#he’s gonna go into the coast guard and shave his head. and then I’ll be free

[sufjanista]

i feel like a fucking psycho any time i ever like someone i go lengths of the earth and do the stupidest most diabolically down bad shit for them like i craft them shit and draw things and write things and I’m like here you go i remember you told me your childhood home had a mango tree so i drew a mango to go with this love poem i wrote for you. And then they never speak to me again probably because i scared them away. And i wonder why they never want me bruh😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[mila-dans]

Spells Out Trouble: Owner of a Lonely Heart

This is chapter five of “Spells Out Trouble.” Masterlist Here!

Chapter Four: Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 5150

Summary: You have been with the Winchesters for several years now going through all the literal trials and tribulations with them. What happens when Dean gets hit by a love spell and becomes head-over-heels for you? Will your pushed down emotions finally rise or will you get in over your head? Find out what happens when your best friend’s hard exterior becomes mush whenever you end up in his eyeline.

Just so you know: In this chapter, there will be written lyrics to a song (that I do not own!). It is called “She’s a Lady” and is sung by Tom Jones. I would suggest listing to it prior so you know what the song is. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it! (Also, not my gif!)

“Yes, I am. So no one asks her about it, alright?” Sam orders. Cas nods but Dean looks off towards you outside. “Alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah. Totally. Do not ask her no matter how much she is struggling. Or no matter how much she is hurting. I can totally not do that. Yeah. I can do that.” Dean continues to stare out at you, struggling to even attempt to abide by his own words even in thought.

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

You four had just got back to the bunker from shopping fun-time and were discussing your game plan in the Library. Dean explained how his invitation was for you instead of him. Actually, it was for a Lily Grace from the small and exclusive art gallery off the southeast coast. He managed to get you two plus ones which is where the brothers came in.

“So, I will be your date,” Dean says with a smile.

“I’ll also be there,” Sam adds.

“Yes, I, and Sam, will be your date.”

“Escorts actually,” Sam again adds.

“Well, you’re more of an escort whereas I could easily be classified as a date,” Dean says with a smirk towards Sam. 

“Dude, you’re not her date!”

“Am too!”

“You are not!”

“Am t--”

“Boys,” you shout, “as much as I love the fighting over who gets to be my boy toy for the evening, we have a more important issue at hand. Okay?” Sam and Dean nod. “Good. Now Cas, what’s your job?”

“My job is to keep the guards at bay while also being a lookout,” Cas answers.

“Great.”

“We go in there,” Sam says going over the plan. “Mingle till we see our shot. Then grab the painting before it gets put on display. Get Cas to smite it. Be home before dinner.”

“Easy,” Dean says.

“Yeah, easy peasey,” you add.

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

“Come on, Y/N!” Sam shouts from outside your room door.

“Give me a minute,” you reply as you finish fixing the last bit of your hair. You stare in the mirror for a moment.

Red lips. Light blush. A natural looking smoky eye topped with long and dark lashes. A natural hairstyle that is loose but looks placed. Cheap but expensive looking silver dangling earrings. It goes with the red cheap but expensive looking dress that you just bought. A low cut with small straps on your shoulders going all the way down to meet at the very bottom of your back. Back-less. Castiel had helped you with the small zipper and button that you were unable to reach, again. The dress was tight around your chest and waist until it came to the bottom of your legs where it started to become loose like a mermaid’s tail. The short train on the end wasn’t too in the way. It was perfect with your red strappy heels and freshly painted red toenails. It was tight and uncomfortable and it hurt like hell, but hey, hell is a regular destination around here.

“Is everything alright in there?” Dean asks, concerned. “Do you want me to come in? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” you answer, quick to stop his worry.

“We’re heading to the car,” Sam shouts again.

“But what if she’s hurt in there?” Dean whispers.

Sam grabs Dean by the shoulder of his tux and walks towards the garage. “Come on.”

“We will meet you in the car, Y/N,” Cas says.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror one last time. Their steps fade away. It’s stupid to think of what you’re thinking. Thinking about how this high class social status and elegant party routine could actually be your life. It was a small dream. Not even a believable one. A good dream nonetheless. Better than the dreams and thoughts you’ve been having lately. The ones that haunt and hurt you. The ones that make a shovel useless. Never able to bury. Never able to push away. Never.

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

“What’s taking her so long? She could be hurt!” Dean says, again trying to open the car door which Sam keeps reaching over to shut.

“She’s fine!” Sam replies. “Cas, tell Dean she’s fine!” The boys look over the seat at Cas.

“Yes,” Cas answers. “But there also is a small possibility that she is hurt.”

“Oh, come on!” Sam says.

Dean opens his car door and steps out. “I told you!”

“Stop Dean,” Sam also steps out of the car, “She’s fine!”

“No! She--”

Dean stops mid sentence as his eyes land on you.

“She’s gorgeous…” He finishes his sentence. Dean and Sam both stare at you in shock and awe. Both inspecting every square inch of you. Dean only doing so with more intensely.

“What?” You ask worried based on their expressions. “What is it? Do I look alright?”

“You look…” Sam starts to say.

“...Perfect,” Dean continues.

You smile a little knowing that the boys are in admiration of your appearance. “Good. I was worried I didn’t look good.”

“What?!” Sam’s voice cracks. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “You look great. You look great.”

“You, you, you, you, you, yo--” Dean says entranced before you cut him off.

“Dean?” You snap your red tipped fingers.

“You look better than great. Be--Better than perfect. You are just so much… you. And it’s beautiful. The greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It’s amazing. I love it. I love everything about it, and you. I love you,” Dean says, practically spitting out his thoughts. “I love you so much, Y/N. You--You are marvelous. Fantastic.” Dean steps close to you, slowly, as he looks into your eyes and reaches for your hand. “Magnificent. Sparkling. A blessing.” Dean takes your hand in his. “Marry me, Y/N.”

“What?” You say as you snap out of your own trance.

“What?!” Sam says, almost jealous.

“What,” You hear Cas say from Baby’s backseat.

“Marry me,” Dean says again, leaving you with even more chaotic thoughts in your mind.

Marry Dean. Marry Dean Winchester. Dean just asked you to marry him. Dean, just asked you, to marry him. What? What the actual hell. What the hell?!

Smack

“No!” You shout as you take back your hand from the side of Dean’s face. “I’m not gonna marry you! Are you crazy?! Why the hell would you ask me that?! And to ask me like this?! No! Just no.” You walk over to the car leaving Dean feeling his face as it turns red.

“Here,” Sam says as he opens the car door for you.

“Allow me,” Dean says, pushing Sam away from the door so he can be the one to open it. You get inside making sure to do a visible eye roll as you do so.

“Did Dean just ask for your hand in marriage?” Cas asks as you adjust your dress in the seat.

“Attempted to!” You say, still in shock. “You look nice by the way,” You tell Cas as your tone shifts to a more neutral one.

“Thank you,” He responds. Cas looks nice and the boys do too. The brothers have their tuxedos and bow ties while Cas has settled for a more relaxed, unbutton collar, suit, look. As the brothers get in the car, you notice how they even shaved. It’s been a very long time since either one of them were sporting the stubble-less look.

“That hurt you know?” Dean says, looking back at you.

“Well, you asked me to marry you so you should’ve expected a slap!” You retort.

“I mean it hurt my heart,” Dean says with a saddened tone. “But, it’s okay, Y/N. I forgive you,” He says smiling back at you.

“Oh, shut up,” Sam says as he hits Dean.

“You shut up!” Dean says slapping Sam back.

They start hitting each other and requesting that the other “shut up.”

Smack

“Ow!” Sam says as he touches the top of his head where you had slapped him hard. “What’d you do that for?!”

“I did it so you’d, both, shut up and start the car!” You answer.

“But why’d you have to hit me?!”

“I already hit Dean,” you say with a mischievous smile.

“Right,” Dean says as he smiles at the amusement of his brother's pain. He puts the key in the ignition but is hesitant to start it. He turns around to look at you then to Sam.

“What?” Sam asks, confused.

“I think you might have to drive,” Dean says softly.

“Why?”

“Cause… cause… cause she’s too distracting?” He answers nervously as he looks at you.

“Really?” Sam asks sternly before snatching the keys out of Dean’s hands.

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

You had arrived. Walking in the front entrance with two tall and handsome drinks of water on your sides sure drew a lot of attention. Good-looking Goliath on your right and Mr. Cute and Clingy on your left.

“Your name, miss?” The guard asked.

“Ms. Grace,” Sam answered.

“Her name is Ms. Lily Grace from the East Golden Art Gallery,” Dean clarified.

“I see,” the guard says. He very clearly checks you out and attempts to look down your dress. “Have a good evening, Ms. Grace,” he says with a flirtatious tone.

“Thank you,” you say, returning the flirt. “Mr. Handsome.” You smile and bat your eyes until the boys raise their arms causing you to lift a few inches off the ground and pull you away from him. They find a table and plop you back down in a chair. “What’s with the man-handling?!”

“Um, flirt much?” Dean says.

“What? I was just messing around,” you reply.

“He won’t think you’ll be messing around when you look like this,” Sam adds.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” You ask defensively.

“It means, when you look as gorgeous and jaw dropping as you do right now, he won’t care if it’s a joke or not!” Dean says angered.

“Okay! Okay! I got it. What’s with the level of concern here?”

“It’s just that you… you… you look really, really attractive right now, Y/N. And it’s really distracting and if I didn’t know you, then I would be attempting to hit on you right now,” Sam lets out.

“Whoa, did you get hit with a love spell too?” You sarcastically question which Sam replies with an eye roll and a huff.

“Y/N, the only reason why you aren’t getting hit on right now is cause me and Sam already gave every guy in here a clear cut message that you were with us and definitely unavailable!” Dean states.

“Yeah, so no flirting alright Y/N?” Sam says. They both stare at you waiting for an answer.

“Alright! Alright. Besides, we have to find that painting,” you answer.

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

The painting was traced back to the time during the Salem Witch Trials. It was a portrait of some farm and a big meadow. It was suggested that the painting got cursed because the witches’ death released a curse field around them which affected a painting in a nearby house. Somehow, the painting made its way here, to the art gala, and was being prepped to be sold to some unknowing victim. You had searched all over for it and found it nowhere.

“Find it?” Sam asked as he walked over to you.

“No. You?” You replied.

“No. Hey!” Sam called out quietly, getting Dean’s attention. “Did you find anything?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Dean answers, coming over to the huddle.

“Great. We’ve checked backstage, in the exhibit, in the halls, everywhere and yet it is nowhere,” you state.

“Wait,” Sam says, “not everywhere.” He walks through the dancing crowd in front of the stage and points towards the band. “There!”

“Crap,” you let out as you see that it is being displayed, on stage, in front of everyone.

“How are we gonna get that?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know!” Sam answers.

“It’s in front of literally everyone,” you add.

“Exactly, we’d need a distraction. And a big one at that.” Sam puts his face in his hands while you start making agitated fists.

“Oh!” Dean says as he gets really excited. “I’ve got it!” He runs away.

“What the hell was that?!” You ask.

“I don’t know!” Sam replies. “He said he’s got it.”

“Yeah, under the love spell Dean has got it,” you say sarcastically.

“Can I have your attention please?”

“Well where did he go then?” Sam asks.

“I would like to sing a song to a very special woman who is out here tonight.”

“I don’t know!” You say. Before you can say your next words, you notice the silence that has occupied the once really noisy room.

“This song is very special to me and it’s called…”

You look up to where the crowd is facing. Up on the stage, stands Dean. Dean, who is holding a microphone and talking in it, in front of everyone. “Holy sh--”

“…She’s a Lady.”

“What?” Sam asks. You point to the stage where Dean is talking with the band.

“What’s he doing?!” You ask. The music starts up.

“He’s creating a distraction!” Sam says excitedly. He pats you on the back, gives you a quick smile, then runs off.

You stand alone as the lights go out, a spotlight falls on Dean and he points to you in the crowd.

“This one’s for you, Y/N.”

He smiles at you and lets out the last thing that you would ever expect to come from Dean Winchester’s mouth: a song.

Well she’s all you’d ever want, she’s the kind I’d like to flaunt and take to dinner.

What.

Well she always knows her place. She’s got style, she’s got grace, she’s a winner.

The.

She’s a lady. Whoa whoa whoa, she’s a lady. Talkin’ about that little lady, and the lady is mine.

Hell.

Dean takes his mic from the stand and starts walking with it.

Well she’s never in the way always something nice to say, oh what a blessing.

He walks down several steps, coming off stage.

I can leave her on her own knowing she’s okay alone, and there’s no messing.

He slowly makes his way through the crowd.

She’s a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She’s a lady. Talkin’ about that little lady, and the lady is mine.

The groups of people part like the red sea as Dean target locks on to you, with a spotlight locked on him.

Well she never asks for very much and I don’t refuse her. Always treat her with respect, I never would abuse her. What she's got is hard to find, and I don't want to lose her. Help me build a mountain from a little pile of clay. Hey, hey, hey.

The spotlight is now on you, with a circle of people gathered around you and Dean on the dance floor.

Well she knows what I’m about, she can take what I dish out, and that’s not easy.

You try to turn away from Dean but the crowd refuses to let you look away from the glorious voice.

Well she knows me through and through, and she knows just what to do, and how to please me.

Dean was now right up close to you. Your heart was racing. Your face was melting. Your cheeks were blushing.

She’s a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She’s a lady.

Dean put his hand around your waist. Pulling you close and tight as he serenaded you.

Talkin’ about that little lady, and the lady is mine.

He took your hand and spun you outwards, only to pull you back into his capture.

Yeah yeah she's a lady.

You two were now caught up in dancing, and swinging, and twirling back and forth all while he was singing.

Whoa, whoa, whoa she’s a lady.

You kept looking into his eyes as his voice kept going.

Listen to me people, She’s a lady.

It was beautiful.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s a lady.

You’ve never felt like this before.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, she’s a lady.

You’ve never felt truly...

Talkin about this little lady.

...extremely...

Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. She’s a lady.

...extraordinarily…

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’s a lady. Oh, woah, Lord, she’s a lady. I can’t live without that little lady. She’s a lady.

...in love.

Claps and cheers filled up the building. You didn’t even realize that Dean was holding you in his arms. He let go of you as you both nodded and smiled in agreement with the cheers. You then ducked through the crowd and rushed outside where Cas had been on lookout.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” You scream at him causing him to jump back.

“Woah! Calm down! Calm down!” Dean insists.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Cas asks frantically.

“Tom Jones here just sang his heart out to me in front of everyone! Everyone in the entire building!” You yell.

“That was you?” Cas questions.

“Well I’m no Tom Jones,” Dean says with a smile.

“Why did you do that?” You start grilling him. “Why would you embarrass me like that in front of everyone? Why did you have to do that? Why now? Huh? Why is it that crap like this always happens? Why can’t my life just be normal for once?! Why couldn’t I just have been normal?! Why couldn’t I have stopped it?!” You start to spiral out of control, trying to hold back tears. You fall backwards but Dean and Cas catch you.

“Are you alright?” Dean asks as he props you back up, noticing your watery eyes.

“I’m fine!” You blurt out. “Why’d you do all of that though?”

“He did it,” Sam says as he runs up and joins the party, “so I could grab this.” Sam holds up the painting that he pulled from his tux. “Ta-da!”

“Good,” Cas says. He looks to the ground almost affected by the turn of events that just took place.

Sam looks at nervous Cas, shaken Dean, and teary eyed you. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly. You march towards the car and get in, officially starting the time.

The time where you distance yourself. The time every year where you run and hide. Where you go into a short hibernation, refusing to talk to anyone or leave your room. The time that you hate most in your life. The worst time. And that time begins, now.

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

It had been three days since you yelled at Dean mainly about the whole singing thing. You kept quiet on the car ride home. Even pretended to sleep as if you were trying to fool your mom. Your mom. Mom. Since then, you haven’t really talked to anyone. You used to go to the kitchen the first two days until you realized that they had hid the food in order for you to confront one of them in order to ask where it was. It has been several hours since you’ve eaten. The only time that you talked to someone now was when Cas would wait in the room beside the bathrooms and say “hello” to you which you always ignored. You used to hide your hibernation period from the boys but there wasn’t any point any more. They all knew that you were in a dark place. But none of them even know how truly darker than dim it is.

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

Five days since you last sat in the impala. By now, the boys took turns placing food outside your door trying to make sure you were still alive and weren't starving. You would hear them outside, whispering to each other, trying to determine your status. Currently, your status was at its peak of horrible. You couldn’t think about anything else other than what you have continued trying to bury for so long. So long you have held this in. So long you’ve wanted to let it out. So long you’ve told yourself you couldn’t.

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N?” Dean called from outside your room door. “I’ve got some PB&J for a late night snack. I figured you were still up. Are you still up?”

Dean seemed to be taking your absence the hardest. It was due to the love spell causing him to want to see you and be with you. He had gotten the spell under control so long as you at least said a word to him a day. You found that out after Sam had said Dean tried to kill him again for who knows what.

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Yes! Right. You’re good. You’re still up. So, um, do you want the sandwich?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Cause Sam and Cas said that you haven’t eaten anything today and were worried th--”

“I’m fine!”

“Right. O--Okay. I got it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You hear Dean set the plate outside your room and scamper off.

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

Only about five minutes later did you hear a noise coming from outside. It became louder and louder and unbearable. You went over to the door to hear what was happening on the other side. Whatever it was, it was unintelligible. You figured there was no harm in opening the door to see what it was and yell at it. You opened the door.

Thump

“Ow,” Dean said as he fell backwards from leaning up against the door. You just rolled your eyes and sat back on the ground, picking up a book that you have failed at reading. “Right.” Dean stands up. “I’m gonna guess that you don’t want me in here?”

“Leave.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Dean smiles and heads for the door. “But how abo--”

“Now.”

“Right. Will do. You got it.” Dean starts to close the door behind him. “You know what?”

“No. I don’t know. So how about you don’t tell me but you do leave.”

“No.”

“What was that?”

“I said no,” Dean struggles to smile.

“Dean, get out of my damn room, right now!”

“No! You can tell me to go all you want but you know I'm more stubborn than you. So, no. I think I’ll be staying.” Dean shuts the room door, putting just you and him in your bedroom.

“Dean,” you try to say sternly but your voice wearies, “get,” tears start to fall down, “out,” your voice breaks. “Please,” you say, almost begging for help rather than insisting him to leave.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean says as he gets on the floor facing you as you start to erupt.

“I--I--I can’t!” You start to sob causing you to bring your knees to your chest for some protection and defense.

“Hey, It’s okay! It’s okay.” Dean moves closer to you and wraps his arms around you. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He sits beside you on the floor with his arms wrapped around you. He gently strokes your head and hair as he keeps trying to calm you down.

“I--I can’t! I can’t!” you keep repeating, unable to form words.

“I know, I know. It’s okay.” Dean continues holding you and he squeezes you tighter into his embrace. He starts to rock you ever so slightly back and forth as he moves you closer and closer to him.

You continue to sob as your legs spread out, away from your chest, and on your chest was Dean arms, wrapped tight. It felt safe and you felt comforted, but still not okay.

After about five minutes, the sobbing finally ceased. Dean still continued to try and calm you down. Rocking you back and forth, holding you, reassuring that you were okay, trying to keep you quiet and calm. He just continued to hold onto you as if nothing could make him let you go. But yet, he managed to make you let go.

“I--I’m sorry,” you say with your voice breaking while sniffing.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to be sorry. Everything's alright. I’m right here. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.” He brushes your stuck to face hair behind your ears. You can barely see through your teary eyes but you do see Dean’s own watery eyes. You continue to let more time slip by before you speak again.

“Dean?” You gather your strength in order to get out the next part.

“Yeah, Y/N? I’m right here.”

“The bad,” you take a deep breath, “something bad has already happened and I… I couldn’t stop it. It was all my fault. It was all my fault.” More tears come down your face as you try and burrow yourself into Dean even more. He continues to hold you and remain as steady as a rock.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “what do you mean? Talk to me. Please.”

“I--I ca,” before you can refuse, it comes out. It all comes pouring out. Everything. “Before I joined you and Sam. Before you found me, I was alone. But before I was alone, I was with my family. My parents were hunters. They raised me to be a hunter. We fought and killed every stupid son of a bitch that decided to get in our sights. It was so nice. It was my family. Then one day, on a hunt, my mom… my mom… m--”

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“My, uh, mom, she got killed and she didn’t come back. She died, saving me and she never came back. I remember watching her bleed out as I just stood there, frozen. I did nothing as she died, choking on her own blood. I can’t even remember what it was like to have a mom, to have her. All I remember is what she told me. She made me promise to take care of my dad. To back him up. And I did, for a while. It was so hard after my… my mo--after what happened, I couldn’t do it anymore. I broke my promise and it broke my dad. I ran off and as far away as I could get. I thought I was fine, I thought he--he was fine.”

“It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“Um, I read the newspaper and I found out that he had died. On a hunt. Alone. With no backup. And so I ran even further. I changed my name. I changed everything. I wanted to be dead. It should’ve been me. And, it’s all… it’s all… it’s all my fault!”

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

“But it's not! I could’ve helped! I could’ve saved my mother! I could’ve saved my father! I could’ve saved all those people who had died just because I didn’t kill the monster because I was scared! I was scared and stupid. And selfish. I should be dead! Not them. It should be me!”

“No. No it shouldn’t have been you. It’s not your fault, Y/N. It’s not.”

“How can you say that?! How can you even believe that?!”

“Because I have to believe it too.”

“What?”

“My dad gave up his life for me. He traded his soul for my own. I used to hate myself. I used to want to die but then I realized, he did that so I wouldn’t die. And regrets? It’s a list longer than Santa’s. I tortured souls in hell. I even started the apocalypse, a couple times.”

“By accident.”

“Yeah but, exactly. I have a circle of death around me. You step inside, you die. Everyone that I have ever loved or who has meant something to me has died. Except you. Cas and Sam have both died before. Several times. But not you. I won’t let you. I love you too much. And I promise you, your parents don’t blame you. They love you and they are proud of you and they are happy just thinking about how amazing you are. Their minds can’t even comprehend the level of awesomeness that you have. You’re amazing.”

“You think so?” You ask, starting to smile.

“I know so,” Dean says, smiling back. He moves your neck closer to his and leans in for a kiss.

This was perfect. You had let go. Dean had finally let go. It was amazing. It was everything that you had ever wanted. It felt so good. Dean’s lips against yours. It was love. It was happiness. It--wasn’t real.

You sat up quickly, causing yourself a bad headrush. You stood up, backing away from Dean. He too had stood up just as quick, frightened.

“What?!” He asks, confused and worried. “What, what is it?! Are you okay?! Was it me? Did I do something?”

“No!” you start to form tears again. “No! This--This isn’t right! This isn’t fair!” You push Dean away while wiping the tears from your face.

“What? What isn’t fair? Y/N, talk to me!” Dean says.

“Talk to you?! This isn’t even the real you Dean! I’ve been so caught up in my own problems that I haven’t even realized that the real you is still in there, hating all of this!”

“What?! What are you even saying?! I’m me!”

“No, you’re not! Dean would never do anything like this with me! You--you were given some magical roofie and I’m taking advantage! That isn’t fair!” You yell as you open your door, running down the halls, unable to see.

“Y/N!” Sam calls from behind you. Sam sees Dean chasing after you and stops him from running. “What happened?!” Sam says with a very rare type of aggression.

“I--I don’t--I do--” Dean mutters out.

“Stay!” Sam orders Dean.

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

You tried to find the keys to the impala but couldn’t see anything.

“Dammit!” You yell in frustration.

“Hey! Y/N! What happened?!” Sam says as he comes over trying to calm you down. He puts his arms on your shoulder trying to steady you but you hit them off.

“No! Just no! I just want the keys so I can go!” You slam your hands down on the hood.

“I’ve got the keys, Y/N,” Sam says as he pulls them out of his pocket.

“Give them to me!” You yell as you try to snatch them from his hands.

“No,” Sam says as he holds them out from your reach. “You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Fine!” You say as you wipe the snot and tears from your face. You open the car’s door and go under the steering wheel.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks with an annoyed tone.

“I’m hotwiring the car since you won’t give me the keys,” you answer as you attempt to see which wire is which.

Sam lets out a sigh then gets in the car. “Scooch.”

“What?” You ask confused as you scoot over to the passenger side.

“I said you were in no condition to drive. Me on the other hand,” Sam shuts the door and starts the engine, “I’m a little stressed and majorly confused but other than that, I'd say pretty good condition.”

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

It had been a seemingly long car ride from the bunker to some cheap motel. You both remained silent the entire time. Sam seemed too afraid to poke the bear and you were just unable to talk at all. You had arrived at the motel and were waiting in the car till Sam came back with a room key.

He signaled for you to come over to a room. “So this is your room,” he said as he opened the door. You ran inside and took off your wet layers that became soaked from the rain. “I paid for three night upfront. Me or Cas should swing by later with some of your clothes and stuff. Okay?”

You go back towards the door.

Slam

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(Once again, I do not own the lyrics to the song that was used in this chapter)

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Hope you enjoyed it!

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@crazybutconfidentaf @doctorlilo @pillowjj @busy-bee-angel-misska @vicmc624​

Chapter six: Up Around the Bend​

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 50)

Description: Tahira awakens! And she has a plan. 

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11

Chapter 50: Between the Cracks

Tahira

I can't breathe...I can't breathe! I push against the Endless' grip, trying to reach the surface, but she only holds me tighter.

“It's all right, Tahira. It's all right. Just watch.”

The images are still coming. Quinn Kelly, motionless on a bed her hands folded in a funereal pose atop a large, shining stone. She turns into Alodia, clutching the Prism Crystal, but she's no longer lying in repose. Her face is twisted with fury, her eyes gleaming fuschia with the Crystal's power as she attacks an unseen opponent. I can't breathe. I want to get out. Someone get me out of here! I flail, pounding the Endless' arms feebly with my fists. I can't perceive the images anymore. There's only a vague itch at the edge of my mind, telling me that I know something that I didn't know before.

“Tahira...?” I don't recognize the voice at first, but everything around me is fading. The images. The Endless. The ocean. Then, as I finally draw in a desperate breath, I feel something warm and soft on my cheek. “Tahira, baby, can you hear me?”

“...Mom...?” I realize that I have my eyes closed. I open them carefully, squinting against a sudden assault of florescent light. A figure, blurry but definitely my mother, hovers over me. I hear her choke on a sob as she strokes and kisses my face.

“Oh, baby, thank God!”

I become aware of a pressure on my hand, and turn to see Grayson perched on the edge of my bed, holding my hand. His clothes and hair are rumpled, and there's a layer of fuzz on his face like he hasn't shaved in a day or two.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asks anxiously.

“Got stabbed,” I mumble. My mind feels surprisingly clear, but it's taking my body a bit to catch up, I think, because my tongue feels heavy.

“Yeah. The surgery went well, but you took awhile to wake up afterwards. You had us worried. How are you feeling now?”

“Fine,” I answer without really taking stock. As soon as I say it, I realize that my side still feels like it's on fire. But I feel fairly confident I'll heal quickly now that I'm awake. “...Alodia...she was abducted...”

Mom and Grayson exchange a look of mild surprise.

“...Yeah...” Grayson confirms. “And Diego. How did...?”

“Crystal stuff. I'll explain later. ...I gotta talk to the Catalysts. I think I might have an idea about finding her.”

* * *

“You want to...use the Prism Crystal to find Alodia?”

It feels risky to be on a video call with all the Catalysts plus my team while I'm still in my hospital room, but I've got Grayson standing guard, ready to signal me if any staff get too close.

“Hear me out here. Quinn, when you were...possessed by Vaanu, you could feel the Island's Heart, right? You could feel where it was?”

“Vaguely,” Quinn confirms. “I could feel it pulling me toward the other half.”

“And there were other instances of the crystals leading you places, right?”

“Quarr'tel,” Jake says, nodding. “They slipped a crystal into Raj's pocket and it lit up like a firefly when we were headed in the right direction.”

“And when we had three of them staked together, they literally just showed us the path when we looked through them.”

“The Prism Crystal is specifically Alodia's life essence. But it didn't react until I came in contact with it as her blood relative. Maybe that connection will help me use it to track her.”

“I believe your idea could work in theory,” Varyyn says cautiously. “...I would be extremely hopeful, if not for the fact that her abductors have managed to block her psychic link with me. Suppose they have figured out a way to block any link with her that the Prism Crystal might give to you? What if that was a function of the poison you were dosed with?”

“It might well be,” I admit. “But what do we have to lose by trying?”

“Nothing,” Jake says. “If anything, we'd be failing Alodia and Diego by not trying. If there's even a chance it could get them back sooner...”

“I'm not disagreeing with you, Jake,” Dax chimes in, “But there are a few logistical problems to consider. For one thing, Tahira, you're still in the hospital with an abdomen full of stitches. Even with your enhanced healing, it's going to be a process. You won't do anyone any good if you tear out your stitches and bleed out searching for Alodia and Diego. Two, this isn't La Huerta, where you guys were on your own with only Vaanti authority to deal with. If this works, how do we explain it? How do we explain Dragonness disappearing after these two people she presumably has no connection to, and how do we explain how she found them without giving away too much?”

I wave a hand impatiently. “We'll chalk it up to a mystery of the Prism Crystal and assure the public that we're looking into why the Crystal led me to these people. The public have been remarkably accepting of the idea that the Prism Crystal turned people into superheroes.”

“But why Alodia and Diego in particular? Why not any of the other thousands of missing persons in the US? Why would the Prism Crystal choose two people who went missing in California when it's on the East Coast?”

“You're overthinking this,” Jake says. “Look, my sister's a cop. People go missing every day, and most of them don't get half the attention Alodia and Diego have gotten. The only reason they're getting as much media attention as they are is because they were on the La Huerta trip, and the fact that Alodia's pregnant makes people more sympathetic. Once they're safe home, the media and the cops ain't gonna care too much about how they got there.”

“I can't say that I completely agree,” Poppy says. “I know I'm only a fashion journalist, but that doesn't mean I don't know how the media works. Alodia and Diego are still high-profile people, and there are high-profile people involved in their kidnapping. Dax is right. If this does work like we want it to, we do need to consider how we're going to spin it so that the attention doesn't go anywhere we don't want it to.”

“Let's not get too far ahead of the game,” Michelle cautions. “Dax is also right that Tahira needs a little time to recover before she's fit to go chasing anyone down.”

“Simple solution to that,” Jake declares. “If she gets a lead off the Prism Crystal, I'm going with her.”

I try not to grimace outwardly. I should have seen this coming. “Jake...you know I'll be faster on my own. Considering that I can fly without a plane.”

“Not while you've still got a hole in your gut. If this is gonna work, we don't have a lot of time for you to be on bed-rest here. We got a small window, and it's closing fast.”

Michelle nods. “Jake is right. Whether we find her or the authorities do, we really don't have time to just wait if we're going to take any action. She's due in a matter of weeks, and we can't assume she won't go into labor early. At the same time, Tahira, you can't just go on your own in your present condition. Apart from the stab wound, we don't know if that poison is fully out of your system. So, I'll come too.”

“Can the hospital spare you?”

“I've still technically got a week and change of vacation I haven't used, and I haven't officially put myself back on the schedule yet.”

“Well, you know I'm not letting you go without me,” Sean says firmly, taking his wife's hand. “I can't. Not just now.”

“I expected as much, and I won't argue.”

“I will go as well,” Varyyn declares. “Not least because my partner is among the missing, but also because if Alodia or I somehow managed to break through the barrier they've put on our psychic link, it would not do for me to be miles away.”  

I sigh. This is kinda turning into a plan for the world's most batcrap-crazy road trip, but I honestly can't say that I mind. In fact, I feel a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “...Anyone else want to join in?”

“You know Kenji and I are at your disposal,” Eva says, winking. But I shake my head at that suggestion.

“No, not you two. Someone needs to stay to protect Northbridge. We can't just leave DA Katsaros completely high and dry and expect to stay on her good side, especially given the situation with Caleb and the kids.”

“I'll come instead,” Estela says. “In case you need another fighter.”

“I'm rather handy with a fencing sword,” Aleister offers a bit reluctantly. But his sister shakes her head.

“Stay with your wife and son. There will be enough lonely doves among the Catalysts as is, and you and Zahra need to look after the company and field any questions from the authorities.”

“Besides that, we should keep our numbers as small as possible,” I point out. “Even if I can't go on my own, we will go faster the fewer we are.”

“In the meantime, what should the rest of us be doing?” Raj asks. “I mean, I'm good to stay in California if that's where I'm most needed...”

“We'd appreciate that,” Jake agrees. “Keep looking after our folks for us. I'll see if I can send Rebecca back with our parents, but it's possible they won't be willing to leave me alone unless I bring her with me.”

“Well...I guess we're mostly settled then. We can work out the necessary details once I'm discharged.”

“That's assuming this really works...” Aleister says soberly. “We've begun speaking of it as a certainty...”

For a moment, no one says anything. I hear myself speak first. “We'll know that as soon as I'm discharged, too.”

Jake

I'm not surprised when my parents are reluctant to let me go to Northbridge without them. I'm an adult, they say, and they can't stop me, but they do their best to discourage it. I don't hold it against them. I've disappeared on them too many times for them not to be nervous, even after I promise to check in with them. As I predicted, it's Rebecca's promise to go with me and keep an eye on me that finally convinces them to go back to California and look after Alodia's parents. I vow to go back there myself if Tahira's idea with the Crystal doesn't pan out, though of course I don't say that to my parents. I need them to think my visit to Northbridge is open-ended.

The meager bags Mike and I packed for what we expected to be a night or two away from home were retrieved from the motel we were staying at the night before our abduction. By now, I've been discharged and Mike's finally in recovery after surgery, so I bring him his bag as an excuse to visit before I take off. I wouldn't normally think I needed an excuse to visit, but the hospital staff are still hovering like flies, and the pretense of dropping off the bag gets me access to his parents, who manage to finagle a few minutes for Mike and me to talk privately.

He turns his head toward me as I slip into the room and smiles wanly. He looks pale and exhausted, and he's still got an IV in the crook of his arm, but he's awake and propped up on his pillows. Still, the sheet below his thighs is flat over the mattress. I pull up a chair beside him.

“How're you feeling, kid?”

“...You know those old clothes press things that they used to feed clothes through after they were washed to get all the water out? In the olden days before washers and dryers?”

“I think I know what you mean. I think they were called 'mangles'.”

“Appropriate name. Anyway, I feel like I've gone through one of those.”

I cover his hand with mine and nod down at the flat sheet beneath his thighs. “No new legs yet?”

“Apparently they gotta let the nerves heal or something first. I dunno. They got some metal things on the stumps to keep 'em fresh or whatever. The science blinded me a little. All I really know is they hurt like a bitch.”

“Fuck.” I squeeze his hand. “Sure feels like a shit time for me to be taking off...”

“Where are you heading?”

“Northbridge. ...It's not looking like Alodia and Diego were on the island. But Tahira has an idea to track Alodia using the Prism Crystal. Hopefully it works, and hopefully where we find Alodia, we find Diego.”

“No question you gotta go, then. Not like you'd be doing much good bumming around the hospital with me.”

“Probably not. ...Don't know how much good I'll be doing following Tahira around, either. But if there's even a chance of finding her...”

“You don't have to explain. We both know where you're most needed right now.” He turns his hand over to grip mine, his eyes finding my gaze and holding it. “Find your wife. Bring her home.”

* * *

Rebecca, Varyyn, and I get a private flight to Northbridge, compliments of Aleister and Estela, of course. I'm glad not to be in the pilot's chair on this one. I'm probably still not totally clear to operate heavy machinery after that blow to the head, and I'm not sure I could concentrate, even if I were. Problem is that I can't really sit still, either. I know I shouldn't be wandering more than necessary while the plane's in the air, but I feel like I'm gonna lose my shit if I try to stay seated too long. Predictably, Varyyn is perfectly still—almost stoic. Though I know him better than to assume he's not just as much of a hot mess as I am right now.

“...How're you holding up, Varyyn?” I ask, as much to distract myself as to check in.

“As well as you, I expect,” he sighs. “...I am afraid. I am afraid this will not work. I am afraid of what they might be suffering right now. ...I am afraid that if this does work, we will find Alodia alone and have nothing left to lead us to Diego.”

I grit my teeth, shaking my head hard. “Won't be like that, Varyyn. Don't think like that. They're together. They gotta be together.”

“...We don't know that,” he says softly. “We hope it. But do we really have any evidence that it is true?”

“Why else would they have taken Diego?” I demand. “They weren't together at the time of the abduction, so it wasn't just convenience like with Sean and Michelle. No offense to Diego, but I don't think Rourke really has much use for him in this timeline. He probably doesn't have much use for any of the Catalysts besides Alodia anymore, except to control her. And maybe Diego is useful if he wanted to bait you for some reason, but even then, wouldn't it still make more sense to keep them together, since you could track her if they hadn't blocked it somehow...”

“...It all makes sense...” he admits. “...I just...I can't help but fear...”

I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. “Of course not. I won't lie, it scares me, too. ...But it makes more sense that they're together. Remember that.”

He nods. “...I feel powerless. I should be able to reach them. I should at least be able to speak to her and confirm that they are unharmed...”

“We all feel powerless here,” Rebecca says. “I'm a detective. I should be able to track and investigate. But because it's a member of my own family, I'm not allowed to help...” She trails off, and the silence that follows is heavy. I think we all want to try and say something comforting or optimistic here, but there's not really anything to say that we haven't already said. We all feel powerless. There's a chance that when we get to Northbridge, we'll have our path made clear for us, but there aren't any guarantees. If this doesn't work...what next?

Grayson

“Are you sure you're up for this, Tahira? You only got out of the hospital yesterday...”

Tahira grits her teeth as she carefully makes her way to her dresser, using crutches to support most of her weight and to keep her stitches from tearing. She's healing fast. Fast enough that eyebrows were raised at the hospital. But not fast enough to have her in fighting shape yet, and she's clearly still in pain. Michelle has cautioned her against heavy lifting, even with her super strength. The only way we were able to confirm that her strength was still intact was by having her bend an iron bar that Dax brought over from the lab. Flying, too, is out right now, though she is still capable of it.

“If this works,” Michelle said last night, “You're basically going to be our tracker, at least for a few days. Let the rest of us do most of the work until I give you the all-clear.”

I cautiously place my hand between her shoulderblades and let my palm move in slow, gentle circles. When she doesn't pull away, I increase the pressure just a little.

“When a person goes missing, the first twenty-four hours are the most crucial,” she says lowly. “...That window has already closed. There's no more time to waste. What we have is already borrowed.”

She pulls out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans from her drawer, and maneuvers herself to take off her pajama top. I sigh.

“Here, let me help you with that. I can't really help with the rescue mission, but I can help you get dressed for it.”

“I think providing us with travel vehicles is extremely helpful,” she says, smiling a little as she carefully raises her arms over her head to let me take her shirt off. I help her on with her clothes, finishing just as the buzzer to her apartment door sounds.

“Tahira? It's Eva and Kenji!” I go to let them in as Tahira settles herself down on the couch. Kenji grins at her as they walk in.

“How's our fearless leader doing? You look like you'll be ready to kick ass again in no time.”

“With any luck, I will at least be ready to do my part when we finally track down Alodia and Diego. Do you have the Crystal, Eva?”

“Haven't let it outta my sight since Caleb tipped us off it they were going after it,” she replies with a mischievous smile, trailing a finger over the chain around her neck. My eyes follow her finger down to where her low-cut top clearly reveals that the pendant on the end is nestled between her breasts. Tahira makes a face as Eva draws the Prism Crystal out of her cleavage.

“That cannot be comfortable...”

Eva shrugs. “You get used to it. Besides....” She grins, waggling her eyebrows. “No way anyone gets to it without me noticing.”

“Yeah, but have you been, like, showering with it in there? Sleeping?”

“Not like water will hurt it. And like I said, you get used to it.”

Tahira rolls her eyes, smirking a little. “Still...maybe I should ask you to wipe off the boob sweat before I try to do anything with it.”

“Tahira, I'm insulted. The very suggestion that I would ever break a sweat...” But she does grab a washcloth out of the basket of clean laundry beside the dresser and rub it over the crystal before handing it to Tahira. “So...what are you going to do with it exactly?”

“I'll start with holding it. Then...I guess I'll think about Alodia...” She shakes her head with a frustrated sigh. “...I'm flying mostly blind here...”

As she closes her hand around the Crystal, we fall silent, not wanting to risk disrupting her concentration. How long will it take, I wonder, before we know if anything is going to happen? I don't have to wonder long. In fact, the thought is barely out of my head before the crystal begins to glow brighter. I hold my breath. For a moment, everything is still except for the bright purple flame dancing beneath the Crystal's surface. Then Tahira's eyes fly open and she gasps softly. I instinctively rush to her side.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

“I'm okay...” she replies dazedly. “...I...think...”

“Did you see anything?” Eva asks. “Do you know where Alodia is?”

“Not exactly, but...” She looks down at the Crystal balanced on her palm, softly pulsing with fuschia light. “I did see her. In flashes. And...I think...”

She stands up and turns a slow circle, keeping her eye on the Crystal. I watch it carefully. It takes a few more circles before I realize what's actually happening, but when I do notice, I feel my heart skip a beat.

“Tahira! The light!”

“Yes!” Tahira cries eagerly, a grin splitting her face! “It dims, except when I start facing this direction! ...What direction am I facing?”

“Northwest-ish,” Kenji says. “Which probably means she isn't on the island...”

Tahira nods. “...If she's even what the Crystal is pointing toward. ...Either way, it's our best lead so far.

* * *

A few more little experiments prove that using the Crystal as a tracking device is a viable option. Although it goes dull when I touch it, Kenji and Eva can both make it react—as can Varyyn and any Catalysts who come in contact with it. And the pulsing light consistently gleams when the one holding it is facing northwest, dimming as they turn south. As soon as is humanly possible, Tahira and her team gather with me and a handful of the Catalysts in the empty executive level of the Prescott Industries parking garage. Two seven-seater SUVs that I rented are the only two vehicles in the place.

“They're both fueled up,” I assure Tahira. “Tire pressure has been checked and there are spares, jacks, and tire irons under the floors.”

“There are also pillows and blankets so you can sleep and drive in shifts and not have to stop as often,” Dax says. “I've also fitted the cars with adaptable communicators so you can communicate through the radios, just in case everyone's cell phones die at the same time. Do you know who's going to be in what car?”

“I'll be with Sean, Tahira, and Jake,” Michelle says. “Since Tahira and Jake aren't cleared to drive just yet, Sean will take the first shift, and Tahira will hold the Crystal to navigate.”

“And Varyyn, Rebecca, and I will follow in the vehicle behind,” Estela adds.

Michelle nods. “I've also got a medical tote stocked. No one mess with that, please. It's not your standard first aid kit. I've also got some sterile towels and blankets double-wrapped in plastic, so hands off those, too. If we find Alodia close to giving birth, we'll need clean towels to lay down for her and something to wrap the baby in.”

“There are also coolers of water, fruit, sandwiches, and about twenty pounds of trail mix,” Quinn adds. “It's not Raj's cooking, and it obviously won't last, but it should mean you don't have to stop for food for a handful of days.”

“I guess we're all set then,” Tahira says. “There's no time to lose. Everyone pile in.”

“Wait...” I catch her hand as she turns toward the car, and pull her in for a kiss, holding her mouth with mine as if I can store up enough of her taste on my lips to tide me over until she gets back. I break away reluctantly and press my forehead to hers. “Good luck. I love you.”

Eva

Kenji and I meet at his apartment that evening. We don't exactly feel safe going back to the clocktower right now, but we don't have a new base of operations yet, either.

“...How much does Caleb actually know now?” I ask him over a cup of heavily-sugared coffee.

“Almost everything. He knows our powers are connected to our DNA, which is connected to the island of La Huerta and a crystal alien that crash-landed here however many billion years ago. He knows that Alodia is that alien's daughter and that Tahira is Alodia's cousin. ...I also basically confirmed that most of what Rourke told him in those interviews is true.”

“And...where is he now?”

Kenji shrugs, talking a long swallow from his coffee mug. “Processing, I guess. He says he can't go back to Gigi anymore. And based on the way their last encounter went, I'm not surprised.”

“And you don't have any reason to think it might be a trick?”

“Just doesn't add up to a trick,” he admits. “He told me he'd originally told Gigi he was going to try to get in good with us to get information out of us, which I know was true. ...But if he was never actually going to turn on her, he probably would have done something to keep us from securing the Prism Crystal once he realized we knew she was going after it. Plus, she was angry enough to try and frame him for burning down the priest's house.”

“...He's out of the hospital, by the way. Don't know where he's living with his house burned out, though.”

“No sign of the kids, either. ...Maybe he's gone after them.”

“Quite honestly, I hope he has. Scoundrel he may be, but I think his intentions towards the kids are good. At least good enough that I'd rather they have him in their corner than be wandering around out there alone. Especially given what's going on now.”

Kenji smiles wryly. “They will have to come back eventually, won't they? Since you still have their dog.”

I snort. “Good luck making me give up that puppy. I think we've bonded.”

“You'll give her up the moment one of those sweet little kids flashes sad doe eyes at you.”

“...Yeah, probably,” I admit. “My cold heart has been defrosting lately. Maybe proof that there's hope for Caleb.”

“There had better be. ...Because if we can't actually trust him, we might be screwed.”

Estela

I am in the office with Aleister and Zahra when the phone on the desk rings. It just barely registers at first, like an acquaintance I give a nod to as I pass on the street. Aleister picks it up.

“Aleister Rourke speaking,” he mutters absently. Then his posture changes. I take notice as he sits up a little straighter. “Raj, hello. Has there been any news.”

My heart wedges in my throat as I sit up to attention. Zahra visibly stiffens as well, her eyebrows knitting as she meets my gaze with anxiety flickering in her dark eyes. Aleister's eyes widen.

“What? Are they sure it's the same one?...” His shoulders sag slightly as he listens to Raj's extended reply. “...Dammit. Does Jake know? ...What are they planning to do?”

There's a longer pause now. Aleister's expression is difficult to read. Zahra stands up from her desk, then awkwardly hovers there as if she's not sure she should come closer.

“...I expect that is the wisest course of action. If the Crystal can track Alodia directly, it would be a waste of time to chase down a lead like that. ...I see. ...Of course. I'll make sure everyone is updated. Thank you. ...I will. ...Goodbye.” He replaces the receiver on the cradle and looks up at me and Zahra in turn. “...That was Raj. The police believe they have found the stolen ambulance that Alodia and Diego were transported in, but it has since been abandoned. They were able to determine that a helicopter took off nearby and they believe Alodia and Diego were on board, but from there, they're having difficulty picking up the trail.”

Zahra and I exchange anxious glances. “...Where was the ambulance found?”

“Cascade mountain range in Oregon. Near Crater Lake.”

“Oregon!” Zahra gasps. “They drove a stolen ambulance from southern California to the Cascade mountains in Oregon and no one noticed until now?!”

“Raj tells me the region around Crater Lake is fairly remote.”

“Maybe, but...” Zahra is already tapping furiously on her phone. After a moment, she turns the screen toward us. “Look, the fastest path to Crater Lake from Riverside is about a twelve-hour drive, straight up through California.”

“They were driving an ambulance,” I point out. “If they had the lights and sirens going, they would have been able to speed and run red lights with impunity. Few people are going to want to impede an ambulance that they think is on the way to save someone's life. Even with the authorities knowing they were likely in a stolen ambulance, I can believe they got as far as Oregon without anyone wanting to risk stopping them. Especially if they swapped the license plate.”

“They still would have needed to stop for gas at some point. And twelve hours trapped in a vehicle can't be good for a pregnant woman. We're still operating under the assumption that Rourke wants Alodia and her baby alive, right?”

“It makes the most sense,” Aleister confirms. “If he just wanted her dead, there are easier ways than kidnapping.”

“What else do we actually know? They found the stolen ambulance, but are they sure Alodia and Diego were inside?”

“They found more than a few hairs inside the vehicle. They matched DNA samples from both Alodia and Diego.”

I nod. “...From what I overheard, I'm guessing Jake and the others aren't going to try to find them in Oregon.”

He shakes his head. “It would be a waste of time, driving some place they have already been removed from when they believe the Prism Crystal can lead them to where Alodia is currently.”

“Why Oregon, though? Why not the island? Why was the Crystal leading them northwest instead of toward the island?”

“...I don't know, Estela. The truth is that we don't know for sure that they don't mean for her to eventually wind up on the island. Maybe the plan is to throw us off the trail.”

I sit back with a frustrated sigh. “...It always feels like our dear father is ten steps ahead of us. The only person who has ever really managed to get the better of him was Alodia when she chose to sacrifice herself for the world.”

“Not entirely true,” Zahra mutters. “...I shot him in at least one timeline.”

“He is a genius and a master manipulator, but he is still human,” Aleister says firmly. “And humans are flawed enough to be outsmarted. Sooner or later, he will make a mistake. I am sure of it.”

Alodia

Something doesn't feel right here. I'm in Elyys'tel. The armor of Andromeda encases my body and gleams gold in the Caribbean sunset. Beneath it, I am wearing my Vaanti warrior's attire. In my hands, I clutch the mask I won in the Valinorim. One hand drifts towards my chest, and my fingers brush the cold metal dogtags that hang on a ball-chain around my neck. My chest is tight, and my head throbs with grief, but I don't cry. I can't cry.

“This isn't going to help, Alodia,” Aleister says solemnly from behind me.

“...They're all dead, Aleister,” I hear myself reply coldly. “He killed them all. Maybe not directly, but he's responsible for all of their deaths.”

“I don't disagree. But killing him won't bring them back.”

I turn to face him, fully prepared to chew him out for his platitudes when he should want his father dead as much as I do. But then I realize what is actually happening.

“...You're going to say that if I insist on joining the battle, you're going to come with me.”

“Of course I am. We're the last Catalysts left. I'm not going to abandon you.”

“...No. You're not. You didn't even betray us this time. You played your father as a double agent. ...When Zahra blew up the MASADA complex, Jake tried to save me. But he was killed in the process and you got me out instead.”

Aleister doesn't seem put off by my explaining what must be recent history to him. “I'm going to die in the coming battle. I have learned that you're the one my father needs to complete his Janus Project. I don't know why yet, but I know that much. I die to keep you from falling into his hands.”

“...And then I bury the last of my family. And I die...and the timeline resets because I can't let it end like this...I can't let any of you die...”

Aleister reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder. “You can't change what's already happened, Alodia.”

“...I don't want to watch it happen again...”

“You don't have to. You know that.” His eyes flick downward. “Don't waste your time on a battle that's already been fought when you have a much more important one to worry about in the here and now.”

I follow his gaze downward, and dark static floods my vision.

The soft flutter of tiny limbs inside me brings me back to consciousness. The pressure on my bladder is unbearable. I push back the itchy blanket that barely keeps out the cold and struggle off the cheap cot I fell asleep on. The thin plastic mattress creaks as I get to my feet, and I hear a gasp and small movement from the cot beside me.

“Allie...?” Diego's voice is anxious, but still clumsy with sleep.

“I'm okay,” I call back. “I just need to pee.”

I make my way to the corner. We've been moved again. There's no en suite toilet in this concrete basement we've been stuck in this time. Only a plastic toddler toilet—the kind Jake and I will be buying in another year or two. ...That is...if I ever see him again... If we ever get to go back to our home in California and lay our daughter in her crib in her jungle-themed nursery...

Lowering myself onto the seat is an arduous and undignified process. I feel tears on my cheeks by the time I manage to relieve myself, and my hand trembles as I wipe with a cheap, rough paper towel—the only thing we've been provided with. By the time I have gotten through the equally undignified process of standing back up and dragging my gray sweatpants back up over my bulging waistline, I am sobbing. I only get a few steps closer to my cot before Diego takes me in his arms and gently draws me against him. I bury my face in his shoulder. When he leans his head against mine, I feel the subtle prickle of facial hair where his cheek briefly brushes my ear.

He doesn't say anything. Our supply of comforting words has all but dried up. Escape seems impossible with me as I am, especially when we don't have any idea how many of them are actually guarding us or how far we are from civilization. We've all but admitted aloud that rescue is our only hope.

I don't want to obey them. I want to defy them. I want to fight them tooth and nail. But I can't fight them while I am sheltering a child within me. And disobedience only gets Diego hurt. So far, the damage has not been permanent. But I don't know if I can keep him safe indefinitely, even if I kill any will to fight that might be left in me.

It's only a matter of time. If help doesn't come for us, it's only a matter of time before they break me.

Diego

I wish I had access to a razor. Or some scissors. The scissors more than the razor, I think. I don't really mind the growth of hair over my face as much as the hair on my head, which is shaggy enough now to get into my eyes, but not long enough to hook behind my ears. It's funny the things I think about when I'm trying not to break apart.

I'm scared. I'm really scared. I'm scared for Allie. I'm scared for her baby. I'm scared for myself. I'm scared of the fact that I can't rely on Allie right now like I almost always could before. It's not her fault, of course. She just needs me to be the brave one right now, and that terrifies me. But damned if I'm not going to do it. Damned if I'm not going to swallow my fear and hold her hand to get her through this nightmare. Damned if I'm not going to look for an opportunity to escape at every new prison they move us to. I know our best option is probably going to be to wait for someone to find us. But I have to keep watching. It helps me keep it together.

We're bound and blindfolded every time they move us. Sometimes we travel by chopper, sometimes by car or van or whatever they're driving. Maybe an ambulance again. We're not long in the concrete basement prison, which I appreciate, because it's really freaking uncomfortable. It's some kind of van that moves us this time. At least we're actually seated and buckled in this time, even if our hands end up tied to what I think must be the handles of the hooks a lot of cars have on the ceiling for hanging up dress clothes.

“Hey, Allie...” I say lightly, turning my head vaguely toward the weight on the seat beside me. “Is there a name for these things we're tied up to?”

I don't know if there's a partition between us and the drivers. I don't know if they can hear us. I am guessing there aren't any windows to either side of us since two people blindfolded in the back seat with their hands tied to the ceiling would probably be conspicuous. But if the driver can hear us, I don't want them to hear us scared.

“I...I don't know,” she replies. Her voice shakes a little, but she's trying to sound nonchalant, so it seems she's picked up what I'm putting down here. “Dress hooks, I guess? Handles? Before cars had seatbelts, some of them had handles for passengers to hold onto, but I don't think there was any special name for them.”

“Where do you think we're going this time? Another nice farmhouse?”

“I hope so. The farmhouse has definitely been my favorite on this vacation. The last place was shit, though.”

“Total shit,” I agree.

We let our conversation be sparse after that, and when we do speak, it's about silly memories from our childhood. We try to remember the rules to a game our first grade P.E. teacher had taught to the class that was like a slightly more complicated version of group tag, except it involved us all playing characters from Star Wars. We try to name all the seasons of Power Rangers that we grew up with. We try to recite the poems we had to memorize for our last literature class in high school.

Allie is nearly through Rudyard Kipling when the van stops and the engine turns off. Although my adrenaline spikes, I can't help but feel a little relieved, too. My hands are starting to go numb. I'm cut loose and I flex my fingers a few times, hissing softly as the feeling floods back into them. I don't resist as they hustle me out of the van and into whatever prison awaits us now. The air outside is bitingly cold, and the ground beneath my feet is hard. The sound my shoes make slapping against it makes me think pavement. Then, the cold air is replaced by surprisingly pleasant warmth. Central heating. A good sign. A less good sign is the way the soles of my shoes are squeaking and sticking against the floor now. I'm thinking this is tile I'm walking on.

We are finally allowed to stop, and my blindfold is removed. The florescent light might as well be sunlight for a moment, but when my eyes start to adjust, a deep, cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach.

The windowless room we're in resembles a doctor's office, with an exam table, cabinets, a sink, and medical instruments hanging from the wall. There are no decorations, though. Nothing to make it welcoming. Which makes the woman standing beside the exam table in full surgical gear—including goggles—all the more ominous. I can't really see anything about what she looks like. I mean, I can tell she's white, and her eyes look brown behind the goggles, but the blue surgical cap isn't giving me a good look at her hair color, and average height aside, I can't tell anything about her build under the shapeless surgical gown.

I don't like where this is going one bit. Neither does Allie judging by her sharp gasp as she takes in the scene. I press close to her, putting my arms protectively around her.

“What is this?!” I demand. “What are you doing?! Who is she?!”

The strange woman spreads her hands, taking a cautious step toward us. “Calm down, Alodia. I am not here to hurt you. I only want to give you a proper exam.”

Allie grips my arm. “Bullshit,” she hisses.

“Watch it, brat!” Fiddler snaps. “Unless you want your friend to suffer for your rudeness.”

“Stay your hand, Jeanine,” the surgeon-woman says mildly. “Just this once, let's try to work with Alodia instead of against her. I am sure she can be made to see reason here without resorting to violence against Diego.”

I can't figure out what it is, but there is something about her voice. My anxiety is ebbing away as I rack my brain trying to place it, but I'm still alert enough to keep my arms firmly around Allie, who glares at the woman.

“Don't touch me!” she snarls.

“I will not touch you if you don't want me to,” the woman promises. “But it would be in your best interests and your baby's best interests to let me give you an examination. Why don't we make a deal, hmm? Jeanine and her soldiers wait outside. Diego can stay in here with you. And you and I can figure out from there how close you want me to get. Sound good?”

“Hardly!” Fiddler scoffs before Allie can answer. “Leave these two alone in here with you? With no one to make sure they don't stab you with your own scalpel?”

“I don't have a scalpel in here, Jeanine,” the woman replies, sounding amused. “And killing me would hardly do them any good with you and your troops standing outside the only exit. Lock the door if it makes you feel better. I will knock when we're finished. ...What do you say to that, Alodia?”

Allie hesitates, looking uncertainly at me. I shrug helplessly. This is crazy. This is totally crazy. Somehow, Rourke has hired an evil obstetrician who is apparently totally okay with the fact that Fiddler and her goons have kidnapped a pregnant woman, but still wants to act like a not-evil doctor by respecting patient boundaries? I can't even comprehend the level of insane that is happening in front of me right now, and I once fought an actual three-headed sea monster. But what kind of choice do we actually have here? This weird woman's offer certainly sounds preferable to any possible alternative. Allie seems to agree, because she slowly nods.

“Excellent. It's decided then. Jeanine, if you would be so kind as to clear out and give the patient a little privacy?”

Fiddler looks like she's going to argue at first, but then she purses her lips, turns on her heel, and stalks out with her goons following behind her. The woman goes to shoo them out, and that's when I see it: a barely detectable green shimmer at the edge of her mask.

Before I can quite process what I've just seen, I hear the door lock from the outside, and the woman turns back to us.

“All right. Now that we have a little privacy...”

The woman touches the stud sparkling in her earlobe, and her white skin dissolves into green as her holographic disguise melts away. She pulls off her surgical cap, revealing her hair underneath—half-lavender and half-bubblegum pink—swept back into a french braid. Now I know why her voice sounded so familiar.

“...Clockmaker...?!”

[katbot]

Logic, Bushes, and my first rolled cigarette.

This is a the sequel to Rescheduling, Accents, and American pride.  I nab a second date with N, the Ameriboo.

“actually can we do nine?”

“Nine is fine. I’ll head to the library then head down to you around 8:30. I’ll pick a cheap bar”

“ace! see you then”

 I crush a set of logical reasoning questions and give myself a break when the next section is Logic Games.

 Around 8:45, I finish my make-up and head down to Christopher. I know every bar in this area and want to pick one that fits my vibe.... without charging $10+ for a pint.

I feel like Goldilocks. This bar’s too crowded. This bar’s too dive-y. This bar’s too bougie!

 I’m in between Shade or Triona’s.

The first— a faux-dive with 15 dollar cocktails but cheap beers. Triona’s, a sports bar with cheap beers but water downed mixed drinks.

 When he texts me he’ll be late, I treat myself to cheeky cocktail at Shade.

 I grab my favourite window seat and pull out my workbook. Logic games can’t beat me with a cocktail in hand! I’m 100% wrong and end up spending most of my time texting my date for next week— a freelance guitarist from Greenpoint.

 N catches me off guard. He slips into the chair across the table with a cheery, “Hiya!”

 “Hey!” I wrap up my books & phone conversation like a guilty child.

 “How was LA?”

We pop into the conversation like old friends. I’m delighted when he’s chill with staying at Shade for another round. I insist he add his beer to my tab to avoid the hassle of opening his own.

 We exchange week events and he shares pictures of LA beaches. It’s beautiful, but I could never see myself out there. Like most New Yorkers— I can’t drive. He tells me about his hour-long bus ride to the centre of town and I silently thank my immigrant parents for picking the right coast.

 We shuffle next door to Triona’s. When I begin to order a drink, he grabs me by the shoulder and insist he buy the next drink.

 He’s staring me down. His brown hair has turned less floof and more mane.

 “I-uhh. I-I’m going to get liquor. Get the next round.”

 I’m not rich by any means, but I remember his poor comment from last week and feel bad. The fact that I freely throw my card at bartenders means most of my dispensable income (gladly) goes to booze. Booze that’s mostly pricey gin.

 “What are you getting? Vodka?”

His intensity is throwing me off guard.

 “No — gin.”

 “Niceeee,” he coos. His UK appreciation overtakes his intensity, but it rolls back when I correct his pairing assumption.

 “And soda?? What are you mental??”

 He gives me shit until the bartender comes over then, ask for my preferred gin before ordering.

 He opens a tab. We're in it for the long run!

 I’ve got a smug blush on when we settle into a side table. The conversation flows well; he tells me he’ll be gone till mid-May, for stop back home to England.

 We match pints to pints once I finish my gin. Alternating rounds depending on whose too lazy to get up.

 At one point his phone chimes, and he groans. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s my program. It just crashed.”

 It’s the reason he was late today. It’s a bunch of coding shit that vaguely ties into politics, but he surprisingly explains it in an uncomplicated way. I’m impressed and can actually make sense of it.

 “So... if it’s just that one digit that’s off...can’t you just replace it with the proper unit?? How long will it take?” I speak slowly to not fuck up the basic terminology and…. because I’m entering the tipsy territory.

 He nods. And we he tells me it’ll take a few minutes I insist he do it right away.

 We squabble until I put my foot down. “Promise you, I’m not offended. You're gonna be behind tomorrow. It's not worth it."

 He begrudging pulls out his laptop, opens up the terminal, apologizing the entire time through. “So sorry.” He repeats, typing away like a mad man.

 “Literally no stress.” And I mean it. I’m definitely tipsy and check on my #boysquad.

 “Date going well?”

“Yeah! Hardly feels like a date though. Def friendzoned myself. ”

“Make a move!!!”

 I scoff and put my phone away just has N slides his laptop away.

 “Already?!”

 “Already! Thank you! Next pint on me?”

 He begins to prep a cigarette when I mention it’s a skill I never developed. He props paper and tobacco in front of me and starts a How-to lesson. It’s an awful cigarette that he ends up reshaping.

 “Not so bad for the first time. Shall we pop off now?”

 It’s an amazing cigarette. I’m not just saying that because I (kind of) rolled it.

 In-between drags, he gives me his UK number.  “Yknow....in case you want to talk to me while I’m abroad.”

 “Uh...okay sure.” I ash my cigarette and save the number as Nx2.

 When we head inside, I suddenly realize I’m tired of the scenery.

“Hey, do you wanna head to another bar? Grab one last pint?”

 “Yeah. That sounds chill.”

 We’re standing up to close our tabs, when he reaches for my hand and pulls me over for a kiss.

 It catches me off guard and I pull away with a, “Whoa. I—“

  “Oh god. I’m sorry. I thought you wanted—“

“No. I— I do. I think you’re really hot. I just wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t think you were into it.”

“Oh no. You’re super cute. I’m definitely into it.”

��I laugh and excuse myself to the bathroom, where I text the #boysquad — “wow I think this dude wants to fuck me???”

 When I get out, N’s smoking outside the bar. “So. Bar??” The plumes of smoke obscure his face.

 “Yeah. It’s just a bit late now. I’m afraid they’ll last call us quickly.”

 “Well, there some bars in Bushwick still open.”

 I laugh. Imagine me going to Brooklyn?

 “Or we can go back to mine and have a few cocktails?” He leans and begins kissing me.

 I laugh again, “Listen. I think you’re really hot. And I really want to fuck you. I just...didn’t expect this. I thought we were doing the more friends thing. THIS is great but the thing is....I haven’t shaved in months.”

 He stares at me, genuinely confused and after a beat says, “…So?”

 “No no," I waving my hands frantically. "You don’t understand. I literally mean MONTHS."

He's still staring at me dead pan, a stream of smoke jets out of the corner of his mouth.

  "So, would you be down to fuck me in like a month when you’re back from England?”

  This time he laughs, holding my hand he answers.

“Yes, I’d be down to fuck you in May.... but I’m also down to fuck you now.”

  He leans in and kisses me again. I shake my head and step away.

 “You don’t understand. It’s like a Kate Bush bush.”          

 He replies instantly,

 “I love Kate Bush.”

 ---

 The lights on Williamsburg bridge are illuminating N’s hand on my thigh.  My hands are folded together in plain sight. I don't mind the tiny PDA  but the cab’s stern glances into the rear-view mirror are making me uncomfortable.

 It isn't until the safety of Bushwick's darkness that I reach over for his hand. He squeezes it tight and I like that he's not trying to fuck in this cab.

 We pull up to his apartment and he pays for it fully, despite my (admittedly half arsed) offer to split.

 Holding hands, he unlocks the front door, and we silently walk up the staircase. It's one of those buildings where people leave their shoes outside the door.

 The apartment is cool. Spacious and lofted. There's a tube map on the wall that makes me smile.

He makes one greyhound & one Tim Collins while I’m in the restroom. 

 His room is cute. It’s reminds me of my own. I observe the pictures has I pulled off my jeans. They're a bunch of him and his friends. They're holding beers and smiling hard in most of them.

 We fuck for hours. I’m surprised and grateful his refractory period is so short.

  I'm so used to a one and done session, I have a back to back orgasm that makes me go cross eyed.

 After the fourth time, I start to get dress when he sharply ask where I’m going. “It’s so late. Of course you’re staying. I wouldn’t let you go home at this time, it's too dangerous.”

 I’m thrown off. Most of my sex life has been me getting kicked out at 4am, and his random dude wants me to stay? I'm embarrassed for myself and successfully play off my dressing as "just underwear lounging."

 I can't believe he buys it.

 After, cigarettes and chatting. We settle into bed. He’s outrageously cuddly. He wraps his entire body around me, and plays with hair. 

 I’m thrown off by the intimacy. I’ve never had anyone’s fingers through my hair. 

 I’m so turned on….

 After the fifth time, we actually settle into bed. Octopus’d together, we both knock out quickly.

  I wake up before my alarm goes off. I’ve got to get in early to change into my spare work clothes.

  N greets me with a groggy “Mornin’? Off to work?���

 He’s still stupidly cute and I regret not calling out the night before. I scramble around the room, cursing myself out for not following my organised protocol.

 This is what happens when you haven’t heard sex in nearly two years.

God— why is it so hard to put jeans on???

 I give him a kiss on his forehead and he wishes me a great day.

 I can hear his roommate rustling to leave, I’ve got to get out of here now.

 The ride to work is quick, once I battle the streets of Bushwick for a piping hot coffee & BEC.

 I text my groupchat the universal emoji of "I just got laid."

 The chat explodes.

One friend replies, "Well. God damn. I never thought I'd see the day Tess gets laid."

 Gee. Thanks guys.

 It’s 8:30 by the time I sneak into my office. I’m tired and dehydrated but successfully on time. I sport a stupid smile on my face that evolves into a stupid grin when N text me around noon.

 When I finally get home I run a bath, schedule STD testing in four weeks, and fall asleep with union jacks on my mind.

  Lessons learned:

 > Gelling with someone doesn’t inherently mean you’re friendzoned. You may just gel well from the start. 

 > I can do the casual sex thing!!!

 > Rolled cigarettes might be my new vice.

 Rating: 8.5

App: OKC

[garretschuelke]

Godan: Omega Wolf Blues, part 3

(As featured on Tuesday Serial. Read part two here)

The first day of December in Chicago was sunny and nearly cloudless—a stunning change to the previous month, in which the city was hammered with near-daily snow storms.

Chicagoan's, while still bundled up, obviously welcomed the changes,. Many of them took the chance to hang out at Millennium Park.

Some took selfies around The Bean, which was slick with melting snow, while others rented out skates and hit the McCormick Tribune ice rink.

Gareth, Nang, Callisto, and Lana were among the latter.

Two teenagers raced past Callisto, causing her to fall. Lana noticed this, and immediately skated over.

“Congrats on your first fall,” Lana said, bending over, “you lasted a tad bit longer than I expected.”

“Well, I've walked on ice before,” Callisto reached her hand up, “so I didn't think it would be that hard.”

Callisto's sleeve slid down, exposing her gray fur-covered arm. Lana quickly pulled her up. “Try to keep yourself covered up,” she said, pulling Callisto's sleeve back into place.

“Sorry, sorry!” Callisto said, hoping that Lana was not mad at her. She started slipping. Lana took her by the shoulders and led them to the side.

“It's cool,” Lana replied. “It's kinda funny though, seeing you hairless from, like, the neck up. It's like those YouTube vids of shaved dogs that I showed you.”

“Ew, no!” Callisto said, sticking her tongue out.

“Ruff ruff to you too,” Lana laughed, taking her vape pen out of her pocket.

“Where's Gareth and Nang at?” Callisto asked.

Lana took a hit as she looked around. “Right there,” she said, exhaling as she pointed at the center of the rink.

Gareth and Nang were holding hands, spinning around slowly. Gareth then pulled Nang to him, and they kissed.

“They made up pretty fast,” Callisto said, folding her arms.

“They've always been combative,” Lana said. “I'm pretty sure that's one of the reasons they're attracted to each other.”

“What're the other reasons?”

“Well, they're both superhumans, they both have fangs and claws,” Lana took another hit of her vape. She grinned. “Oh, and Gareth is really good in bed—Haruki and I can attest to that. I wouldn't feel surprised if she feels the same way.”

“Oh,” Callisto replied as she watch Gareth and Nang grab the two teenagers whose antics knocked her down earlier.

“You haven't slept with him yet?” Lana asked.

“What? No!” Callisto shouted. “I'm not into him like that!”

“Quiet!” Lana, said, putting her finger to Callisto's lips as she tried not to laugh.

Callisto moved Lana's finger away from her lips. “Aren't you weirded out with Gareth sleeping with other people besides you?”

Lana shook her head. “Nah, we're just friends. I have other lovers too—he just happens to be the one I live with and, you know, is probably the best out of all of them, being superhuman and all.”

Callisto nodded, and they both watched as Nang lectured the teenagers as Gareth looked on, laughing.

Callisto broke the silence. “So, who is this Haruki person I keep hearing about?”

Lana blew out a cloud. “You don't know?”

“I've seen a picture of him, you, Gareth, and another guy, and I've asked Gareth about it, but he got really sad and wouldn't talk.”

Lana sighed. “The other guy in the photo you saw in the living room was Tucker. They were our friends and housemates.”

“Where are they now?”

Lana took a deep breath. “Here's the sad part that Gare probably doesn't want to talk about: they were kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?”

Lana nodded. “By the Rudkuses—a gang Gareth then pretty much took down. He spent the entire year afterwards looking for them, fighting criminals, and doing other hero-related stuff, but he says he hasn't found any traces of them.” She took a quick hit of her pen. “It was me who convinced him to go back to Michigan to investigate his hometown's werewolf problem, since he was running himself ragged, and I thought him getting out of town for a bit would do him some good.” Lana threw back her hair. “From what he told me, it wasn't.”

Callisto looked at her skates, grimacing. Lana realized what she was implying.

“Hey, you're cool though!” She rubbed Callisto's back. “Really, Gareth and I like having you around!”

“Thanks,” Callisto mumbled.

Lana leaned into Callisto's ear. “I never told you this before, but I do get a kick out of shaving you. It reminds me of the cat I had when I was a kid would throw a shit fit whenever I tried to do it it her.”

Callisto giggled. Lana said “Uh, oh,” as she watched security confront Nang, Gareth, and the teenagers.

“Have you ever noticed that Gareth wears the same clothes all the time?” Callisto asked, referring to Gareth's black sweatshirt, gray sleeveless shirt, gray pants, and black combat boots.

“Yeah, he's not really much for fashion,” Lana said, “and, according to him, he never gets cold.”

“I mean, he wears the same clothes all the time,” Callisto nudged Lana. “Nobody notices?”

Lana shrugged. “Why would anyone care about some random gutter punk?”

Up in Chicago's skyline, Upton watched the four friends, streaming their activities to Mysta, who was using her tablet to check over the final preparations of her plan.

“All right, I think everything is good to go,” She put down her tablet, leaned back in her chair, and watched as Gareth and Nang were led off of the rink by security. “You ready to do this, Upton?”

Upton nodded his head.

“Good. Now go do what—” a figure flew past Upton's field of vision. “Wait, zoom in on whatever just flew by you.”

Upton did so, revealing it to be White Streak, who then landed on a rooftop overlooking Millennium Park.

“Hold on, Upton,” Mysta said. “Things are about to get more interesting.”

“I bet the security over at the Ribbon wouldn't let this shit fly!” Gareth yelled at the security guards who threw them out.

“Please don't ruin our access to that rink either,” Lana said.

Nang's phone vibrated. She took out it out and saw that it was a text from White Streak.

“Seriously,” Gareth said as he sat down on the bench and started taking off his skates. “I didn't act like that when I was his age!”

“Really?” Lana sat down, smiling. “You, of all people, weren't a dickhead when you were a teenager?”

“Nah, I was more moody and withdrawn,” Gareth then thought it over. “Actually, I only skated a handful of times before my Dad put an end to that.”

“Why did he do that?” Callisto asked.

Gareth grimaced. “Forget I mentioned that.”

“I got a text from Sanders,” Nang said, sitting down on the bench opposite of them, “he's waiting on one of the rooftops across the street.”

“Awesome!” Gareth began untying his skates faster. “Last chance, Lana, wanna join us?”

Lana shook her head. “Sorry, my shift starts in three hours.”

Gareth gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Okay, I'll record it for ya.”

Lana giggled. “Thanks, since I obviously don't know how to torrent.”

“My bootlegs feature all the shaking, but none of the malware,” Gareth got up, dropped his skates off at the rental desk.“I'll see you later tonight.”

“I'll make sure there's plenty of salted pork left for you and Callisto when you get back,” Lana joked as she and Gareth hugged.

“What an angel you are,” Gareth kissed her on the cheek,  and turned to Nang and Callisto. “Well, gang, lets hit up the nearest alley.”

Nang and Callisto bid Lana farewell, and followed Gareth outside. Callisto tugged on Gareth's sleeve. “We're really not gonna have to eat that stuff again, are we?”

Gareth snorted. “Fuck no!” he laughed. “That's just something Mary like to whip up for new housemates.”

Callisto sighed. “Good, I don't think my stomach could take another round of that.”

“Let's go down this one,” Nang said, pointing towards an alley.

Gareth and Callisto followed Nang across the street and into the alley. After making sure that there were no security cameras around, they ducked between two dumpsters.

“I'm surprised that we haven't been caught yet,” Callisto said as she and Nang put on their domino masks.

“If we were busted,” Gareth said as his fingernails grew into claws and his hair turned gray, “I would just claim I'm selling you two drugs.”

“Yeah, you know, normal stuff someone would do in an alley,” Nang said.

“Likewise, I could claim I'm prostituting myself.”

Nang pretended to gag. Callisto giggled.

“Admit it,” Godan tied on his mask, “you would gladly pay up to have me.”

“I haven't done it yet.” Nang looked around the corner. “Coast is clear.”

They sprang upwards all at once, hopping onto a fire escape. They then leapt onto different window ledges until they landed on the roof of the building.

“STREAK!” Godan yelled, looking around “WHERE YOU AT?!”

“OVER HERE!” White Streak yelled, waving from the building behind them.

Godan, Nang, and Callisto ran over and joined him. “Got the tickets?” Godan asked as they slapped hands.

“Yes sir, Mister Gray Wolf,” White Streak replied, showing them the tickets on his phone.

“What're we seeing?” Callisto asked.

“A documentary,”

“That's different from the usual crap we go to,” Nang said.

Back in her lab, Mysta gripped her armrest. “That's how we're gonna do it now, Upton. You ready?”

Upton nodded. He started to power up his thrusters, and released a tentacle, as he slowly descended.

“You really don't see the irony in seeing a documentary about mass surveillance?” Godan asked.

“What's the problem?” White Streak asked. “Not interesting enough for you?”

“No, I'm cool with seeing it—I just find it funny that an FBI agent is interested in seeing what is probably, in part, a critical documentary on an activity that you guys engage in every single day.”

“First of all, that's not my department. Nang and I are all about monitoring and stopping superhuman criminal activities here in Chicago.”

“Yeah, mass surveillance.”

“Not the type they're talking about in this film! Second, I do have my own reservations regarding surveillance policies.”

“I'm sure your bosses really cares about your opinion.”

Nang slapped Godan alongside the head. “Stop being a dick to the guy who is treating us to a free movie!”

White Streak released three tentacles. “All aboard the White Streak express! Next stop: Logan Square.”

Mysta watched as Nang allowed White Streak to wrap his tentacle around her. “NOW!” she commanded.

Upton darted towards the group. He shot his tentacle and wrapped it around Callisto. He veered upwards again, knocking over Godan.

“THE FUCK—” Godan yelled, scrambling to his feet.

“GARETH!” Callisto yelled. Godan looked over and saw Upton, hovering a few feet away, with Callisto struggling to free herself.

Godan froze, and blinked a couple of times. “Upton?” he said, staring at the gang leader he thought he had defeated over a year ago.

“Who the hell is that?!” Nang asked, whipping off her coat, revealing her usual uniform.

“I don't know,” White Streak zoomed in on Upton's face. “Wait, is that—”

“UPTON!” Godan, filled with rage, launched himself towards the android.

“Come back to base,” Mysta commanded. “Use one of our underground tunnels.”

Upton nodded, and headed southward, narrowly avoiding Godan's slash. Godan growled, and gave chase.

“WAIT UP!” White Streak yelled. He made sure Nang was properly secured, and they flew off after them.

“Upton...” Nang said, taking a small metallic tube out of her pocket, “that name sounds familiar.”

“I've briefed you on him before,” White Streak said, tying to catch up with Godan as he hopped from rooftop to rooftop, trying to grab the android. “He's the former leader of the Rudkuses.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nang twisted the tube, transforming it into her spear, “but Gareth said he killed him.”

“I believe him,” White Streak started streaming and recording what was occurring, sending out a signal to his FBI contact, “but it looks like Upton got himself the same type of “upgrade” that I did!”

Godan made another leap at Upton, who just raised his hand and fired an energy blast at him. It hit the Gray Wolf in the chest, sending him plummeting towards the ground.

“CATCH HIM!” White Streak yelled.

Nang shot a web at Godan, catching him by the shoulder. She braced herself. Godan grabbed the web and steadied himself.

They entered the Back of the Yards neighborhood. Upton sent out commands to a nearby garage, which immediately opened up. He flew into it, with Callisto screaming for help.

“He's not getting away from me!” Godan yelled, slashing the web line off of him. He landed, and dashed into the garage as the door closed behind him.

“Hang on tight!” White Streak  yelled, bringing Nang closer to him. Nang shielded herself. White Streak aimed his arm at the door and blasted it. The door exploded, and they flew through the smoke.

“Excellent choice, Upton!” Mysta said, getting up from her seat and heading up onto the platform. “Now lead them here.”

“What is this place?” Nang asked, looking around. “Some kind of bunker?”

“Could be that,” White Streak said as they flew down the large, illuminated tunnel. His com buzzed, indicating that his FBI contact was trying to reach him. He accepted the call. “Red Seal, we got a problem: Upton's still alive—he's been turned into an android, and he has Callisto, the other wolf girl I told you about.  Myself, Agent Tu, and Godan are in pursuit in some tunnel located in the Back of the Yards.”

“Let me see if I can tag him,” Nang said, thrusting her palm forward.

“DON'T!' White Streak yelled. “You might hit Godan!”

“Like that's ever stopped him before!”

White Streak groaned. “Lock onto my location,” he said to Red Seal. “What's that? Yeah, send her over too. I'll take whatever help you can manage.”

“Who's Red Seal sending?”

“Our new recruit.”

Nang rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on—not her!”

The tunnel suddenly became darker. A door opened. Upton boosted his thrusters, and entered. The door immediately closed.

“Goddammit!” Godan yelled, winding up, He punched the steel door, putting a huge dent in it. He recoiled, holding his hand.

“You all right, Wolf,” White Streak asked as he landed.

“I'll heal in a sec,” Godan shook his hand. “I should have obliterate this door with one blow.”

The lights suddenly turned back on, revealing the end of the tunnel to be lined with pods built into the wall.

“Oh, God,” Nang said, cringing as she scanned the unconscious, grotesque subjects encased in the pods.

White Streak gulped. “These are the same exact pods that I was imprisoned in.”

Godan's attention from the door changed towards a pod that was next to him. The subject inside looked like he had been stitched back together. He looked closer, and saw the subjects face, which featured noticeable fangs.

Godan's eyes widened. He growled, and got into a battle stance.

“What?!” Nang said, joining his side, her spear at the ready.

“It's Ruthven!” Godan said, “That vampire Wolf Savage and I took out in Kalamazoo!”

White Streak checked out the vampire. “He looks like he's in the worst shape out of all of them.”

“How is he even alive?!” Godan glared. “We blew him the fuck up!”

“How do you know he's alive?”

Lord Ruthven suddenly opened his eyes. Upon seeing Godan, he smashed himself again the glass, fangs bared, his screaming only slightly muffled by the preservation fluid.

“SHIT!” White Streak yelled, aiming his palm at the vampire as he jumped back.

Godan bared his own fangs, ready to fight.

“WELCOME, SUPERHUMANS!” Mysta's voice blared out of a speaker. A screen above the door came to life, showing her sitting at a desk, grinning. “You kept up pretty well with my Upton. Guess I'll have to increase his speed later.”

That's the woman I've seen on the news, Godan thought, remembering the night he thought he defeated Upton.

“Mysta Avon,” White Streak said, lowering his arms. “Thanks for revealing yourself like this—it confirms all the bureaus suspicions.”

Mysta laughed. “It seriously took the FBI this long to find about my activities?” She pressed a button on her console. “Looks like I was paranoid for nothing.”

“I saw her on the news before,” Godan whispered to Nang. “Who is she again?”

Nang glared at him. “Come on, Gar,” she said , shaking her head. “Famous Chicago-based scientist, entrepreneur, investor, philanthropist, head of Mysta Industries...”

“Weapons manufacturer, gangster, human trafficker,,” White Streak interrupted, “and my personal favorite: mad scientist.”

“That's me, all right,” Mysta confirmed, leaning back in her chair. “But enough talk about my rep—there's lots of things I admire about you, Godan: your strength, your speed, your durability, and that incredible healing factor,” Mysta sighed, seemingly lost in thought, “but your intelligence and morals could use some improvement.”

Godan growled. Nang put her hand on his shoulder and told him to calm himself. She heard the sound of marching behind them. She turned around and looked down the tunnel.

“What have you done with Callisto?” White Streak asked.

“Oh, she's right here by my side,” Mysta reached over and turned the camera towards Callisto, who was bound to the wall by her hands and feet, her mouth covered with tape.

“Let's get this door open,” Godan said, walking past White Streak. He put both hands on the handle, and began to pull.

“Oh, please try!” Mysta said, pointing the camera back towards herself. “I made that door with your strength level in mind—as I could calculate, at least. You've dented it a bit, so I was a tad bit off—but I still think I did a good job.”

“Godan, Streak,” Nang got into a battle stance.

“She's got a point,” White Streak said to Godan as he pulled on the door in vain. “If it's so strong that even you can't get through it, then we have a problem.”

Godan stopped pulling. “No shit, Einstein,” he muttered, breathing heavily.

“GUYS!” Nang said, backing up.

“You got two immediate problems, actually,” Mysta said, resting her chin on her hand.

Nang turned White Streak around. She then grabbed Godan by the hood and yanked him from away from the door.

“WHAT!” Godan yelled.

Nang pointed her spear down the tunnel. Before them was a group, decked out in black hazmat suits, marching towards them.

“What the fuck are those things?!” White Streak asked, raising his arms towards them.

“They're some kind of zombies,” Godan got in front of them, claws up. “I dealt with them last year.”

“Very scientific explanation,” Mysta said. “ I simply call them 'Assistants'. How about we see if you three can take them on while trying to get the door open?”

“I can't tell how many there are,” Nang said, readying her spear.

Godan spread his arms out in front of them.”You guys get the door open. I'll handle these freaks.”

“Think you can manage them all?” White Streak asked.

“Oh yeah,” Godan flexed his claws, “I'll tear them apart!”

“Wait, we need you to open the door though.” Nang said.

“You heard the mad scientist—the door was made to match my strength.”

“How the hell are we supposed to manage then? We're not as strong as you!”

All at once, the Assistants stopped marching. They reached into their side compartments and took out batons.

“Fine—work on it until I take them out. I need a break from yanking on that handle anyway.”

Nang nodded. Godan gave them a thumbs up, and rushed towards the Assistants.

“He needs a break,” Nang sighed, putting away her spear.

“Come on, let's get this door open,” White Streak said. He went up to the door and saw that the doors space was expanded after Godan dented it. He stuck his hands in it, got a grip, and began pulling on it.

Mysta hummed.”Maybe I should have equipped them with guns,” she said, zooming in on Godan, who was easily tearing through the Assistants. “No, that still would have been a bad idea, with all the subjects I have stored along the walls.”

Callisto tried to say something, but her voice was muffled by the tape.

“You're absolutely right!” Mysta looked down at her android. “Upton, I'm not mad—I should have been more specific—but next time you lead high-powered superhumans to me, please go though a tunnel that doesn't have any experiments, expensive tech, and whatnot in it. Got it?”

Upton nodded.

“ It's nice having a silent servant, but nothing beats honest feedback, right?” Mysta looked back at Callisto, who glared at her.

“Should have thought of this sooner,” White Streak said, backing up. He aimed his arms at the other side of the door, and unleashed a thin, steady stream of energy at it.

“My turn,” Nang said, cracking her knuckles and taking up where White Streak left off.

“How's Wolf doing?” White Streak asked, increasing the strength of his energy beam.

Nang looked down the tunnel. She saw the ravaged bodies of the Assistants littering the floor. Further back, she saw blood and body parts flying everywhere as zombies surrounded Godan.

“He's having the time of this life,” Nang said, as she began to pull.

“It won't be long now,” Mysta said. She switched to another camera, which showed a lone Assistant standing back, observing the battle. “Good, he's in place.”

Another baton hit Godan in the back of the head. Enraged, he roared, turned around, and swiped at the Assistant, cutting its head off. Another Assistant wrapped its arms around the Gray Wolf's neck and his foot in front of his leg, sending them to the floor. The other Assistants piled on top of them.

Godan gagged on the smell of decaying flesh and rancid blood. “All right, I'm done with this shit!” he mumbled.

He quickly got to his knees and, swinging his arms, sent the Assistants flying off. He broke away from the Assistant that had him in a choke hold, and put his fist through its head. Godan then sped around the area and cut off the heads of each of the remaining Assistants before they could recover.

“God, what a mess,” Godan said, wiping his claws on his pants and looking around. He saw the lone Assistant still hanging back.

“How many of you freaks did Mysta make?!” Godan yelled, preparing to charge at it.

The Assistant began walking towards him, revealing that it was wearing a gray hazmat suit. It took off its gloves, revealing claws.

“Well, this might be different,” Godan said, getting into a battle stance.

The door moved slightly. Surprised, Nang stopped pulling.

“Keep going!” White Streak yelled.

“Just catching my breath, boss!” Nang said.

They heard a loud crash. They looked over, and saw Godan flying towards them. They got out of the way, allowing the Gray Wolf to smash into the door.

“GODAN!” Nang yelled, kneeling down next to him.

“Thanks for the save, guys,” Godan mumbled, scrambling to his feet.

They looked over and saw the Gray Assistant rushing towards them, claws at the ready. Nang shot a web at it. The Gray Assistant easily tore through it.

“I've got him!” Godan said, getting up and charging at it.

“We should help,” Nang said.

“No, we almost got this door open!” White Streak unleashed some tentacles and began pulling at the door with them. Nang returned to her previous position and went back to pulling as well.

“Perfect!” Mysta said as she watched the fight between Godan and the Gray Assistant continue. “Well, maybe I'm calling it perfect too early, but it looks promising.”

A loud squeal caught Mysta's attention, and made Upton get into a battle stance. The door that White Streak and Nang were pulling on slowly moved, creating a larger gap.

“It's about to get really fun in here,” Mysta stood up and looked at Callisto. “I can tell you're just as excited as I am.”

The Gray Assistant stomped Godan's foot. “REALLY?!” Godan yelled, hopping back on one foot. The Gray Assistant suddenly appeared in front of the Gray Wolf, elbowing him the chin. Godan swiped both claws at it. The Gray Assistant jumped back.

“That Mysta woman made you smart enough to do cheap shots,” Godan said, peeling the fabric off the one claw that connected with the zombies hazmat suit.

The Gray Assistant did not say a word. It got into a battle stance similar to Godan's. Godan snicked, and rushed at it.

White Streak saw Nang begin to breath heavily. He stopped blasting at the door frame. “Let me handle the rest,” he said, nudging his way between Nang and the door. He took a hold of the gap with both hands, breathed deeply, and began pulling again.

Mysta sighed heavily, “I'm sick of waiting.” She bent down and opened her desks bottom cabinet. She took out a smooth, thin crown that looked like an upside down horseshoe, and put it on her head. She pressed the button on the back to turn it on, and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, a red light appeared in front of the crown, followed by a beep.

Mysta opened her eyes. UPTON, CAN YOU HEAR ME?, she asked telepathically. Upton looked up at her and nodded.

“Excellent!” Mysta pressed another button on her console. The door of the lab suddenly opened, sending White Streak to the floor.

Godan threw the Gray Assistant at the pod containing Lord Ruthven. He raised his fist and ran at it.

COME TO UPTON'S SIDE, Mysta commanded the Gray Assistant. The zombie nodded, stood up, and ran towards the lab.

Godan's fist went through the pod door. Lord Ruthven took the opportunity to bust through the nearly-shattered glass.

“SHIT!” Godan said as he was showered in fluid and glass. He grabbed Lord Ruthven by the throat and, ignoring the vampires claws piercing his shoulders, threw him down the tunnel.

“LET'S DO THIS!” Nang yelled, whipping out her spear. The Gray Assistant zipped past her. “Who's—” Godan then zipped past her as well.

“Congratulations, superhumans!” Mysta said, arms outstretched. Upton and the Gray Assistant stood in front of the platform, arms crossed. “You're all officially the second, third, and fourth guests to ever visit my underground lab!”

White Streak aimed his arm at her. “Mysta Avon, you're under—”

Mysta's desk phone rang. “Hold on a sec, guys.” Mysta picked it up. “Yes?”

Godan saw Callisto tied up. With a growl, he leapt towards her. The Gray Assistant leapt upwards in front of him. It threw a punch. Godan crossed his face with his arms and took the blow, sending him back to the ground. Nang immediately threw her spear at Mysta. Upton unleashed a tentacle and swatted it away.

“Okay, I'll send up some of my Assistants to stop her,” Mysta said. She saw White Streak shoot an energy blast her way. She pressed a button, which brought down a glass dome, encasing the platform. White Streak's blast dissipated upon impact. “Yes, yes, I'll contact the authorities—just relax, and tend to your gunshot wounds the best you can.”

Mysta hung up the phone. “Sorry about that—it seems I have an unwelcome guest upstairs.” Mysta narrowed her eyes. “Scratch that—TWO unwanted guests.”

A loud, pained scream came from the hallway. They all turned around and saw Lord Ruthven dashing towards them, eyes bulging.

“This is getting way too out of control!” White Streak said, Godan and Nang prepared themselves.

“I got this,” Mysta pressed a button that closed the door just as Lord Ruthven was near the entrance. The vampire smashed into the door. Mysta laughed. “There, that's better.”

“Like I said before, Mysta,” White Streak turned back around, “we're taking you in!”

“Let's get real here, Agent Sanders: none of you are leaving this place.” Callisto began to struggle. Mysta smacked her. “You're all MY subjects now!”

“LET HER GO!” Godan yelled, baring his fangs.

The center of Mysta's crown glowed. “I want you to try and stop me.” Upton and the Gray Assistant advanced towards them. “It'll be easier to control you when you're dead.”

Nang broke away from the group, grabbed her spear, got into a battle stance.

“Oh, you don't have an opponent, do you?” Mysta's crown blinked. “Allow me to change that.”

The door next to Nang exploded, sending her skidding across the floor. Godan bent down and caught her.

A large android, equipped with a minigun for one arm, and a flame thrower for the other, entered the lab.

“It's a Man of War!” White Streak said, unleashing four tentacles. “I thought we got rid of them all!”

“You did,” Mysta stretched her fingers. “this is just my take on them. What do you think?”

Godan focused on the face, which was half-scarred with burnt flesh. His eyes widened.

“His name was Fold—a muscle for the Rudkuses. You might remember his as the one who massacred everything in that Boystown convenience store over a year ago.” She looked at Godan, “including those two friends you been searching for, Gray Wolf of Chicago.”

Godan tensed up, and began breathing heavily.

“Calm down, Gareth,” Nang whispered.

“You know, I think I'll give Upton and my Assistant a break. This will be a good chance to see what Fold can do, now that he's a true berserker!”

Fold raised his minigun.

“GET BACK!” White Streak yelled. Godan and Nang did so as White Streak blasted the floor, creating a smoke screen and a crater. Fold began shooting at them.

“THE FUCK KIND OF MOVE IS THAT?!” Godan yelled, crouching down behind the debris.

“The kind of move you do when you don't know what to do next,” White Streak said.

“Godan may not be a fan of it, but I applaud your quick thinking!” Mysta said.

There was another explosion, destroying the door on the other side of the room.

“GODDAMMIT!” Nang yelled, covering her head. “NOW WHAT?!”

Mysta telepathically commanded Fold to stop. He did so, and everyone directed their attention to the smoking hole in the wall.

“Okay, who the hell just blew up my stairwell?” Mysta asked.

“Don't worry, I just blew up your door,” a voice said. “I didn't feel like messing with the lock.”

Out from the smoke stepped Dia, wearing a business suit and a utility belt, with a Desert Eagle in each hand.

“You've finally made it, Agent Patrick,” White Streak yelled.

“ 'Agent Patrick' ?!” Godan glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Unfortunately, he's not,” Nang sighed.

“Well, what a surprise!” Mysta clapped her hands. “Tell me, Dia, are those vampiric abilities I gifted you still working out? How about all that fur I removed—any grow back?”

Godan grabbed White Streak by his shoulder and pulled him in. “What are thinking, man?!”

“Hey, she wanted to become an agent after I had dinner with her. She's taken to it better than I thought she would!”

Dia saw Callisto hanging on the wall, and glared at Mysta. “Let my sister go, Doctor Avon.”

Mysta shook her head, and grinned. “You know, after all the good I've done for you, you could at least let me have one werewolf to play with!”

Dia began shooting at the glass. Bullets ricocheted everywhere—one of which hit Godan in the shoulder. Godan covered the wound with his hand, and growled at White Streak.

“I didn't say she was perfect,” White Streak said. They heard Dia shout 'SORRY!' at them.

UPTON, TAKE CARE OF WHITE STREAK IN THE OTHER TUNNEL, Mysta telepathically commanded. ASSISTANT, TAKE CARE OF GODAN IN THE MORGUE.

Upton and the Gray Assistant nodded. Upton blasted the debris they were hiding behind, obliterating it. Before anyone could react, White Streak and Godan were taken hold of, and whisked them away.

“STREAK!” Nang yelled, looking around. “GODAN!”

“You all right?” Dia asked, joining Nang by her side.

“Nang glared. “DO I LOOK LIKE I'M ALL RIGHT?!”

Dia backed away. “Excuse me for actually being worried about you!”

Fold walked up to them. He aimed his minigun and flame thrower at the agents.

“I should probably start worrying about things that actually matter,” Dia said, aiming her guns at the Man of War.

[athedemonsqueen]

I Found You #4 (Finn Balor Story)

“Got any queens?” Finn said- we were face chatting. “Gold fish!” I said, with a michvious smile.

“Ahh!” Finn said, picking up a card from his end. I laughed. It’s been nearly two months since our relationship took off and I could not be any happier. I felt lucky despite the difficulties the long distance relationship gave. 

“I deleted my Facebook and my...Instagram...” I said, placing down my cards.

“You didn’t have to do that...”

“I wanted to do that...” I said, Finn smiled at me, placing down a few cards himself.

“I figured, since I’ll be back home in Orlando after Wrestlmaina, you can stay with me.” Finn said. 

“I’ve never been to Orlando before” I giggled. “Never not even for a vacation?” 

“No, if we did go on vacation it was to California, because Disney World was there.” I said. “I got a travel points card today, hopefully I’ll make good use out of it.” I added.

“You know I can come to you too, why should you do all the traveling?” 

“Trust me, for now, it’s best if I go to you.” I held out my hand. “Your roommate?” Finn said. I glance over at Lucy’s empty bed, she is out with her boyfriend tonight. This would be consider a night out with Finn.

“Yeah, pretty much.” I sighed. “Once I’m done with internships, I can have my own place.” Finn smiled, he is home in Orlando now, farther away from me than what I’m use too, when Finn is near my home, I feel him a lot more; his presences that is, but when he is farther I feel him less. It’s something new I discovered about myself. 

Finn and I began to lay down, he crawled under his sheets with his shirt off. He laid on his side facing the computer screen, his eyes were slowly beginning to close. By now, Lucy is not back yet, and I have a feeling she is staying at her boyfriends tonight, which means I can keep Finn on the screen all night.

“You have to shave that friggin beard” I grumbled. “The beard is staying until I say it’s time to go.” Finn said, with a smirk. 

“Watch I’ll tie you down to shave it off.” I laughed, “I like the tieing down part.” He giggled.

“Oh la la...” I teased. Finn laughed heartly. 

“Is it warm in Orlando now?”

“Getting there...humid...I don’t like it.” Finn said. ‘Is it still cold there?”

“Murky cold...chilly at times...” I said. I fought to keep my eyes open. I didn’t want to close my eyes without Finn there with me. I wanted to stay on with him as much as I could. Fatigue was winning though.

“Go to sleep baby.” Finn said through his fatigue. “I don’t want too.” I grumbled.

“I know.” He said, shuffling through his sheets. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” My eyes finally closed, but I was still awake, through out the night. I just needed to know Finn was still there. Every now and  then I would open my eyes just to see if Finn was still there. I need to know, because through out this relationship, I’m in disbelief. I can not believe, Finn Balor, the famous WWE superstar is in a relationship with me. I always need that clarity. Once I saw he was sleeping, I smiled and went back to sleep. 

--

Morning came, Finn had gone to the gym for the day, I went to sign job applications, but it was not for Seattle it was jobs in Orlando. As crazy as it sounds, I was signing job applications for Orlando. Finn knew about it, it seems like a good idea. Just the other night, I discuss moving out of the West coast period, and he suggested to find a place for myself in Orlando and maybe over time move in with him. Moving to the East, is a bold move of mine, but Finn is worth it. Leaving Lucy, however, with no explanation might be difficult. 

Lucy has started to change in her own way. She spends less time in the house, and bills are not being paid. My savings were gonna start draining if I didn’t do something about this. It wasn’t her boyfriend, I had known Lewis for years, Lewis is clean cut, and it didn’t explain Lucy’s behavior. 

The front door slammed and Lucy stormed into our bedroom. The first thing I noticed was her hair, it was stringy looking, unwashed, and her make up was slightly smeered. She sat on her bed with her arms crossed and she looked like had been crying all night.

“Lu what happened?” I got up and sat next to her.

“Where were you last night? Why didn’t you pick up the phone?” She cried hysterically.

“Honey, you did not call me all night, I know it.” I said. 

“You were so busy with your stupid boyfriend or girlfriend or whoever your dating!” She cried. She put her head in her hands and sobbed. Her arms were bruised and her clothes were tattered. 

“Did Lewis do this?!” I asked, hysterically. “Why would you care?!” She said, turning to me, with daggers in her eyes. She got up and chased me out of the room, before she could I grabbed my phone and keys and rushed out of the apartment. I went into the car and stop to sob for a few. I was hysteric, I’m normally a calm, collected person, but I was scared to death of Lucy. I scrambled for my phone and called Finn.

“Hello?” He said with his smooth voice.

“Finn!” I cried, tears flowed from my eyes. “(Y/N) honey what happened, why are you crying?” 

“Lucy...almost...attacked me....” I cried. 

“What?! Are you ok? Where are you?” He asked, I hoped somehow he would jump in a car and come and save me.

“I’m sitting in front of the house in the car...’ I said, turning slightly to look out at the window.

“Ok, just listen to me, baby just listen, go somewhere for awhile, I’ll stay on the phone with you.” Finn said, calmly although I could sense the uneasiness in his voice. I drove to the local coffee shop and talked to Finn on the phone for hours.

“I guess now, I have nothing here, I mine as well pack up and move to Orlando now.” I said to Finn.

“Forget moving in alone than, you will move in with me.” He said, catching me off guard.

“Finn, don’t you think that is too soon?” “I’ve gave it a lot of thought, no one is willing to give up their life like you do to be in mine...I only realize now that, I love you more than anything.” Finn said. I smiled through the stiffness of my face. 

I sniffled, “And I love you, you’ve made me so happy I can’t explain it, how I feel....” 

“Do you ever feel that I’m close?” “When you’re physically close, state wise, yes...” 

“And when I’m far, it’s difficult for me to feel you.” Finn said, softly. I gripped my napkin as if it was Finn’s hand. “I get that feeling all the time.” I whispered. Finn sighed softly through the phone. I felt a deeper connection with him, deeper than what I use to feel, and I started to think that Finn is the one for me, but I didn’t make that known yet.

“Well, I have something else we need to talk about...” Finn said, his voice becoming serious. 

“Oh”

“We can’t do Wrestlmaina in New Orleans...” Finn said, my heart dropped to my stomach.

“Why? What happened?” 

“Too many people are coming and they may not have enough room...it’s the biggest crowd they’ve ever seen.” Finn said. 

“So where are you going to be?” 

“I don’t know yet...” he said, I scoffed “Finn, I put a lot of money into that plane ticket, baby.” I said.

“I know, I know once I figure out where we are going to be I’ll let you know, don’t worry baby, you’ll still see me one way or another.” Finn said. I smiled, slouching down in my chair. 

“I love you baby” I whispered, “i love you too.” I was somewhat annoyed about Wrestlmaina, not at Finn, it’s not his fault but everything seemed to be going wrong and nothing scared me more than an uncertain future. Finn was my light in the dark, the only reason to keep pushing to Wrestlmaina. 

@mylittlepartofthegalaxy @devitts-girl @igobypoet @caguayo85 @nickysmum1909

[vowel-in-thug]

Drabble game - uhh ALL OF THEM but specifically #83, "Stay there. I'm coming to get you." Silverflint.

HEY PAL REMEMBER HOW YOU SENT THIS TO ME FOUR MONTHS AGO AND I’M ONLY DOING IT NOW BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT

so yeah. everyone who has forgotten by now that they sent me one of these, be prepared to suddenly get a notification like “wtf is this” over the next…..i don’t even fucking know. i don’t know. 

i also got an anonymous prompt with just the number and listen, friend, i don’t even know where the original list is so i have no idea what your prompt was but if someone sees the list flying around, let me know.

so many of these prompts were also more aligned to a modern AU but i’m not capable of doing a regular modern AU so here it is, the first 1920s gangster AU no one (or, like, four people, retroactively) asked for

although this is more like Black Sails: Prohibition-Era Gay Chicken AU

#83, “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Flint lights a cigarette. The metal clink of his lighter flicking shut is the only sound trickling across the Atlantic City Boardwalk. Other than the crush of waves, of course. Everything glows a hazy orange in the steam of the summer air. Fuck, it’s hot, even with the breeze pushing off the sea. It’s barely a breeze, really, the waves twitching only as much as an accomplished sinner in church. They’re moving, sure, but they aren’t exactly calling attention to themselves.

He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and takes off his jacket, throwing it over the railing. He smokes with his lips pursed, rolling up his sleeves, never taking his eyes off the horizon. He’d get a good breeze if he was on a boat, even in this fucking July swelter. He lets loose the top button his waistcoat, then takes off his hat to wipe at his brow with his forearm. The only way to get a good goddamn breeze is at sea.

The boat still isn’t in sight.

Flint takes a long drag, the tobacco rolling around his tongue like a dog with a bone. He wishes he could be on his boat right now, instead of waiting to see if his shipment will arrive or if it’s been pinched by the fucking Coast Guard after leaving Nassau. But the Ranger had been having a good run so far, and the crew knew just how to hide his rum behind a grin and a crate of sugar cane – both sweet enough to give the Guards cavities, if they got boarded.

It means smaller cargo, but it means you don’t have to do a runner at the first whiff of trouble. And it also means Flint couldn’t go with them. His face has been splashed all over the papers too many times. But it also means product, and anyway, Flint has The Walrus to run.

The moon wavers on the water like Flint’s patience. They’re hours late. He’d already sent his men home. The only reason the Ranger would be this late is if there’d been a problem. But still, Flint stays. It’s easier to think of all the ways the world has disappointed him when he’s looking out at the sea.

Suddenly, he hears a crash coming from behind. Crash might be too generous. A soft thud, and a roll of glass over gravel, a metal can scratching against brick, and then a pointed stillness of someone trying not to make anymore noise.

Flint has his gun drawn and raised before he even finishes turning around. He sees a dark alley, nestled nice and cozy between a closed soda parlor and a closed drugstore. The closest lamp is lit two doors down, but between that and the moon he can see a couple trash cans and shadows. But you don’t get to live as long as James Flint had without being able to tell between a shadow and a shadow.

He inhales deeply one more time before pitching his cigarette over the rail, onto the beach. “Stay right there.” He doesn’t bother to whisper it. “I’m coming to you.”

He approaches slowly, finger resting on the trigger, and when he gets to the edge of the alley, a man steps out, hands raised.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles.

It’s a smile only a mother could love, because everyone else is too busy wanting to punch it. His shirtsleeves are also rolled, and he’d gone so far as to take off his suspenders, draping them at his waist. Flint doesn’t know how his trousers aren’t sliding all the way down over his narrow hips. The man’s in desperate need of a haircut, a shave, and another place to be. He doesn’t look like a street urchin, though. His teeth are too white.

“I have a proposition for you,” says the kid, still smiling.

Flint had already given him the once over, but he did it again, slower this time. Maybe life isn’t all full of disappointments. “Do you now?”

The kid frowns, and when he realizes, his cheek redden a little. “That’s – ah. Not what I meant. Mr. Flint.”

It’s a good thing Flint hadn’t put away his gun. “You know who I am?”

“Yes,” says the kid, stepping forward. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Cops are the only ones looking for me, kid.” Flint raises his gun higher.

The kid raises his hands higher. “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not a cop.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I actually found you.”

“Uh-huh,” says Flint. “And did you mean to proposition me just now, or did you just mean to trip over your own pigtails in the dark?”

“I – slipped.” The kid scowls, like Flint doesn’t have a gun on him. “I had been hoping to speak to you in a more….populated area, but. You see – “

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Silver,” says Silver. “John Silver.”

“Is that so?“ says Flint. He steps closer, forcing Silver to walk backwards into that dark alley again. He shuffles a little awkwardly as he goes, trying to keep from tripping again with his eyes still on Flint’s gun. “Named after that tongue of yours, were you?”

Even as he keeps looking at Flint, at Flint’s gun, at the disappearing light around them, Silver doesn’t look worried. Not even with his back up against a wall. “I don’t think you’re well-acquainted with my tongue just yet to know that.”

All Flint can hope for is that the smirk on his face is at least a predatory one. “You said you know who I am.” He keeps walking closer, even though Silver has nowhere to go.

“Of course I do,” Silver says, eager as a rabbit. “I read about you in the papers. The way you took out those two ships last year was real copacetic. Is it true you actually sunk one of th—”

“If you know who I am,” Flint says, waiting until there’s only about a foot of hot air and his itchy trigger finger between them, “then you wouldn’t of sought me out, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Silver says, scowling again. “I served.”

Flint snorts. “For how long, kid, a week? You must have still been cleaning your barracks with your toothbrush when the Krauts finally called it quits.”

“Went from France to Belgium,” and the kid no longer looked young at all. He doesn’t look scared or annoying, either. He just looks pissed. It looks better on him. “And I served long enough.” He kicked the wall behind him, and in the silence of the dark he hears the clunk of wood on brick.

Flint does not look down at Silver’s false leg, still propped up on the wall behind him. He sees the look in Silver’s eyes now, a look most men either try to hide or don’t even bother. Silver is better at hiding it than most. He says, “And how old did you tell them you were?”

A shadow passes over Silver’s face, even darker than before. “Old enough.”

Flint takes a step back, sighing. He’s not about to kill another soldier again. He lowers his gun, but doesn’t holster it. “Alright, Mr. Silver, you got me. I wouldn’t have pegged that you ever pulled a piece in your life, but I believe you. Though I have no need for any soldiers. Why don’t you go to school, like the other GIs?”

Slowly, Silver’s leg lowers to the ground. He looks a little flustered, like he hadn’t been expecting to reveal so much.

“I don’t need school,” Silver says, and just like that, his easy charm is back. “I need dough. I’m here to help you.”

He reaches into his pocket, and before Flint can raise his gun again, Silver is holding out – a flask.

“Genuine, all-American hooch,” Silver says, grinning. “Some of the purest whiskey this end of the Atlantic. Take a sip, and have all your troubles slide –”

“Enough of the snake oil,” Flint says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not putting that bathtub rotgut in my body, thanks.”

“Just try it!” Silver is stepping forward now, flask held out like a gun of his own. “It’ll knock your socks off.”

“I’m not wearing socks.”

“Then it’ll knock….” Silver trails off, eyes trailing over Flint’s vest, his flannel trousers, his Oxfords, like he’s trying to picture what other garment Flint could stand to lose, “….you off your feet.”

“You’re off your fucking rocker if you think I’m gonna drink some hooch handed to me by a pretty boy punk loitering outside the soda jerk. I don’t feel like going blind today.”

“Well, I’m won’t stand to turn you blind,” says Silver, “if you’ll keep calling me pretty.”

“Most men take that to be an insult.”

“Most men aren’t as pretty as me.” Silver unscrews the cap to his flask. “I’ll show you it’s perfectly safe. And if it’s not, at least I’ll have one last good sight to see before it all goes dark.”

Flint wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter if Silver will drink it, because he doesn’t know Silver, and doesn’t know if he places any value on his life. From their interactions so far, he wouldn’t count on it. But before he can, the flask is at Silver’s lips, his head tilting back, and all Flint sees is a tanned neck, stretching here to eternity. It’s a neck that’s surely seen a fair amount of bruising over the years, and Flint’s tempted to add his share. He just has to decide what he’ll use to make them, his hands or his lips.

When Silver stops drinking to look back at Flint, a tiny bead of whiskey trails down his chin.

Flint is a man who takes things too far. It might as well be printed on his business cards. So he’s not surprised with himself when he reaches out, wipes the liquid from Silver’s face with his thumb, before bringing it to his own mouth to taste.

He likes to tease men. It makes him seem unpredictable, and it puts them on edge. He figures, if the toughest guys can’t break without giving him what he wants or turning scared, they’ll do fine up against a regular copper. He never means it anyway. Most of the fellas he runs with would not only take a wooden nickel but let him pay their salaries with them.

None of his guys look at him with the same look Silver gives him now. He hands Flint a smile he can feel in his spine.

“And so?” says Silver, holding out his flask again, giving it a little shake. “Fancy a drink?”

Flint takes the flask. He checks back at the pier, but all he sees is dead surf and no ships. What the hell. He has time to kill. Either he’ll die or time will. He takes a sip of Silver’s whiskey.

Two seconds later, he has Silver flat up against the wall again, gun under his chin.

“You know,” Flint says conversationally, “I think I’ve tasted this particular brand of whiskey before.”

“Have you now?” Silver’s throat bobs under the barrel of his gun. “I assure you, I did make it myself.”

Flint hums, flattening himself against the full of Silver. He keeps the gun on him, but raises the flask up against Silver’s lips, forcing him to take another shot. “This tastes an awful lot like Singleton’s brand of hooch, except I know for a fact Singleton’s been out of business for a month, ever since his factory mysteriously went up in smoke and he got fingered for arson. Coppers maintained it was for the insurance, even though Singleton denied it. Supposedly, his recipe went with the fire. ”

Silver swallows everything Flint gives him, then turns his head to gasp. More whiskey drips down his chin, and Flint sways forward like a man leaning towards making a bad decision. The corners of Silver’s mouth are turned up in a smile, even as he catches his breath. “Sounds like that was a bad day for Mr. Singleton,” Silver says, eyes swerving into Flint like a runaway bus. “So how’s your day going?”

“Differently than I had imagined when I had my coffee this morning,” Flint admits, finally holstering his gun. He finishes the flask himself.

He’d wanted to make a move against Singleton for ages. The man had been able to make his own product, without dealing with third and fourth parties to smuggle it into the states. Singleton had been a crappy businessman, though, and Flint hadn’t dealt with him after a pretty serious falling out over some missing cases. But he’d been his own man, and God, how Flint had envied that. Sure, plenty of men had come crawling to his door trying to be his bootlegger, but The Walrus served only quality hooch, and the stuff that crawls isn’t typically quality.

Silver isn’t crawling. He’s slinking. There’s a measurable difference between the two.

“Does that mean you’re interested?” Silver’s teeth are even whiter up close. He’s about as level as a sinking ship, as up as the devil himself, but Flint’s stuck wondering if the taste of liquor is clinging to the square of his teeth.

But because Flint, unlike Singleton, is a good businessman, he says, “That depends.” And if he happens to slide his thigh between Silver’s legs, that’s between him and Silver’s inseam.

Silver says, “Fifty percent.”

Flint says, “I’m not interested.”

Silver pouts. “Forty.”

“Ten.”

“Twenty,” says Silver, and finds space to press himself even closer, hands curling into Flint’s waistcoat, “and a genuine kiss from a genuine gangster.”

Flint leans forward, waits until he can feel the smell of Silver’s swallowed whiskey touching his lips, and says, “Twenty-five.”

“Aw, Hell,” says Silver. “I’m not that greedy.” He kisses him.

Flint hasn’t kissed another man since the war ended. He may as well have not breathed in all that time. Silver’s hands slide up to hold his face, strong enough to build a life on. Flint pulls him off the wall to clutch at his back. He slides his tongue into Silver’s open mouth, as warm and wet and waiting as the air in Atlantic City. He’d been right, before. He can taste moonshine on Silver’s teeth.

When Flint pulls back, he thinks if the man’s brewing skills won’t make him go blind, than the sight of Silver sucking on his own bottom lip, lingering on the taste, just might. He finds himself wishing he could put Silver’s suspenders back over his shoulders, because he needs something to hold onto. Instead, he steps out of Silver’s grasp altogether. He doesn’t know if it’s Silver’s booze or his tongue that’s making the blood move through Flint’s body the exact way the ocean ten feet away isn’t – roaring and curling under the skin. Flint likes to live dangerously, but usually that means the danger is for other people.

Silver doesn’t look upset that Flint moves away. Maybe because he knows he’ll eventually be back, pressed into the sweat of his neck. He asks, “So what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Flint tosses Silver his flask. Silver catches it mid-air, pocketing it with a smile at its emptiness. Flint can’t survive another direct smile, so he busies himself with pulling another cigarette out of his case. “I think you’re dripping ink, kid.”

“How’s that?”

Flint finds comfort in the clink of his lighter, the rough roll of the wheel under his thumb, the whuff of the wick igniting. But before he could even get his lighter out, Silver is there with a match, striking it against the brick of the soda shop. The smell of sulfur tickles his nose, and he is so focused on watching the flame dance in Silver’s eyes that he almost forgets to inhale. He couldn’t properly tell before, in the dark, but now he knows. Silver’s eyes are blue.

He inhales, then exhales. Silver shakes out the match and stands there, washed in Flint’s smoke. Flint says, “I mean you got trouble written all over you.”

“I could say the same for you, daddy,” Silver says, sliding his suspenders on with a snap. “Or maybe you’re dripping with something else. So does that mean we’ve got a deal?”

If Silver is an undercover cop, he’s the worst one Flint’s ever met. Flint holds the cigarette between his lips again so he can pull out a card and a pencil from his back pocket. He braces the card on Silver’s chest so he can write out an address.

“Be here at 9 AM sharp, tomorrow morning,” he says, handing Silver the card. “And bring more of your product with you.”

“How much should I bring?” Silver holds the card in his hands like a promise – a precious, fragile thing that could easily blow away, if the breeze even deemed to pick itself up.

“Enough for you to make good on your promises, Mr. Silver.” Flint adjusts his hat forward, shading his eyes. He reaches for Silver’s suspenders, reeling him in. “You said you’ll knock me off my feet, after all. Far as I can tell, I’m still standing. I’m hoping you might do something about that.”