way through the reporter line. Raelyn answer questions about her current novel and teasing about her new novel coming out later in the year.

As she approached the last reporter she saw Dean waiting for her talking with Eric. “So, Raelyn, what do you feel is behind the success of the Supernatural series?” Raelyn smiled at the reporter and glanced over to Dean thinking of all the amazing and tragic events in his life. “I believe the series is successful because the characters are relatable. Even if monsters are not real the emotions and decisions Sam and Dean go through are relatable to everyone. They inspire people all around the world to always keep fighting and that they are never alone in their personal battles.” Raelyn thanked the reporter as she stepped over to Dean and they followed Eric to the photographers. Dean slipped his arm behind her with his hand resting on her hip as camera flashes started going off like crazy. They smiled and posed for a few minutes as people yelled to get their attention. Dean leaned down and whispered in her ear, “My cheeks are hurting and I really think I’m going blind.” Raelyn started giggling as they walked off the red carpet and into the venue. There was a check-in table where Eric gave them all their names then they were directed to a table with a bunch of masks. She picked a simple black one for Dean to wear making him sexier and more mysterious than he already was. There was a forest green mask with a feather on the side that she put on and when she faced Dean she watched him suck in a quick breath. She blushed and hooked her arm with his.

They mingled with a few of her acquaintances from the publishing company who handled her books. They sat at a table with Eric and a few others from the company and chatted as they ate an incredible steak dinner. Dean seem to easily chat with anyone which she admired. Suddenly, she felt a chill run down her spine as if she was being watched. She slowly glanced around not seeing anyone and she shrugged off the feeling. Once the dinner portion was over the President of the National Writers Association made a short speech and then a live band started playing while people danced. A few songs in they played a slow song and Dean stood up hold out his hand, “Care to dance with me?” Raelyn bit her bottom lip and nodded. He led her onto the dancefloor and put his hand on the small of back while he held her other hand slowly swaying them from side to side. “Don’t laugh but I never really danced with anyone before so I’m sorry if I step on your toes or something.” Raelyn chuckled, “You’re doing great Dean. Honestly, you blend right in with everyone as if you were more a part of this world than I am.” He rested his cheek against her ear pulling her closer to him. Raelyn could feel his body tense up slightly as he was about to say something when a gentleman tapped his shoulder.

“May I cut in? I’m a big fan of Miss Nichols.” The gentleman asked as Dean glanced down at her to see if it was okay. She shrugged and then nodded, “Take care of her because I’ll be back for her.” Dean said as he let the man cut in and walked off towards the bar. Raelyn looked up at the man seeing his light blue eyes shine through his lacey black mask. He seemed familiar to her and she was becoming more uncomfortable by the second in his arms. She looked around for Dean and could not see him anywhere. “He is preoccupied and won’t come to your rescue.” As soon as she heard his voice she began to tremble. She felt a piercing pain in her lower back as he pressed a sharp object against her. “Who are you?” she asked as he smiled down at her. Raelyn was starting to have the feeling a déjà vu rising in her. “Not yet, Raelyn. You’ll find out soon enough. You will watch your perfect world crumble and then you will feel the same as I have.”

She knew what was going to happen next, but she could not look away from his eyes. They flashed an electric blue then glossed over to pitch black. “This is all because of you, Raelyn. You are to blame for my life, for my decisions and ultimately for our deaths.” He seethed as he held her arm tightly. She could feel it starting to bruise leaving his hand print on her porcelain skin. “Stop it, please. What did I ever do to you?” she begged and she could feel his body tensing up with anger. “Everything. You did everything to me and I hate you.” He started to drag her towards an exit and no one around her was paying attention to her distress. She went to yell for Dean but the man put his large hand over her mouth, “Shh. This will all be over soon.” He dragged her out the exit door as she struggled against him. The next thing she felt was an intense pain across her face and then everything went black.

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @carryonmywaywardcaptain @rosethesupernaturalhunter @anotherwaywardsister @ladywinchester1967 @1967-essentialghoul @weirdoblogger69

#waywardnerd67 #Writing Your Story Series #chapter 6 #masquerade gala #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester x ofc raelyn #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean x ofc #dean x ofc raelyn #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural

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unholyhelbiglinked · 7 years ago

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For Better Or Worse | 002

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE BEGINNING HERE

A soft purring from the engine was the only sound between the two of us. The stranger’s breath was low as she gazed out the window. Every once and a while the yellow edge of passing headlights would sweep over the cab of the truck.

I had haphazardly thrown all the empty water bottles and candy wrappers into the backseat- all while she watched with a certain bit of entitlement in her gaze. Her hair was still falling into that stormy gaze of hers, jaw clenched as she breathed in carefully. Her fingers were wrapped around the dashboard as she steadied herself from the shaking leather seats. I would glance over every now and then, sometimes making an electrifying contact with hers.

I was silent, adjusting my grip on the leather wheel as a few drops of rain rushed against the double paned glass. It was blue near the edge of the seam, dirty from a couple weeks of not washing. It stormed too much here- I didn’t ever need to whip out a bucket and some soap. There was enough grime during the summer to warrant one, though.

“So, what brings you to Haven?” I asked, voice a bit tight as my stare averted to hers for a moment before I focused back on the road. “Other than a second-hand bookstore…”

She let out a thick sigh, one that filled the car as I cocked an eyebrow slightly, not bothering to send my attention that way. She ran her hand through her coarse hair. The edge of her blazer was pulling up slightly at her waistline. “Listen, I appreciate the ride and everything, but I’m not much for small talk.”

“Then what are you much for?” I asked with a slight scoff. “Picking out sensible outfits is clearly not it.”

I turned slightly onto the side street, it leads to town- a large stretch of trees and one-off rivers wound through the bark that was aged and peeling. The scent of wet soil always filled my lungs around this moment. It was nothing to be put off about- there were worse things to smell, and better things to experience.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, offense laced in her voice as she turned slightly in her seat. “And being ratty lumberjack is a better sense of style?”

“Better than an uptight flight attendant,” I mumbled under my breath. I knew she could hear me, there were only two of us here, a red glow from a traffic light in the middle of town shaded her face. It stretched her features and contorted them- like we were in a vape shop, or maybe even a one-off club. I had a deep smirk on my lips, knowing that I was riling her up as her mouth gaped open. “Or a realtor.”

“I have you know, I am one of the top sellers in my region.” She pointed a well-painted finger my way. I lifted my chin, a bit impressed. I didn’t realize that I was right on the nose with the second guess there. It didn’t’ quite explain what she was doing in our little town. She was too interesting to sell the old and rickety house at the end of the block.

“Well congratulations, Red.” I blew air from my nose. “That’s very impressive.”

“Was that sarcasm?” She scrunched her face up “Fish… person.”

“Fish person?” I laughed, the smile still fresh on my features. “No, that wasn’t sarcasm. That was a genuine compliment.”

The rain was falling in sheets now, the wipers rushing back and forth as run-off rushed against the side of the rough glass. Another set of dark headlights rushed past the two of us. She was silent, just listening to the dull soundtrack of the engine mingling with the rainfall.

“Well,” She squared her shoulders, sinking into the leather seat, those same jarring eyes softening a bit. “Thank you.”

Fabric from a soft pea coat pressed against the nave of my back, it’s stitching soaked as my breath stopped pooling in front of me. The weather in Haven was privy to change, it’s once humid morning would turn to cold and weary nights. Ones that kept me at bay when all I wanted to do was curl up and watch cheesy love flicks.

The girl that had just stormed out of my car was still on my mind. I didn’t know why- there was no reason. She was stuck up, smelling of fancy soap. Her collar was pressed with a hot iron, no wrinkles or flaws other than a bit of blood from the gashes on her hands.

I hated her. The way she seemed to turn her nose up at anyone who was less than her. I just didn’t know if it was breed or learned. Either way, it made my blood boil. The realtor was someone who knew Aubrey, apparently, and that was enough cause for curiosity.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” I started to pull the fleece scarf away from my throat. It was sopping wet, my hair damp as I swallowed roughly. “How is she?”

The girl that stood in front of me raked a hand through her hair- her white shirt stained with different things that I hoped was baby food. The rest of the daycare was empty, the lobby lit with a deep yellow glow as a blue one fused from a film that was playing in the other room. A musical sequence was bouncing off the walls.

“Bec’s you know I love you-“Stacie sounded out carefully, lifting her sore arms behind her head as she pulled the black hairband from her wrist. She seemed to do it with ease, tying the ponytail up as she lifted her chin slightly. “And I really don’t mind covering for you with my grandmother, but things got close tonight.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I willed “There was some girl at the docks, she needed help- and… you know what, it doesn’t matter. Just… thank you. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“You better,” She shoved my shoulder playfully, a dumb grin on her lips. “I don’t know how many times I can convince Grandma that I love Aladdin enough to rent the sing-along a few times a week.”

I scoffed, squeezing the bridge of my nose slightly. Stacie had been a life-saver these past few months. Addison was old enough to take care of herself, I knew she was. But it had been a rough year for everyone around town. I would never leave her alone, not like my mother used to do during long and taxing nights.

The six-year-old clung heavily to the door-frame, her eyes sleepy as she watched the two of us interact. She had a dazed look in her eyes- the very eyes that mimicked my dad’s. They were wise and caring, a deep chocolate brown that could melt your resolve.

Stacie handed me her coat as I knelt down, giving her a kind smile. “Hey, Addy,”

She smiled back, it was a cute an innocent gesture, her hands at her sides as I pulled her coat over her shoulders. She watched me in a careful silence as I zipped it up, fishing in her pockets for the gloves that I had to replace every couple of months. These were on their final leg- I was surprised she hadn’t lost them already.

The quiet was something I was used to. At first, we thought it was shocking. I didn’t want to speak after the fire either. Not for a long and crippling time. But after a couple of months, the stress of planning two funerals died down and the worry for my little sister kicked in. We had called speech therapists, had the long skype calls with specialists. Nothing changed. They said she would talk when she was ready.

I shouldn’t push it. I didn’t’ push it.

“Alright munchkin,” pulled on her collar, making sure that it was nice and fastened. It was. The pain of the day hit my muscles as I stood, keeping my hand outreached to her as she wrapped her fingers around mine. She was warm, the gloves scratchy, but bearable. “We gotta get some dinner in you.”

Stacie nodded softly as she made eye contact with the mousy-haired girl that clung to my side. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Addison.”

She nodded, sniffing at the cold that was biting at all of us. I mouthed another thank you before walking towards the car. At one point, my kid sister was dragging me behind her. I laughed slightly, letting her do it as she crawled into the backseat of my truck- crunching over the water bottles and paper bags. She gave me an odd look as I started the car. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m a mess, Add’s, we know this.”

She giggled, the only sound I ever got a chance to hear from her, aside from crying. It was two opposite ends of the spectrum, but I loved her through every inch of it. The custody battle was a rough and unrelenting one- but at this point, I didn’t care. I knew I would die for her.

“So,” I looked into my mirror as I started the car. “I was thinking, we could have Amy whip us up some of her famous grilled cheeses.”

The little girl in the backseat lit up, lifting her shoulders as she drew in a breath. I narrowed my eyes with a sly smirk. Again, she said nothing, but I knew the different signs, the way to read her like no one else. “Oh, right, so that’s a no then? You want fish sticks again?”

She knit her eyebrows together in disdain as I chuckled, putting the car in drive. “Alright then, grilled cheese it is.”

[A/N: I would say this is a filler chapter but it’s not, I have to bring some backstory!]

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #fanfiction

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falloutforties · 4 years ago

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Five Years {Chapter Three}

Description: It’s another kind of filler chapter, because I’m a sucker for travel tales. Nora makes her way to Goodneighbor, not without complications. Deacon is in this chapter, if you squint.

Warnings: Language and a bit of violence.

Note from the Author: I personally like it when authors post songs that accompany a chapter, or songs that they listened to while writing a specific scene. Some that inspired my writing/editing of this chapter are: Collapsible Lung by Relient K; Oh My God by Kaiser Chiefs; Younger by The Mountain Goats. I know some people have seen this story on ao3, but I don’t know if anyone has seen it here yet. If you’re passing by and want to read it, I hope you enjoy!!

III. WASTELAND CHIC

200 years in cryogenic storage had not done wonders for her figure, and she assumed that the radiated food of the wasteland was not going to do anything for her either, but at least her butt looked somewhat nice in the vault suit she still wore. She had barely had time to check herself out in the shattered remains of a bathroom mirror before a swarm of Radroaches piled in through the broken window. She cursed and pulled out her baseball bat.

It was a rusty metal bat, one she’d found in someone’s quondam backyard and wrapped with an old chain-link fence, and it was horrifyingly coated with fluorescent blood, but it was effective, and she had developed a kind of affection for it. She had even started to refer to it as Honey.

She had started her day off right with a delicious meal of roasted roach and a bottle of flat Nuka-Cola.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day! If you want to be a Terror of the Wasteland, you have to eat like a Terror of the Wasteland!

She longed for a proper bowl of Sugar Bombs, with or without the added Communism and subsequent commentary from her…late husband. She would have eaten a raw box of Blamco Mac & Cheese at that point. In fact, the steady crunch of the raw shells might have been a comfort to her.

But the wasteland was unforgiving, and the spit roast she’d restored behind the Red Rocket Truck Stop would have to suffice. Dogmeat seemed to enjoy a nice roasted roach, at least. When she had set out from Sanctuary Hills, the dog had followed right on her heels, his tongue hanging out and his eyes too big and wide for her to say no.

And she had to admit that a life on the road didn’t sound half-bad, especially with a pup at her heels, biting the ankles of mole rats and raiders alike.

They could’ve made a radio show about me, she thought with amusement. The Lone Wanderer: stalking the wastelands with her trusty sidekick! Or… maybe I’m the sidekick.

Preston Garvey had assured her that she was welcome to stay in Sanctuary, and that she could live on the settlement under the protection of the Minutemen, but as soon as she felt the pang in her heart that told her to find Shaun, she had to refuse the promise of safety. She knew now that she couldn’t settle down until she had found her child. Her child.

Before, it had always been the child. It could have been any child sleeping in the back room of her house, and it would have unnerved her just the same, but now it was Shaun. It was the tiny little thing that had listened to her ramble endlessly about her troubles and had never once judged her. It was the little human whose small, puffy hands had gripped her hair to pull her closer.

She still wasn’t a fan of babies in general, but Shaun— Shaun didn’t seem so bad.

Nora hadn’t even known where to start looking for him until the old lady with the drug problem had given her a prophecy.

“How did you know where to look for your baby?” “Oh, the old lady with the drug problem gave me a prophecy.”

She recognized that her methodology was not scientifically viable, but it was something to go on, and the world had already proven to her that it was sufficiently fucked up enough for her to trust an old woman with a drug problem who gave her a prophecy.

Diamond City.

Where that was or how she was supposed to get there, she had no idea. All she had was the meager voice of the Diamond City Radio host who stuttered through her pip-boy as she slung her bag over her shoulder and set off on the road past Concord. She quite liked the guy. He had a real genuine way about him— not like the pre-war radio hosts, or the newscasters. Chip Harris from Channel 5 News Hour would have laughed at the Diamond City guy, but Chip Harris from Channel 5 News Hour didn’t survive the nuclear apocalypse, so he wasn’t in a position to criticize anyone.

“So… someone told me… which, I know is not a great— a great news source,” the man said, his voice pitching wildly like a pre-pubescent boy. “But. Somebody told me that… someone else saw someone… a person… an alive person… coming out of that vault up north. Vault 11? Vault 111? Something like that. Anyway, here’s Billie Holiday.”

She smiled to herself. Perhaps she should have been shocked to hear herself mentioned on the radio, but she reveled in the idea that someone had seen her, watched her stumble like a newborn deer in the wasteland sunlight, and thought she was news-worthy.

She had gained a new skill, one possibly more useful in her current situation than her unusual prescience, which was the ability to rob corpses. She didn’t like that she had acquired that skill, nor did she particularly wish to brag about it, but it certainly had helped, as she now wore arm bands, leg guards, and a chest wrap made from sturdy leather. They reeked of someone else’s blood until she had washed them in the creek and let them soak in the sun, though they still didn’t smell particularly good.

Tucked tight in the strap of her chest piece were a few fresh stimpaks, bought from a trader she had met just off the Sanctuary bridge.

“You might need these,” he had said jovially, not reacting to the confused expression she gave him. “The world isn’t like it used to be.”

She had watched him walk over the bridge behind her, his bald head bobbing from side to side as he whistled a tune.

The world wasn’t like it used to be. It was stronger.

Before the war, the world had been a fragile, cowering thing. Planet Earth was shriveled like a frightened child in the corner as its children raged on, sewing the ground with their vile progress. She saw the world in the vibrant colors of her neighborhood— the powdery blues of her house, the bright yellow cardigan she wore over her finely-pressed green linen dress. Every house in Sanctuary was painted bright. There was no disguising the neighborhood, there was no attempt at maintaining the natural appearance of the creek below. The world belonged to the humans.

Now, she saw the world in the creeping roots that shattered the roadways, spindling outwards towards the woods. Sanctuary Hills was now hidden away by the gangly trees that sheltered its broken thatched roofs. The creek had branched into two tributaries which ran parallel to the little neighborhood. She felt rejuvenated by it, felt that if the earth could experience such a grand rebirth, she could too.

The world wasn’t like it used to be, and neither was she.

She was thriving.

Her pip-boy chirped and crackled as she wandered closer to the city that had been looming in the distance. She wasn’t quite sure where she was— her map was no good for determining places she had never been, and she had never quite been good with directions.

A man’s voice sputtered through the tiny speaker, “Calling all Silver Shroud fans! Calling all Silver Shroud fans!” And she laughed at the excited announcement. Silver Shroud fans? In this day and age? It seemed impossible, but obviously, there was someone out there who held tight to such pre-war luxuries.

When evil walks the streets of Boston, one man lurks in the shadows…

The croon of the silver-throated narrator played perfectly in her head as if she had just heard it that very morning. Nate hadn’t liked the Shroud— something about the dangers of vigilante justice— but she had listened to it, almost out of spite. She imagined the Silver Shroud breaking through their paneled front windows, spilling silvery glass all over the pristine living room carpet, and pointing one long, gloved finger towards Nate, saying, “Stop being a dick to your wife, you fiend!”

“Come to the Memory Den in Goodneighbor!”

Nora didn’t know what a memory den was, and she didn’t know where Goodneighbor was, but it all sounded quite nice.

“Any place called Goodneighbor has to be good news, right?” She asked Dogmeat. He let out a sharp ruff in response, and she took that as a yes. “Goodneighbor. Next stop, Goodneighbor.”

She liked the sound of it on her tongue, so she said it aloud a few more times. It was certainly more fascinating than Sanctuary Hills or Westing Estate or any of the other quaint little pre-war neighborhoods she had visited in her previous life. Goodneighbor was a city that advertised its greatest assets, and she could picture it in her mind. A plucky little town full of kind faces, good folks sweeping the streets and helping the needy.

She never would have expected what she found in Goodneighbor, nor the batshit insanity that now roamed the streets of Boston, lurking in the shadows of abandoned buildings and fronting in the middle of the road brandishing pistols. The Silver Shroud was nowhere to be seen, but there was evil, walking the streets of Boston, just like the narrator said.

Nora ducked as the thing swiped a huge green arm above her head, nearly knocking it right off her neck like a golfball from a tee. The lumbering mass of human-like features had spotted her creeping down a side-street and decided that it was going to, presumably, eat her. She had no idea of its intentions, aside from violently smashing her to bits, as the thing repeatedly warned her.

“SMASH YOUR BRAINS!” It screamed as it lunged for her head once again. She pulled the 10mm from her waistband and backed away, trying to assert some distance before the thing could smack her again. It had already landed one hit to her shoulder, and the stinging was getting worse by the second.

She tried to fire a round of shots into the thing’s chest, but the 10mm she had scavenged from the bowels of Vault 111 was clicky and rusted, only allowing her about a 50% chance of producing a bullet. Luckily for her, she also had a 50% chance of living through the day.

The Big Green Bastard wouldn’t kill her, but she didn’t like the idea of being maimed, either, and she was almost sure that something in her body was already broken.

When she finally produced a shot, the piercing bang rang out through the street, and she suddenly worried that the sound would alert other enemies to her presence in the alleyway.

What if a thousand more of these Big Green Bastards come pouring in, all of them trying to SMASH MY BRAINS?

She didn’t have time to fully assess the concern, as a fat splintering board was now soaring towards her skull at an alarming rate. She hunched over into a ball and, for lack of a better term, rolled out of the way. She had never once heard of the Silver Shroud doing something that asinine to escape an attacker. The Silver Shroud would have pulled out his trusty machine gun and mowed the Green Bastards down.

But, then again, the Silver Shroud did not have to deal with Big Green Bastards.

With a heaving grunt, Nora planted a hit on the side of the thing’s head with Honey, and it made a splattering thwacking sound. Green skin and horrifically human red guts spattered the alley’s brick wall behind where the thing now lay unmoving.

Nora had learned not to assume that anything unmoving was dead. Even though the thing’s skull was split wide open with a cracking cavern growing on its right side, she couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t shove the other half of its skull back into place with one huge, meaty hand and continue thrusting towards her.

“Holy shit, Dogmeat,” she whispered to the pup who now lay exhausted by her feet. Despite her better judgement, she crossed her legs beneath her and sat on the dusty ground, absentmindedly scratching the space between his ears. “You ever seen one of those things? That’s not fun. That’s not the way I wanted to spend my afternoon.”

Dogmeat whined and rested his head down onto his crossed paws. Nora hummed in affirmation. The two would have to find Goodneighbor by night, because if they didn’t, she was positive that she wouldn’t wake up the next morning. Her shoulder burned awfully now that she was resting. The adrenaline of the fight had kept her pain receptors muted, but now they flared violently enough to blur her vision. As much as she didn’t want to stand, she knew she had to move on.

Her legs creaked as she stood, tugging Dogmeat by the neat red bandana she had tied around his neck, signaling that it was time to go. He whined but complied, his eyes watching the waning sun burn blood orange across the Boston skyline as if he too knew what it meant.

Goodneighbor was close, she was sure of it. She could see in the distance a flickering neon sign that flashed a dazed purple over the top of a brick wall.

Goodneighbor. The Memory Den. The Silver Shroud.

She repeated the mantra over and over until it became her only lingering thought, like Dorothy stumbling through the woods, arm in arm with her ragtag group of friends. Lions and Tigers and Bears. Oh My!

Goodneighbor. The Memory Den. The Silver Shroud.

Goodneighbor.

The Memory Den.

The Silver Shroud.

#deacon x sole survivor #that's the only tag i'm putting for now #bc i can't keep track of more than one tag ;)

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huntertales · 7 years ago

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Part One: You Can’t Outrun Your Past. (Exile On Main Street S06E01)

Episode Summary: After Dean gives up hunting, Sam and the reader are mysteriously freed from his cage in hell. Sam finds Dean to tell him he must rejoin the fight. The reader, however, is hesitant to agree with the plan after seeing the life the man has made for himself. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,568.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

“And thank God this is before Facebook, right? Because it’d be me and that goat...all over the internet.”

A soft chuckle escaped Dean’s mouth at hearing an embarrassing story about his neighbor Sid’s college experience that involved stealing a goat mascot and a night of drinking which resulted in some pictures he’d found while cleaning the garage one afternoon. He’d gotten annoyed of hearing his wife nag him for months about doing the task, so he did it. And stumbled upon a gold mine of old memories from his past that that made for a funny conversation.

Both men enjoyed their routine they had once started after Dean got himself nestled in the Braden household. What turned into a friendly welcome to the neighborhood had turned into a weekly thing. Sid bought the beer, Dean gave the man an excuse to spend some quality time away from his loving wife. Dean’s eyes wandered away from the warm scenery of the bar and to the ring on the man’s finger. It never quite dawned on him that might be him a few down the road. Things had been going well with Lisa, perhaps he should start talking about marriage. It seemed like the normal kind of thing to do. It wasn’t like he was planning on leaving anytime soon. And Lisa had put up so much with him.

“Don’t get me wrong, right? No complaints. But if you’d have said to me, ‘Hey, you—fifteen years from now? Suburbia.’” Sid said, another chuckle coming out at how his life had turned out from his years prior. He was a happily married man, but if Dean got him drunk enough, the times of what was once before would start coming out. Dean agreed with the man on all levels as he took another sip of his beer. If someone told him a year and half ago he'd be in a place like this with a kid and girlfriend at home, the man would probably laugh and continue on with whatever sort of stupid plan he had in mind to stop the end of the world. But things change for the better. Or so he told himself. "So, you've traveled around a lot, huh?"

“Yeah, my whole life, pretty much.” Dean answered the man's question, leaving it up to the vague response. The Winchester didn't talk about much of himself, just giving the right amount of information to noisy neighbors and Lisa's sister. Who gave him the third degree when the both of them were introduced. But he won her over quickly after seeing how he was with Ben and treated Lisa. Mostly everyone liked the mysterious and charming personality Dean played, but he'd mostly been in contact with housewives friends of Lisa's, their husbands could have given a crap less of who Dean was. Some were bummed a woman like Lisa was taken off the market, but there were a few that were genuinely curious to find out who Dean really was. Sid raised his brow as he stared at the man, hoping he would elaborate more. “I don’t know.”

“Come on. You—What, you moved in, what, about a year ago?” Sid asked, trying to remember exactly the time the man came rolling in with the classic car that he’d never seen before. The Impala happened to have been the first conversation the two men shared, and everything sort of had take on a life of its own from there. Dean shrugged his shoulders and agreed with the time frame, taking yet another sip of his beer. “So I been buying you a beer for a year. And I think that means you owe me a couple of gory details.”

“Oh, no. There’s not much to tell, you know? It’s uh...I lived on the road, took, uh, crap jobs that nobody else wanted.” Dean said. There was always some truth to what he told people. Most of the information didn’t strike many people as interesting. However, Sid nodded his head, urging the man to continue on. “Like...pest control.”

“Really?” Sid wondered. “Pest control?”

"Yeah. You get to work with a partner. Luckily I got two. My little brother and...a really good friend of ours. We got to help people. And you have no idea what's in some people's walls. It could eat 'em alive. You could say it was like a family business. Our dad left it to us. Thought it'd be only fair to keep it going." Dean said, giving more detail to the story than he planned. Sid listened to what the man said with curiosity, and, of course, winced at the people eating part. His mind had pictured terrifying bugs. The Winchester, however, was talking about nasty things like rougarus and ghouls. "'Course, that was then. And now..."

"You're practically respectable." Sid remarked as he grabbed his half-empty beer and pointed his index finger at the man. Dean scoffed and looked down at the table for a moment. A small silence crossed the both of them as they finished their drinks and the conversation began to die, signaling the night was about to wrap up. Dean reached out a hand to finish his own drink. Before the neck of the bottle could touch his mouth, the man found his gaze lingering back over to Sid when he was asked a question that he should have been prepared for after letting some information that he shouldn’t have slip. “So, what happened?”

Dean furrowed his brow slightly, unsure of what the man was asking. "What?"

"What happened to your brother and friend? You've never mentioned them before. Hell," Sid leaned back in his seat as he narrowed his eyes on the man. It was the type of expression that was more out of wonder for what kind of other things Dean wouldn't tell him. "You're like a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. You don't like talking about yourself, huh?"

"I really don't like to focus on the past. What's the point if you can't change it?" Dean muttered underneath his breath, swallowing down the lump in his throat that he could start to settle. Sid nodded his head slowly in agreement, knowing there was something in the man's eyes that was painful and far too personal to tell. But Dean, however, decided to be kind and satisfy the man's curiosity to keep him from asking again. "They passed away about a year ago. Car accident.”

“Oh.” Sid’s face fell in surprise at what he heard, not knowing that it was far from the truth. He suddenly felt guilty at prying into such a touchy subject. "I'm sorry for asking, man."

Dean shrugged his shoulders at the circumstances that he was dealt with and took another sip of his drink. Things happen, and he couldn't go back. While he lost two people, he gained a whole other life that was like a dream come true. Sid was a bit of a boring character, but he grown to enjoy the man's company, he could even see a bit of Sam in him. The man placed his bar down on the table just as the waitress that had been helping them all night walked over to place down the bill. She was young and pretty, with a smile that was mesmerizing. She gave Sid a smile as she placed her hand on Dean's forearm, letting her fingers graze across his skin before walking away to tend to her other table.

If it was four years ago, Dean might have tried something. Instead he ignored her attempts at flirting as he gave her a smile and grabbed the receipt from the table. "I think she likes you." Sid remarked, his eyes watching as she walked away, enjoying the sight of her uniform of a tank top and Daisy Duke shorts. He was married, but it didn't mean he was going to stop himself from enjoying a view. The man looked over at the bill to see how much it come to, but his eyes wandered to the phone number that was scribbled down with a smiley face and the waitress' number. However, Sid knew it wasn't for him. "What is it with you?! Like, every time!"

“It’s like chicks specifically dig unavailable guys.” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders at the young woman’s attempt at getting something that had been off the market for quite a while now. He ripped up the receipt into tiny pieces and stuffed it into the beer bottle. “Who knew.”

The night wrapped up shortly after Sid finished his beer and got a text from his wife, who began to wonder what time he was going to be home. Dean followed behind as the both men exited the bar and headed into the quiet town streets to see that not many people were around for a Friday night. Saying their usual goodbyes, Dean headed to his pickup truck as Sid made his way across the street to his prius. As he pulled the keys out from his pocket to unlock the door, Dean felt his blood stop cold when he heard a noise that sounded like a woman’s scream.

Dean could feel the hair on his neck stand up as the sound echoed through his ears, making his heart beat pound just slightly faster in his chest. Like how any normal human being would have reacted to the noise. However, the man found his reaction lingering far beyond normal when he unlocked the truck and didn't drive away, pretending that he heard nothing. He reached inside the glove compartment and pulled out something he hadn’t touched in a very long time. Tucking it away into the safety of his jacket, Dean grabbed a flashlight and headed into the building that was abandoned by any construction workers at this time of night. Call it a bad habit, Dean called it caution, thinking it couldn’t hurt to take a sweep of the place. Just in case.

Dean stepped inside the building and walked around until he found a staircase that lead upwards. While downstairs seemed quiet, the man's head snapped forward when he heard a thump coming from upstairs followed by the shuffling of feet. Maybe it was a bunch of teenagers poking around someplace they shouldn't have been...Maybe it was a monster about to attack some innocent woman. Dean's grip around the flashlight tightened as he descended up the staircase and heard the noises only continue. As he began to make his way to the plastic tarp that covered another part of the hallway that appeared to be under construction, shuffles of feet could he heard coming from just down the hall again, making Dean stop dead in his tracks and turn around, wondering if there was someone behind him.

But he was alone. Dean quickly looked over at the tarp again when the plastic began to rustle, making him wonder if someone was trying to play some sort of trick on him. The quiet breeze could be blamed. But the man wasn’t going to take any chance. Drawing his gun back up, Dean made his way forward, prepared for anything that might come out at him. He quickly pushed back the tarp and quickly got ready to aim, but there was nobody there, except for another long hallway. Dean didn’t put his guard down as he took a step forward. But a noise coming from behind made him look over his shoulder, before looking back in front of him when the noise jumped to the front of him. The man stopped for a moment, not sure what to do. Moments like this...he would have done anything for some backup. But he was alone.

Dean couldn’t just leave yet. He decided to explore around the place a bit before deciding to call it quits. The man continued on his journey down yet another hallway to a tattered looking tarp. One more look, he reasoned with himself. He made it this far. There was no turning back now. He took a step forward to the tarp and quickly pushed it out of his way, prepared for whatever that might try to make a move, but what he came in contact with was something that caught him off guard.

The man felt himself stumbling backwards when he came into contact with a pigeon. The stupid bird startled him when it went flying directly into his face before moving its direction somewhere else. Dean composed himself and tried to brush off the incident that lead him here to just a damn animal that brought him here. But he couldn’t leave just yet. One more level of this place and then Dean would leave this place and pretend that this night never happened.

He made his way to the third and final level of the building. and looked down at every hallway and plastic tarp to see the place had grow eerily quiet. Dean stood at the staircase, unsure of how he should have felt about his findings. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him again after a familiar pair of names were brought up. Or maybe there was something going on here. Dean happened to move his flashlight around at the perfect spot to see something that seemed like it wasn't left by the construction crew. His hand reached out and touched the four scratch marks on the wall, it would have taken an idiot not to realize that it was human. And the bloody handprint just around the corner made Dean realize something was going on here.

+ + +

“And no one’s called about a missing person? No, this would have been today.” Dean returned home an hour after he promised and pretended like nothing happened. He blamed his absence by saying that him and Sid got talking about old times, time slipped by. Lisa didn’t seem all too worried as she smiled at him, happy that he had a good boys night out like always. The evening went on like normal. Dean enjoyed his usual glass of scotch, but instead of watching the news, he sat in the den, talking to a local officer about what he’d seen tonight with a few browsers open on the computer to try and satisfy this hunch that wouldn’t leave him. “So no reports of anything around Wineland and Oak street, near that hotel renovation? Uh, call it a hunch. I’ve been a cop a long time.”

Dean leaned back in the computer seat as he grabbed his glass to take a drink, becoming a little bit frustrated at the lack of findings that he was having. He wasn’t a stranger to research. But he always left it to you and his little brother. Both of you could find just about anything. Dean looked away from the computer screen when he heard footsteps treading across the hallway. Lisa wandered downstairs from the bedroom. She gave him a smile as she wrapped her light blue robe over her body, curious to see what was going on here. Dean quickly clicked out of all the tabs and wrapped up the call, pretending to act like he was getting off with a friend.

“Who was that?” Lisa wondered as she leaned herself against the doorframe.

“Sid. I’m just setting up a poker game.” Dean answered, reaching for his glass again. He hated lying to her, but it was partially the truth. They had talked about setting up a game with a few of Sid’s friends after Dean mentioned that he had played a bit in the past. Lisa narrowed her eyes on the man as she gave him a bit of a smirk, making a remark that it was eleven thirty at night, way past their usual bedtime. Dean pretended to be shocked at the news as he looked down at the clock on the computer’s taskbar. “Is it really? Well, that explains why he was asleep when I called. I’ll be right up.”

Lisa gave the man a bit of a worried look for a moment from how the way he was acting before she slowly nodded her head, agreeing with the plan. He watched as she headed back upstairs and went back to bed, waiting for him there. Dean finished his drink and continued on with his nightly routine like normal. Except for this time when he looked out the windows, he cautiously eyed the dark and quiet streets, as if he was waiting for an unfamiliar face to pop out from one of the manicured bushes. But nobody was there. Dean’s final step for the night was locking the front door. And making sure the devil’s trap he painted on the hardwood floors one afternoon while Lisa and Ben were out was still in tact. Dean let out a sigh and dropped the mat back to the floor, making sure it was covered, not only for caution, but for Lisa not to find out what he’d done to her new floors.

+ + +

The next morning arrived and came like normal. Dean tried to pretend what happened last night as if it never happened as he went on his way to work, driving down the same road that he had been for the past several months. As he slowed down to a stop, Dean tapped his thumb against the steering wheel, trying to kill some time as a car passed him by. He watched as they descended down the road, giving him the right away to continue on like normal. But before his foot shifted off the breaks and to the gas pedal, Dean found his gaze lingering on a tree. It would have been any other one that he’d seen a million times before. Yet, there was something about it that brought him back to the night before, the scratch marks.

Dean should have ignored it. There was nothing strange going on in town, there was no logical explanation for what he saw in the hotel or the bloody handprint. He was out. If there really was something going on, he could have called up one of his old hunting buddies and have them check it out. But...it wouldn't have hurt to take a quick look. If he was a few minutes late to work, so be it. Dean knew there was no way he could let his mind rest until he figured out what the hell was going on here.

Stepping out of the car, Dean prepared himself by grabbing his gun again, but making sure to keep it tucked in the back of his jeans. He inhaled a deep breath as he took a moment to inspect the scratch marks that had been dug deep into the wood, making him realize that a human couldn't have done this. Dean noticed that the way lead him to a quiet house with nobody around or a car in the driveway. He decided to check out the property, knowing it couldn't hurt. If someone happen to catch him, the man was good at thinking up a lie quick on his feet. Dean headed into the yard, noticing that someone was making use of this sunny morning with their lawn out to dry in the sunshine. But what had Dean furrowing his brow was at the bed sheets that blew in the wind, with four rips in the sheets like looked an awful like the ones he’d been seeing around town.

Dean pushed the sheet out of the way and continued on walking further onto the property to see what else he could inspect. While nothing seemed out of the ordinary, Dean noticed a shed just up on the way, and again, he spotted those four claw marks on the door. Along with a strange rattling that came from inside. Dean stopped dead in his tracks, unsure of what could have made the noise. Out of caution, he pulled out his weapon, getting himself prepared for whatever was hiding behind the door. There was no way that son of a bitch was getting from him again. Dean could hear the sounds of what seemed like a dog snorting, making him wonder the worst, but it explained the scratch marks. He inhaled a deep breath as he reached out his hand to open the door, preparing himself for the worst.

And the worst came in the size of a small dog, a yorkie terrier. Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion when he realized the terrifying monster that he was expecting wasn't one at all. The dog tilted its head to the side as it left out a bark, all before running out, heading for the porch steps to distance itself from the madman holding a gun to it.

“Dean! Is that a gun?”

"No, no. Yeah." Dean quickly looked forward to see that it was Sid, standing on the sidewalk with a confused expression of his own while he did his usual morning run. He didn't expect to see his neighbor holding a loaded weapon, let alone, at a dog. Dean quickly put it away as he let out a nervous chuckle from the situation that he was caught in. "Well, it's—I got a permit for it."

“What, to shoot the Glickman's’ dog?” Sid asked with a bit of confusion.

“I thought that was a possum.” Dean managed to get out an excuse as he let out a laugh, trying to pretend this incidence was all about some accidental mishap. “Remember when I said I was in pest control? Well, possums carry rabies, so…”

Dean pretended to shoot a gun as he made a noise to make a point, Sid slowly nodded his head, but the man still wasn't the least bit convinced. However, to keep things from being awkward, he acted surprised at what he heard. "I did not know that."

The Winchester nodded his head as he tried to warn the man about the dangers of possums. However, when the man glanced down to the concrete floor, he spotted something that made his stomach tighten in discomfort. Dean crouched down as he reached out a finger to touch the pale yellow powder that looked awfully familiar. And with one whiff of the rotten egg smell, the man knew right away what it was—sulfur. The man gave a quick goodbye before he left his neighbor confused at what had unfolded right in front of his very eyes. Dean, however, had more important things to worry about.

+ + +

Dean's first stop was the garage after coming home. He took advantage of the empty house to grab what sort of itials he might need, from a place that he hadn’t touched since putting her away. The Impala had been kept hidden underneath a sheet since he put hunting out of the back of his mind. Not only were there too many sacred memories, he couldn’t sit in the car without seeing your dead body in the backseat. Or even the time when Sam passed away to what felt like a lifetime ago. But he wasn’t taking the car out for a spin. Dean grabbed a gym bag from one of the shelves, letting a soccer ball Ben rarely used fall to the floor and headed to the trunk where all of Dean’s unused weapons had been collecting dust. Today a few of them were coming out to play.

He grabbed what he thought might be needed; shotgun, salt rounds, another gun, holy water, the works for taking down a nasty demon that was playing games with him. Dean might have retired from hunting, but it didn't mean that he was going to let those sons of bitches toy with him. Dean stopped for a moment when he heard the sounds of a car door closing and familiar footsteps come to the garage. He finished packing what he needed as Lisa headed inside, wondering what sort of things the man was up to. She was greeted with the sight of Dean searching, not for weapons out of the trunk of a car she never got the opportunity to ride around in, but the man poking around in the tool box. Lisa gave him a bit of a worried look, he greeted her with a smile as he lifted up the hammer that he had been looking for. She gave him a smile, happy to see that he accomplished what he needed, but she wasn’t here for that.

“So, I just ran into Sid.” Lisa started off the conversation. Dean’s smile grew even wider as he tried to pretend that he had no idea what she was talking about. She gave him a bit of a pained expression at the awkward encounter she had herself with their neighbor. “Did you almost shoot a yorkie?”

“Technically.” Dean agreed with the woman.

“What’s going on?” LIsa asked the man, hopeful she would be given an honest answer. Dean, however, brushed off the incident as nothing. “How come I don’t believe you?”

Dean let out a quiet sigh, knowing the woman had grew to take notice of his habits. "I just—I, uh, I go this—I don't know, spidey sense." He explained to her, trying to give it in terms that wouldn't scare her. Lisa asked him straight out if he was hunting something, showing the least bit of fear in her calm expression. "Uh, at first, I thought that I was. But I'm pretty sure that I got worked up over nothing. It's, uh, you know...it happens."

“Are you sure?” She wondered.

"I'll tell you what—just because, you know, I have OCD about this, why don't, uh, why don't you and Ben go to the movies, hit the Cheesecake Factory—you know, hang out with the teeming masses, and I'll just do one last sweep just to be a hundred percent." Dean suggested a plan that would put the both of them a piece of mind. Lisa nodded her head in agreement, but, like always, she warned him to be careful. The man gave her a quiet laugh and a reassuring smile for what he was about to do. “Careful is my middle name.”

Lisa gave him a smile before she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away. Dean watched as a worried expression crossed her face one more time from how she was leaving him. However, Lisa went on her way, rounding up her son before heading out for the afternoon, leaving her boyfriend to do some dirty work she wished wouldn’t have come back. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

+ + +

Dean had a few select things that he kept hidden away that he always kept in reach, never knowing when he was going to need it next. He pulled out a heavy and worn down looking chest and settled it down to the ground, pulling out items that he hadn't seen in a very long time. The first thing that greeted him was the beaten leather jacket that had seen better days, and he wasn't talking about the worn down look. He held it for a few moments before pushing it aside, grabbing his father's journal, knowing that's what he wanted. If he needed to find any sort of answers to what was going on, this always helped him in desperate times. He opened it up and began to skim the pages he happened to open up to. But his light source seemed to not be all that reliable for a moment.

The man’s eyes wandered upwards when he noticed the single light bulb illuminating the garage began to flicker on and off. Dean narrowed his eyes. He changed it just last week. And it only proved something was going on here. He slowly placed the journal back down and exchanged it for the loaded shotgun as he pushed himself to his feet, get ready for whatever demon that wanted to mess with him. His eyes wandered over to the covered Impala when a quiet thud came from the other side. Dean didn’t hesitate when he began to slowly walk over, getting himself ready for whatever was trying to play games with him. But it seemed that it wasn’t done just yet. Dean stopped in his tracks when he heard a noise coming from across the garage. His focus only lasted a moment, all before he was looking back at the direction of the Impala.

Dean watched as the soccer ball that had rolled into a corner of the garage began to slowly roll back out into the open. The man didn’t hesitate when he began to walk quietly over, drawing out his gun and pointed it at whatever creature that was hiding. But when he jumped and got ready to aim and fire, Dean stopped. There was nobody there. The man furrowed his brow, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him, or if someone really was here, messing with him. Dean turned around to try and take a sweep of the garage to see if he could find the culprit, but he didn’t need to. The person was standing right behind him to greet the man with a toothy grin.

Those eyes...those glowing yellow eyes. Dean could feel a shiver run down his spine at seeing an old face that he thought would never see again. “Hiya, Dean. Look what the apocalypse shook loose.” The demon let out a throaty laugh at seeing the man’s reaction from seeing a familiar face that he sure wasn’t expecting to see so soon. “You have fun sniffing that trail? ‘Cause I sure had fun patting you around.”

“You can’t be…” Dean began to back away slowly, thinking what he was witnessing was some kind of hallucination his mind was playing on him.

“Oh, sure I can!” Azazel said. Dean muttered a no. He killed the demon with the colt. Nothing that had been touched with Ruby’s knife or the colt itself worked like a charm. It killed whatever sort of creature it came across. Well...mostly everything. “Yeah, kiddo. The big daddy brought your pal Cas back, right? So why not me? Add a little spice to all that sugar.” Yellow Eyes was about to let out a laugh, but before he could, Dean didn’t hesitate a single moment longer when he made use of the weapon still in his hands. He pulled the trigger, expecting the salt round to work, but Azazel only looked down, a little bit annoyed at what just happened. “Really? After all we’ve been through together?”

The demon knocked the weapon out of the man’s hands and roughly grabbed him by the throat, easily lifting him up from the ground. “You know, you got a great little life here. Pretty lady—real understanding. Hell of a kid. I mean, I always thought you’d grow some balls and get with Y/N...Oh wait. She’s dead. How does it feel to know that she’s trapped in the cage with your baby brother? No saving them now. Just like Lisa and poor, poor Ben. I mean, come on, Dean, you've never been what I'd call brainy, but did you really think you were gonna get to keep all of this? You had to know that we were coming for you sometime, pal. Too bad...I kinda wished they were still around. It's always been a dream of mine to waste you and make them watch." The demon turned around and slammed Dean against the wall, squeezing the man’s neck harder to cut off his air circulation even more. “You can’t outrun your past.”

Dean could feel the grip around his throat tighten as his eyesight was growing hazy, the lack of oxygen starting to affect him. Azazel's smile grew even wider as he watched the man become on the brink of unconsciousness. But the demon seemed to have vanished like a cloud of smoke. His grip around his throat changed into a sudden stabbing pain. Dean's eyes widen when he inhaled a deep breath, feeling himself suddenly come out from a mindset that left him feeling not quite like himself. He quickly looked over at the stranger standing in his garage, and began to wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him again.

The smile that greeted him every morning was right in front of his face again. Dean furrowed his brow as he stared at a female face that didn’t look like Lisa, or anyone that was supposed to be alive. He could hear other footsteps across the floor, making him look away, and to another person that was supposed to be dead. The both of you were supposed to be dead.

“Good. You found him.”

"Yeah...and just in time."

Dean didn't hear anymore of this conversation when he stared at two people that looked an awful like you and his little brother, Sam. He opened his mouth as he reached out his arm, not sure what he was doing, until his hand touched the softness of your cheek. A painful smile spread across your lips as you pressed your small, soft hand against his. You were about to speak his name to greet the man, but before you did, you quickly stepped out of the way, wincing when Dean fell flat on his face on the hard concrete.

[Next Part]

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soulofsundae · 7 years ago

Text

Ablation

“One of my brothers died today…” his voice was disturbingly calm, “The other tried to kill me.”

Egrid sat in the back of his shop; on the table before him ice seemed to crystallise from the air itself and move according to his hands. His eyes were half-lidded as he gazed down and lazily flicked a finger at odd intervals to direct the small stream of enchanted ice. His hands rose higher the longer he worked and soon he had created a two-foot high ice sculpture of a Christmas Tree, complete with ice presents, ice decorations and an ice angel atop it. He lent back in his chair and stared at the beautiful decoration he’d made; it had been years since he’s created a piece like this. Almost expressionless, he remained in place, taking in every glittering aspect of the tree, the sharp lines that refracted the harsh electric light of the room into something beautiful, something magical. A cornucopia of different colours cast upon his plain table like a rainbow touching down upon the earth…

Six Years Prior

Frederick smiled, a quiet chuckle escaped his lips as the boy rose up and took a step back, admiring the rainbows of light his ice sculpture cast upon the dull table. His brothers were going to love it! It looked just like the large tree they’d had years ago; he’d wager even Rachel would find it hard to see fault this. Maybe she’d finally consider letting him make an ice sculpture for the wedding. It was something he could do for Iser aside from providing a measly sum with Rohan to help send the newlyweds on a honeymoon to New York; Frederick though the Appalachian Forest in winter was enough snow to satisfy, but Rachel wanted a winter honeymoon in the city and he didn’t want to suggest anything more that could annoy her.

“That, is a very beautiful tree, young man. Did you make it?”

Frederick whipped around, his eyes widening as he took in the woman he hadn’t heard enter the shop. She was… dignified, that seemed to be the right word of the few he could think up. She had to be in her fifties but her hair was still a deep brown; she was dressed in a black pants-suit with a blood-red blouse underneath. Her gaze seemed calm yet very assessing, as though she were trying to answer a question about him she’d yet to even ask. She reached up, brushed her shoulder-length hair back and took a step closer; her smile was friendly in contrast to the sharp click of her small heels.

“O-oh, well yes I did.” Frederick nodded, calming down a little from his earlier surprise, “Mr. Anders is the ice-mason though, I just help out a little and do the paperwork.” he added quietly.

“Really?” she asked, her interest seemed genuine, rather than the usual stilted talk a customer would force through before getting down to making their order, “And how long have you been doing this?”

She had reached him now and bent forward, staring intently at the sculpture much the same way Frederick had been moments before.

“About two years now.” He’d worked for Mr. Anders much longer, but didn’t want to say that, since in the eyes of the law it had been illegal, “Would you like to see some more of Mr. Anders’ works? I take it you’re here to order something?”

The woman rose up, satisfied with whatever she’d been looking for, and smiled at him, “I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood my question; I was asking how long you’d been using your gift to make such wonderful things.”

Frederick froze, his wide eyes taking in the woman once more. He stepped back, already feeling the faint chill of nerves creeping like an icy wind up his spine.

“I-I umm, I don’t really know I would call it a gift, it’s just prac-”

“Now now, there’s need to worry.” She raised a hand slightly to stop his half-baked diversion, “I knew the moment I walked in the store. See?” she smiled, placing a hand on the table next to his tree; she paused a moment and when she brought her hand back up a tiny Christmas present of ice rested innocently where she’d touched.

His breath stilled. Questions, too many to properly frame, whizzed through his head as Frederick turned to gaze at the woman, his mouth slightly open and his hands half-raised, unsure what to do.

“You’ve never met another witch?” she asked playfully.

“N-no I haven’t… Witch?” he asked.

“That’s what we are, or what society has come call us. One of those chicken or the egg situations.” She waved a hand dismissively, “Though I have to say, it’s very impressive you’ve managed this much with no training. Ice works well for you hmm?”

“And fire,” he said quickly, chest heaving in his eagerness to tell this woman more, “And wind, they just do things for me sometimes, I don’t always want it to happen but it does anyway and I try to get it to do what I want but it’s like we’re speaking two different languages most of the time.” He looked over at the tree, “Except for this, when I’m making something it listens.”

“Fire and wind too?” she asked, eyes widening slightly, “Aren’t you the budding elementalist. You could do a great deal more with some teaching. What’s your name?”

“Frederick, Frederick Egrid, Ma’am.” He replied.

“Lovely. My name is Bastianna Natale, and I think I could help you.” She paused a moment to scoop up her small ice-present, “You see, I happen to know a great many people like you, young and old who I try to guide and train in their gifts, to help better themselves.”

Frederick listened with rapt attention while the woman, Bastianna, spun a tale of other witches, her coven, and all the things they did. The things they could do and things he could one day do too. It was all he could want, until…

“Naturally we’d need you for a few years to get true results but New Orleans will-”

“Wait!” he interrupted, shrinking back as the woman stopped and looked back over at him, “I’m sorry, it’s just... New Orleans?”

“Well of course,” she smiled, a laugh on the edge of her tone, “A coven must remain where it’s power is strongest. I wouldn’t be here myself if not for a few specific items I needed to pick up.” A harvest was coming soon.

“B-but I can’t leave.” He told her softly.

“Can’t? Frederick, you have a wonderful gift that needs to be honed, we can teach you to do great things offer you a whole family; what can this tiny town offer you to compare with that?”

“I have a family here.” He told her, voice quiet, but strong, “Two brothers, one’s going to get married in a month I can’t leave them. I love them.”

“Are they like you?”

“N-no.”

She smiled once more.

“Then they’ll understand. You need to be around your own people, so you can learn your heritage, what you really are.”

“I don’t need anything else.”

Reality was sweeping away the glory of her earlier words. To go would mean to leave, to not see his brothers every day. He couldn’t do that.

“We love each other… I’m sorry but I can’t leave them. They need me, and they’ve been and still are enough for me.” A coven was not the family he needed, he already had one.

She stared at him for a moment, lips pursed slightly before she sighed.

“Well, that seems to be the end of that then. What a shame.” She clasped her hands and shrugged, “I’ll be here for the next few days if you change your mind or have any more questions. I’d tell you where but there’s only one B&B in this town. I’m in the only room on the first floor.”

“I don’t think I will.” He said kindly, “But please, thank you so much. You’ve given me more answers in half an hour then I’ve ever had my entire life. I truly appreciate what you’ve done for me… even I can’t go with you any further.”

She smiled once more, as though touched by his words, “Such a shame.” She repeated, “Best of luck, Frederick Egrid.”

And with a few heel-clicks she had left; leaving Frederick wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. His gaze moved back to the Christmas Tree, the extra present was there now… Bastianna must have left it on purpose; he reached out and touched it.

His family house was small, three-bedrooms with barely functioning central heating and windows that couldn’t keep out the cold. It was in the woodlands, a five minute or so drive to the main road back to town but they were such a quiet area that it often felt as though they were isolated from the world; enclosed by the trees and their thick leaves. Frederick’s mind whirled as he traced the long-since memorised path home. What would his brothers say when he told them he was a witch? They’d probably be fine, though he worried Rohan would freak out, the middle-sibling had always tended to fall instinctually to fear; Iser would probably demand an interview with Bastianna herself to learn as much as he could, the poor woman. Though he suspected she could hold her own; the woman, the witch, had been intimidating in her own way.

He pushed the door open calling “I’m home.” Which he was sure someone would hear despite his lack of volume, the wooden walls always seemed to echo his words around the house. “Rohan? Iser?”

“In here.” A deeper voice replied.

With a small smile, he walked into the first room on the left and sighed good-naturedly at Iser, sat at his desk and surrounded by paperwork. His wire-rimmed glassed lay on the edge of his nose as he gazed intently at the pages of numbers that meant nothing to the younger man. How Iser could even look at those things without reaching for a calculator he would never know.

“You’re working too hard again; you were in that position when I woke up this morning.” He said softly, walking close and peering over his eldest brother’s shoulder.

“Aha, but while you weren’t here you missed the wild party and parade I had.” He deadpanned.

“And people say Rohan’s the funny one. Honestly, have you even eaten?”

“… I think so.”

“Iser-”

“I know, I know.”

He spun his chair around and smiled at Frederick’s concern.

“I need to eat or you’ll hide my files again. Tell you what, Rachel’s upstairs, worshipping her wedding dress again, go say hi and I’ll fire up the oven. With any luck, the pilot light will catch before we nearly gas ourselves.”

“That was one time and Rohan forgot he was lighting it because a bear walked past the window. I’d have run for the gun too.”

“Thank God he didn’t fire it.”

“The bears and our house are forever grateful. Besides, you know Rohan, he’s never been able to actually fire that gun.”

“And yet he takes it with him every day.”

“You never know if that bear’ll come back.” They said in unison, both chuckling at their brother’s expense.

“Alright, I’ll see how the love of your life is doing.”

Iser chuckled once more and waved Frederick towards the stairs as he stretched out of his chair, his lean frame unfurling with a few clicks.

Even if a person was as quiet as Frederick, they’d still be heard upon the creaky stairs of his house, each step seemed thunderous as he walked up and eventually reached the landing. He made his way to his room, hoping Rachel would be in a good mood. She loved his brother… Well, he hoped she did, but he knew Iser loved her and despite her plans to move them to a city as soon as the wedding was done he did his best to keep her happy. Rohan was not as accommodating, there was little love lost between those two; he worried it would pull his older brothers apart.

“Rachel,” he knocked on his door, “Can I come in?”

“If you must.” Came a bored reply.

He gently pushed the door to his room open and walked inside.

Rachel was a beautiful young woman, tall with ringlets of honey-blonde hair falling to her shoulder blades, plump lips and lovely green eyes that were currently watching him like one would a stranger’s pet.

The room was warm, his fire had been lit, Iser’s doing no doubt; his brother hated anyone being cold. And Rachel stood close by with her dress a foot or so away from the crackling fire. It was white, of course and very grand; he didn’t even want to think about how much it had cost. And beautiful, he was sure she’d be a lovely bride with a wedding the whole town would envy; it was all she wanted after all.

“How are you?”

She turned back to her dress. “Better before I was interrupted. What do you want Fred?”

“Frederick,” he correctly her softly, “And Iser is going to put some dinner on, are you hungry?”

“Iser can’t cook. Why don’t you go do it and let him get back to work. He needs to clock in all the hours he can so we can afford the three-course meal at the reception.”

“I’ll help him,” Frederick’s smile was tiny, the base politeness demanded, “He’s working very hard Rachel, I’m sure he’ll give you everything you want.”

She huffed and turned back to her dress, “Of course he will. Unlike your idiot brother he knows how to look after a lady and understands how important this wedding is. You could help out more too you know, if you weren’t so busy chipping at ice cubes all day.”

“Rohan isn’t an idiot.” He replied evenly, “And I’d be happy to help if there’s anything you’d like me to do.”

“You know I wonder,” she snapped back, still not facing him again, “Rohan doesn’t want this wedding, we all know that. But do you? You’re too weird for me to tell.”

Frederick swallowed, too much honesty would not be the best course of action here.

“Iser loves you. So, I’ll love you too, we’re going to be a family.”

He didn’t need to like her though.

“Ugh, I don’t need your love, I need you not to get in the way. This wedding must be perfect. Now go away, I’ve got to plan the seating for the ceremony, send Iser up when dinner’s ready.”

Frederick’s fists clenched and he bit the inside of his lip, she still hadn’t even bothered to look back as she spoke to him. He turned away, put his hand on the doorknob and felt a warmth come over him, soothing his building temper.

“Ahh!”

Rachel’s scream had him whipping around to see the bottom of her dress burning.

His eyes widened and he jumped over the bed, Rachel’s continued screams ignored as he threw the mannequin to the floor and stamped on the burning fabric, in moments the fire was out but the damage had been done. The hem of her wedding dress was black and charred, a rip or two higher up and boot-prints where he’d stamped out the flames.

“You did this!” Rachel screamed,

“Please I-”

“I saw! The fire moved! It moved and hit my dress and you must have done it!”

The woman’s chest was heaving, her eyes wide and her pointed finger trembling slightly.

Frederick froze, still half-standing on the dress, she’d seen, she knew.

“Please, I didn’t mean to,” his quiet voice desperate, “It just happens. I promise I’ll fix it, I’ll take it to the tailors and they’ll repair it we’ll-”

“You freak! You burnt my dress with evil powers! I saw it you weirdo! You little fucking-”

“What’s going on!?”

Iser’s loud voice echoed through the room as he stood in the doorway, staring at the pair inside with wide eyes already beginning to narrow.

“Iser, honey!” Rachel yelled before Frederick could speak, “I saw it! We were talking and that freak caught my dress on fire! Just like that, it moved! He tried to kill me-”

“No, Iser no!” Frederick said, staring at his brother in horror.

“He was going to kill me! Call the police we need to lock him away o-or something! He’s probably tried to kill me before, Iser get rid of him!”

“Please I-”

“Thank you, Rachel.” Iser said, voice strong and steady as he approached his fiancé.

Frederick’s blood ran cold.

“Thank you for showing me how much you’re willing to lie to make me hate my brothers.”

The woman’s mouth fell open in shock, this time nothing came out.

“I can’t believe you said that…” his voice so disappointed

“But that freak he-”

“That freak, is my brother and I’d think very carefully before you call him that again.” Iser’s tone turned dark, “Frederick can do a lot of wonderful things, but he has never, and will never purposefully hurt anyone.”

“Are you calling me a liar!?” she shrieked.

“Yes.”

“I swear to God, Iser if you don’t deal with that thing right now this wedding is off!”

“Oh, it’s off.”

“WHAT!?”

It took Rachel a moment to recover while Frederick stared between to two, frozen in place with fear, Iser sent him a protective smile and turned back to his ex-fiancé.

“I am going to tell the whole town! They’ll believe me! I’m the doctor’s daughter!”

“Go ahead.” Iser called her bluff, “Frederick is my little brother. I love him for who he is, and so will everyone else.”

“Oh really! Is that why he always hides away! Never comes to parties in town? Just sits in that ice shop and minces about pathetically? It’s the only place you can actually find the freak!”

“You’re out of line Rachel! Get out of our house!”

“Oh I’m going. And I’m going to warn the town! Once everyone knows the truth about your ‘brother’ they’ll be here with torches, guns and pitchforks to deal with him!”

“Enough!”

“Because that’s what god-fearing people do with a monster!”

Iser, lost to fury grabbed Rachel and started dragging her to the door while she slapped and kicked at him.

“Please stop!” Frederick cried, running forward and forcing himself between the two, terrified of what Rachel had said and what Iser might do, “Please calm down!”

Rachel lashed out and shoved Frederick back-

He yelled, there was a deep ‘boom’ and all three were blown apart.

Rachel flew back and slammed into the wall, knocking her head and slumping unconscious to the floor. Frederick went backwards over the bed and rolled before he landed on the floor, losing his breath at the shock of it. He lay still for a moment before inhaling and struggling back to his feet. Not caring about Rachel, he looked over to Iser.

Iser was looking back. His mouth open he gazed at his brother as a line of red began to trickle down his chin. They looked down in unison.

And saw the large icicle protruding from Iser’s chest.

“No!” Frederick screamed, running to his brother and catching him as he slid to the floor, eyes wide and staring up at the horrified boy.

“Iser, I’m so sorry, I- hey look at me, it’s me, Freddie, it’s going to be alright-”

“Ahh- ugh…”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it go away, I will and we’ll-”

Iser grabbed his hand while Frederick quickly looked at the icicle, begging it to go. It did. He placed his hand over the wound and felt hot blood run over it, sticky and thick.

“I’m going to fix this I am!” he burbled, “I’m going t- Iser… Iser!?”

The grip on his hand went slack.

“N-no… no! Nooooo! NO! NO!” he screamed, both hands on the wound now to try and stop any more blood coming, “N-no! No no!” he sobbed.

His hands felt cold, the blood had frozen over, coating his hands, staining them red.

“W-what have I done?” he whispered.

He sat there whimpering, Rachel didn’t stir while Frederick cried over his brother, his own tears frozen too like little crystals halfway down his face; his hands, shirt legs all still covered in blood.

“I’m home!” a brash yell echoed through the house, “God! You guys would not believe the weather out there,” thunderous footfalls on the stairs, “Fucking blizzard just blew in outta nowhere! Global warming is a bunch of- Rachel? What’re you doing on the floor woman?”

Rohan’s muscular frame seemed to fill the room as he stepped inside, still facing away from Frederick, his clothes dusted in snow and his shotgun over his arm. He turned around, took a second to understand what he was looking at and gasped.

“Frederick…” he whispered, unnaturally quiet, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t mean to-” he mewled

“What did you do!?”

“I was trying to stop them! They were arguing, she pushed me you have to believe me-” he stood up.

“Stay away from me!”

“But-”

“Stay!” Rohan’s eyes were wide, his yell hysterical.

Frederick put his hands together, almost praying

“Please. Please, don’t be afraid.”

He stepped closer.

Rohan stepped back.

“W-we said that we would always be there for each other, remember? We made a p-promise. I love you- Rohan.” He sobbed, “Please, please you have to help me,” he reached out a blood-stained arm, “Take my hand, p-please take my h-hand. You’re all I have left.”

“Frederick.” Rohan’s deep timbre broke, his head shaking slightly, “You killed our brother. You’re-” he swallowed.

“You’re a monster.”

Frederick froze, only his mouth still opening slightly, words unable to escape at first.

“N-no, Rohan no,” he burbled, staring at his brother’s face.

Rohan looked down. Frederick followed his gaze.

He saw the gun.

“No…”

Rohan raised it.

“Rohan no!”

Winds swept through room just as a gunshot was fired, missing Frederick by inches as he ran from the room.

He sprinted out of the house, into the fierce winds and heavy snow. He didn’t know if Rohan was following, he didn’t look back. He just kept running for what felt like forever until he ducked behind a tree and sunk down, snow around his shins as he drew them close and covered his mouth with bloodstained hands to contain his sobs. He needn’t have bothered; the blizzard covered everything.

Bastianna had been caught by the snow between her errands but it had still been a productive afternoon so she didn’t much mind. Closing the door to her small room she frowned, there was a presence. Whirling to face it she was instead met with the boy she’d seen that afternoon, lying on her bed in wrinkled, ill-fitting clothes and staring unseeingly right at her. Few things unnerved the woman, but this… this came close.

“Frederick… What happened to you?” she asked guardedly.

The boy, with great effort, looked up at her, “One of my brothers died today…” his voice was disturbingly calm, “The other tried to kill me.”

“What!?” Had the things she’d told him gone down so badly the boy’s family had turned against him? “How did that happen?”

“I can’t talk about it.” That same deadly calm tone, “But I need your help.”

“With what?”

“You’re a witch, a real one, you can cast spells.” He said quietly, “I need you to cast one. Rohan Egrid and Rachel Mansfield must forget about what happened to them today, I need them to forget it all… Can you do that?”

The Coven Leader regarded the boy for a moment, something not unlike, but not quite, guilt tugging at her gut, “Yes I can.” A compulsion spell would be easy enough to perform; in a town this large she doubted she’d even needed to search for the targets, she’d simply follow the residual magic. “But such spells don’t always last forever.”

“I don’t need forever, just long enough.”

For what the woman didn’t know and frankly dealing with a clearly traumatised boy over the promising new recruit he’d been this morning was hardly appealing.

“I’m leaving.”

She frowned.

“Going somewhere else.” Frederick elaborated badly, “I’ll go now.” He stood up.

“In this weather?” she asked, it was practically a snowstorm outside.

“I’ll be fine.” Came the murmured reply.

Bastianna thought for a moment, the not-guilt clawing at her again.

“Wait a moment.” She wouldn’t stop him, wouldn’t take him in, but instead moved to her suitcase and pulled out a grimoire, it was valuable one, but she had others back home, this boy. Well, it seemed now he had nothing, “Take this,” she handed the book to him, “And remember, New Orleans.” The other coven members could deal with him better than she could.

The boy turned to head to her window, that must have been how he got in. “And one more thing.” She stared at the broken boy, “I’ll cast this spell for you but be careful with that book. Other magic, all magic, comes with a price.”

Frederick stared back at her, his icy calm still almost unnerving.

“Thank you, but I’m fairly certain I’ve already paid it.” He said quietly.

The boy left, back into the cold.

It took the witch a moment to shake off the unsettling encounter but she was soon herself again. There was work to be done, she had a spell to cast, and later, a harvest to prepare for.

#Fic #Ablation #tw: death #tw: blood #{I've been wanting to write this for a while}

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kidabee · 7 years ago

Text

Hidden Under Amaryllis (1/ 2)

summary: No one knew when it began. It was a disease a couple generations old. Their butterflies either rise up and escape as kisses, or... (Aka, "The Hanahaki Disease Flower Shop AU No One Asked For.") Twoshot.

pairings: killugon, leopika

notes: the flower meanings are listed where the fic is posted on ao3 and ffnet

story tag

The bell above the doorframe chimed, marking the three o'clock rush of one customer.

Kurta Flowers and Creations was far from a popular location and patrons were a selected few. It was a small corner store that only residents who lived here their entire lives could remember existed, tucked away in the shadows of the town.

It was overstocked with every flower available. There were flowers one wouldn't believe existed. Anything a florist could get their hands on, The Kurta had it. It was rare to hear they didn't carry what you were looking for. It was damn near impossible to stump them when it came to types of flowers. They were fairly popular for their Amaryllis, yet they rarely sold these days. The current owner claimed that he didn't stock them due to lack of interest.

There was a bulk floral shop set up down the street that sold flowers at a third of the cost and everyone knew that it was at least ¼ of Kurta quality. 'A flower is a flower', they'd always say. Long-lasting quality and beauty wasn't really necessary when you just needed them for the brief wow factor to get into your date's pants. Kurta was for the relationships that knew no bounds while Phantom Favors was for a quick steal of your partner's time.

The customer that came at three o'clock in the afternoon, like clockwork, was always dressed to impress. He donned a blue pinstriped suit carrying an oddball suitcase. His glasses dared to tilt on the edge of his face yet never made it far enough to fall. Names of flowers rolled like water off his tongue. He knew about every flower The Kurta had to offer. The transaction was always fairly quick which gave the well-dressed man less reason to stick around.

"And how fresh are your daisies?" His voice was rushed as usual. The hand that wasn't grasping his case was ghosting over different varieties of wildflowers in a frantic spree to find the perfect gift for whomever he ran off to on a daily. "I think she likes daisies."

Kurapika looked up from his book as if he didn't notice the tall man walk in until he spoke. He didn't need to know that the blond knew he'd be by like clockwork. The daisies were located in the favorites section near the back wall—not that anything was labeled.

"And what color are you looking for today," Kurapika hopped down from his stool and straightened out his apron. It was worn, tattered and clearly a hand me down. The tall man blinked at him in confusion which only caused a worn sigh to match, "in your daisy."

"There's more than just white?" His answer confirmed his search and Kurapika plucked half a dozen white daisies to bring to the counter. When the flowers were pulled from their basin, they dripped, so by habit, Kurapika gave them a gentle shake. He knew he probably shouldn't but there wasn't anyone to correct this bad habit so it continued on.

"So, white." He laid them gently in a piece of red cellophane and tied the end with gold ribbon. "They're doing just as great as they ever do." And with that, the flowers were handed off and money was exchanged. The suited man waved his thanks and rushed out like he had every day for the past two months. Who was the person he rushed off to after he passed the door frame? Kurapika sighed. He'd love to know. He'd smile at them in the smallest way to let them know they have everything. He'd smile in the biggest way to let them know he wished that wasn't true.

A tickle in the back of Kurapika's throat resurfaced, for the umpteenth time this month, which he elected to ignore. He wiped off the droplets from the counter and floor and went back to futzing with every flower in the store. He only read right after 2:30p until Leorio's daily walk into his life. He got his name from his credit card a few weeks back but he tried to not use it, even in his thoughts, until it was formally given. The book was interesting, sure, but he had a lot of work to do since he was the only one left to man The Kurta Flowers and Creations.

The Kurta rarely had regular customers but they did have people who came by. After school let out, kids from the school would drop wildflowers they found on their way home in a barrel left outside the storefront. It began after Kurapika's family disappeared and adults began leaving flowers at the door step with their condolences. The door stopped being able to open. Cans of food and messages of concern, in hopes to reach the troubled teen, got in the way. Kurapika gave in and rolled an empty barrel for them to fill. It has been 10 years since it began and it just kept going on with the new generation mimicking their elders.

He had to make sure that he was completely cleaned up in time for the two strangest boys he ever met to pass by. They were in their last years of high school and have been a constant in Kurapika's days since elementary school. He stood and judged whatever insignificant contest they had going on at the time. A popular contest was 'who made the better flower crown' using the excess of wildflowers the elementary kids brought by.

Kurapika didn't pretend he wasn't waiting for the boys. On the other side of the door was a tiny table and a long wooden bench. It spanned from the door to the corner of the tiny store front. He placed two waters on the table and watched the two boys come barreling down the road. At first it looked like a chase, with Killua in the lead and Gon a few steps behind. Killua ran with his hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his face. Kurapika knew from many years of experience that it was not a chase. This was confirmed when Gon hopped over Killua like a frog and took off in the lead. Why they were so competitive, Kurapika would never know.

It was Gon who won despite Killua being the faster of the two. They both skid to a stop. The water waiting for them was sloshed over their mouths. Half making their mark and the rest splashing down the fronts of their uniforms. Once the bottles were emptied, the two let out a happy sigh. The water acted as their one true saving had been coming here for the past five years and have shown no sign of stopping. When the weather allowed it, they braided wild flowers supplied by the elementary kids. When winter was grabbing at their coats, Kurapika let them use the wilting selection of flowers.

"Did the kids not stop by today?" Gon snapped Kurapika out of his flow of memories with a 17 year old sticking his head down the giant barrel. Coming up empty, he looked down the road confused. There were a few mumbled words out of the clerk's lips as he escaped back into the store. He had completely forgot that there was a field trip until late in the evening. All the kids would be picked up by their respectable parents and thus—no flowers. He robotically plucked a few flowers from basins that needed to be cleared out.

"Alstroemeria and carnations okay?" When he showed back up outside, the two boys were laughing but Killua had a slight redness to him. Whatever the joke was—he surely missed out on it. "Killua, are you feeling okay?" He knew the white haired boy was perfectly fine. He basically raised these boys and who would he be if he didn't mess with them occasionally? Gon looked back to his friend and hit him with a million and one questions to make sure that they were okay to compete today. Killua gave a sidelong death glare at Kurapika, 100% deserved.

"I'm fine, Gon, listen, I'm fine. I can make a stupid flower crown." Kurapika met him half way with a handful of alstroemeria and in the same motion, deposited the carnations on Gon's lap. It was some kind of a spectacle to watch teenage boys fumble with the long stems attempting to make the better crown. The bench was long but they sat in close proximity to each other with words of competition on their tongues.

Kurapika continued reading his book while sitting on the other end of the bench. The buzz of competition was the backdrop to his evening. It was definitely missed on the quiet weekends. Kurapika kept the doors closed on Sundays and there was no school on Saturdays. He held his time with Killua and Gon gently in his hands. A treasure he wouldn't give up for anything.

After a good hour of sabotage and crafting, the boys were done. Gon's purple carnation wreath fell apart the moment it was lifted. Laughter from Killua and Kurapika drowned out the groan Gon let out. Even though Gon's wreaths failed more often than not, his surprise was genuine each time. Kurapika wiped at his eyes in time to watch Killua's laughter halt when a single flower was woven behind his ear. Gon smiled, removed his hand, and gave out a bout of his own laughter. Unlike Killua, his didn't stop when Killua put the alstroemeria crown on top of his black spiky hair. If Gon noticed the change in color on Killua's face, he said nothing of it.

Killua was poking at the petals that were piled in the middle of the floor with his foot. He came in early Saturday morning and hung in the silence of the store. Kurapika was close to closing the store with sweeping being the only thing left needed to do. Since Kurapika was closing early on Saturdays, Killua had only been there for four hours tops. Kurapika didn't prod or ask why he wouldn't speak up. He figured he'd do it on his own. If he didn't? Well, Kurapika wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

Purple petals were peeking out of the mouth of Killua's shorts and Kurapika would be foolish to not recognize it as the purple carnation that Gon put in his hair the day before. He chose to not mention it. It was odd, sure, that Killua showed up without Gon. But it stood out more that he went out of his way to be there. The Zoldycks' residence was a long ways away on the outskirts of town and there was nothing on this side of town that Killua would otherwise be interested in. No, he came here on purpose.

"You won't tell him?" Killua's voice was more of a demand than a question. It didn't waver but Kurapika has spent more than his fair share around the alabaster brat to know that he was drowning in anxiety. His tone was slick as ice but his cheeks were hot and pink.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Killua." The petals were swept up and thrown away. Killua had hopped up onto the counter before Kurapika could stop him. No amount of discontented looks could get the teen to change his mind on where to sit. He eyed the clerk for a good minute before seemingly getting his answer. A moment of silence passed. 'Do you need me to take you to a doc-?"

"No." Killua stared at the ground with resolution. "No, I can handle this on my own."

No one knew when it began. It was a disease a couple of generations old. The explanation they give to kids in their sexual education class was something out of a fairy tale. A romanticized story to make the victims feel better for having it. Kurapika could remember it very clearly the day his teacher explained it to his classroom. It started as butterflies in your stomach. A light and airy feeling that was dangerously addictive. You'd seek out the person who made you feel that way.

More than half of the victims of who feel the first step rarely make it onto the second. Their butterflies either rise up and escape as kisses or dissipate with the lack of interest. Those who feel so strongly end up having a garden grow in the pit of their stomach. Depending on the person, hanahaki could rip them to shreds in a matter of days or torture them over a span of a few years. The school goes with the average number of 4 or 5 months.

"How long have you-" Killua's words were interrupted so that he didn't have to struggle to find the words he felt most comfortable saying. There was silent gratitude hanging in the air.

"Saying I grew up with you two wouldn't be far from the truth." Kurapika wanted to smile at Killua to relax him a bit but he knew it wasn't the best time to try and help the younger cope with this deadly illness. "A couple years now." Silence. A question sat heavily in the room staring them both down with the intense gravity of severity.

The disease doesn't thrive on facts as it does your mindset. Jealousy, fear, agony, heart break, pining, and any other negative feeling relating to the one you feel so strongly for is its fodder. The teachers say that the best way to heal yourself of hanahaki is to tell your target of affection while it is in its early stages. That way you can either be freed of hanahaki or lose interest in the one that's tearing you apart. They make it sound so easy.

Kurapika spoke up in hopes to get that dread away from him. "How far-"

"7 month mark." There were no signs of dry heaving, at least in Kurapika's presence. There was no way to protect Killua. That weight bore the heaviest on Kurapika's shoulders. He practically raised the boy and there was no way he could help. "Lucky me! It's going to go slow."

What they don't tell you is what the second stage feels like. The feeling of those butterflies dying and sinking in your stomach to grow into flowers. The weight of it all is overbearing. It hurts. The fear of dry heaving in the third stage or the amount of bloodshed in the fourth. Some people have bigger flowers than others. Kurapika winced upon remembering the slide they showed of someone with a sunflower in their hand. There was no blood in the image but the person looked so ill and pale. You knew that there was a lot of effort to dislodge a flower that big from their throat.

The flowers begin to swallow you. Your breathing is hindered and it takes you in the most beautiful way possible. Their ending slide for the presentation was a quote. It was unsettling and romantic in one fell swoop. "May flowers grow in the saddest parts of you-Zainab Aamir". They tell you that the disease rarely takes any victims because the universe sends you what you are ready for in that exact moment of time.

Bullshit.

The universe was sick. It sometimes gave you someone that you could swear was built just for you. You breathe their name and it's just so right. Then they don't love you in return. They have wives. They have families. You are young and don't understand. You could be suicidal and thank the world for giving you something that could take you away. The universe was dark. The universe didn't care if you were ready or not.

There was one way to save a patient. Removing one's flower. It was a disgusting process that was done in a frantic attempt to save a person's life. It takes up to eight hours in intense surgery. They have to remove part of your stomach and detach vines from your esophagus. In rare cases, it wheedles its way into your lungs and sometimes a lung can't be saved.

You could come out it, sure. Some say, after the surgery, they stop really caring about anything at all. Others say they never trust anyone enough to love them to begin with. No matter what the truth was, the result sounded the same. You never loved again.

Kurapika would rather suffocate.

And, in a sick turn of events, so would Killua.

"I think he's here to walk you home." Killua looked up and sure enough, Gon was peeking through the glass on the door. Kurapika locked them about twenty minutes ago and the lights were off. Looking past the rows of flowers was hard when there was light. In the darkness it was near impossible. Killua gave a soft chuckle and a mumbled 'idiot' as he approached the door.

"You're actually pretty wise in your own weird way." Kurapika took it as a compliment. It was as close as he was going to get. Killua unlocked the door and stepped out. Through the glass, Kurapika could see Gon hand Killua the skateboard he apparently left at home. The words were muffled but he could hear the chipper voice of the oblivious center of Killua's affection.

"You weren't at home or at the skate park so I thought you might be here! Let's go to the lake. I brought your swimsuit." It sounded like Gon had spent a good time looking for Killua. Just like Killua, Gon lived on the outskirts of the town. His house was a good three miles away from both locations. The skate park was in the middle of town.

Kurapika knew that Killua had nothing to agonize over.

When the dry heaving began it was one of the dry days. Killua brushed it off as the air getting to him since everyone was mowing lawns and spores were everywhere. Stage four was never far away from three and it terrified Kurapika.

Since Killua brought up his illness to Kurapika, Kurapika seemed to forget about everything around him. He worked robotically and began to forget the three o'clock visitor he looked forward to every day. It was only when he saw Leorio on his way out that he regretted not paying more attention.

Kurapika coughed a few times before going back to his computer to scan through medications that would soothe the side effects. There were rubs to put on your chest that opened your airways. Medicines that relaxed the muscles that helped the petals along without much bloodshed. Before he knew it, he had wandered to the local pharmacy to peruse the aisles for the products.

It was a Friday afternoon in May, three weeks after Killua's self-diagnosis. Gon had gone home as per Kurapika's instructions. It had to be subtle. He made it sound like a favor. Gon would be back to walk Killua home, he was sure of it. Killua was leaning against the counter with his back to the door, twirling a perfect flower between his fingers. It wasn't drenched in blood as the petals before it so he was able to see the flower that was killing him for the first time.

"First full one this morning." Behind the specks of blood were white petals with lilac splotches splashed down the center. A few of the petals had an array of spots from yellow, brown, to deep plum. It was terrifyingly beautiful. Kurapika handed him a bag from the local pharmacy and Killua hid it in his book bag. It kept it secret from his family and from Gon. It was safest this way. There were no accidental sightings and no worried best friend.

The bell chimed when the door swung open. Kurapika had disappeared into the small backroom to fetch some literature he had purchased on coping with hanahaki. If they could get through a few pages before Gon returned, they would consider it a win. Killua tilted his head back to welcome the customer to the store. People would sometimes mistake Killua as a second hand. Most of the time though, he just greeted them and walked away.

Leorio approached the counter where Killua just full on stared at him. He broke eye contact to look around for the blond but when his first attempt failed he stubbornly glared at his watch. "I thought Kurapika was the only worker here. Did I miss him for the day?"

The clock blared the time: 4:37pm. It was close to closing. Killua twirled the flower between his two fingers and didn't respond for a moment. His eyes mapped the stranger in a way a predator would study their prey. Killua knew most of the customers' names by heart. If he didn't know their names-he's at least seen them. Leorio was a new face. Leorio knew Kurapika's name despite the lack of nametag.

"Is there anything you're looking for?" Killua ignored the initial question and enunciated the second half of 'anything' to make it clear he wasn't going to answer his question. Though Killua's eyes were probing for answers, the rest of his face was lit with a smile. If he was rude to a customer, Kurapika wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

"Oh. Uh...something for...a boy." Leorio scratched his chin and looked around at the selection. For the first time he seemed to be at a loss for names. Killua hesitated to break contact but ended up walking over and picking up the first blue flower. He grabbed a few and wrapped them unceremoniously before handing them off. "These are nice." His voice was stilted as he accepted the flowers. He looked over the flowers at Killua. "What are they?"

"Flowers."

"What's their name? Do they have any sort of meaning?" Leorio dragged on the conversation even though it was clear Killua was done.

"Hate to break it to you, old man." Leorio flinched. Irritation spread across his face but he said nothing. "Florists don't know flower language. They just sell flowers."

It was then that Kurapika rounded the corner. "Hydrangea." Leorio looked at Kurapika while Killua seemed to not even acknowledge his arrival. "They're Hydrangea, and yes, they are doing well." Kurapika held his hands out in front of the flowers in a silent request. It took a moment for Leorio to catch on but when the realization dawned on him, he laid the hydrangea in his hands.

Kurapika went back to the counter and pulled a new sheet of cellophane from under the counter and re-wrapped the stems. This time, he tied a blue bow to match the petals of the flowers. Killua was still behind the counter and stood in the way of the register so Kurapika just handed them right back to Leorio.

When Leorio reached back to accept the flowers, his hands accidentally grazed Kurapika's. This did not go unnoticed by Kurapika in any way. He kept a smile as fresh as his flowers on his face with words as smooth as hunny. "On the house. I hope he likes them."

With that, Kurapika retreated from where he came. Killua waved at Leorio who was just standing in the middle of the room. He faked a chipper tone. "Have a swell day, sir."

How long had Kurapika stayed back? Long enough to know that the flowers were for a boy. Kurapika grabbed onto the wall and started heaving. He had to stop seeing Leorio. During those weeks where he was blind to everything around him was easier.

So much easier.

Killua found Kurapika around the corner after Leorio had left. Kurapika was staring at something in his hand. With closer inspection, Killua saw something he wished he never had to see from his longtime friend.

"Kurapika...are those?" Kurapika closed his hand around what he was holding and wiped at his mouth. A tinge of blood smeared from the corner to his cheek. A flurry of hands wiping at his face until the blood was gone with mumbled affirmations that it wasn't anything important.

Killua looked back to the door where Leorio had walked out of less than a minute before. A stranger wasn't someone to die over. "He knew my name."

"You probably introduced yourself at some point."

"No...I don't remember ever doing so."

"Kurapika, do you have anyone you like?" Gon's voice was loud and prodding. Kurapika gave a sideways look at Killua who feigned innocence. It was clear that Killua decided to meddle in the situation and brought Gon into it. Gon, being considerate, didn't want to out either parties on the possibility that he may or may not have been tipped off to the problem.

"Do you?" Kurapika went back to the project in his lap. The two teens had wrestled their argument that today was the day that Kurapika joined in the competition. His defense was there would be no judge. They came to the consensus that there was never a judge because, 9 out of 10 times, Gon's wreaths failed. The abundance in dandelions that the elementary kids brought by were stunning. Did they just fill their backpacks full of them?

"I like Killua." Gon was frank and to the point. He beamed with that iconic smile that drowned out the sun. "He's my best friend." Kurapika blinked in surprise and looked over at Killua. Killua had a bottle of water to his lips when he started coughing. Gon laughed and thumped Killua's back. Gon didn't see the blood that Killua wiped away. He sloshed a bit of water in his mouth and swallowed before going back and took a giant swig of his water and held it in his mouth. Killua turned to Gon and sprayed him like a fountain.

"Don't say embarrassing things." Killua scolded with a shove to Gon's shoulder.

"Huh? Embarrassing?" Gon's chipper tone faded into confusion. He took a moment to wipe his face with the bottom of his shirt before staring back at Kurapika-obviously waiting for an answer.

"I like Killua and Gon." A simple answer. A safe answer. If Gon was willing to use his best friend as an example, he was going to use his only friends as his. The two teens seemed not to take to the simple diversion. Their backdrop of bickering clouded the area around Kurapika. It took him a minute to figure out the heartfelt laughter dancing between the arguments was coming from himself. His lungs began to ache in a way they hadn't in years. Around the flowers in his stomach was the sudden feeling of light. It wrapped tightly around the stems and tugged a few branches loose.

There was room to breathe.

Killua and Gon had long gone by the time Kurapika came back to himself. Dandelions strewn in every bit of his gold hair. Where the flowers stopped and his hair started was a gray answer. The light faded when the teens waved from a distance. The space the light brought about lingered. It was long past the time the shop should have been locked and forgotten for the night but Kurapika stood in the bright lights in the center of the store.

Kurapika grazed his fingers against the two wreaths on top his head and the multitude of loose ones. Again, Gon's wreath didn't make it past a few minutes and had found rest in the blond hair. A chime sang, startling Kurapika. When Kurapika saw who stepped through the door, the space that was cleared from his evening with the boys immediately filled with petals. His stomach became heavy while flowers. He fought back his reaction to start heaving.

Leorio was standing in the doorway with a look on his face that Kurapika couldn't discern. The man carried his suitcase as usual but in his other hand were bloody flowers. The stems were long and leaves were complete. The white and lilac petals could only be seen in tiny spots past the red.

"Who is it?" Leorio's voice was stern and concerned. The look he had when he walked through the door was different now. It went from some sort of amazement to terror. Kurapika tried to think for a moment to place why he'd be amazed before he glanced at the flowers. Blood was pooled out by the front of the store with petals on the ground and full stems lying in a pile.

Killua.

Kurapika's feet picked up and bolted through the door without vocally acknowledging the man in the doorway. How could he have missed the heaving? How could he not have seen the teen throwing up outside of his door? Under his watch, why wasn't he there to help him through it? The sounds of feet were closely behind him.

Leorio commanded Killua to open his mouth. Killua blankly refused with a turn of his shoulder and a glare. He jolted when Kurapika laid a hand on him. Normally he wouldn't be startled by something so simple. His reactions are always alert so the reaction Kurapika got was the biggest red flag he could have ever received.

Kurapika found him sitting on the ramp at the skatepark. Blood smeared around his lips, he looked paler than usual. His chest moved at a very slow pace. Killua was looking up at the sky. He went to the skatepark when he couldn't be at home. It was the first place anyone who was looking would go. Gon's backpack was next to Killua but Gon wasn't anywhere that Kurapika could see.

Killua pigheadedly opened his mouth and Kurapika could feel his blood run cold. Lining Killua's right side of his inside of his cheek were vines and small leaves. A leaf was stuck between a wisdom tooth and his cheek. A petal could be seen in the back of his throat. Leorio swung his suitcase open and medical supplies clanked from its depths.

"You're a doctor..." Less than a question and more of a statement being brought to light. Kurapika's voice was breathless. On the inside between small vials were polaroids of children holding vases of flowers. One girl with daisies, a boy with hydrangea, and many more of children with flowers Kurapika could remember selling the man. "The flowers were for your patients?"

"Who else would I be buying flowers for?" He said matter-of-factly. The tone made Kurapika flush in embarrassment for having the assumption that the flowers could be for anyone else in the world. "A doctor doesn't really get time to spend with anyone." Leorio filled a syringe with an upside down bottle of unmarked liquid. At closer inspection, all the vials were blank but full.

"This is going to pinch." Leorio's voice was gentle yet authoritative. Killua let Leorio pull out his cheek and slowly insert the needle into the back of his cheek. He wobbled the cheek after removing the needle then patted the outside. "Let me know when you're numb."

Leorio turned around to witness Kurapika looking at him with a look as soft as a sunrise. There was strain under his eyes from worry but his initial gaze brought nothing but warmth. In turn, Kurapika saw Leorio gape at whatever he was basking in. They held a silent conversation with shared glances about Killua's well-being. Questions with immediate answers disguised in silence.

Leorio shook off whatever he had going on with Kurapika and opened another vial. He shook out two pills and handed them to Killua with a bottle of water. There was mumble of instructions to take them before he was completely numb. Killua complied.

When Killua was finally completely drugged up, Leorio pulled a couple of tools from a back pocket: a scalpel, a small pair of scissors, and a decent size of tweezers. He began carefully removing the vines lining his cheek; starting with plucking the leaves from their stems. Kurapika watched Leorio in a way Leorio had felt before, but never from Kurapika Kurta. His gaze felt like blazing red of protective instinct. If Killua showed any sign of pain, Kurapika would put a stop to it. There was no way around it. Leorio would not be allowed near Killua again.

Killua knew this well. Despite the muscle relaxers and numbing agents in his mouth, he had to hide the searing pain. He bottled it up and saved it for himself. Killua focused on watching Kurapika grabbing at the material on his sleeves repeatedly as a distraction. He was sure Kurapika could sense him watching, but Kurapika was preoccupied with delegating the situation.

Killua felt a forceful tug while he wasn't paying attention and winced. Kurapika jolted and Leorio removed his hands from Killua's mouth.

"Are you okay?" Kurapika's hackles raised and ready to separate the two. Atmosphere thick as cement. There was no way anyone could cut through it unless Kurapika calmed down. Leorio could swear he saw Kurapika's eyes glow with rage.

"Exactly…what are you doing?" Killua's voice was garbled but he had a point to get across. Numbing agents was not going to stop him from asking what he needed to ask. "You aren't completely removing it are you?" His questions made Kurapika relax a little bit when Leorio gave a hesitant shake of his head. Killua fixated on the pile of leaves and petals already removed. It was a pretty decent pile. All of this was just inside of his mouth?

"Just stabilizing." Simple words. Safe words. Killua reopened his mouth to let him continue. He did, however, babble on for the rest of the time that he insisted to get it completely removed at a later time. As a doctor, he didn't condone letting the flowers go past the stomach. Catching it early on made it easier. Killua refused every time.

Once Leorio removed his hands from Killua's mouth completely and begin to wipe down his tools, Kurapika stood over Killua. "I'm telling Gon." His words firm. Stubborn, firm, and unmoving.

"You think I don't already know?" The group froze. No one wanted to look at the voice's origin. If they looked, having him there would be real. If they saw the trademark green outfit with spiked back hair, it made it real. No one wanted him to see him with the agonizing expression they all knew he had painted on his face. Slung around him shoulder was Killua's backpack. Bottles of medication slipping from the front pocket. They must have been accidentally switched, causing Gon to return at the worst time possible. "You think I haven't tried?"

Killua looked up first. "Gon." The whisper was just remnants of breath. There was no power in what he said. It sounded weak, helpless and painful. Leorio, out of respect for the other two, tried to cover the bloody pile with his being. Everyone already knew he knew but they pretended they could take it back.

"Like I haven't tried?" He repeated. "Killua is a very dear friend to me. I tell him every day."

"Gon…" Killua warned him from continuing. At this very moment, or even any moment from this point forward, any negative feelings could end him. The whole group caught on instantly and approached Gon with their hands up.

"Gon, now's not the t—"

"When will be the time? Killua is my friend and it is always the time to say that." Gon pushed past to get to Killua. In that moment, Killua's body relaxed; seemingly given into his imminent demise. As long as it's Gon. Killua thought. As long as it's him, it's okay. "How many times do I have to tell you that I love you, Killua?"

"This isn't about friendship, Gon." Kurapika tried explaining from behind them. Without looking over his shoulder, Gon gave off a threatening aura. The thick black cloud around Gon silenced Kurapika and Leorio instantly.

"I know that." He snapped. "And I'm not talking about that either." Gon kneeled down next to Killua and put a hand on his shoulder. Vines started slipping through Killua's lips and growing outwards. It took over half his face and bloomed in a frighteningly beautiful way. His breaths ran ragged yet Killua held back any emotion he was feeling.

"You're an idiot," Killua strained. "You can't—"

Gon grabbed Killua and pulled him close. He peppered kisses along the side of Killua's uncovered face then down to his lips. The flowers didn't stop growing. "Stop this Killua. No one can tell me otherwise. I love you, Killua."

"Sto—"Killua's words were silenced by another kiss on his lips.

"I love you, Killua." He only got louder.

"G—"Another.

"I love you, Killua." Gon practically shouted. The flowers blew in the wind but didn't grow further. Lilac peeked through his hair and made a mess below. Gon brushed a finger at the stray flowers. Petals fell at the touch. Killua's eyes never left Gon. He mapped Gon's face like it was the first time he had ever seen it and that he would never see it again. What was once a strong bond of an unstoppable disease to Killua's skin felt brittle under Gon's touch.

Killua's eyes were bright.

Gon's smile was brighter.

"When did you find the time to come and buy flowers?" Leorio's suitcase clacked closed. Gon had left with Killua moments before; Killua being dragged by the hand to an undisclosed location. Kurapika cleaned up the flowers while not making eye contact. "Isn't being a doctor busy work?"

"A man's gotta eat." He laughed. When Kurapika made a noise of disbelief Leorio clarified. "My office is down the road."

"Unbelievable." He never missed a day to swing by. The flowers weren't cheap. There couldn't be that many patients that each one could get their own vase of flowers. Each probably got at least five each at this point. It was slightly endearing.

Kurapika felt something ignite in his stomach; like a fuse burning its way to his lung. It splits and goes up his throat as well. It burned its way through him and landed on his cheeks.

It was Monday and the store opened like usual and closed late. No sign of the boys or Leorio. There were no customers that day either. Flowers were rearranged. The doctor could just be late. He didn't want to look like he couldn't be patient. Kurapika closed two hours late just in case one of the boys came by.

Tuesday came and went just like Monday. Leorio missed a second day. The boys haven't even passed on their way back from school. Children discarded their wild flowers as usual. An old lady came by and bought a bouquet of sunflowers. They reminded her of the flowers that another woman had coughed up for her. The woman had passed without saving. The old lady regretted every day that went by that she physically couldn't return the flower's victim's feelings.

Kurapika's heart went out to the woman. Both the one who has passed and the one who had to live with the guilt. She had to watch her friend wither away while throwing up flowers bigger than anyone could really handle. "Once they bloomed," she had reminisced, "she went quickly."

Kurapika could only be glad that Gon got through to Killua at last. He missed them over the weekend and couldn't wait to see them again on Monday. He didn't think much of it until they missed Wednesday as well. The doctor was still absent. He had plenty of customers for it being a Wednesday but they all molded together and he can't remember for the life of him what kind of flowers was bought that day. The fuse lit in Kurapika burned slowly. It wasn't easily ignored.

Thursday brought quiet. There was no outside wind. Not a soul came through the doors. Kurapika could have missed it but he could swear he never saw anyone even pass by the store. The street was a ghost town. Although he saw no one, he heard voices play around in his head. More than one voice calling his name. The universe was cruel. All that he had were his thoughts on that Thursday. Now that Killua was out of danger, Kurapika had plenty of time to think about his personal situation. The past quiet days seeded dread and his flowers grew.

He heaved and heaved and heaved. Behind the counter strewn a pile of blood that was far beyond the amount of an 'okay' amount to lose. There were enough flowers laying in midst to make its own bouquet. Kurapika saw them before but refused to acknowledge the flower by name. Now, there was no way around it. They were Amaryllis. They were the flower the Kurta were known for since the beginning of time. Even past the red of blood, the petals were their own shade of brilliant crimson.

He now understood why Killua didn't say anything. Yes, having flowers grow on the lining of your mouth was uncomfortable. Granted, the flowers were a sign of everything but beauty. Of course, he didn't want to show how much pain this beautiful flower brought to him. What the flower represented, hidden under the grotesque feelings, was love—and who would want to rid of that? It was so uncomfortable that it gave a sense of peace. He knew what was happening and he didn't need anyone to tell him he was going to die.

The amaryllis had always been a sign to the Kurta that they would not survive much longer. He heard stories before that there were deranged customers who would press and frame flowers that the Kurta couldn't keep down. Kurta Flowers and Creations never sold amaryllis. The stories were just sad stories. That was that. But, for a reason he couldn't explain, Kurapika crushed the flowers he spat up under his feet. Once they were completely destroyed, he threw them in the waste bin.

His breath ran ragged and there was blood on his shoes and tracking to the trash can. The customers would think so badly of him for this. Kurapika couldn't focus on being upset because of that past a minute. The blood could stay. He was tired. A nap would take care of this fleeting feeling. He wouldn't die now. He was just going to sleep. When he woke up, he'd clean up the blood.

I'm just going to lay down for a moment. Kurapika thought as he stretched his arms before crossing them under his face. When he woke up, Killua and Gon will be smiling and telling him about some crazy adventure they were on for a week. He would stop hearing their disembodied voices and see them again.

Kurapika's breathing slowed to a pattern to a relaxed sleep. And everything was okay.

It was okay.

Leorio would be there apologizing when he woke up. Kurapika would pretend to be angry…and that was okay.

He was just going to close his eyes.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #leopika #killugon #hanahaki disease #flowershop au #my writing #hua

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