#gonna attempt to draw gore but i’ve never drawn anything like that before

[whumpy-wyrms]

every time i see my aunt she always asks me if there’s anything new going on with Aspen and Silas and then i infodump about them for an hour it’s really funny

like YES ask me about my gay cannibalistic vampire mortician who eats corpses and his equally deranged and weird immortal werewolf bloodbag at the family function! this is a totally normal and family-friendly thing to talk about in front of all my little cousins

[kyber-kisses]

I, Alone (Part 5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

wanna start from the beginning? Here is the masterlist!

Warnings: Dean continuing to lose his mind, more angst, spn level gore🤷‍♀️

Summary: as Dean continues to search for the missing piece in his life, the reader hits a snag on a case.

A/n: ahhh I am really loving writing this series! I hope you guys are enjoying it! Anyhow, the spn Taglist is still open and please tell me what you thought!

You missed home. There was no doubt about that.

No matter how fast you ran, no matter how many miles you put between you and the home. . . You missed it. You couldn’t help it.

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your coat, you moved silently down the street, eyes scanning over every inch you could see. Though the cobblestone street was empty, there were still street-lamps shining stubbornly into the night, casting sharp shadows on the opposing brick walls. It was as if they simply loved to share the amber glow. Under their steady watch the cream brickwork brought back a nostalgic feeling you couldn’t quite pinpoint. As you walked you let a hand trace over the bricks, slowly getting lost in thought.

Home. It had been so long. So long. At first being gone felt slightly weird, but now it just felt wrong. You didn’t belong here. You belonged on the other side of the Atlantic, not here on some abandon street in some small town in Spain. This wasn’t home. . . It was the furthest thing from it.

Home was the bunker and it grey walls, and the library with its massive collection of lore books. Home was the abandon back roads of America, the small motels with their flickering neon signs. Home was the backseat of Baby and her worn leather and faint scent of gunpowder, the sounds of Classic rock rolling freely out of the speakers. . . Home was Dean and his terrible jokes and contagious smile. You missed the last one the most, almost to the point where you could feel your heart breaking in your chest all over again and suddenly you had tears in your eyes to go along with it. Maybe it was because you knew he didn’t miss you in return.

No,no- now was not the time.

Quickly shaking your head, you cleared the haze in your mind. You were hunting. Now was not the time to be reminiscing about the past. Up ahead you could see the building you were aiming for, the slowly collapsing farmhouse only a silhouette as it sat at the end of the street, beyond where the lamplight ventured.

One thing you learned very quickly when you set foot in Europe was that the spirits were different. They were older and stronger and so much more restless. The ghost you were currently hunting was something of a poltergeist, and had killed several people in the last two weeks. No-one had survived a night in the abandoned rock built dwelling in living memory either. The locals said to stay away if you knew what was good for you. ( the victims clearly hadn’t listened.)

It was said that in life he was a mild mannered farmer, but around 1820 he watched his entire family get slaughtered before being treated to a particularly brutal death. He was hung by the neck and had his guts cut from him while he was still alive. Now he was restless, unable to rest in peace and full of fury.

Tightening up the straps of your pack, you eased open the lone door in front of you. The hinges creaked harshly making you wince as you stepped through the threshold, the darkness swallowing you for a moment before you adjusted again and turned on the headlamp, your other hand tightly gripping your shotgun. All you had to do was find his bones which were supposedly underneath the floorboards somewhere and burn them, and then you would be on your way and to the next town that needed saving. Easy peasy.

The rotted floorboards moaned with age as you crept through the space, ears and eyes alert to every little movement and sound. An uneasy breeze blew through the slowly falling apart building, bringing the scent of mildew and rot with it, a scent you knew all too well. Every step you took was met by another discordant shriek from the worm rotted floor boards, but you didn’t stop. You had done this so many times that not even the sounds up head of you made you flinch. A fine layer of dust coated the place and as you walked deeper into the belly of the home the floor got dustier, the floor boards got creakier and there was torn paint everywhere you looked. The vintage furniture was broken, chairs without legs and cabinets without doors - like a body with no soul that would never work. 

Then like a switch being flicked, the temperature dropped and your breath came out in wispy little clouds, and within seconds you were on high alert. the beam from your headlamp bouncing across the room as you whirled around.

But unfortunately you weren’t paying enough attention because a cold hand shot out of the dark and wrapped around your ankle, sending you to the rotting floorboards with one sharp pull along with a shout of surprise. Your shotgun slid off into the dark, leaving the light from your headlamp as your only ally. And then the poltergeist was on top of you, hands wrapped firmly around your throat as you desperately clawed at the floor trying to find something to help fight back. The spirit pulled you foreword slightly before slamming your head harshly back to the ground. Your mind quickly went into autopilot, in a last ditch attempt to survive—

And then the world went dark.

*. *. *. *. *. *. *

The bunker was a mess.

That was the only proper way to describe it as Sam stood stoic in the middle of the library. Books had been piling up on the table for the past few days, the shelves slowly becoming more vacant, some even littering the ground along with scribbled notes.

“Dean, what the hell?!”

As if on cue his brother poked his head up from where he was seated on the other side of the table, a mountain of literature dividing the two.

“What?”

“The place is a mess! What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out what the hell is happening to me and why I can’t remember things!” The older brother fumed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I just need to find a spell or something to help. Cas was helping me-“ Dean paused, eyebrows drawing together as he looked over his shoulder for the angel. “But he left. Angel business or something.”

Not this again. Sam thought, letting out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dean how many times do I have to tell you that you are not missing anything? You’ve been droning on about this for weeks. You need to stop.”

“I’m not stopping, Sam. I’ve lost something important to me and I intend on finding whatever it may be.” Dean flipped the page of the book he was currently buried in, a set look on his face. He wasn’t gonna let this go.

“Alright whatever. Continue on your crazy quest or whatever to find this ‘missing thing’. I’m done trying to stop you.”

“Alright, fine.” Dean muttered, eyes still fixated on the words in front of him as he picked up his book and moved out of the library, no doubt moving to his room instead.

Dean didn’t even have to look up from the massive leather bound book in his hands as he navigated the quiet corridors of their home. It was like shifting into autopilot. He knew this place like the back of his hand. His steps only faltered once when he came to the door from before, the brass numbers staring back at him intimidatingly before the Winchester shook his head and continued on towards his room, nose back in the book.

Nudging the door open with his foot, he flicked on the lights. The hinges of the door slightly squeaking as he closed it behind him fully and moved to take a seat in his desk chair, kicking his feet up on the worn wood of the desk. He was gonna find something soon. He could feel it in his bones.

He had maybe been seated for a mere minute before he paused, looking up from the book with eyebrows tightly drawn together. A sudden wave of curiosity rippled through the hunter as his jade eyes look across the room towards his nightstand, head tilting ever so slightly.

It was as if he was being pulled because he slowly closed his book and moved across the linoleum tiles, searing himself on the bed as he cautiously slid open the top drawer. He had no clue as to why he was doing it but he didn’t stop himself. Shifting through the contents of the drawer he came across an unfamiliar book at the bottom. . . Or was it familiar? Ignoring the rest of the contents he pulled the small book free before closing the drawer with a sharp thud.

The photo album was small. The front and back wrapped in a deep green leather that was soft to the touch, his initials burnt into the lower left corner of it. It was his. . . But he had no memory of ever buying it.

“Well hello there.” Brushing off the thin layer of dust collected on the top, Dean opened to the plastic pages, recognizing the the photographs held within as he flipped through them. They were pictures of him and Sam, Bobby, Cas. Even the one of him with his mother. His most cherished photos were all there, safe and tucked away.

But what got him wasn’t the photographs in front of him. It was the blank spots between them where other photographs clearly used to be. No person in their right mind would leave open spaces between photographs in a photo album. Something was meant to be there. Those spaces weren’t supposed to be empty. . .

Deans eyes stayed glued to the laminated pages, as he let his fingers dance along an empty photo slot. “Someone. . .”

The moment the word left his lips his eyes widened and he sucked in a breath as realization struck him, And then Dean Winchester was shooting off the bed like it had caught fire, throwing the door to his room open and bolting back down the hallway, the photo album clutched tightly in his hands.

“Sam!”

“God, what is it now?”

Deans socked feet slid across the floor as he rounded the corner into the war room, practically vaulting over the steps as he entered the library.

“Found it!”

“Found what?” Sam let out a sigh, before slightly jumping as Dean slammed the open photo album down on the table, a wide smile on his face.

“Look!”

Peering down at the page the younger Winchester shrugged, looking back up to his brother. “What am I looking at exactly?”

“The blank spots, see?!” Dean rapidly tapped on an empty space in the book, wide eyed and out of breathless.

“Yeah, you don’t take a lot of pictures-“

“No! No you don’t get it- it’s a someone.” Dean breathed, both excited and relieved that he was finally getting somewhere. “I’ve lost someone very important to me.”

To Be Continued. . .

SPN Taglist (still open)

@familybusinesswritingbro​@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti​ @callmekda​ @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum​ @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll​ @fandomnerdespressourself​ @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl​ @neerness @totallyluciferr​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @dolanfivsosxox​@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278​ @defenderrosetyler​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural​ @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @beanie-beebo​ @xoxoaudreymarie​ @greenarrowhead​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Thirteen | Nuclear ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: In the Fallout ] [ Vulgarity, gun, gore ]

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“Hey!”

Glancing up from his cards, Obito scowls. “Kinda in the middle of something here.” And by ‘something’, he means a game of poker. He’s in a good position, and he really doesn’t want to be interrupted. If he can win the pot, he’ll get away with far more than he first put in.

“Fine, just...hurry up, will you? I’ve got news.”

“Yeah yeah” Obito replies blithely, adjusting his hand. “It can wait.”

Rolling his remaining eye, Kakashi turns to the barkeeper. “Whiskey.” Might as well do something in the interim. He sits backward on his stool, watching the game. Obito bets the rest of his cash, earning uncertain glances from the other three players. And then one by one, they all fold.

Grinning and deepening the scars on his face, Obito slaps down his cards. “Straight flush, bitches! Fork it over!”

Kakashi gives a slow shake of his head.

With a great deal of grumbling, they all shove the pot to Obito, who rakes it in greedily. “Pleasure, gentlemen. Until next time.” Pocketing his winnings, he sits beside Kakashi just as the bottle is delivered. “Guess this is on me!”

“Wonderful. Now can you give me five minutes to explain something to you?”

“Depends on if I get drunk in five minutes,” is Obito’s counter, knocking back a shot.

“Just...don’t get too hasty. All right?”

The Uchiha gives his friend a look. “The hell’s got you so worked up?”

“A new place to plunder, that’s what. Word is, it hasn’t been touched yet. And you know what that means.”

Pouring another shot, Obito slows. “...what is it?”

“Some old lab. Pre-war. Supposedly a lot of good tech certain folks would be more than happy to get their hands on. There’s a building on the surface that’s been hit, but some old wanderer I met tells me the real load is underneath, in the actual lab no one’s bothered to look for.”

“And if it’s some well-kept secret, how’d this old geezer know about it?” Obito counters, looking skeptical as he knocks back another shot.

“He’s a loner. Found it by accident, but there’s...complications. He couldn’t do much with it, so he sold me the info.”

Immediately, Obito deadpans. “...so you took the word of some crackpot old man about a secret lab and paid him for it? Kakashi, that is the stupidest fucking -!”

“Keep your voice down!” the Hatake hisses, shoving Obito’s head toward the counter and earning a grunt. “I already scoped it out before I came here. Seems pretty damn legit to me. If we can find even a few pieces of tech -?”

“I don’t want tech,” Obito spits. “I want cash, Kakashi!”

“Then you sell the tech for it, you dumbass! Not everything is a quick cash grab! Sometimes you have to work for it, huh? Think about it. This stuff is pre-war - undamaged by any nuclear fallout or blasts. Just sitting there. There are plenty of people who would die to have it.”

“Which means finding them, first! You wanna haul all that junk around before you have a buyer?”

“The hell do you think caches are for, huh? Why is every conversation I have with you an argument...why are we even partners?”

“I ask myself the same thing!”

The pair reach a deadlock, glowering at each other.

“...let’s just check it out. If you’re not happy with it, fine. But I want to at least see if we can turn a profit on anything. Because your gambling isn’t always so fruitful.”

“And neither is your spending money on supposed tips. But yeah, sure, let’s go.” Obito slaps the money for the whiskey on the table, taking the rest of the bottle with him.

He might need it.

Outside the dusty bar in the remnants of a town, they start walking, Kakashi pulling out a worn map. “It’s right out here, a few miles out.”

“Won’t it be dark by the time we get there?”

“We’ll just camp in what’s left of the building. Then we’ll have a full day to check things out.”

“More like a full day to waste…”

“I heard that.”

“Good!”

The rest of the walk is done in a stony silence, neither of them willing to concede any ground. And as the sun sets, the lab looms up atop a hill. All of the windows are smashed, part of the right side collapsed.

“Looks like a shitshow,” Obito remarks, earning a sigh from his companion. “Something this obvious has surely been picked clean.”

“On the surface, sure. But it seems no one ever realized there was more underground.”

“And how did some random old man figure this out?”

“Because he actually sat and read the documents in this place. Realized there was more to it. You think anyone else is going to care about that kind of thing?”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

Kakashi gives a brief lift of his arms in defeat. “...yeah well, exactly.”

“So he didn’t have the physical means to take advantage, or…?”

“According to him, it was ‘too stressful’. Which, to be fair, could mean...a number of things. There might be lingering security down there. Structure might be faulty. Flooded. No idea until we look.”

Obito grumbles. “When are you gonna learn that people being vague rarely means good things?”

“Well after last week, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Hey, I’m making up for last week!”

“And until you do, we’re giving this a shot.”

Heaving a sigh, the Uchiha decides to just play along, moving to gather some broken wood to get a fire going. The sooner he lets Kakashi play this out, the sooner they can get moving again. The wasteland is vast, and opportunities can easily pass one by. And he’d prefer something a bit more exciting than rummaging around some old science junk.

Once they cook some of their rations and find dry, level places to unfurl their bedrolls, the pair of them hunker down for the night.

And like every day since the bombs fell, the sun rises again, scorching the Earth’s devastated surface.

By the time Obito rises, Kakashi’s already been up, examining some documents with his one remaining eye. “You’re up early. Now I know you’re serious.”

“No day like the present,” Kakashi rebukes. “Seems they were working on some kind of DNA...stuff. I dunno, I’m not a scientist.”

“Obviously. Which is why this stuff is just money to you, not of actual interest.”

“And which is why you shouldn’t complain, because money is money. Now help me find the way down.”

“You haven’t found it yet?!”

“No! I found the documents. Which confirm there’s something under this building. The only question is where, specifically.”

“...I’m gonna punch you,” Obito mutters. “Can’t we just take a sledgehammer to the floor?”

“Do you have a sledgehammer?”

“...no.”

“Then the answer is no. Come on, it can’t be that hard.”

They spread out, looking for any manner of descent. Obito checks doors in search of an elevator shaft, Kakashi attempting to find stairs.

In the end, it’s Kakashi who’s successful.

“Over here!”

Obito closes the gap, revealing Kakashi pointing to a button. “...and? This place obviously doesn’t have any pow-”

With a bop of the end of his closed fist, Kakashi pushes the button.

A grating whine sounds, and the floor before them quivers. Then slowly, it slides back beneath the floor beyond it, revealing...stairs.

“...what the hell…?”

“Weird lab, weird stairs, weird power,” Kakashi replies with a shrug. “Look, there’s even lights. How convenient.”

“And you wanna go down there?!”

“Yes, yes I do. Stay up here if you want, you big baby. We’ve been in shadier places before and you’ve been fine.”

“Shady people I can handle,” Obito retorts, following as Kakashi begins to descend. “It’s shady stuff that weirds me out. You can’t just kill shady stuff.”

“You can break it. Same difference.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Down and down they descend, the staircase having switchbacks every ten feet down or so. Obito watches their surroundings suspiciously. The air is cool and pleasant, which...is odd. No dust, no smoke, and perhaps even slightly humid. Nothing like the stale, dry air above.

After who knows how many flights...they reach a door.

Kakashi presses an ear to it, listening. “...don’t hear anything.”

“It better not be locked.”

Testing the knob, Kakashi feels it turn in his grip. “...seems not.” Just in case, he draws a pistol from his hip. Obito, in tandem, takes out his trusted machete.

Inside...it’s like another world. Clean, immaculate, and almost entirely made of metal. Desks are neatly arranged, with all manners of equipment seemingly left just as they were before the war.

“...wow,” Obito has to offer, tone breathy in amazement. “This is…”

“Yeah. Never seen anything like it.” Approaching one of the desks, Kakashi finds more documents. “...‘genetic enhancement and manipulation’. That sounds...ominous.”

Obito, in the meantime, works his way further in. Computers, diagnostic equipment, and who knows what else is everywhere, pristine and spotless. It almost freaks him out. Opening another door, his face pales.

“...uh...Kakashi…?”

“Hm?”

“...you need to see this.”

Gun still drawn, Kakashi approaches, trying to look over Obito’s shoulder. “What?”

Wordlessly, Obito steps inside, pushing the door open further and letting his partner past him.

It’s a long, narrow room. In the middle is more tech neither of them could begin to name, but...it looks serious. A few metal tables the length of a person stand nearby. And along the other three walls are a series of glass tubes filled with an off-green liquid. Within them...are rotting bodies.

“...Christ,” Kakashi can’t help but mutter. “Looks like these all got left behind.”

Obito, only half listening, works his way in. “...is it just me, or...does it get less bad the further you go…?”

“What?”

“Look.” He points. While the first few tubes are nothing but cloudy liquid with skeletons and deteriorated flesh, he’s right. The decomposition seems less and less the more they circle around. At the top of the tubes, screens are empty of power, clearly drained over time. Until -

“Oh shit!”

The very. Last. Tube. Above it, the panel flashes red in warning. Power is almost completely drained. But within the tank, seemingly in some kind of suspended animation...is a person.

Slightly curled into a fetal position the body - seemingly female - floats weightlessly in the fluid. A series of wires are strung into their flesh, and a mask with a tube provides oxygen. And bubbles occasionally release as she exhales.

“...holy fuck.”

“How can this be possible? The bombs dropped over a hundred years ago. And whoever this is, they look no older than us!”

“Maybe some kind of...delayed development?” Kakashi muses, still staring. “I have no idea. But you know what this means…? This is probably the only living person from before the war. Untouched by radiation. You know how valuable that would be to the right people? People trying to find ways to -?”

“What?! You wanna turn her over to a bunch of freaks in lab coats? Kakashi, she’s never even been outside this tube. You really think she should just be shuffled off to another one to be studied? That’s fucked up!”

“You’re the one who wanted this whole thing to be worthwhile and make us some cash!”

“Yeah, with tech. Not with people! We might as well be like the slavers at that point, and fuck that.”

Sighing, Kakashi runs a hand back through the mess of his hair. “So, what...you wanna just let her out and wish her luck on her way? You think taking someone like this and just...turning them loose in this world is fair, either?”

“I dunno! But I’m not gonna sell her as a lab rat, Kakashi. No fucking way.”

“Then what, leave her here? Seems she’s got a few days left of power. Less now that we’ve sucked some up with the lights and the stairs.”

“And let her turn into goop like the rest of these poor bastards?”

“There really doesn’t seem to be any fair option here, Obito. So make up your mind. You found her, you decide.”

Obito balks, heart leaping to his throat. He didn’t ask for this…!

“You better hurry because we’re running out of lights down here the longer we dawdle. I’m gonna go pack up what I can. You figure this out.”

“But -?!” Reaching out, he’s denied as Kakashi heads back into the other room. “...ugh, damn it!” Huffing a breath, he turns back to the tube.

Given she’s likely never had any light, the woman is pale as milk. And...maybe for the same reason, so is the rest of her: long, wavy hair almost seems to glow in the strange fluid. It’s a bit hard to tell given how much she’s floating, but it almost seems to be as long as she is tall.

...then again, he figures she’s never had a haircut.

...he can’t leave her here. And he won’t let her get snapped up by some freak wanting to study her like a bug in a jar. So, that leaves one option. Looking at the right side of the tank, Obito finds a kind of keypad: maybe a mechanism for opening the door? Cuz something tells him just...smashing the glass isn’t smart. “Uh…”

He needs a password.

Moving to the equipment, he shuffles through a bunch of papers, opening a filing cabinet and finding folders for the specimens. Glancing to her tube, he finds the number, a finger tracing down the paper until -

“Two four seven three,” he murmurs, repeating it under his breath until he’s back at the keypad, pressing the keys in sequence.

A loud beep sounds, and he startles as massive bubbles flood up from the floor of the tube. The liquid, it’s...it’s draining! She slowly sinks to a tangle of limbs at the bottom.

And then, with a pressurized hiss, the glass swings open, and she nearly tumbles out.

“Oh, shit -!” Kneeling, he manages to catch her, nose wrinkling at the smell of...whatever she was in. And she’s wet. Eugh.

Carefully, he starts taking out the wires, wincing as the sites bleed. And off comes the mask, letting her breathe air on her own for the first time.

“What the hell is -?”

“Kakashi! Find a rag or something, she’s bleeding wherever I take the wires out.”

Seeing that Obito apparently made up his mind, Kakashi sighs and finds a dispenser of paper towels. Handing those over, he then grabs one of the abandoned lab coats.

Since she is, after all, completely nude.

Obito mops her off, trying to wipe both blood and mystery liquid off her skin, going pink as he nears anything intimate. Once she’s a bit cleaner, he lifts her up and lets Kakashi help him get her as dressed as they can manage. A spare bit of cable ties it shut around her waist.

“...why isn’t she waking up?” the Uchiha then asks.

“No idea. Maybe she’s dead?”

“No, no - she’s breathing.”

“Try slapping her.”

Obito shoots him a look. “...hey, miss? Uh...hello?”

No response, her head lolling around on her neck.

“...well, let's - let’s get her back upstairs. Then we can come back down for any stuff you wanna haul out.”

“I’ve got a few bags full. And you’re gonna have to keep an eye on her. I’ll make a few trips in the meantime.”

“...all right.” Hefting her up on his back, Obito begins the ascent back to the surface, admittedly sad to leave the clean air behind.

Well...he has a person. Now what?

Back in their camp, he lays her on his bedroll. Her hair is still wet, and he mulls it over before turning her on her side. Deft fingers then start braiding. Once she has a long tail of plait, he ties it off with some wire. There...that’ll keep it from getting too out of hand.

“...mn…”

He stiffens. Is...is she waking up? “H-hello?”

Her eyelids twitch, leading him to notice her white lashes. Then they open to reveal a soft pair of grey eyes.

...Obito then realizes that she’s likely got no memories, no language...nothing.

Oh boy.

“...uh...hi?” he greets sheepishly, lips briefly flickering up into a smile. “...I’m Obito.”

Completely blank, she stares at him.

“...you, uh…” He sighs, rubbing his neck. “...can you...understand me?”

More unaware staring.

“Aw, crap. Well, uh…” Adjusting to sit cross-legged, he puts a hand to his chest. “...Obito.”

Her eyes drop to his hand, then back to his face.

“Obito.”

“...O...bito…”

He perks up. “Yeah!”

“...yeah.”

...okay, maybe she’s just copying him. Thinking it over for a moment, he recalls a book he got to read a while back, stolen from a camp they’d stayed at. It had a heroine, and her name was…

He then (very shyly) puts a hand to her chest. “...Ryū.”

Again, she looks to the hand, then back to him. “...R...Ryū…?”

A nod. “Ryū.” Hand back to his own chest. “Obito.”

“Okay, I’ve got the first -”

Obito points. “Kakashi.”

Following the gesture, Ryū sees Kakashi freeze. She also points. “...Kakashi!”

Amused, Obito bursts out laughing, clapping his hands and making her startle. “Hahaha! You got it!”

“Well this is going to be fun,” Kakashi mutters. “You’ve got an adult with the mental awareness of a baby.”

“She’ll learn!”

“With you as her teacher, that scares me.”

“Then you’ll just have to help, Kakashi.”

Sighing, he approaches and sits nearby. He points to Obito. “Idiot.”

“Hey -!”

“I...diot?”

“No!” Obito cuts in, waving his hands.

“Yes, idiot,” is Kakashi’s reply, laughing as Obito shoves him.

“...Obito.”

The pair pause, looking to her. By now, she’s more bright-eyed, clearly curious. She points. “Obito.” Her hand moves. “...Kakashi.”

Obito then points to her. “Ryū!”

“What kind of a name is -?”

“It’s her name! I got it from a book, okay?”

“All right, all right...guess you get the right. But we need to get her some supplies. And we better keep her out of the sun for too long for a while, let her get used to it.”

“Yeah…” There’s a lot to think about.

“...well, welcome to the nuclear waste dump that is Earth,” Kakashi offers. “You’ll learn to love it. Or hate it. Likely both. But at least you won’t turn into soup like your friends.”

Obito’s nose wrinkles. “...okay, but...let’s never tell her about that part once she understands, okay? It’ll only upset her.”

“Fine. Now, I’m gonna haul up some more stuff. Be on your best behavior.” Kakashi points warningly to the two of them.

“Kakashi!” Ryū replies, watching him go.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Sadly,” Obito notes with a snort. Elbow on his knee and chin in his palm, he watches as Ryū takes in her surroundings, and then starts fiddling with anything within reach: debris, his bag...and then him.

He stiffens, but lets her curiously prod at him. She pulls at his clothes, seemingly understanding it’s separate from him. Then he takes his hand in her hands, turning it over and back before comparing it to her own.

...then she moves to his face.

Unlike the rest of her touches, these are more...hesitant. Careful. She seems to know it’s a bit more fragile. Eyes roam over it, drinking in his image.

“...ugly, huh?” he murmurs, knowing she can’t understand.

But she doesn’t flinch, a hand tracing along the ridges of his scars.

“Got those from a mutant. Plus a lot more you can’t see. It’s how Kakashi lost his eye, too. But he can tell you about that.”

She pauses to listen, but doesn’t comprehend. “...Obito.”

“...mhm. That’s me.”

More touches to his face, and then, tone softer, “...Obito…”

Blinking, he feels his face get warm. “...uh…?”

The phenomenon surprises her, jolting before pressing her palms to his cheeks, squishing them slightly to feel the heat.

And then she giggles.

It’s a sweet, chime-like sound. And Obito immediately adores it. “...you’re so cute,” he mumbles.

“...cute?”

“...uh -?”

“All right, I think that’s all we can reasonably carry. Especially since she can’t really...uh…” Kakashi perks a brow. “...am I interrupting something?”

Flustered, Obito leans back from her grip. “No!”

“...then let’s get ready to go.”

By the time they finish packing up, the afternoon is fading into evening. Obito draws a spare cloak over Ryū to keep her out of the sun. “There we go.”

“Ready?” his partner asks.

“I guess so.” The pair start walking, and...Obito realizes she’s not following. “Aw, jeez...uh…” Heading back, he holds out a hand.

After a pause, she does the same.

“Come on,” he mumbles, taking her grip and urging her to keep up.

“Obito!”

“...yup.”

     Okay not gonna lie, I...did not have high hopes for this prompt, but by the end I really enjoyed it xD I don’t, uh...participate much in the apocalypse genre (besides watching my brother play Fallout 4 lmao) so I don’t have much imagery to go off of. So I gave it my best shot .w.      While kinda gross in the middle there, it turned out cute by the end xD Obito’s got his work cut out for him, bahaha! But that’s all for today - thanks for reading!

[winterverses]

Chapter Twenty-One

Warning: Violence/gore.

Kirk strode down the hall beside Anne, his brows drawn into a scowl. “When were you thinking you would tell me about this?” he demanded, trying to keep pace with Anne. Despite her shorter stature, she was moving along at a clip that could have left him behind.

“Please don’t. I meant to tell you, and then I got the message from Spock, and… they’re already all waiting for me.” Anne’s shoulders were squared, but Kirk could see her trembling. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner, but…”

At least this explained her agitation at dinner. She’d been quiet about it, and she hadn’t answered when he’d asked, but he’d left it alone, deciding that if she didn’t want to talk there was probably a reason. “Anne, look, you could have told them to wait. I’m not that upset about it, but insisting that this has to happen in the middle of the night--”

“It does. Ever since I talked to Lieutenant Uhura, I’ve just been feeling sicker and sicker, and I finally get it. This needs to happen now.” She looked up at him, and he saw the naked fear in her eyes. “I do not want to do this but it has to happen right now, right away.”

“You could have at least warned me at dinner,” Kirk said dryly. “Here I was thinking it would take a couple more days, and you’ve been railroading everything.”

“And don’t you think I would be delaying if I could?” Anne asked, her voice ragged, sounding a bit odd around the edges. “Don’t you think I’d be avoiding this?”

“I know. That’s why I’m not mad about it. Just… worried. Maybe a little irritated. I was having a really interesting dream.” Kirk risked a joke. “There were Klingons in it.”

That won him only a wan smile from her. At least it was a smile. “I’m sorry. But I’m not doing this because I want to.”

Up ahead were the doors to the med bay. Kirk could already see Bones standing there, waiting for them, and Kirk’s scowl had been a pale shadow of his. Before they got too close, Kirk laid a hand on Anne’s shoulder, pulling her off to the side where they wouldn’t be seen.

Her whole body was trembling, her breathing as fast as it had been when she’d been on the witness stand. “Hey,” he said, gathering her against him, wrapping his arms around her. She was so small, and she seemed so fragile. He sort of wanted to hit the brakes on this whole thing. Was this really worth it? “It’s gonna be okay. Take a breath, get calm, and then we’ll go in.”

With a strangled little noise, she buried her face in his chest, her tension turning into a lean against him. For a few long seconds, she stood there, letting her breathing slow, and then she firmly pulled away. “We’re running out of time,” she said, catching one of his hands in hers. Lifting it, she pressed her lips to his knuckles. “But thank you.”

Then she was off again, the doors sliding open in front of her. Kirk followed in her wake, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles where her lips had touched them, trying to pretend like he wasn’t groggy and confused and worried and wishing he’d woken up to a completely different reason for her to want him awake.

Bones frowned even harder, if possible, having seen Kirk pull them out of sight. “Took you long enough,” he said acidly, even though it had been barely minutes since the rest of them had assembled.

“Mr. Spock. Now. Right now. Something is very, very wrong.” Anne hopped up on one of the beds, her eyes huge with fear, her voice still sounding odd, as if she was shaping her words differently.

“I had assumed there was a reason for your haste,” Spock said, approaching her and lifting a hand.

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” Bones started.

“Trust my patient’s instincts, Leonard,” Dr. Hayes said. Instead of her uniform, she was wearing a negligee that Kirk might have wanted to take a closer look at if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. So they’d rousted her out of bed fast enough that she hadn’t had time to change. At least he wasn’t the only one caught off-guard. “If she says something is wrong, then something is wrong. We can pick up the pieces afterward.”

Spock’s fingertips made contact, and he murmured the traditional words of the meld. Anne’s eyes rolled up in her head, sliding closed. Her body slumped, then started to sag, and Kirk caught her and gently laid her down, never breaking her contact with Spock.

For a few long moments, everyone was silent.

“So when do we know if anything’s happened?” McCoy said.

Dr. Hayes was already laying out instruments she might need, sedatives, whatever she had handy to stem off any possibility Kirk could imagine. “I have the feeling--”

Anne suddenly inhaled and shot back up, her eyes wild with terror. “Spock,” she gasped.

Spock was already moving for Dr. Hayes’ array of instruments. “Do not attempt to stop her, Captain, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said, his voice firm. Brushing aside the laser scalpel, he grabbed an old fashioned metal scalpel from the tray and tossed it to Anne, who snatched it out of the air as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

Yanking up her dress, Anne exposed her thighs. Before Kirk could make sense of this, she brought the scalpel down, slicing open her thigh about halfway down, closer to the inside than the outside. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling over onto the bed.

Despite himself, Kirk started forward, meaning to grab her hand, at least until he could get an explanation. Spock’s voice was the only thing that held him back. “Captain, if you wish to help, you may hold her steady. If she cuts too deeply, there is a very real possibility that we may all die. Doctor, please do not administer any anesthetic, as we cannot risk affecting her motor control or sensitivity.”

“That insulin regulator,” Bones said, his eyes lighting with memory. “What’s wrong with it?”

Kirk found himself pressing his hands to her thigh, keeping her leg steady while she cut deeper and deeper into the muscle, trying to ignore her soft whimpers whenever she lifted the knife.

“Doctor, please draw a vial of blood large enough to contain the object from somewhere that will not interfere with her excision, and use a thickening agent to congeal it. If the device comes into contact with anything other than her genetic material, it may explode.”

“On it,” Bones said, grabbing a hypo and a vial. Dr. Hayes followed him, grabbing suction and applying it to the wound Anne was creating.

“Captain, if you would be so good as to contact Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott, the device will need to be either shielded from all possible signals or beamed off the ship to be detonated. I will contact Mr. Sulu and notify him that he must halt the ship’s forward momentum as we do not know whether there is a physical boundary beyond which the device activates.” Spock stepped away, flipping open his communicator.

“I’ve got this, Captain,” Dr. Hayes said, taking over from him.

Kirk flipped open his communicator, rousing both Chekov and Scotty, and notifying them of the necessary actions. “You have maybe five minutes to get ready, Mr. Scott.” In truth, he had no idea. “If you can’t get it to a shielded container, tell Chekov to beam it off the ship, as far away as he can get it.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty said.

Then, once all the instructions had been given, all he could do was wait, his hand on Anne’s shoulder to offer what comfort he could.

After a few long moments, Spock said softly, “We dare not risk cutting further, Ms. Hardesty.”

Her head lifted, and Kirk saw her bottom lip tremble as she looked up at Spock, her skin dead white and her eyes like dirty ice. She nodded once and tossed the scalpel aside, then plunged her finger into the wound. Even though he had suspected it was coming, Kirk couldn’t help but tense, her guttural cry of pain making him wish the bastard who’d done this was in front of him now. The two doctors were entirely calm by now, McCoy pulling away the hypo and preparing to uncap the vial of blood. Dr. Hayes continued suction, keeping the wound relatively free of blood.

It seemed like eternity before Anne snarled, “Got it.” Her voice was so distorted by pain that Kirk barely recognized it. As she pulled her fingers out of the wound, a piece of dull plastic filmed with blood held between them, McCoy uncapped the vial and let her drop it in, then snapped it shut.

“Mr. Chekov, now,” Kirk said, and Chekov didn’t waste time with an acknowledgment. The vial shimmered, and disappeared.

“If I had realized it was there, I could have told you I’m not diabetic,” Anne said, her lips bloodless and her voice oddly accented. Her eyes were huge and glassy-- probably shock. Kirk realized he’d gotten blood on her shoulder, and then that the dress was ruined anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“They were exceedingly clever,” Spock said. “It was meant to be undetectable. If you had not come out of anesthesia during the surgery, we might have brought you back into Loche’s sphere of influence only to damage the ship.”

McCoy busied himself by handing Dr. Hayes the protoplaser, and dialing up a shot of anesthetic. “Goddamned dirty business. Any other medical conditions you don’t have that I should know about?”

“I'll have Mason forward you my last set of files.” Anne began to shiver, her teeth chattering. What was that accent? It wasn’t strong enough to identify.

“All clear, sir,” Scotty’s voice came. “We’ve got a wee red vial locked in a subspace refraction pattern that keeps any signal from getting in or out.”

Kirk lifted his open communicator. “Good job, Scotty. You too, Mr. Chekov. Get some rest. I’ll brief you tomorrow.” They acknowledged, and signed off.

Spock retrieved the scalpel from the floor where it had landed, and placed it next to the rest of Dr. Hayes’ equipment, then turned to Kirk. “Captain, if you wish to remain in the med bay, I will be glad to take the conn in your stead at 0700. Your presence would be far more comforting to Ms. Hardesty than mine; she holds you in great esteem.”

Anne’s eyes, which had been sliding half closed, flew open. “We’re not done, Mr. Spock,” she said through teeth gritted to stop their chattering.

“Oh yes you are,” Bones said, loading up another hypo with a sedative. “Sit on her or something, will you, Jim? I can’t have her kicking up her heels all over my med bay.”

His sense of the absurd abruptly reasserting itself, Kirk chuckled and wiped a stray bead of blood away from Anne’s cheek. “You liar. You said you weren’t interesting.” He was rewarded with the ghost of a smile and Anne’s head sinking to rest against his chest.

“There,” Dr. Hayes said, standing up. “Not quite as good as new, but it’ll do for the moment. Now, what the hell just happened?” As she spoke, she began to clean her equipment and put it away by rote, watching Kirk and Anne sharply.

“The device was implanted in Ms. Hardesty by her former captor, possibly as a precaution against escape attempts. However, we could not be certain that it was not also keyed to detonate should she cross back into his territory, or that it would not send out a signal to let him know of any such attempt. We agreed that we could not waste the time finding out; now that it is neutralized, I will be able to study it, and perhaps overcome the genetic requirement so that it can be safely handled with tools.” Spock glanced at Kirk. “Further questions must wait until I have analyzed the device. With your permission, Captain, I’ll take my leave.”

Kirk nodded. “Thanks, Spock. I’d have hated to put another hole in this ship so soon after the last. Get some rest.” Spock nodded and turned to leave the med bay.

Dr. Hayes looked thoughtfully at Anne, then shook her hair over her shoulder and wiped the last of the blood from her hands. “Well, show’s over then. I’ll see you in the morning, Anne.” Anne murmured an indistinct assent. “Call me if you need me, Leonard, Captain.” With a last frown for Kirk, she too left the med bay.

Bones continued to clean up, and then said, “Go get yourself some scrubs and have a shower, you’re covered in blood. And get one of those isolation rooms ready. You two can stay in there tonight.”

Kirk really didn’t want to leave her so soon. “I don’t care about the blood, Bones, and I don’t think she does either.”

“I care, dammit. She’s filthy, and that dress is garbage. And I’m a doctor, so I can clean her up, but not with you around. Have some respect for the privacy of my patient.”

“Oh.” Kirk had to admit that there was a definite rationale there. He sighed, then ran a thumb over Anne’s cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Anne pushed herself away, swaying, and looked up at him. That awful shaking had stopped, and her eyes were dreamy with the sedative. “I won’t go anywhere,” she said, her mouth soft, her eyes still managing to convey that she was making a joke. He couldn’t help a smile at that, and that soft mouth of hers slowly answered his. As he turned, he saw Bones pull out a pair of medical shears.

Once he’d washed off and dressed in a set of baggy scrubs, he returned to find Anne lying on the exam table, clean and wearing one of the standard issue med bay scrub gowns, her hair taken down from its customary twist, a silver corona spread out around her head and flowing over the sides of the table. Kirk hadn’t seen it down since he’d rescued her, and then it had been matted, the color indistinguishable. The silver locks softened her angular cheeks, making her seem more touchable somehow. McCoy walked out of one of the isolation rooms. “Took you long enough. It’s all ready,” Bones said. “Can you help her over here?”

Kirk just walked over and slid his arms under her knees and her shoulders, picking her up. Her eyes fluttered open. “Why am I always falling asleep on you?” she asked, her mouth curving up into a kissable little smile.

“Maybe I’m the boring one,” Kirk answered with a grin of his own.

“I’m adding that to the list,” Anne said drowsily.

Once Bones had turned the covers back, Kirk gently laid her down and stood aside so that Bones could adjust his sensors, then tucked the covers around her. “Need anything?” he asked, stroking her hair out of her face.

Her eyes flew open, as if she’d made a sudden grab for consciousness. “A different life?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with this one.” Kirk grinned. “Come on, hanging around with me can’t be that bad.”

Her smile reappeared, her eyelids drifting downward. “How about a motorcycle ride?”

“Done. Next shore leave. I’ll even pop a wheelie.” He ran his thumb over her cheekbone again, and then Bones caught his eye, jerking his head toward the door. “I’ll be just outside the door. Press the call button if you need me before I get back.”

Outside the isolation room, McCoy said, “Sit,” pointing to one of the chairs, and walked off to the controlled substances cabinets. When he came back, he had a pair of tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. Pouring them each a generous measure, he sat down in the chair beside Kirk’s and tossed back a swallow. “Damnedest thing,” McCoy said. “She knew it. That’s why she pushed everything so hard.”

“She didn’t know she knew it.” Kirk sipped his bourbon. “I’ll bet she doesn’t know she knows where that bastard is, too.”

Instead of answering, Bones stayed silent, and then heaved a long sigh. “Jim, I always thought you had the right idea. Women are trouble. Never stick with one long enough to let ‘em drag you into it. First rough spot and you’re gone.” He propped his ankle on the opposite knee. “And then trouble comes and drags a woman to you, and you’re standing still for it like that’s not the worst thing you could do for both of you.”

“Bones…” Kirk heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. That I didn’t mean to get involved? I didn’t realize I was until it was too late. That she’s funny, and smart, and she thinks I’m fantastic-- yeah, okay. But I don’t know where the hell any of it’s going, whether it’s going to be just friends or what.”

Swirling the bourbon slowly around in his glass, Bones stared absently into it. “By the time you’re spending the night together, you’re sort of past the ‘just friends’ part of things.”

Kirk snorted. “Now you’re imagining things.”

“I woke you both up myself, in case you forgot.” Bones fixed him with a glare.

“We were drunk and we passed out. Nothing happened,” Kirk protested, a little stung. He'd been so careful with her that night-- once she’d lain down on him, he'd barely moved just in case she woke up and got frightened. Still… she'd felt safe enough to sleep on him. He must have done something right. She hadn't been worried for even a second. Nothing at all had happened.

“From you?” Bones tossed back the rest of his bourbon and stood up, grabbing the bottle. “That’s worse.”

Kirk had no answer to that; Bones was right. He threw back the bourbon, grimacing, and then handed Bones the tumbler and stood.

“Go on, she’s probably lying in there fighting to stay awake until you get back. Get some sleep. I’m keeping an eye on the monitors, and your calls will be routed through me for the night. I’ll wake you up if you’re needed.” Crossing the room to the controlled substances cabinets, he opened one up to put the bourbon back.

Once the door had closed behind him, Kirk looked down at Anne, her fine drawn lashes and angular cheeks, her pallor, the body beneath the covers that was still so thin. If he wanted to stay sane, he should just leave and let Bones watch over her. She’d be fine. He’d be fine. They’d still be friends-- she wasn’t one of those people who got attached. Neither was he.

Her eyes opened, and Kirk felt it like someone was drawing a fingertip up his spine. They were hazy, unfocused, but he knew she saw him because she smiled. “Coming,” he said, smiling crookedly. Unexplored territory. As he came toward her, he realized that she'd moved over, making room for him in the narrow bed. Who was he to refuse? He drew back the covers and slid in beside her, murmuring to the lights to dim them. Whether or not the bed was narrow might not have mattered; she nestled sweetly against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her lips just brushing his skin above the edge of the scrub shirt. Not the least provocative sensation, but then, the rest of the circumstances were more than enough to keep his imagination from getting carried away. Settling her against him and throwing an arm over her, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “What are we even doing, Anne?” he softly asked the silence.

His voice must have roused her; she slid an arm over him and stretched her legs, tangling them with his. “Sleeping,” she whispered, her lips moving against his skin. And soon, they were.

Click the heart for a deleted scene!