#he’s torn. that’s part of why he’s so antsy for all of Bad Guys

[un-pearable]

📂Mimic...

mimic rolls up to his yearly date in starline’s toothpaste looking ass truck

[isagrimorie]

[initial reactions] Doctor Who - Revolution of the Daleks

TLDR: I liked it! But I do have some nitpicks. But bottom line, I liked it! Especially the exit! 

Apologies going in, if it’s rambling and incoherent.

First off, I’m going to get my criticisms out of the way:

- They really need to hire these two people:

a) Sensitivity readers

b) They need to have people of color in charge of casting. Andy Pryor has done a great job casting people but. Since they opened up casting more actors of color to be more diverse... most people in guest roles die. So it ends up being Not A Great Look.

It’s the kind of breezy: We’re hiring more actors of color without really considering the optics of it. Colorblind casting in this way shouldn’t be colorblind. More diversity behind the scenes is needed, especially in casting.

Colorblind casting isn’t representation. Execs have to consider how it looks that a black man is helping create ‘Security Drones’ for the government.

c) I get why Jack Robertson lived, and I’m actually okay with it because I know Chibbs is going somewhere and he’s interconnecting Specials to be their own kind of continuity, so next Special or series we will have Robertson appearing. But I can’t believe the Doctor believed Robertson. Unless she’s really learned from not interfering with politics, but man I wish there’s more vindication to that. I do have a sense of where this is going though, more on that later.  

d) I wish they’d gone harder with the Dalek = Police thing.

e) I really kind of wish the Doctor escaped on her own.

And now for my thoughts and the happy!

RYAN! I LOVE RYAN. I LOVE RYAN BEING EMOTIONALLY MATURE AND PUSHING BACK ON THE DOCTOR. It felt... earned that they do and, Ryan’s always been the more hesitant of the three and the more grounded. I love that it’s Ryan that the Doctor confided in, I’ve always felt like Ryan was the one Thirteen connected to the most after Grace died. And I love his development, ever since Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos Ryan is the first to quote the Doctor back to herself from the guns rule and now here to ‘New can be scary’, reminding the Doctor of her own words.

But also, I love that Ryan felt more connected to Earth, with his friends. Yaz was always the one who looks to the horizon. I like that Ryan pushed back on the smokescreen the Doctor tried to put up. Ryan was tired of the smokescreen. He had 10 months to work on his feelings about it and realized... he liked being home.

I wish we saw more what they were doing at home, like what Chibnall wrote for the Ponds in Power of Three. I did see this was his arc he was building to.

I liked that Graham was torn but eventually his loyalties are with Ryan.

I honestly think the fam thought the Doctor was just gone for a week, her time.

Also: FINALLY A COMPANION EXIT WHERE THEY’RE THE ONES WHO WALK AWAY. And because it’s time.

NO MORE TRAPPED IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE OR DYING OR BEING CONVERTED PLEASE. Anyway, that is why I was vindicated because I was getting pretty antsy at all the twitter posts almost gleeful at the thought of companion death.

Nope. No more please. No more world ending, universe ending, heartbreaking ends. I want a Jo Grant walk away, and that is what happened. (Er, I hope we don’t get a Tegan leaving from Yaz, though. Sad and disillusioned walk away).

Yaz. Oh, dear, Yaz, who seems to have tossed her career away running after the Doctor’s shining star. I loved her conversation with Jack, he was a nice contrast and sounding board. Also, Jack was much kinder to the Doctor because they didn’t miss each other, the Doctor (according to RTD’s retcon) deliberately left Jack on Satellite Five.

Yaz is willing to run and jump without looking because of the Doctor and I love that we got her feelings about this.

And, of course, the Doctor. The moment Ryan said she missed 10 months, I felt she knew the clock was ticking on her ‘fam’. She’s trying to be good to them and do right by them.

(The Doctor knows Ryan’s ready to leave, she knew it. She’s trying to be in denial about it. But she knows).

It’s a small detail but when she processed the ‘ten months’ bit, she quickly looked to Ryan. Because if it’s one of the subtext things around is that she wanted to be a better father to Ryan than his real dad. But she still skipped out on him unknowingly.

The way he just brushed it off, because the worst part is. Ryan is used to it.

It’s sad that the Doctor opening up to the fam was brought on after a decades’ long solitary, and probably a promise to be better. But, she calculated wrong, or the TARDIS deliberately chose to go to that time. Whatever the case, just when she’s opening up to them is when Ryan decided his time with the Doctor was at an end.

God, the moment when Thirteen said: “Mostly... angry.”

I felt this. hard.

I think it was @ssaalexblake​ who mentioned that Thirteen acknowledging she’s angry might help with all of Thirteen’s repressed anger issues. And I think these are baby steps towards that.

She’s actually been so angry for so long, but she kept pushing it down. Like I said, Thirteen, in a way, reminds me of Raylan Givens of Justified. People think he’s mild mannered, but as his ex-wife amicably opined, Raylan was the angriest man she knew.

And I feel this for this Doctor but at least, now she’s addressing it. The first step in fixing a problem, is identifying the problem.

This was made in 2019. Thirteen being in a repeating lockdown felt very 2020 to me. The things that made me go: Oof, was the Harry Potter thing, the Doctor’s always loved HP. Unfortunately it’s post-2020 hindsight where we go: whoof.

I love Thirteen still mouthing off and being obnoxious towards other Doctor Who baddies. The Weeping Angel thing is cool and so are the Silents. BUT ALSO THE DOCTOR CALLED THE P’TING TINY! AND SHE TRIED TO EAT THE PRISON BARS. 

And then, of course, being more obnoxious with the Daleks. It’s pretty clear the difference in rawness of the Doctor’s feelings for the Daleks and the Cybermen. The Daleks’s an old ember. Her feelings for them are ice cold. A purity of feeling. The Daleks are evil and she has no compunction on killing them, the Cybermen? More personal and a raw nerve.

She’s willing to be cold towards the Daleks. 

I really like that Yaz has more skin in the game, and she knows what she can lose now. And after her talking with Jack, after seeing his perspective on it, and from his words knows that sometimes the Doctor just disappears from people’s lives.

And I love the pushback:

Skewered.

But true because she is trying to stay still and be with the fam and not leave them. But the unfortunate truth is, the Doctor does run away, and the Doctor does leave people behind and a lot of the times, the Doctor doesn’t come back because they’re an emotional coward.

The thing about Thirteen is she’s probably the longest of the Doctors to not disappoint her companions. She’s always managed to stop bad guys and always been there for them.  It’s an impressive track record for the Doctor. She’s built herself up in their eyes as someone they can rely on, and then she failed them by not getting back to them in time.

It’s not her fault, and none of them know how long it’s been for the Doctor, by the way she’s asked them I feel like they think she’s only been gone for a week.

Honestly, I’m impressed how the Doctor didn’t make it about her -- being in prison for longer than they thought. She’s looking at it from their point of view, because she already knows what big leaps in time would affect her friends.

TBH Revolution of the Daleks felt like shades of Last Christmas in that the Doctor regretted missing out time with her companion/s. In Last Christmas, the Doctor got his time back with Clara, in RotD, time passed.

Back to the Doctor and the Daleks tho.

This reminded of Twelve’s: “You are monsters. That is the role you seem determined to play. So it seems I must play mine. The Man that stops the Monsters.”

(Look, Chibnall’s Moffat references aren’t as sledgehammer, but he does reference a lot of Moffat’s things.).

Except with Thirteen, I’m actually more terrified. Jodie does this thing where her eyes goes black and she kind of disappears into herself, this is what happened here. This promise isn’t actually good IMO.

This is not a comforting face. This is a ‘I’m gonna kill a whole boatload of Daleks face and I’m not sorry, in fact I might enjoy doing that’ face.

(And, a brief aside to Robertson, I feel like the Specials have their own kind of special ‘movie’ continuity and more of his story will play out in the Specials, where hopefully he will get his comeuppance because, to me, I feel that’s where it’s going. This is more groundwork laying.

I don’t like it when the Doctor interferes with Human affairs, especially government -- because look what happened with Harriet Jones and how the Doctor broke the Golden Age. Also, I don’t want real world leaders to exist in the Whoverse because I want them to have a completely different track from us. So. Yeah, New Year’s Specials have their ongoing storyline. I’m actually not mad about it, and I enjoy Mr. Big’s performance. He’s a sleezeball. A sleezeball that knows more now. (He isn’t T rump but he isn’t better either). At least I find him enjoyable and not outright offensive. I’m okay seeing him again for the next Specials. I hope next time he does get his comeuppance.)

Now, the goodbyes:

 The HUG.

We’ve been waiting for the Doctor to be more physically affectionate with the fam, and it took the Doctor being locked down for decades (maybe?), and Ryan and Graham leaving for her to hug them. And we’re all right, Thirteen gives great hugs.

The feeling Thirteen’s been running away from is here, sadness. It’s good that Yaz decided to stay other wise... she’s just going to run headlong into forgetting her problems, Doctor Style.

And again, learning and re-learning things: ‘It’s okay to be sad.’

Oh, Thirteen.

(Before Twelve, I don’t think I was this sympathetic to the Doctor -- no wait, I was with Nine. Ten and Eleven tested my patience but it’s with Twelve and Thirteen where I’m 100% invested in the Doctor.

I also love that they’re kind of soft touching the Timeless Child thing, and as someone on twitter mentioned, this feels like an examination of an adoption story. The Doctor is going to search for their identity, their home).

I honestly wish Jack stayed in the TARDIS with Thirteen and Yaz. Jack’s a great balance, especially pushing back at the Doctor and her tactics. Her NUCLEAR tactics. I am glad that the Doctor’s still a dick to Jack, not much of an asshole as they were when the Doctor was Ten but still a dick.

Also, one thing I really love about Barrowman is that when he’s in Doctor Who, he knows it’s not his show and he doesn’t showboat, and the man can showboat. 

I’d rather Jack than random guy that I didn’t even know was gonna happen until very late.

Anyway, TLDR to all this: I enjoyed this very much! Still a lot to be parsed through in things that needs to be parsed through as I mentioned, but on the whole? I loved it.

[starlightrows]

Can I req something for Paz or Boba? Sort of in the mood for some protective Mando's right now.. Reader goes to the market to get some supplies and a guy starts hitting on her and then touching her? Reader gets away and she comes back crying, cleans up in the fresher to 'get clean' and tells her mando what happened?

Have you been snooping around my WIP list? How did you know I was already working on a piece very similar to this? I took the notes and parts I already had written and modified it to fit your request! 

You’re poking around one of the stalls at the local market, looking for the essentials and of course some non-essentials as well. Instead of feeling giddy at the prospect of spending a couple extra credits on nice soap or a special treat for after dinner, you’re feeling stiff and uncomfortable. One of the other patrons of the stall has been leering over you for the last 15 minutes, telling you why each item that caught your attention was a bad deal, how the ingredients aren’t ethically sourced, or the products  would be damaging to your “delicate skin”. 

You tried to get the attention of the woman working at the stall, but she was busy with the six other customers milling about and asking her questions about her wares. Ultimately you decided spending money on something as frivolous as fancy soap, was not worth this harassment. You attempted to excuse yourself politely, and slip away but the man’s hand shot out and grabbed your shoulder. Sliding around to grip the back of your neck. Perhaps he wasn’t trying to physically attack you, but it made no difference to you. Without thinking you whirled around and swung your fist, landing squarely on the bridge of his nose. 

The shock and the pain knocked the man back away from you. Clutching his face and cursing you out with every foul name you could think of. Your hand seemed to pulse, in angry red pain from the impact. Any damage to his face or the products in the shop be damned, you turned and ran back towards the ship. 

Paz is still outside working on some of the side paneling of his ship when he sees you coming. Instantly he’s concerned seeing your hurried gait and tear streaked face. 

“Cyare? What happened?” He asks as you rush up the ramp. He trails behind you, abandoning his project completely. You don’t slow down at all as you dive into the fresher and shut the door behind you. Paz stands outside the door, feelings antsy and distressed. 

Resisting the urge to tear the door off its hinges, he raps lightly on the door, and calls your name. He takes great care to keep his nice calm and steady when he speaks again. 

“Please open the door sweetheart, I just want to help,” 

It occurs to you that this must be frightening for Paz right now, he has no idea why you’re acting this way. So you flip the lock on the door, subtly inviting him to come in. He pushes the door in slowly, and takes in your puffy eyes and bruised knuckles. 

The moment he’s in the tiny fresher, you feel foolish for shutting him out and want nothing more than to be in his arms. You fling yourself at him, safe in the knowledge he would catch you no matter what. 

“Cyare, tell me what happened,” he whispers, backing out of the fresher and into the wall of the ship. He sinks down to the ground, taking you with him. Leaving you sitting in his lap, cuddled up to his broad chest. You tell him. About how the man in the market started out being friendly, but quickly became rude and made you feel small and stupid. Finally you told him about the man reaching out to touch you. 

His reaction is immediate and undeniable. His gentle hold on you turns into a vice grip as he tenses beneath you. He wants to be in that market right now, hunting down that wretched scum that dared to raise a hand to you. He’s half considering it when something pulls him up short. It’s your hands. Your little hands gripping the back of his tunic so hard he’s quite sure your nails have torn through it. 

His rage and vengeance is not what you need right now. Right now you need his reassurance and comfort, right now you need the warmth of his skin and the pressure of his grip. Right now you need to be held, and rocked gently in his arms. You need him here with you, more than he needs to go exact justice. So he stays, right there on the floor of his ship, kissing your hair and whispering sweet words of comfort.

[ninjakasuga]

Sonally Celebration Week! Year Three, Day Six: Rescue

Sonally Celebration Week, Year Three, Day Six: Rescue

Day six, and admittedly the toughest piece to write since well, action scenes require more finesse than a domestic/slice of life story. The journey continues, and since my main focus mostly centers on Sonic and Sally’s post Robotnik/Eggman war peace time lives, I like to flex different events when the prompts give way to good inspiration. When one has to do with rescuing, well, let’s just say, if you’re dumb enough to harm someone’s children, woe comes to you in waves.

Day Six: Rescue.

It was supposed to have been a nice, pleasant day. Go to Spagonia with your big bro and his wife, enjoy flying in a fancy transport ship. While Sonic and Sally do the diplomatic thing, Sonia and Manic would watch J.C. and Kathy as they got to enjoy the city. See the sights, enjoy some ice cream and crepes from the city vendors, and just have a good old time! However, it wasn’t to last, the day was ruined when the sound of their ‘secret tail’ security guards crying out after being, well truthfully Sonia didn’t get to hear what exactly happened to their bodyguards (she hoped they were alive). All she heard was some muffled noise; some people screaming, and suddenly a van rolled up, and people in masks and jumpsuits grabbed and knocked them all out.

After coming too, she woke up to a bag over her head, only to have it torn off, and bright lights flashing in her face. A camera was aimed at them as some jerkoff using a voice-modulating helmet to obscure his identity was making some long list of demands and basically laid out they were collateral if those demands were not met. She tried to make everything out, but she was still groggy from waking up from whatever they used to knock her out. Manic was no better when she asked him if he gleaned anything she missed, sadly he was as groggy as she had been. She knew better than to ask the kids, clearly the six-year-olds were ‘terrified’ and wanted nothing more than to go home and jump into their parents arms.

Hell, the sixteen year old herself wanted to hug her parents just as badly. After that song and dance with the camera, all four were dragged to this cell of sorts, and left there with a guard detail. Whatever they wanted, they seemed to be serious, or at least wanted to come off that way. Her keen eye noticed some of their guards seemed unsettled. Like they were not keen they had kidnapped children. Maybe she, or Manic could use that? A little of the ol’ duo-charm to-.

“Auntie Sonia?” The small, childish voice snapped the older hedgehog out of her thoughts. Instantly her head snapped to the small child resting in her lap.

Forcing a calm smile, Sonia gently petted Kathleen’s soft auburn hair, which had blue tips at the end. Many thought it was dyed, but it was merely something that seemed to happen to both children, who inherited their Mother’s auburn tresses. Yet at the tips, bits of blue would form over time. No doubt the stubbornness of her big brother’s genes at work. Just hand to mingle with Sally’s.

“What’s up kiddo?” She asked her niece as she continued to stroke her head, and did her best to seem calm and collected. She and Manic were the adults here, they needed to be strong for these precious babies.

Green eyes look up, then over to the cell door, then back to Sonia’s own. “I wanna go home.” A simple request, but what child wouldn’t want to go home with this kind of situation abound? “Why do these guys wanna be mean to Mommy and Daddy?”

Another voice spoke up, the disdain high and snark on full. “Cuz they’re- and I quote.” Manic Hedgehog interjected, keeping his voice calm, and then upping the volume as he aimed his words at their guard. “A BUNCHA COWARDS WHO RESORT TO KIDNAPPING KIDS!!” He shouted with full malice at their captors, which made both children recoil, and his sister wince.

“Manic!” Hissed Sonia as she reached out and yanked at his ear. “Stop it! You’re just making it harder for J.C. and Kathy!” She growled at her brother, her eyes going to the door to their cell and sure enough their masked guard had turned to regard them. Thankfully he just turned away and went back to guarding.

“Well these bozos need to know what kind of d*ckless, wussies they are!” Retorted Manic, the green-dyed-furred hedgehog with a growl in his voice. Usually Manic was chill, and easy-going with a touch of mischief. He was running red right now, his niece, nephew and sister being put in danger can do that to someone. “Plus they’re f*cking idiots!”

“Manic, language!” Sonia chastised further as she covered his mouth with a hand. “Not that I disagree with you, but is antagonizing our captors the wisest idea?!”

Removing her hand from his mouth, Manic let out a dismissive snort. Yet his gaze softened some as he saw the kids were looking antsy again. “Maybe not, but seriously what kind of idiots kidnaps the Prince and Princess of a Kingdom? I mean, you want a war? Plus think of their parents, heroes of the war against the Big Robo and Big Eggy! I mean that’s a recipe for doom more than my Taco Tuesday Blowout Cookout.” The food wasn’t the issue, so much as the aftermath, but worth it in Manic’s eyes.

A small rumbling was heard and J.C. blushed as eyes rested on him. “...I’m hungry, and Uncle Manic makes great tacos.” He managed a smile, despite clearly still being scared.”

“Heheh, once we get out I’ll make us all some.” Manic promised as he lovingly scratched the back of his nephew’s ears. He did the same for Kathleen, not wanting her to feel left out. “Also, sorry about the yelling and language, I’m just pis-er-pointedly angry at the bad guys.”

“We’re ‘not’ the bad guys.” Their guard finally spoke, snorting loudly. The way he seemed to clutch his weapon and his covered tail (they seemed intent to make it hard to guess their species) twitch and move, hinted at his anger at such an accusation.

Despite having just chastised Manic for antagonizing their captors; Sonia found herself unable to not engage them. “Not from where we’re standing. Uncouth as my brother put it, he called it right. Nobody who kidnaps children are the good guys.”

“We’re not going to harm you, we’re just sending a message.” His steadfast tone, carried a firmness of whatever convictions he carried about their unknown ‘cause’.

“What sort of message? We’re kidnapping your kids, so we invite you to come kick our butts? Seriously, what else do you expect?” Sonia inquired, keeping her tone polite, hoping perhaps this guard might spill some kernel of information they could use. Then a thought occurred to her. “What happened to the bodyguards watching us? I heard them cry out, did you capture them too or did you kill them?”

“We shot them, but we didn’t shoot to kill.” The guard callously responded. “They should live.”

“Do you know that for a fact? Even a crippling gunshot can lead to death if they bleed out before they get help or the injury causes the right amount of trauma. I heard multiple muffled sounds… If they got shot multiple times that increases the chances they didn’t make it.” The magenta-dyed hedgehog stated with cold, medical fact. “They also had families, so nice job dipwad, you possibly widowed and orphaned two families.” It was petty, but seeing his body language shift and just slightly shake before firming back up gave Sonia a sense of satisfaction. “You could have used stun-blasters.”

The guard hissed back his reply, but she could tell he was trying to justify his words to himself. “You can’t silence stun-blasters.”

Rolling his eyes, Manic decided to chime in. “So you bozos prioritized not making noise, over making your little power grab as bloodless as possible.”

“If they die, our leaders will make it right, all of this has a purpose! It’s to make things better-!”

It wasn’t Sonia or Manic that cut the man off, but J.C.’s small but clearly angry voice. “So making Mr. Hunigan and Mrs. Fletcher dead is alright when you say so?” The boy’s fists clenched tightly. “They were nice people, and we know their kids, they’re our friends… you took their Dad n’ Mom from them you-you, j-jerk!”

“Gee, even the six year old can see it clear as day.” Sonia icily sneered at their captor, scooting closer she slid both her arms around her family and kept them close.

“Mommy, sh-she and Daddy are gonna find us.” Kathleen managed to speak up, wiping her eyes, like her brother managed the most fearsome glare she could. “They’ll find us and kick your butts! They’re heroes, they always save the day!”

Turning, the guard’s helmet, visor and cloth covering their mouth obscured whatever Mobian species they were. “Your parents are part of the problem! If not for the Acorn Kingdom’s meddling along with the other outsider nations, we wouldn’t need to do this!”

“Only meanies justify their actions by blaming others!” Humphed the young princess as she turned her head away, as if to utterly disregard her captor. Oh Sonia and Manic’s heart swelled.

“I gotta agree with Kathy here, sounds like blame-gaming here-.” Manic mused, only to be cut off by their clearly irate captor.

“If they hadn’t meddled with the trade tariffs making exporting goods harder, not to mention their invasive meddling with our affiliate cities-!”

A lightbulb went off in Sonia’s head. “Wait, wait, time out!” She put her hands together in the referee gesture to hopefully get a word in. “You guys are blaming them for the trade issues and the Acorn Kingdom’s presence in your sister cities? Um, dude, hoo boy, you are probably being played by whoever your leaders are.”

“Bite your tongue-!” “Okay you know what, screw that, and kids I’m sorry but-.” After giving her niece and nephew an apologetic look, she quickly sent her captor a fiery glare. “First off, F*CK you! Second, the Kingdom sent delegations to those cities BY REQUEST! The mayors asked for aid in looking into some oddities with exports from Spagonia going in and out because they realized something was hinky with the weird laws and micro-managing coming out of Spagonia’s Trade & Commerce Ministry. Any of your Minister’s calling the investigations meddling or preludes to occupation are trying to play the dodge game moron! Second of all, the tariff problem? I shouldn’t say this, but I love talking shop with my sis-in-law, and boy a lot of the issues stem from how they were set up, like someone ‘wanted’ the tariffs to cause issues and sow discord. It’s a big political set-up but my big-brained Sis likes big-brained chess and she’s onto some corruption from within Spagonia’s Trade & Commerce Ministry.”

She watched as the guard looked uneasy, and his compatriot to the far way seemed to be listening in as well and had lowered his weapon some. “That, that can’t be possible.”

Footsteps could be heard as another similarly dressed guard walked into view of the first one. “Ignore them comrade, they’re trying to unnerve you.” “What if it’s true our leaders are lying to us? Given who some of them are-.” “Shut your mouth before you give anything away!” The other, more burly guard hissed as he raised a gloved hand, poised to smack his comrade if he didn’t do as he said. With his associate cowed, he turned to the cell and pointed his weapon. “Shut your mouths or I might just have to shut it for you.”

Manic moved in front of his sister, nephew and niece, arms out. “Touch them buddy, and you and I are gonna tussle!”

“Uncle Manny don’t!” “D-don’t get hurt!” “Manny…” Sonia held the children close, but tried to soothe her brother. “Don’t, they’re clearly too deluded to listen.”

“You will see it is you who is delusional!” The burly captor spoke, with a zeal of a true-believer. “Once it’s clear your Queen and your treacherous nation are outed as the villains they are, things will become bet-.”

Suddenly the entire room rumbled, and the sound of muffled shouts, and fighting could be heard in the other room. All their captors turned toward the metal door just out of view of Sonia, Manic and the children. Suddenly the door flies off its hinges, slamming into the far guard who cried out in pain and terror as they are taken out. A familiar ‘rev up’ sound is heard and then a blue blur slams into the burly captor sending him flying. As the sounds of fists fly, another far off captor raises their weapon, only for the sound of jets to get clouder and a familiar southern drawl is heard shouting. “TAKE A NAP YA’ CREEP!” A blaster bolt is heard firing off screen. Soon a blue energy blast hits the captor, causing them to drop their weapon as the stun-bolt freezes their whole body. As another guard attempts to fight, the flying Rabbot zooms him and body-tackles the would-be-attacker, a loud, thick ‘crunch’ of metal hitting flesh is heard. Clearly a one-hit-KO.

The original guard readies their weapon, trying to pick a target, clearly panicking. “Ho-hold or I’ll shoot!”

*KER-SLICE!!*

Their weapon is cleaved in two, falling from their hands, and in the next half-second, the tip of the weapon responsible is held at their throat. This man finds himself looking into the very, angry blue eyes of the Queen of the Acorn Kingdom herself, Sally Acorn. Wielding an ornate sword with the crest of her family on the hilt, and ornate lines etched into the blade. For a second the guard swore the weapon’s blade glowed for a moment, but whatever the case, it was clear the Sword of Acorns (reforged and imbued with Sally’s residue Super energy) was capable of cutting quite nicely.

Her voice was ever commanding, calm and serene, yet deadly and potent. She was clearly angry, but using said anger as a laser-focused weapon instead of being consumed by it. For now.

“You will let my babies and my younger siblings out of that cell. Now, no questions. If you so much as dare do anything but I ask, you will regret it. Do not force me to spill blood before my children, because you WILL live to regret it.” She vowed.

“N’ she ain’t the only one you need ta’ worry about.” Uttered Bunnie Rabbot, as she got up from pummeling her foe into unconsciousness. She flexed both of her cybernetic arms which transformed into blaster mode on the right, and nasty energy axe on the left. “You further threaten my God-Children or Manny and Sonia’s well-being. I might just forget I’m a Southern Lady.” While plain and frank, there was a menace in her eyes mirroring Sally’s, and the hum of her weapons furthered showed she was not playing games.

A small ‘boom’ and a flash of blue from across the room, and the guard found Sonic the Hedgehog on the other side of him, arms crossed, and foot tapping rapidly. “Door, open, my kids and siblings safely in arms, now!’ He didn’t bother making threats, he didn’t need to.

The guard simply let out a pathetic sound, wet himself and passed out onto the floor.

Without a word, Sonic dug at their belt, found the key and quickly as he could unlocked the cell door, and threw it open. All anger, and intimidation left his face (as well as Sally and Bunnie who put away their weapons) as the look of a worried parent and brother overcame all else. “Are you four okay?! Did they hurt you any-?!” “DADDY, MOMMY!!” Instantly Kathleen, and J.C. dashed into the arms of their Father, with their Mother soon joining in the hug, checking them over.

“Oh my babies!” Sally clutched her family tightly, kissing the children all over their faces and tops of their heads, as she checked them for injuries. “It’s okay now, Daddy and Mommy are here, oh God I’m so sorry this happened, that we weren’t there to stop you from being taken.” She babbled, as the kept-in-check emotions burst from the dam she erected to focus on the rescue.

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry…” Sonic murmured, his heart still racing even with all his joy held firmly in his arms. Lifting his gaze, tear-stained he looked to his siblings worriedly. “How’re you two holding up? They didn’t hurt any of you did they?”

“Nah, they just… dragged us around at most.” Manic shrugged, but was clearly relieved this whole thing was over. As he stood he found his legs shaking, and leaned against his equally leg-shakey sister. “All that said, glad you guys found us so soon.” Moving closer, Bunnie shifted her arms, what was metal now, began to flash with energy and seemingly disassemble back to flesh and blood. The wonders of bio-nanite tech. Once her arms were organic again she pulled the two hedgehog siblings into a hug. “Sorry we didn’t get here sooner sugah, but we had to basically strong-arm some of the Spagonia government to give us the okay to act. Though once Sally n’ Sonic scared these bozos' supposed leaders into talkin’ they squealed like- well sumthin I can’t say within earshot of kiddos.”

Sonia let herself chuckle, relief and a sense of security flooding her being as she leaned into the hug. “So, lemme guess, the Trade Minister and his flunkies were the culprits?”

“Yeah, I mean we were gonna confront em’ with the evidence Nicole uncovered, but you all bein’ taken kinda forced our hands.” Bunnie further explained as she scratched the back of their ears soothingly. “U-Uncle Manny and Auntie Sonia, looked after us, we’re okay…” J.C. managed to speak once his throat wasn’t sore from crying (this time from happiness).

“Hmm-hmm, they’re the best as always!” Kathleen agreed, sniffling and wiping her eyes as she remained cocooned by her parents and brother.

Smiling, Sonic reached over and managed to give each of his younger siblings an affectionate arm-punch. “Somehow I knew they’d have it under control.” Well more hoped, but he didn’t want to devalue his sibling’s efforts. No if anything he wanted them to ride the pride of keeping themselves and the kids safe.

“Lucky for us, as Sonia called it, these guys were morons. Dangerous ones, but morons.” The green-furred hedgehog blew out a breath, and then he recalled something. “Um, ah, how’re Agent Fletcher and Hunigan?”

“Alive.” Sally replied, still nuzzling her children, still unwilling to let them go. Her own heartbeat was finally starting to calm down and the adrenaline high was crashing. “They were hurt badly, but both are tenacious and they got help just in time. They might have to retire from active duty early but we’ll be sure they’ll be looked after, their families too.”

“Oh thank goodness!” The two teens, and the younger children exclaimed, as joy at the news eased their hearts from the dread they felt prior.

Footsteps could be heard approaching, but the boot clomps’ were familiar. So no one tensed or got ready for another fight. Especially once Captain of the Royal Guard, Antoine D’Coolette emerged, wiping his sword blade clean with a cloth before sheathing it into its scabbard. “My Queen, ze fools have been disarmed, and rounded up. As you requested, we managed to take them all alive, if injured.” After a beat, he contemplated making a joke about some being ‘literally’ disarmed, but with the children there, he decided against it. “How are ze young ones?” He asked, decorum giving way to concerned God-Father, and as a fellow parent.

“Thankfully unhurt Sugah-Twan.” His wife replied, flashing a smile his way. “Where’s Tangle n’ Whisper?”

“Helping out Tails to ensure we didn’t miss anyone and secure the location.” Informed Antoine as he walked over, making sure all were fine, if to soothe his own fretful nature. They also will wish to zee’ that our rescuee’s are le’fine.”

Sniffing away the last of her tears, Kathleen looked up at her Mother. “Uncle Tails came too? I thought he was testing his new plane in the South Seas?”

“Once he heard the news, he jetted over as fast as he could and offered to help.” replied Sonic with a wide smirk of pride and relief for his ‘not-so-little’ bro. “Family sticks together, and well you guys are as much family as his own. Which by the way, I’m sure Tails will wanna set up a face-chat so Mina can see you’re all fine.”

“She is very fond of her biggest fans.” Chuckled Sally, who internally still found it ‘very’ weird, that Tails and Mina Mongoose hooked up. Their age gap wasn’t too bad, and clearly whatever happened to bring about their dating didn’t occur until Tais was eighteen/nineteen-ish. Then again he clearly had a thing for older women, at least his choices after Fiona Fox were an improved taste. As long as Mina was good to Tails, that was all she cared about, and they did seem like a good couple. Still weird but that was on her.

“Can we leave now?” J.C. asked softly looking up at both his parents hopefully.

“You got it son, we’ll juice n’ jam out of here and get you guys some food and tucked in for the night.”

“Can we have a sleepover in the hotel suite? Like all of us with blankets on the floor and pillows nests?” Asked Kathleen with big, hopefully eyes. A look her brother mirrored and nodded to her suggestion.

“Yeah, can we have a sleepover?!” Manic echoed, doing his best impersonation of the look.

“I don’t see why not, if everyone else is on board.” “Wouldn’t be hard for us all to fit in, big ol’ space, and like you could ask us to stay away after today.” Bunnie voiced her opinion with a warm smile at the children. Giving them assurance she was on board.

“Like the saying goes, the more the merrier.” Antoine stated to voice his blessing. “Plus I’m sure Bunnie and my own angels would love the idea as they too were worried about you four. As was your Nanny Miss Cream.” The coyote gently ruffled the hair of the two youngsters, his mind drifting to his children two years their senior. Yes, if they had been through this, he’d gladly acquiesce any whimsy they wanted within reason, and a sleepover to help soothe their nerves? A piece of cake.

Kathleen’s face fell as childish concern flooded her mind. “Oh no, that’s right, we were supposed to meet Jacque, Belle and Miss Cream after lunch…” “Hey they know we didn’t stand 'em’ up by choice.” Manic interjected as he flashed a smile and reached over to ruffle his niece’s cheek tufts.

“Let’s blow this pop stand, I want a hot bath, lots of bubbles and all the cheese cake…” Sonia muttered, feeling her own adrenaline rush and the weight of the whole ordeal finally sapping her energy.

“I hear that, let’s go home everyone.

[lils-writes-stuff]

A Thin Line

spencer reid x reader 

Best years part 4 | part three | part two | part one

summary: the team takes on a case in California involving home invasions. the reader has a surprise for her when they get back. 

warnings: normal criminal minds things, mentions of racism and sexism (are those warnings idk)

A/N: based on season 7 episode 15; this ones cute ngl 

“I think you should tell Spencer,” Penelope said turning in her swivel chair to Y/N who was sitting behind her. 

“Tell him what, ‘Hey Spence, guess what, this girl who tormented me through my college life has come back to haunt me.’ Yeah, okay,” she said, shaking her head. She took a sip of the coffee in her mug, “And besides, there’s nothing really to tell him, she could just be trying to scare me, she loves to play mind games.” 

“Well, you should at least tell him what’s going on, you’ve received two more notes from her since the night that you called me, and it’s been almost a month,” Y/N sighed knowing that Penelope was right. “And you guys have been going out for that long now, so I’m sure he’ll understand if you don’t want to tell him all about your past right away.” 

“You’re right,” Y/N said, her finger trailing along the rim of her mug as she thought about when she should tell him. 

“And you should also tell Hotch.” 

“Tell Hotch? Why would I need to tell him?” Y/N asked looking up at Penelope. 

“I think it would just be smart, you know in case something happens,” Penelope responded with a small sigh, remembering back to the whole Emily situation and what happened when she didn’t tell them.

“I’ll tell him if I get another note.” 

“Okay, good,” Penelope said, then she smiled and began to get really excited. “So, you have to tell me, how have you and the good doctor been doing?” 

Y/N giggled as she watched her friend get excited about her relationship. “It’s been going good, we’ve gotten to know each other a lot more on our dates, the other night we went to this museum, and at first I didn’t think that would be a cool place to go on a date, but then it turned out really romantic,” Y/n smiled as she thought back to the night of the date. Spencer’s hand grasping her’s as they roamed the halls of the museum. Her eyes trained on him as he spoke about the parchments in a case or as he explained in depth about the artifact on the wall.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so adorable!” Penelope exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Have you two kissed yet?” 

“No, we haven’t, but I’m not rushing this, I don’t want to rush it.” 

“Oh my- that is so mature, look at you, you're all grown up,” Penelope said, taking Y/N’s face in her hands squeezing her cheeks together. “I remember when you first joined the team, your 26-year-old self all antsy and ready to catch some serial killers. Now, look at you! 27 and so grown up I-” 

“I’m 28 actually,” Y/N corrected Penelope with a laugh. 

“Did we miss your birthday?” Penelope asked with a guilt written face. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it, birthdays are just days,” Y/N said trying to reassure her friend. 

“Don’t worry about it? You and Spencer both, he did the same thing awhile back on his birthday,” Penelope said referring back to when Spencer had turned 30. “And they’re not ‘just days’, it’s the day that you were born, they are wonderful days! We need to do something for it, when was it?” 

Y/N just shook her head with a laugh before standing, “It was last week, but we really don’t have to do anything.” She tried to explain to the bubbly woman in the chair. 

“No, we do, we are going to have dinner together as a family, and you are going to like it,” she stopped her rant when she saw her case alert go off and a text from Hotch. “Right when you get back from this case.” 

--------

   Y/N walked into the round table room smiling at her co-workers then making eye contact with Spencer. “Hi,” she said with school-girl glee as she took a seat next to him. 

“Hi,” he said back, the light blush on his face growing. 

“Y/N and Spencer, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-,” JJ began to sing the schoolyard rhyme.

“Shut up,” Y/N said giggling looking at the blonde who just laughed at her. 

“Alright let’s get started,” Hotch said, taking his seat Derek and Emily following closely behind him. 

“San Bernardino, California,” Penelope began as everyone opened up their tablets with the case file. “Two home invasions in less than a week, only a block apart, exact same M.O… Both houses were burgled, power and phone lines cut, and they broke in through a back window.” 

“In each case, the entire family was shot and killed?” Spencer asked, eyebrows raised at the thought. 

“Yes, that is right. I present to you the Mitchells and the Lewis family,” Penelope grabbed her remote from beside her, pulling the pictures of the family up on the screen. 

“They took out the power and phone so what, they could feel isolated?” Y/N asked. 

“The alarm system wouldn’t work and they couldn’t call for help,” Rossi explained the probable reasoning for why the power was cut. 

“Most modern alarm systems have a backup generator and a cell phone connection to the security company,” Spencer said wondering why this didn’t happen in this scenario.

“Yeah, but the Mitchells had an older system, and the Lewis’ were behind on their account, so it was inactive,” Penelope explained. 

“An assailant was killed in each case?” JJ asked, looking at Penelope next to her.

“Affirmative, but the sheriff hasn’t I.D.’d them yet.”

“So both families were armed, and fought back and shot one of their attackers,” Emily said looking around the table. 

 “Is that a coincidence or a connection?” Derek asked looking over to Emily. 

“What concerns me is the frequency of the kills,” Hotch said looking up from his tablet. 

“Only four days apart,” Y/N said looking at the dates. 

“Alright, it’s a long flight, we better get going, wheels up in 30.” Everyone stood up and headed out of the room to grab their go-bags. 

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

“Brian Mitchell was an avid hunter and Matt Lewis was an Iraq war vet, so it doesn’t surprise me that they both owned guns,” Y/N said looking up from her tablet. 

“Last year, southern California’s inland empire ranked fourth in the nation in foreclosure rates. Typically, as the economy falls, the crime rates will rise,” Spencer said. 

“Times are tough, desperate people do desperate things,” Rossi said, agreeing with Spencer’s statement. 

“Greetings all,” Penelope said as she appeared on the screen. “Your herald bears tidings.”

“What you got, Mama?” Derek asked as he turned to the screen. 

“The sheriff I.D.’d both the dead home invaders,” Penelope began to type on her computer pulling up some of the files. “First up is Alex Collison, twenty. Made an impressive list of bad life decisions before he croaked, included but not limited to...possession, a couple of drug charges, a card-carrying member of the Verdugo heights boys.”

“They’re gang members,” JJ realized as she listened to what Penelope was saying. 

“Oh, he was, but slow your roll, home-girl,” Penelope said before she told of the next victim. “Because next up is Ronald Underwood, 19. Zero records, unless you want to count some volunteer work. Straight-A student, putting himself through school.”

“Not exactly the home invasion type,” Emily said. 

“Both from a poor area of town, grew up a mile apart,” Hotch said while he looked down at the tablet in his hands. 

“Hard to actually tell from the crime scene photos of how many assailants there actually were,” Y/N said as she swiped through the photos. 

“Well, if it was gang-related, there could be a lot of them,” Emily said looking at Y/N.

“The homes that got invaded were on the other side of town, a predominantly white area full of middle-class families,” JJ explained the demographics.

“Hey, guys,” Penelope said, bringing the attention to her. “The M.E. report just came in, both of them had high levels of oxycodone in their system.” 

   “That’s strange. Violent crimes like these are normally associated with stimulant drugs,” Spencer said puzzled as to why that was. 

“Like meth?” Y/N asked turning her head to look at Spencer next to her. 

“Yeah, like meth.” 

 “Underwood’s as straight as an arrow,” Derek began. “Collison’s a garden-variety gang-banger. I grew up with knuckleheads like that, high-risk break-ins, and oxy, that’s not their M.O.”

“Regardless, we need to get ahead of it. The press has got a community on the verge of panic,” Hotch explained. “JJ and I will coordinate with the sheriff’s office, I want the rest of you at the crime scene.” 

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

Y/N walked into the home of the Lewis’, inspecting all the blood on the walls. It almost felt like she could hear them scream for help and she so desperately wanted to go back in time and save them from all this. The shattered family photos and the torn-up house just made her feel so unsettled. 

 Y/N turned as she had finished with the room she was in and headed out meeting Emily in the hallway. 

“You alright?” She asked as she saw Y/N’s sad face.

“Yeah, just family annihilators, they always hit me differently, you know?” She said as they turned and walked down the hall towards the stairs. 

“Ballistics confirmed that the rest of the Lewis family was shot with the same 357,” Spencer said as he turned and watched Y/N and Emily walk down the stairs together.

“So if it was a gang, there was only one shooter,” Rossi stated after processing the information he had just received. 

“The second and third victims were Trisha Lewis and six months old Blake,” Emily said. 

Spencer shook his head at the thought of a six-month-old being killed. 

“The injury patterns suggest that Mrs. Lewis tried to shield the baby with her own body,” Y/N said with a sigh trying not to let herself get worked up. 

 “Matt Lewis was found right here,” Rossi said with his hands pointed to the floor. “Ronald Underwood just over there-” he pointed to the blood spot to his left- “Underwood was shot eleven times in the head and abdomen.”

“But Lewis himself only had a single gunshot wound to the head at almost point-blank range?” Spencer questioned.  

“How did someone get that close?” Y/N asked looking between Rossi and Spencer. 

“He could’ve been subdued first,” Emily proposed. 

“The M.E. didn’t find any signs of a blitz attack or struggle,” responded Spencer. 

“Well, it had to be an ambush of some kind,” Derek said as he inspected some of the walls with blood spatter. “Probably when he was confronting Underwood.” 

“But that’s almost impossible based on where the body was found,” Spencer said looking over at Derek. 

“It’s right in the middle of the room,” Emily said as she looked at the bloodstains. 

“It’s too out in the open to surprise somebody,” Y/N said agreeing with Emily. 

“Matt Lewis wasn’t shot here,” Rossi said as he pointed to the spot where the body was found. 

“No, but someone moved the body to make it look like he was,” Spencer said. 

“Forensic countermeasure designed to make us think that these guys died in a gunfight that never occurred,” Derek said as he realized what probably happened. 

“Bullet and blood everywhere, too messy for an accurate reconstruction,” Rossi said. 

“Okay, so the unsub gets the drop on Matt Lewis,” Y/N said as she pointed to where Matt Lewis was found. “He then kills the rest of the family, and then leaves behind a drugged-up patsy to cover his tracks?” 

“This wasn’t a burglary at all. There was a higher purpose here, they’re staging the crime scene as some kind of message,” Spencer said. 

“This guy’s trying to make it look like black kids from the hood are killing white families, in white neighborhoods,” Derek said. 

“Pretty powerful message,” Emily said.

“No kidding,” Y/N added as she shook her head. 

The five finished up in the house and decided to head back to the station

“You good?” Spencer asked her as they walked out of the house, noticing how she was looking a bit upset. 

“Yeah, yeah, I just can’t believe what happened in there really, family annihilators you know they just get to me, this one more than the others,” she explained to him. 

“Yeah, this one is sad, I get it,” he said as he looked at her. “But we’ll catch him like we always do, and if you’re lucky you’ll get to put the cuffs on him.” The last statement was a hope to make her smile because he loved her smile so much.   

It worked. 

A smile crept up to Y/N’s face. “I might just do that.”

-----------

 Y/N sat in the station the next morning. Head laying on her arms as she looked at the crime board on the wall. Another family had been killed last night, so they had been added to the board.

 She stared at the victims of the first two families, they looked so much like hers. She saw herself in the shoes of the young girls, the memories of her childhood overwhelmed her. She lifted her head up and rubbed her face with her hands lightly, not wanting to rub the makeup on her face off. 

The feeling of a warm hand on her back made her pull her face out of her hands. She looked beside her and saw Spencer as he sat down after taking his bag off, a coffee in his hand. 

“You didn’t bring any for me, I see how it is,” Y/N said with a fake hurt expression on her face as she leaned into the back of her chair. 

“Actually-” he pointed to her right side- “I did think of you.” 

Her heart fluttered, “You sure know the way to my heart Spence.” She grabbed the large coffee cup and took a sip from it. The warm liquid running down her throat soothing her. 

“Hey love birds, we’re about to give the profile,” Derek said leaning into the room they were in. The two stood up and made their way to where the rest of the team was.

 “We believe we’re looking for a white male, in his late twenties to early thirties,” Hotch said, beginning the profile. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” A deputy said quickly. “I’m sorry, I thought we were looking at black gang-bangers?” 

“The unsub has been staging the crime scenes to make it look like black gangs and undocumented immigrants were responsible,” Derek said to the deputy.

“Why would anyone do that?” The deputy asked. 

“We think he’s trying to create some racial conflict,” Y/N said hoping that was the best way to answer. 

 “In 1969, Charles Manson orchestrated the Tate-La Bianca murders, in the hopes of creating a race war between the blacks and whites that he referred to as Helter Skelter,” Spencer explained. 

 “A name he stole from a Beatles song,” Rossi added, the comment only being funny to the team since they knew that Rossi’s friends with Ringo.

“Members of the Manson Family left watermelon rinds at the scene of the crime and also painted panther paws on the wall in blood in the hopes of convincing authorities that the black panther was responsible,” Spencer continued on his explanation. 

 “Hate groups like the Aryan Nation believe that race war is not only inevitable but necessary,” Hotch said looking over the see of officers. 

 “Our unsub may be a member of one of these groups,” Emily added. 

“Aryan gangs have a strong presence in prisons, so he may be an ex-con or even possibly related to a convict,” Y/N said. 

“We think he may also be some kind of zealot,” Rossi began. “He believes his war is already being fought, and these murders are a mission to him.”

“And like a soldier, he is willing to put himself in harm’s way,” JJ added. 

“The unsub may also be vulnerable somehow, weak mind, or even lonely. His cause gives him a sense of power and belonging,” Spencer said giving more depth to who the unsub might be. 

“He’s physically fit enough to move dead bodies, so he’s probably young,” Derek said. 

“But not too young as to be impulsive,” Y/N added quickly.

“These attacks took planning and focus. So, he’s disciplined,” Rossi said. 

“He uses oxycodone to drug his unwilling partners,” Spencer explained. 

“He does this without killing them, which shows that he is knowledgeable about dosages,” Y/N said. 

“And oxy is expensive, so look at medical care professionals and caregivers, anyone with access to prescription drugs,” Emily said. 

“This unsub is dedicated and driven, it makes him especially dangerous. Surrender is not likely part of his strategy,” Hotch said as the profile came to a close. 

---------

“Hey Hotch, Y/N,” Derek said as he walked over to the two that were sitting at a desk going over some geographics to help Spencer with his profile. “There’s a mayoral race in town, and there’s a guy named Clark Preston all over the news.”

“Looks like he’s running a close second,” Y/N said as she looked at the tablet in Derek’s hand. 

 “Yeah, and check this out,” He scrolled down and clicked on the video. 

“These vicious home invasions are a sign of the times,” Clark Preston said in the video. “As demographics change, so do crime rates. Now we may not be able to slow the browning of America, but we can sure as hell take our city back. And if you elect me, I’ll lead that charge.”

“The browning of America?” Y/N asked with astonishment. 

“That’s a damn near hate speech,” Derek said as he looked at Hotch.

 “He’s using the murders to further his campaign and I guess people are rallying behind it,” Hotch said. 

“So what if our unsub is nothing like Manson? Manson never got his hands dirty, what if our unsub is more like his followers?” Derek proposed. 

“You think he’s being manipulated?” Y/n asked pulling her legs up in the seat she was sitting in. 

“Maybe even unintentionally, but either way, rhetoric like this could fuel his fire,” Derek said. 

“We should talk to Preston,” Hotch said, nodding to the tablet. 

“I already sent a car,” Derek told Hotch. 

“Good,” was Hotch’s short response. “Y/N, do you mind talking to him with us, your knowledge in political science might help,” Hotch said turning to the woman in the chair. 

“Sure,” she said with a nod. 

“I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re here gentleman,” Preston said, not even acknowledging Y/N in the room. “Maybe now someone will stop these savages, what can I do to help.” 

Derek looked at Y/N with one raised brow in question, after noticing that the politician in the chair wouldn’t even look at her. She just shook her head while she shrugged her shoulders and listened to what Hotch was saying. 

“We were hoping to talk to you about some of your rhetoric,” Hotch asked as he looked at Preston across from him. 

“My rhetoric,” Preston said, it wasn’t a question just him repeating what Hotch said hoping he heard him right. 

“We believe the recent murders maybe hate crimes,” Derek said walking closer to Preston. 

“Some of the things you say, well they maybe be construed as inflammatory,” Y/N said while she moved spots to stand behind Hotch.

“Agent Y/L/N’s referring to some of your recent campaign speeches and the references to the murders,” Hotch explained.

 “We believe that whoever’s responsible for these crimes is impressionable and may be responding to the vitriol,” Derek said. 

“You think I’m responsible?” Preston asked, turning to look at Derek. 

“Nobody said that,” Y/N said crossing her arms. Preston never even looked at her when she spoke. 

“If this person is motivated by racist sentiments, then what you are saying publicly may be affecting him,” Hotch explained making Preston turn his attention towards him.

“You’re profilers right?” Preston asked. 

“Right,” Hotch responded. 

“You study behavior, not actual facts,” Preston’s comment made Y/N sigh. “And then you come up with theories.” 

“It’s really, not that simple,” Y/N said as she looked at the man. For the first time, he looked at her, and then he rolled his eyes at her statement.

“I’m sorry, who are you a secretary or something?” The blood in Y/N’s body boiled with rage at the question. She then watched Preston turn to Derek, “I’ll bet you had to work extra hard to get in the bureau, didn’t you? Probably still have to prove yourself on a regular basis. I respect that. I wish there were more like you.” He took small pauses in between each statement.

The man stood up from his chair and began to head towards the door. “I’ll cut back my media appearances, for now. But I suggest you start proving some of those theories of yours. And get some of those hard-working men to arrest those punks doing this.” 

The way he said men made Y/N want to punch him so bad that she had to fit the urge to walk over to him and do just that. 

“You gentlemen enjoy your day,” Preston then let himself out, once again not acknowledging Y/N. 

 “We should check out his list of contributors and his staff, it might be somebody in his camp,” Hotch said standing up from his chair.  

“We need to check him out, too,” Derek said. 

“No kidding,” Y/N said stilled enraged by the man. “Did you see what he was doing? Or more like wasn’t, he wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence and than he dared to ask me if I was a secretary.”

“The guy is no doubt a racist and is also very sexist,” Derek said.

“Oh yeah for sure,” Y/N said as she walked over to Derek by the door. 

  “Come on Pretty girl, don’t let him get you all riled up,” Derek said to her as they walked out of the room. 

“I know, I know, it just makes me angry,” Y/N said as she and Derek walked over to the area where the rest of the team sat.

“What makes you angry?” Spencer asked as she sat down beside her. 

“Clark Preston, not only is he a racist, and let that be known when he spoke to Derek, but also he is majorly sexist,” she grabbed a paper cup from the middle of the table and then poured herself some water. “The whole time we were speaking to him, he didn’t even look at me, and the one time he did he rolled his eyes and asked me if i was a secretary.” 

“Are you serious?” Emily asked with disbelief.  

“That’s ridiculous,” Spencer said while he shook his head. 

“Uh-huh, you know Derek if he is a part of this, you know what would make me so happy,” She said as she turned to Derek. 

“What’s that?” He asked her. 

“If we got to arrest him, but I want to put the cuffs on him, just to let him know that a woman has power over him,” she said with authority.

Derek laughed before agreeing and promising her that if Preston was a part, they would do that. 

The team sat scattered at various desks around the station they were at. Y/N stood next to Emily and Spencer as they looked over some maps of the area. Rossi sat at a large desk to left and Derek in a desk behind them towards the right. 

“Hey, talk to me, doll face,” Derek said answering his phone to talk to Penelope, everyone’s attention now drawn to Derek and the woman on the phone. 

  “I got some dirt on your mayoral candidate, Clark Preston,” she spoke. 

“He’s a politician, that shouldn’t be hard,” Rossi said as he walked over to be closer. 

“Yeah, he’s a real estate lawyer who ran for city council last year and lost,” Penelope explained. “And he’s rich, as in if money was dirt he’d be filthy. He quadrupled his net worth in the last ten years, mostly from real estate.”

“So he managed to thrive despite the area’s economic downturn,” Spencer said in realization. 

“What do you mean by mostly?” Y/N asked leaning closer to Derek’s phone so that she could be heard. 

“Well, he is on the board of several financial institutions. Hedge funds, pension funds, oh, he likes to shuffle his money around. Even found some offshore accounts of his, I did,” she said giving what other dirt she could find on Preston.

 “You only do that if you’re trying to hide it,” Emily said.

“What about his staff and contributors?” Spencer asked the woman on the phone.

“Uh-uh. No, they’re clean,” she said.

 “Alright thanks, Garcia,” Derek said before he hung up the phone.“Preston’s a part of this, me and Y/N both think so.”

“Yeah you should have seen him in there,” Y/N said as she turned to Emily. 

“He’s sexist, racist, and a little shady, maybe, but a murderer?” Emily asked as she looked between the two.

“It may be just a feeling, but I know he’s in this, we just need to figure out how,” Derek explained.  

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

The next morning the team arrived to bad news, as another family was killed earlier that morning. Surprisingly this time, the guy the unsub would have left for the blame got away.

 “His names Ramon Gomez, he’s an undocumented immigrant from Mexico City and he’s pretty freaked out,” JJ said as her, Y/N, Derek, Spencer, and Emily stood in front of the room Ramon was in. 

“That’s pretty understandable,” Y/N said while she folded her arms over herself. 

“Was he able to give a description of the unsub?” Spencer asked as he looked at JJ. 

“Uh, just of the vehicle, his English is not that good,” JJ explained. “We put an APB out.”

 Emily nodded her head, then turned to walk into the room with Ramon in it. “Hole, mi nombre es Emily Prentiss,” she said to Ramon. 

The four others stood outside and watched as she interacted with the man sitting at the table.

“This poor guy,” Y/N said as she looked at the frightened man sitting at the table. 

The three beside her hummed in agreement as the continued to watch and somewhat listen to what Emily was saying to Ramon. He pulled his arm out showing scars on his arm. He then got a look of realization on his face as he remembered more.

Emily then thanked him and walked out of the room to the other four. 

“He remembers hearing a train and then loud music,” she said as she came to the four standing. 

“That’s something, let’s get started,” Y/N said and the five began walking towards the area they had been working in. 

“There are approximately two hours between Ramon’s abduction here-” Spencer pointed to one spot on the map- “and his escape here. He crossed the train tracks here. Now, given the time and distance parameters, there’s no way the unsub could have ventured outside this radius.” 

“Okay, so he said the train was close, and he heard laughter and loud music,” Emily said. 

“I looked at points of interest next to the train tracks and there really isn’t much. There’s a warehouse, a taco stand that would have been closed, and a bar called the drunken dog ” Spencer explained.      

“Why stop there? He need a drink?” Rossi asked. 

 “He doesn’t seem like the drinking type,” JJ said. 

“Yeah, he’s not impulsive or sloppy enough,” Y/N said sticking her hands into the back pockets of her pants. 

“I live to serve you, sir,” Penelope said as she answered Hotch’s call. 

“Garcia, what can you tell us about a bar called The Drunken Dog?” Hotch asked.

“Ooh, I like it already. Let’s see- uh- it’s been around thirty years. It was opened by a warehouse worker named Manny Gresham, upon his death six years ago it was bought by a hedge fund company called First Advantage.”

“Why would a hedge fund company want a bar?” Emily asked. 

“Let’s see. Well, they bought it for a song,” Penelope began. “And, poor man, his medical expenses bankrupted him, I guess that’s why-- shut the front door.” 

“What is it?” Y/N asked. 

“Clark Preston is on the board of First Advantage, which explains why the bar is on a shortlist of local businesses that support Preston for mayor,” Penelope answered.

 “Of course it is,” Y/N said as she sat down on the desk behind her.

“Okay we missed something, we need to go back over his staff and contributors again,” Emily said looking at Spencer beside her. 

“They all came up clean,” JJ said.

“Garcia, look up DMV records and find every registration in the area that matches the description on the unsub’s vehicle,” Derek said to Penelope over the phone. 

 “Okay, 79 names and I’m way ahead of you, none of them match anyone Preston’s team-” she stopped. “What the what? Oh. I’m good at my job. Pamela Mills donates monthly to Preston’s campaign. Her son Trevor, his car matches the description, and it’s registered in his name.”

“Got a photo and an address?” Y/N asked.

“Yes, I do. I also have a place of work for Trevor. He is a part-time messenger, I’m sending it now,” Penelope said pressing ‘enter’ on her keyboard aggressively. 

“Alright JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss take the workplace, we’ll take the house,” Hotch said dismissing everyone to go off. 

  ---------

“What do you have, Garcia?” Hotch asked as he sped down the road, lights on in case they were stopped. 

“Sir, I found the connection between the Mills family and Clark Preston. Ten years ago, the Mills were the victims of a home invasion. Robert Mills, the father, and 10-year-old Julie were killed. Pamela was raped, and now she has a lot of brain damage, that has left her in a near vegetative state,” Penelope said explaining the sad story of the family. 

“What about Trevor?” Spencer asked. 

 “He hid in the closet and when it was over, he called 911,” Penelope answered. 

“That’s why he stuffed that boy in the closet,” Hotch said referring to the last family that was killed.

“He was reliving his own victimization.” Y/N said in realization.

“He didn’t do that to the other children he murdered because he didn’t relate to them,” Rossi said. 

“Garcia was anybody convicted of the crime?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, a Ronnie Green and Carlos Jackson. Both African American, both serving like in Folsom,” Penelope said before she continued with her story. “And then after the murders, Preston, he financially supported the family almost entirely. “ 

“So they’re close, he’s known the family for years,” Rossi stated. 

“That must be how they’re paying Pamela’s medical expenses,” Spencer said. 

“Yeah, it would be really hard to cover with Trevor’s part-time messenger salary,” Y/N added looking to Spencer beside her. 

‘Yeah, I mean, it’s a top-flight policy,” Penelope said reading the health care bill.

“So Preston is playing the savior,’ Rossi said. 

“And it looks like that monthly donation, that Pamela makes to Preston's campaign, is her disability check,” Penelope added.

“My guess is Trevor authorized that because he feels beholden to Preston,” Rossi said piecing together why that would happen. 

 “He probably Idolizes him,” Y/N added. 

 “So Preston is manipulating the Mills family to further his own agenda, he’s behind everything,” Hotch said coming to the conclusion that Preston was part of it all along.

 “He took advantage of Trevor in a vulnerable state and made him trust and then brainwashed him,” Y/N said. 

“Turned him into a killer,” Spencer added. 

 “Uh, guys,” Penelope interrupted. “There’s something else, Preston bought the Mills home after the invasions.”

The tires came to a screeching halt as Hotch pulled up to the Mills house. The four hoped out of the car, taking out their guns and walked to the front door. 

 Hotch pounded on the door, “FBI!” 

When no answer came, Hotch pushed the door in and entered the threshold of the house. Y/N stood between Rossi and Spencer as they walked into the house. They then split up and looked around the house, Hotch and Rossi downstairs, Spencer and Y/N upstairs. 

  Y/N held her gun out in front of her as she entered a small guest room. She made sure the room was clear before walking out and meeting Spencer in the hall. 

“You find anything?” She asked while she holstered her gun on her hip. 

“Yeah, this note,” Spencer said as he inspected the note in his hand. 

“Come on, let’s go find Hotch and Rossi,” She said before they walked downstairs. 

 “He’s not here,” Y/N said as she walked into the room with Hotch and Rossi. Spencer close behind her. Pamela Mills was seen laying in the bed not moving but looking at the four by her door.  

“I found this in his bedroom,” Spencer said holding out the letter he found. “It’s addressed to her,” he said referring to Pamela.

“ ‘The price of peace is sacrifice, and I’m prepared to pay that price, no matter how high. I hope you’ll still love me.’ This is a goodbye letter,” Rossi said after reading the letter. 

“Or a suicide note,” Hotch countered. 

“He doesn’t profile as suicidal,” Spencer said in a hushed tone not wanting to disturb the woman in the bed. 

“No, but he knows this could be his final mission,” Rossi said. 

“He may want to go out in a blaze of glory,” Y/N said as she glanced at the woman in the bed. 

“It’s all about the election, he’s only got one move left, we need to secure Mayor Wennington, I’ll have the rest of the team find Hilary Ross,” Hotch said pulling out his phone to call Derek. 

They headed back out to the car and got an address for Mayor Wennington heading over to his house. Y/N walked up the front door, the three men with her following behind closely. 

“Mayor Wennington?” She asked when the door opened and a white-haired man in a loose-fitting tie answered.

“Yes,” he responded. 

“Hi, I’m Agent Y/N Y/L/N, this is Agent Hotchner, Rossi, and Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI,” she said introducing the men behind her. 

“Is this about those recent murders?” The Mayor asked with concern. 

“Yes, sir, we have reason to believe you might be in danger, would you come with us,” she said gesturing to the car in his driveway, 

“Yes, of course, let me grab my coat,” he turned around and walked ten steps to a coat rack to grab his jacket before he headed out the door with them. 

“Yeah, Morgan,” Hotch said answering his phone while they walked to the SUV.

“We’re on our way to Hilary Ross’ house now, she’s still not answering her phone,” Derek said.

 “All right, call local police, he’s not going to go quietly,” Hotch ordered.

“You have Mayor Wennington?”

“Yeah, keep me posted,” Hotch said before hanging up. 

----------

The next day, Y/N pulled into Clark Preston’s campaign office parking lot with Rossi ready to arrest him. 

“You want to do the honors kid?” Rossi asked Y/N as they exited the vehicle they were in.

“Absolutely,” she said with a smile, her wish from the previous day coming true. 

“I hope this is a good enough birthday present,” Rossi said with a smirk looking at Y/N.

“Who told you? Penelope? I thought she would’ve dropped that by now,” she said with a laugh as she opened the door to the office.

The two agents walked back to the room where Preston was sitting. 

“Clark Preston you’re under arrest,” Y/N said as she walked over to the man sitting at his desk. She pulled him out of his seat and placed her handcuffs from her pocket on him. 

“For what?” He asked defensively. 

“For orchestrating the murders of the Mitchells, Lewis’, and others,” Rossi said as he and Y/N began to lead Preston out of his office. 

“What proof do you have?” He asked trying to find a way out of the situation. 

“Voicemails left by Trevor Mills,” Y/N said shoving him when he stopped walking.

“Voicemail messages? That’s ludicrous, that boy is mentally unstable, always has been,” Preston said. 

“Clark Preston you have the right to remain silent,” Y/N said, not only because she had to but because she really didn’t want to hear his pathetic excuses anymore.

“I’m Innocent!” He tried to protest. 

“And please feel free to exercise that right,” Rossi said grabbing Preston’s other arm as he tried to move out of Y/N’s grasp.

“Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law, you have the right to an attorney, if you can’t afford one, one will be appointed to you,” She continued as Rossi opened the door and led them out. 

--------

“Come on, Spence please tell me where we are going,” Y/N asked, her arm linked with Spencer as they walked down the street. 

“I can’t do that Y/N, you know that,” he said as he led her further down the road. 

“Can you tell me if this has to do with my birthday?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, come on, I told Penelope that we really didn’t have to do anything,” Y/N said as she shook her head. 

“Well, I learned that you need to let them have their moment with you, cause they’re the closest thing you’ve got to family here until you have your own,” Spencer explained to her as he looked at her with a smile.

Y/N sighed in defeat, knowing Spencer was right. 

“Oh look we’re here, can’t believe you didn’t notice where we were going before,” he said as he turned to Y/N’s favorite dive-bar in the downtown area of D.C. Spencer began to pull her inside but she stopped him before he could walk up the small stairs to go inside. 

“Wait- Spencer, before we go in, I have to do something,” she said pulling on his arm making him turn to her. 

“What is it?” He asked facing her with a curious look. 

She replied by placing her lips on his in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that made both their stomachs do flips. His hands reaching up to grab her face as hers gripped the front of his coat. A year and a half's worth of bottled up feelings were expressed as Y/N deepend the kiss. 

“I just really wanted to do that,” she said to him after they pulled apart. A smile came on Spencer’s lips and he pulled her in again for a shorter but just as meaningful kiss. 

“I really like you Y/N,” he said face still close to hers. 

“I really like you too, Spencer,” she said back with a smile. “Come one let’s go in.” 

The happy couple walked into the bar seeing their friends standing in a corner to the left of the door. 

“There’s the birthday girl!” Penelope said as she saw Spencer and Y/N walk in. 

“Happy Birthday!” They all said. 

Y/N blushed as she approached the table, “Thanks, guys.” 

The team laughed, drank, and danced till the late hours of the night. Even Hotch laughed and gave Y/N a hug as they all danced to the music. A smile stayed on Y/N’s face the whole night as she danced with all her friends and drank happily. 

Spencer watched the woman he was beginning to fall in love with belt the lyrics to a Coldplay song that played through the speakers and dance with Penelope and JJ. Y/N looked over and saw Spencer staring at her at her and walked over to him. 

“You know it’s rude to stare,” she said with a giggle.

Spencer laughed, “I wasn’t staring.” The blush on his cheek told Y/N otherwise.

She quickly grabbed his arm and started to pull him onto the dance floor.  

“Oh no, I don’t dance really-” he tried to protest but Y/N wasn’t having it. 

“You do tonight!” 

She brought him to the dance floor Penelope and JJ yelling ‘Hi!’ over the music as they started to dance again. Y/N tried to help Spencer move less awkwardly and he eventually started to get the hang of it. Taking Y/N’s hand in his he spun her around and danced with her. A smile formed on their faces hoping the moment would never end.

tag list (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome​ @word-scribbless​ @nintendumbfuck​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @justine-en​

[imjusthereforbatfam]

Never-Ending Encore, ch.5

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Chapter Summary: Okay, listen. Listen. Eden may have agreed to this, but are we absolutely, positively sure she needs stitches? Yes? Er… Okay. But are we, like, SURE sure or...?

Warning: swearing, blood, describing injuries, mending injuries (on a wuss) 

Also!!! Apparently, you’re not supposed to use rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on cuts cuz their chemicals are too harsh and can damage muscle tissue. I grew up using peroxide on my cuts and didn’t know you weren’t supposed to until after I’d already written the majority of this chapter, so like… don’t do this irl. I’m just lazy and using alcohol works really well for the story so blah

—

Chapter 5:

Eden leaned her head back on the low wall behind her and stared up at the clouded sky. She huffed for what felt like the hundredth time. At this rate, she was going to be completely healed before Red Hood even got back...

She took another peek at her sliced palm. The cut was about a third smaller than it had been. Would Red Hood notice? Probably. It was hard to miss.

Should she— she shuddered. Should she try to reopen it a little with her nails?

She moved her hand away, gagging at the thought.

Nope. No way. Forget that. If it was noticeable to Red Hood, she would just play it off somehow. Distract him or something. Play dumb. Cry. Whatever it took but she was not going to reopen it. It shouldn’t heal much more before he got back, anyway. He promised it would only take a few minutes for him to get what he needed and get back. And, despite feeling like she’d been sitting on this rooftop for hours, Eden knew that wasn’t true. She was just getting antsy.

She put a hand to her neck, gently moving a finger across the gash there. It was fairly long, running from the dip between her shoulder and neck down to the crook of her collar bone. The knife nicked her jugular on the way down, too. That was how she’d become so lightheaded so quickly. Even now, her shirt was still wet with all the blood she’d lost.

She was lucky her body healed the way it did. The process was by no means instant, and sometimes it was too little too late, but more often than not it was just enough to save her from unnecessary encores.

Actually, still running her finger along the jagged cut, Eden was a bit surprised. Usually, an injury like this would be far more healed by now. Yet, somehow, the cut on her neck didn’t feel any smaller than the first time she’d touched it. True, it wasn't as deep as it had been – Eden could just… tell it wasn't – but on the surface, it was mostly the same.

Was it her? Had she gained some control over this part of her power without realizing it? Maybe. Or maybe she'd just lost so much blood that replenishing it was more important than mending the rest of her body. Or maybe her body magically knew that healing too fast wasn’t a good idea this time. Or, maybe, it was just mending itself like this, like a snail trudging across a bone-dry desert, because she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime.

Her stomach growled on cue, confirming her suspicions. Eden groaned. Now that she wasn’t drowning in her own thoughts or missing a remarkable amount of blood, she was fully aware of her body’s needs. And, boy, did it need food.

 “Would you—”

Eden shrieked in surprise as Red Hood announced his return by swiping her hand away from her neck.

“—stop messing with that?”

“What in the—!? Where in the heck did you come from!?”

“Hell, obviously.” He knelt down in front of her, taking a small black bag off his shoulder. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Oh, of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “I thought I recognized the accent.” She smacked her forehead theatrically. 

Red Hood let out a small, amused sound as he unzipped the bag. Inside was a swath of medical supplies. He dug around a moment then pulled out a white cloth and bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Eden eyed the bottle as he unscrewed the cap. “I hear the weather’s lovely in Hell this time of year,” she continued, hiding behind the joke. “Good time for a visit.”

“Nah," he said playing along. "It’s hot as balls right now."

She chuckled. “Ain't it—” Red Hood turned to her urgently and Eden quieted.

He said nothing. 

“Um…" She shrank down a little, unnerved by his wordless stare. "Everything okay there, Mr. Hood?”

He studied her another moment then eased back. “Yeah. Sorry. You started laughing so I thought you might…” he drifted off, looking at her neck. He shook his head and went back to prepping the cloth. “How do you feel?”  

She shrugged. “Fine. Better than I was.”

“No more gagging fits?” He glanced over at her and Eden shook her head. “Good.”

She eyed the drenched cloth in his hand, thinking back to all the times she'd put alcohol on someone else’s cuts and scrapes. She’d never had to use it herself, not even when she was a kid, so she didn’t know what it felt like. All she knew was that other people often hissed or groaned when they used it. Even Nate, arguably the toughest of her semi-siblings, would wince if alcohol went on an open wound.

“Is that going on my neck?”

“Yep.”  Red Hood brought it closer.

Eden leaned away. “Is it going to hurt?”

“I mean.” He gave a half-shrug, half-nod like it was obvious. “Yeah?”

“Okay, but like…” She slunk down against the wall, growing quieter. “How bad is it gonna hurt? Like… bad or… really bad?”

Red Hood tilted his head in thought. “How���s your pain tolerance?”

"My...? Oh. Well, it's... um..."

No matter how she got hurt, Eden was always fine in the end. But in the moment? When it was actually happening to her? Or, if it was a trade, when it felt like it was happening to her?

“Not great,” she decided. But, then again, who didn’t experience excruciating pain while dying? “It’s hard to say. It might be normal but… I’m not really sure. I certainly don't like pain, if that helps.”

“Alright, better question: have you ever used alcohol to clean a cut before?"

“No,” she murmured sinking into her shoulders. “Never.”

Red Hood turned his head upward and let out a deep noise, something between a hum and a sigh. He glanced toward the little black medical bag, then down at himself, then around them. Searching for something, perhaps.

“Look—” Eden straightened herself up, drawing his attention. “Look, why don’t you… Why don’t you just do it, okay? You being all,” she made a gesture, “this is freaking me out more. Just throw it on there and if it hurts, then—”

“When it hurts. I’m not just slapping it down," he told her. "I have to actually clean the cut.”

“Oh, okay!” she said in a much higher pitch. “Great! Wonderful! Then when it hurts, I’ll just— I’ll— I’ll kick you or something! And it’ll be fine!”

Red Hood cocked his head. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re going to repay me by kicking me?”

Eden blinked at him. “What? Oh! No, no! I didn’t mean— I wasn’t really going to kick you! Of course not! I wouldn’t actually— Okay, I mean, maybe in like a knee-jerk kind of way, but not on purpose or anything! And even if I did do it on purpose, I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt you, Mr. Hood – I think we both know that – ‘cause it would just, you know, be like a, uh, little baby kicking you or something. More sad than anything, really; just downright pathetic, and, honestly, you'd probably feel bad for me and have to pretend it hurt 'cause I'd just be holding my foot and crying, and—” 

Red Hood snickered loudly, cutting off her senseless jabbering. He turned his head and covered the place where his mouth would be but his shoulders kept shaking.

Eden’s whole face went up in flames. He'd been joking. And now he was laughing at her. Again.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she grumbled turning away from him. She pushed her hair out of the way and offered up her neck. “Will you please just get this over with before I make a bigger fool of myself?”

“Hold on.” Still fighting back laughter, he reached for the bottle again. “I need to add some more.”

“More!?”

"Yeeaah," he said shaking his head oh-so-solemnly. "It dried out while you were talking." 

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure." She turned and pinned her eyes on the skyscrapers in the distance. "Go on and tease the panicking person, Mr. Hood. Very kind of you. Very classy.”

"What can I say? I'm such a kind, classy guy."

A laugh nearly tumbled out of her but Eden quickly fought it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The sound of fresh alcohol spilling onto the cement wiped her suppressed smile clean away.

“Oh god.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be fine, Cookie Girl.”

“I am not gonna be fine!” she threw back. “This is awful! This is horrendous! This is— This is torturous!”

He scoffed, close to her neck now. “Don’t be such a baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know! That’s what’s so awful!”

“Do you want to hold my hand or something?” 

Eden knew he was mocking her. She did. She just didn’t care. Her good hand clutched at the fabric of his leather jacket. The other wrapped around the exposed skin between his glove and tight, armor-like sleeve. Her mending palm warmed quickly against his skin.

He cleared his throat. “I was joking.”

“Well, that's too damn bad, Mr. Hood! Don’t go making offers you don’t wanna bank on! Now, would you puh-LEASE just get this over with!? I’m seriously starting to freak out here, and I really don’t appreciate the whole ‘Let’s draw this out as long as possible ‘cause it’s funny’ shtick, ‘cause it’s not funny, and I for one really don't appreciate—”

“Okay, okay! I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh.” He moved forward and ran the cloth over her torn skin in one quick motion. Eden shrieked and clutched his arm.

The burn was intense— sudden— unlike anything she’d felt before. Her eyes misted as she forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth.

Every so often, Red Hood gave her small words of assurance – that she was doing fine, that he was almost done – but Eden could only focus on the pain. Liquid fire bubbled and seared its way deep into the wound. She dragged the soles of her shoes against the cement, desperate for relief. Eventually, she tore her good hand away from Red Hood’s jacket and pounded her fist against the floor. She grabbed his sleeve again and held it tightly, trying not to cry.

When he finally finished, Red Hood carefully removed her good hand from his sleeve and put it on top of the cloth. “Keep this here, alright?”

“I don’t like this,” she sniffed, her voice wavering. “Why do we have to do this. I hate this. This is stupid.”

“You’re doing fine, Cookie Girl,” he said softly.

She half-huffed, half-whined in disagreement.

Red Hood turned back to his little black bag and dug around with his free hand. He made no indication of needing his other hand, so Eden didn’t let go. Every time the frothing, stinging burn flared up again she dragged her heel across the floor and gave his arm another tight squeeze. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“So.” He pulled a small pouch from the bag. “What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “What do you mean? I’m not in any trouble…”

“Right.” From the pouch, Red Hood took out a curved needle, some thick tweezers, and what looked like a spool of blue fishing line. “Because only someone not in any trouble would beg someone like me to patch them up instead of going to a hospital.”

“Hey now!" She let go of him and pointed to herself. "I didn't beg for nothin'. I just refused to go to the hospital. You're," she jabbed her finger at him, “the one who’s insisting on doing this nonsense.”

He scoffed and swiped her hand away as he threaded the needle. “Would you rather I didn’t do this nonsense?”

“It feels like the devil himself is pissing on my shoulder right now, so... yeah, to be completely honest, I’m kinda wishing you didn't.”

Red Hood stopped. Stiffly, he turned his head toward her. Eden shrunk back from the sudden, severe emotion coming from him. The heat of his hidden gaze, amplified by the glaring eyes of his helmet, was hard to meet.

“I’m sorry,” he said harshly, “did you want an infection in your fucking neck?”  

“No,” she said quietly.

“Then what about having a huge scar for the rest of your life?”

Knots formed in her stomach. “I’m not worried about scars,” she mumbled stubbornly.

“No? Then how about that cut reopening?” he shot back. “How about bleeding out a second fucking time when there's no one around? How about fucking dying? Are you worried about that?” he hissed. His distorted voice was sharper and more searing than Eden had ever heard it.

She sank further down the wall. It wasn't hard to understand why Red Hood was so worked up about this. She glanced down at the slick, sticky river of blood that had flooded her shirt and pooled down her torso. She'd lost so much so quickly... If she were a normal human being and the cut did reopen, there wouldn't be enough blood left in her body to survive it. She would bleed out and die just like Red Hood said.

But Eden wasn't normal. The cut wouldn't reopen. And even if it somehow did, it wouldn't kill her. Her body had already made up for most of the blood she'd lost — she could feel it. And even if it hadn't, even if the damn thing did kill her, it's not like she would stay dead anyway. The universe would demand another encore from her, just like it always did, and her heart would start again. Just like it always did.

Eden eyed the needle in Red Hood's hand apprehensively. He was going to put that into her skin. Into her cut. He was going to sew her up like an old ragdoll and she didn't even need it!

What would it feel like? Would it be small but sharp like getting pricked by a sewing needle? Strange and agonizing, as if she were being carved up by a tiny knife? Quick and exasperating, like getting her ears pierced again before they finally understood why the holes kept closing up? Or, would it feel like something she’d never experienced before — like the molten, frothy sting of alcohol on an open wound?

And, even worse, the stitches would eventually have to come out. Her body would be perfectly healed within a day or two – at most – and would leave no scar. There'd be nothing to suggest she’d ever even needed stitches in the first place. Even if she could find a way into a hospital without alarming her mother, how would she be able to explain that? She wouldn't. She'd have to remove them herself.

She could just... tell Red Hood her secret, of course. Avoid the whole kerfuffle that way but... But that was stupid. Yeah, he was trying to help her now, and, yeah, he’d save her before, but being a metahuman wasn’t something you just… told people about. Not even heroes. Eden wasn’t that stupid.

In fact, the only people she’d ever told were the “cousins” she considered siblings. And even then, unless they actively needed her powers, she only told them after years of knowing and trusting them. It was her greatest secret, and, as far as she was concerned, only family needed to know it.

Well. Family and whoever the hell Frank told, apparently.

Eden was still upset about that. People – people she didn’t know; people her mother didn’t know; total strangers – knew about her powers now. Frank had told the people he worked with about her without her knowledge or consent. He swore they were trustworthy, that they were merely interested in the science and what it could do, but that didn’t mean much to Eden. After all, he wasn’t even family. Not anymore.

She'd thought he wanted to be. Despite all the years of silence, of absence, she’d hoped he wanted to be when he suddenly reached out and asked to see her again. But when they finally did meet up, after all the backflips and hoop-jumping they’d gone through to keep Mama from catching wind, he’d treated her more like a business venture than a daughter.

That stung more than alcohol ever could.

“Well?”

Eden glanced up at Red Hood. Waiting, with needle in hand. Likely angry, or at the very least upset, with what he must’ve thought was a very stupid, very weak, very ungrateful little girl. He certainly wouldn't be the first.

She looked away again and let out a slow breath. Carefully, she removed the cloth from her neck, hissing softly as she did. She wordlessly offered up the wound a second time. He shifted closer, putting a hand near the cut. Eden flinched and he stopped again.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, softly, sure he was getting more irritated by the minute. “I’m sorry, I just…” She shook her head, fighting the shameful urge to cry. “I’m just," she choked. "I'm just no good at this stuff."

Red Hood said nothing. Eden wondered if silence was how he showed his disappointment.

After a moment, his free hand moved from her neck. He held it in front of her, his palm up. She stared at it, unsure of what it meant.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” he said gently. Eden's eyes lifted in surprise. “It does when the needle goes in," he continued, still soft, "but it’s more weird than painful, I swear. If you need to, you can still…" Red Hood looked to the side and started mumbling. "Y'know.” He bobbed his hand. “Hold my hand or whatever...”

A rebel tear ran down her cheek. Eden sniffed and quickly brushed it away. 

This... This was Gotham’s most-contested vigilante. The mob boss. The murderer. The one everyone and their mother had an opinion on. The one they said could never, should never, be considered a hero. This guy. The one who insisted on helping a stubborn, panicky, annoying civilian all night. The one who got downright pissed when she tried to brush off life-saving care. The one who did not rebuke her for being so pathetic, so weak, but instead shyly offered her comfort.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. People called Red Hood bad, immoral, unforgivable, but how? How could anyone think of him like that? Even if he'd done awful things... Even if he still did awful things... Red Hood clearly wasn't an awful person. He was thoughtful. He was kind. He was good.

Had any of the people who said those nasty things actually met him? Did they know how tender he could be? How sweet? Maybe they hadn’t and his rough reputation simply preceded him. Or maybe Eden was a fool who couldn't see the true cruelty hidden beneath a masterful facade. Or... maybe she was one of the lucky ones who got to see past the facade, who got to see the heart hidden underneath.

Eden gingerly took his hand, so, so grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Hood,” she whispered, hoping the words would be enough to convey at least a small fraction of what she was feeling.

He grumbled something back — his voice garbled more than usual. 

Eden smiled and giggled softly, feeling outstandingly lucky.

“You ready now?” he muttered.

She nodded. "Ready."

He moved forward again, slowly this time — giving her enough time to stop him if she needed it. She squeezed his hand in anticipation. He took it as a go-ahead.

There was a sharp prick at the base of her collarbone followed by a strange sliding sensation. Like he’d said, there was a sharp, shooting pain each time the needle went in or out of her skin, but it wasn’t too bad. The real issue was the silk-like thread. The slick feeling of it running in and through her skin, tugging pieces of herself together… It was off-putting. Nauseating, even.

Eden tried not to squirm too much. When the needle pierced too thin a piece of skin, she squeaked and scraped her shoe against the ground as Red Hood muttered an apology. When the tugging made her nearly gag, she zeroed in on the scruff marks along his jacket, breathing slowly as she counted them up.

When none of that helped, she would squeeze his hand, silently begging for strength. He squeezed back, readily giving it whenever she asked.

“There,” he said pulling the needle through one last time. He tugged the thread firmly. “Can I have my hand for a second?”

Eden let go and watched as he tied off the string and cut off the excess.

“So…" she tried. "How do I get them out?”

“They’ll dissolve or fall out in a few weeks’ time. No hospitals necessary.”

She nodded slowly then let out a breath of relief. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Red Hood studied her a moment. He lowered his head slightly and stayed that way, something clearly on his mind.

Then, as if forcing himself, he reached for her cut hand. Eden jerked it close to her chest.

“Are you gonna put stitches in my hand, too? That would hurt worse, wouldn’t it? Since it’s my palm?” She snuck a glance at the cut as she spoke.

The first time she’d looked at it, it ran clear across her palm from end to end. There’d been thin cuts across some of her fingers too. She honestly couldn't remember when it had happened in the fight or how, but she must’ve grabbed for the knife at some point and been holding it by the blade when it was roughly pulled from her grasp.

Now, the cut was much smaller. Only about an inch and a half over the center of her palm. She couldn’t even tell where the smaller slices on her fingers had been. She imagined the skin there still looked a little irritated, but – because it was dark and her hand was still coated with blood – she couldn’t see it.

“I might not have to,” Red Hood said holding his hand out for hers. “The neck was definitely worse, but let me take another look at it.”

Nervously, Eden took one more glance at her palm then handed it over.

Red Hood inspected it a moment then tilted his head. "Huh."

She panicked. “What!?” she shrieked, startling him enough to look away from the cut. “Is it bad? Do I need stitches? Please don’t say I need any more stitches, Mr. Hood, I really don’t think I can handle going through that with my hand. Please say I don’t. Pretty please?”

He glanced down at it again. “You don't.” Very gently, he ran a thumb over the cut. “It’s a lot smaller than I remember…”

“Oh, thank goodness!" she said in a fast voice. She started tugging her hand away. "So we’re all good then, right? No more patching up? You can just take me home now?” 

Red Hood let out an amused hum and started packing up his supplies. “You trying to get rid of me?” 

“No, not at all! But," she brought up a finger, "if you bring that alcohol crap anywhere near me again, I really am going to kick you.”

He scoffed and batted her hand away. Then he paused and dipped his head. “Actually," he teased, reaching for the bottle. "Now that you mention it—”

“No. No, no."

“We really should clean it."

“Nope. No. Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, c'mon, Cookie Girl,” he said waving the bottle. “Just to be safe?" 

“Mr. Hood, I will kick you and I will do it hard.”

He laughed, stood up, and offered his hand. "You gonna cry when you do?"

"No! ...Maybe." She took his hand. "Shut up."

—

Feedback is always appreciated! 🥰💕 

Chapter 6

[lettersofwrittencollective]

The Pull (85/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was gifted to them. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective​

Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word count: 1396

Warnings: angst,  

<<Prev || The Pull Masterlist || Next>>

Once you’d figured out that Garrett was after Liam, the boys had decided that Liam would be staying off the field. Now it was just a matter of convincing Coach to bench one of his best players. 

You, however, still felt like there was more to it.

With the injury on the field, the game had experienced a slightly longer time-out and Coach had been talking to the other Coach and the Ref while they took care of whatever they had to take care of. 

Liam was waiting to talk to Coach, a nervous bounce in his stance. 

Scott and Stiles were filling Kira in on what they’d just discovered and, you’re pretty sure, were charging her with keeping an eye on the pup. 

Positive that there was more to the story, your eyes were scanning the crowds for the girl in the white T-Shirt and leather jacket. Garrett’s little friend… Violet. 

There’s no sign of her in the stands and that doesn’t sit right with you.  It makes your wolf antsy and you can feel her pacing just below the surface. 

Pair that with the fact that you’re sure you had heard multiple growls when Liam and Brett had collided, you’re starting to have a bad feeling about this. 

“I’ll be back,” you tell your friends over your shoulder, not really paying attention to whether or not they actually hear you or pay attention. 

Making your way towards the school, you notice that the ambulance is still in the parking lot, a terrible sign really. 

Heading towards the school, you make your way in near the lockers. As soon as you open the door, your eyes are drawn to a sight about halfway down the hall— bodies on the floor. 

The sight terrifies you and you can feel your heart beginning to race a million miles an hour. However, you know that if it had been Brett growling on that field, you have to find him. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards the open locker room door as quietly as you can. 

As you do, you can hear Brett’s voice, “What did you do to me?”

The fact that you were right about there being more to what was going on was a small victory. But the sound of the girl's voice pulled a small growl from you. 

“You were cut with a poisoned blade,” she explains, “It was laced with wolfsbane — it won’t kill you. But this will.”

By this time, you’re just outside the door and you take one more solidifying breath, while Brett asks why she’s doing this. 

Looking in the door, you watch as Violet kicks his arms out from under him, knocking Brett completely down as she answers, “Because you’re worth a lot of money Brett.”

So he’s on a part of the list you haven’t cracked yet…

You watch as she moves to straddle Brett but before she can do anything to him, you rush her, knocking the girl off of him and shoving her, headfirst, into the mirrors in front of you. 

Turning around, you lean over Brett, who looks like he’s been through hell at this point, and you start to look for the cut. 

You don’t see anything and go to ask him only to find that he’s passed out. 

You’re so distracted with him that you don’t even notice the wire being slipped over your head. 

You’re tuned into it when you feel the wire tighten against your skin and a burning sensation begins. 

“He said we shouldn’t try,” Violets smug voice echoes in your ear, “But now I’ve got you. I got the Natasha Ragnulf and next I’m going after Scott and Stiles. ”

The sound of her voice pisses you off but it’s the threat to Stiles that makes something inside you snap. Growling, you manage to slip your fingers under the wire. Pulling at it, you can feel Violet trying to tighten the wire and you can feel the burning sensation against your skin but you manage to pull it far enough away from your neck that you’re able to turn around. 

Turning around, you’re purple eyes meet her brown eyes and you watch as realization dawns on her that she’s not going to get to kill you and the stench of fear overpowers her. 

Hand snapping out, you grip her neck as you let out a roar of rage and push her against the wall with enough force that she lets out a gasping breath. 

Letting go just enough for her to take a breath, you push her against the wall again, this time hard enough that her head bounces off the wall. 

You can feel your canines elongate and are about to let your claws follow suit, determined to enjoy her death as a wolf when you hear your mate calling out Lobita. 

Turning to snarl at him and warn him away, you’re anger dissipates slightly at the sight of him. When he approaches you slowly, hands in the air as if to avoid spooking you. 

“You need to let her go Tasha...”

Lobita…

Looking at Stiles, you see his gaze flick over to the girl before flicking back to you, this time there’s a plea in his eyes for you to let the girl go. 

Stiles wasn’t sure if you’d let the girl go.

When he’d gotten the phone call from Malia he’d been surprised that neither Scott nor Tasha had realized that Brett was a werewolf. 

It was as he’d told Scott and the others that he’d realized that you weren’t with them. 

He’d looked for you in the immediate area but hadn’t found you. One of the guys had said he’d seen you headed towards the school and he’d taken off after you. 

He had just opened the doors to the school when the sound of a powerful, pissed off roar came from down the hall.

He’d been torn between pride and terror at the sound. Rushing down the hall he’d stepped into the locker room, his nose assaulted by the scent of burning flesh. He found Tasha pushing a girl up against the wall.

For a moment, he’d been genuinely worried that she was going to hurt the girl. He had called her name a couple of times before the pet name had torn past his lips without his realizing it.

It had been enough to get her attention.  

When she’d turned to him, he had seen the rage in her eyes. 

She was genuinely pissed. 

“You need to let her go Tasha…” he’d told her.

Let her destroy the girl…  he heard a pissed off snarl. It wasn’t hard to piece together what had happened and a part of him was tempted to agree with the voice, to let her tear apart the ragdoll in her hands. 

He wasn’t sure where the voice came from, the anger wasn’t such a surprise, but before he’d had a chance to focus on it, Tasha’s arms were wrapped around his neck.

The scent of eucalyptus and red apples made him feel like he could breathe again. Winter cranberries filled his nose and he felt his heartbeat felt like it was slowing down as it calmed him. 

Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight, he’s distracted by the sound of footsteps and looks up to see Scott running into the locker room. 

Scott takes a look at the room and Tasha in Stiles’s arms when he asks, “What’s that smell?”

Stiles is about to ask what when Tasha begins to laugh. 

She pulls back from Stiles, but a moment later, her arm is around his torso as she pulls at something on her neck. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s a necklace with a pendant and it confuses the hell out of him because she definitely had not been wearing that at all earlier today.  

“Seems our little friend over here is the one with the thermal cut wire,” Tasha tells them as she pulls off the necklace and hands it towards them, the offending item dangling from her fingertips. 

He can’t help but to see red, the idea of tearing apart the currently unconscious girl suddenly much more appealing. Tightening his grip on Tasha, he shares a look of shock with Scott who tells him, “We should probably call your dad…”

-

<<Prev || The Pull Masterlist || Next>>

-

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!! Sorry this is short but this just felt the most natural. Let me know what you thought! Comments, reblogs, asks… all of these things let me know how you’re feeling about the story and give me life!

Everything taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24​ @nicole-lynne​ @mummybear​ @emichelle​ @genius2050​ @suhoey​ @fullangelimagines​ @xceafh​

Series taglist:  @treestarrrrrrrr​ @redsalv20​ @truthdaze​ @cutiepiemimi13​  @unoriginallysara​  @the-three-eyed-ravenclaw​  @linktomyheartpiece​  @sasha-obrienn​  @piccasoe​​ ​@msrawog​ @eternallyvenus​ @michellebarista​ 

@lostinwonderland314​​ @katemusic​ @kiwihoee​  @thesailbells​

Dylan Taglist @blvckcanry​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @theholydestiny​ @delacxurs​ @yaya2503 @thegirlwhoimagined​

Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective. Associated characters belong to MTV and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 11 March 2020

[gigilalaka]

The Deage Troll Au. Update and Chapter 1

So, this was supposed to tell you all that want to read my still in progress deage au, that chapter 1 was out on my ao3 account. Well its not. I can’t get access to it on my pc and I’ve tried a couple of other methods as well. Now I’m just waiting for they guys and girls that run ao3 to find whats wrong. However I want people to at least read the first chapter so here it is. We will see what happends in the coming days but for now enjoy!

*for thought

‘for speak

Chapter 1 “ Good days gone bad”

Poppy looks out of one of her windows that she got installed barely 3 weeks ago, its soft rain that gos pit patter on them tonight and normaly she would hum to the soft sound but she can’t find the strengt nor heart to do it. Her mind is filled with worry and guilt over the small body thats currently sleeping in a small borrowed bed that Smidge had been so kind to give her. * What am I do to now?* the words keeps runing around her head as she hears a small whimper coming from the bed. She truns around to look at them and walks over with soft steps and just stops at bedside, the little thing looks like they are not haveing the best of dreams. She could not blame them, she bet shes haveing them tonight as well once she finally finds sleep herself.

She slowly stroke the little things face, tears silent runing out of both closed eyes. One out of lost another out worry the next out of fear. A small boyish voice filled with sadness and longing asking for the one person thats never going to be able to anwser back ‘ grandma, where are you?’ It breaks her heart just hearing it.

‘Oh Branch, I’m so so sorry. I should’t have brought that stupid flower to the bunker, we should’t have.’ she says as she looks at her boyfriend, now in a body of a 6 year old, his skin grey as dark ash, hair black as coal and a fearfull frown onpond his little sleeping face. It still amazed her how bad everything had gotten just within 5 days, and it all started when he asked her a favor of just getting some stuff from the deep forest. How she just wish she’d could stop her past self from taking that damn flower or just give it to the herbalist before she and Hickory went to visit him. Maybe then neither of them wouldn’t feel so bad like they do now.

‘I’m so so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry’ she keeps saying, tears anew starts run out her eyes again, while her mind drifts back 5 days ago, where it all started.

‘So let me see if I get this right?’ Hickory begins while he helps his brother over a giant fallen log with a rope around him and Dickory, while said brother is cursing up and down and to the high heavens for gifting him with this damn body and how he wish he’d have moveing hair like the pops have. It would sure make this a lot faster! Poppy stops to look at the bounty hunter, the half open basked strapped on her and one on each bounty hunters backs moveing a little showing herbs, barks, flowers and berries, a small smile froming on her face when Hickory nearly let loose the rope thats currently the only thing thats keeping his brother from falling several feet down, again. The small yodleller looking at the other one with a glare. Dareing his little brother loose his grip again on the rope, or else theres going to be hell to pay.

‘Branch is missing or gone out of several herbs and a type of moss thats used for a variety of diffrent meds and skin tonics? And he ask you to get them for him while he fixses something down in the bunker thats gone badly out of whack?’ For the past 4 months, Hickory and Dickory has been residents of said bunker while they are here helping the pop trolls build up their villiage again. Its part of the deal they have with Delta on the amount of charity works they need to get done with the country trolls and for what they did Poppy and Branch. First they had to help fixing some the homes and buildings back in Lonesome Flats, before they were sent to what remaind of the Pop villiage to help fix things there as well. Though to be honest, untill more of the trees and plants recover some more, theres little they can fix. Many a troll are still living in the undergrund bunker the resident grump live and build up, till some of their home trees are ready to take them in again. Though said grump was getting a little antsy with all the other trolls hyper-go-lucky energy. And endless will to party hard and as loud as possible.

Both he and Dickory had been very supriesed and shocked on how one troll had build something this lagre by the age of 15, get it so well stocked and maintain all alone for well over a decade. It was not for nothing that the other pop trolls called him the most prepared troll of the Pop villiage. *Though to be honest, we should have figured that out with how he was so prepared for just about everything on the journey* Hickory thought while putting the rope in his basket, Dickory finally on safe ground. He’s very sure that if they meet another log like that again, his big bro is just gonna swallow his pride and ask the queen for a ride over instead. It was getting very tiring getting past these forsaken logs for the both of them.

‘Yep’ the queen say, the ‘p’ poping as she said it.’ The Ruby moss is the most improtent one along with the Silver Drop Rose. They are used for some very serious bruns tonics and blood loss meds that I think even the funk trolls have never seen. Branch said that even if we only get a few of each of them, it still be enough to treat several dozen patients, but it would really help him and the doctors to have a bundle or two of each instead. They only bloom for the brief period between these 2 weeks. The rainstrom season is coming soon and they are going to be washed away soon when the first storm hits. Oooh look some more Dede berries! Miss Flourens going to be so happy that we gotten some of them, they hard to find this time of the year. Now she wont have to worry so much about the flu season’ The berries looks nice where they are hanging from their bush, a rich maroon colour with what looks like a golden stripe going around the oval shaped fruit. Poppy takes out a few small clay jars to store them in from her basket. She notes that she’s running out of room to store things. She take out a book from the basket she’d taken with her in her hair, incase she found any other herbs she’s not sure about. One of the many useful gifts Branch have given her the past 2 years.

‘So why did you take us with you girly? You know how that boy of yours don’t like us very much’ Dickory asked, it was a bit of a understatment, Branch had been rageing mad at them when he found out the their lie. Had it not been for the fact that Poppy's other friends was holding him down, Dickory is very sure he and his bro would not be walking at all. Its a bit better now, but non of the yodeller brothers wants to overstep themself the frail peace they have right now. Though he still wounders what the less colour full troll meant with ‘ this is just like what happened almost 2 years ago!’. He did not like the sound of it, not at all.

‘Mostly to give you guys some breathing room really.’ Dickory gets back, the queen is still getting some of the last berries in the jar. Then give them to him for storage in his basket. ‘Also, I know for a fact that since your both bounty hunters you guys was the better choice to take on this little trip when it comes to protection. Which I know mister grumpy is not going argue against, beside I’d rather take you guy over the other one thats avaialble.’ * The less said about Creek the better off I am* Poppy thinks, not wanting to take that guru on this trip today, lately the purple troll was trying to get them alone very often and that scared her.

The three continue their journey, stoping every now and then for a breather or a brief lunch, when they come to a area that has the herbs they are looking for. Its not easy to get to them though. The roses blooms on a small cliff thats very close to a river that has some very sharp stones jutting out and the moss prefer to be on the ceilings in a cave that is home some nasty creeps and crawls that no sane troll would want crawling in their pants. However, when they took a break near a tree, they a get a glimps of a snow white petals that seems to shimer in the light behinde another tree and some bushes a little father ahead of them. Hickory and Dickory is not sure if it is safe to go there, but Poppy is insistent that they at least check it out.

They come onpond a small clearing with a pond near the middle of it, a single flower blooming from the north side of the pond. Its white as snow that shimer in the sun light, with what looks like golden, amethyst and royal coalbolt blue bands around the base of the pastals forming a lovely small pattern of rings together. Its shaped like a tulip, if a tulip had slightly longer pastals and curly torns that is. They can smell a faint hint of sweet yet lightly bitter smell coming for it.

‘Now what in blues hell is this? Poppy do you know what this flower is?’ Hickory ask as he looks at the plant. Its very nice to look at and would make a wounderfull gift to a loved one, but dose not go near it. Neither he nor Dickory knew if it was safe to go anywere near it. No doubt that something had to be wrong if only the flower was the only thing to bloom in that pond. He dose not get a anwser for a while, the queen busy with her herb book to see what they have stumblot onpond.

‘Thats very strange. Its not in the book.’ the pink troll say with a mumble. She looks at the two and ask ‘ are there any sticks or stones near bye that we can throw? We need to check that its not a pond lucker. Those things are rightout nasty to deal with and I rather like to keep my arms or legs intact.’ A shiver gos down her spine when she think what happened to the last party group that went out to gather stuff from the deepest part of the forest. From a 35 group to only 14 coming back, almost half of them missing limbs thanks only to dose things. Was it not for that 2 of them had realy good aim, more would have been lost.

‘I think a saw some over there by the river. Gimme a min’ Dickory say as he runs there to get some. When he comes back the three of them each choice a spot to hit, but noting happens. They to it a few more times, just to be sure but is just a normal pond. Relief settels in a bit, but they move slowly near the flower. Once they are near enough, Poppy takes a few minutes to look at it, than take out a pair of gloves, a sturdy looking glass jar and a small spade.

‘Don’t tell me your gonna take that flower with you?!’ Dickory almost shouts. ‘It can’t be safe if it is the only thing that living in this damn pond!’

‘I have to. This area is the closest to the villiage when it comes to get these types of herbs. The others can take weeks to go to and fro. Finding a plant that we know nothing about so close here, I have to take this to our herbalists to find out what it is. For all we know it might do more harm than good to this area’ Poppy anwser back, most of her focus on the plant, not knowing how true her words would become.

Once she got it in the jar, she looks at them and says ‘Its best we go now. We don’t need to be here any longer’ the hunters agree with both of them tur-

‘WAAAAAA’ a scream comes out of Branch traped yet again in another nightmare that he can’t wake up from, sending Poppy out of her thoughts and chair like a rocket crash and running to him. She hugs him while the trolling continue to scream his heart out, his fear clear as day, small fists hitting her chest every now and then. His not stoping and his sob aren’t getting better either.

*My poor poor Branch. Why do you have to suffer more of this?* rings in her head, well aware that her boyfriend haven’t had this kind of nightmare in a long time. It seems fate still wanted to give the troll some more grief. All she can do now is hold him tight, whisper sweet nothings and patt his back.

Slowly but surely Branch began to calm down, and slowly Poppy sings whatever her tried mind can come up with right now not careing if they fit with the song whats so ever.

Sweet baby mine don’t cry

The moons here to sing you a lullaby

And am here to sing with stars

Sweet baby mine don’t cry

We are all here to make you smile

She continues to sing as Branch slowly starts falling to a peacefull slumber, but Poppy know its not over yet. She lays him back to bed makeing sure not to wake him. Once she sure his going to sleep a bit more she drags herself to her own bed try to get some rest before Branch wakes with another scream.

[kumeko]

Prompt: Brock gets shrunk to a finger size due to Hank Pym and Jack has to keep him entertained.

A/N: Written for HHdiscord, for @marveltrumpshate! I was originally planning a 3-5k fic (5 because it took so long!) but this mutated to a 7+k fic instead. I find this hilarious since the first thing I had to ask when writing this was “who’s Jack Rollins?” 

Here’s chapter 1!

…

…

…

…

There were many reasons to work for Hydra—a chance at status, the money, the ability to alter the world, the money. No, seriously, if you got high enough in the ranks, the payout was unimaginable. Unfortunately, not one of those reasons was their medical plan, substandard as it was. It was a pity, considering how often Brock’s men got injured when facing a superhero.

 Then again, maybe that was why they didn’t offer one. The overhead costs would be astronomical.

 Still, there had to be a better solution than sitting in his subordinate’s kitchen in the middle of the night, the light flickering above him because Jack didn’t remember to screw it on tight enough. Brock couldn’t say how many times he’d visited Jack’s rundown shack of a home, only that somehow it looked worse at every visit. While they weren’t getting paid the big bucks, they were certainly getting paid enough to afford better digs. For some reason, Jack liked living here; he had a rare strain of loyalty, the stupid kind that would get him killed.

 Brock just hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, it would be hard to find a competent replacement. Even more so now that the fucking Avengers were tossing everyone they could find into the slammer. A sharp sting interrupted his thoughts and he grimaced. “Watch it,” he growled, snapping his head to his right.

Next to him, holding a cotton swab dipped in alcohol, Jack raised a brow. “It’s not like it can sting less. It’s an open wound, what do you expect?”

 It was the truth. Brock glared at him anyways. “I can still hurt you.”

 Jack looked utterly unimpressed. Firmly, he pressed the cotton swab down once more, cleaning the wound. “If you can still threaten me, I guess you’re fine.”

 “Like there was any doubt,” he muttered, glancing down at his raised arm. There were three long slashes on his arm of varying depths, all reminders of what it means to go against S.H.I.E.L.D. Begrudgingly, he had to admit their field operatives weren’t bad. At least they gave him a bit of a challenge; it would be boring otherwise and he didn’t sign up for Hydra to fall asleep.

 Jack glanced at him, then back at the wound. Firmly gripping Brock’s arm, he started dabbing again. “No, you’re too good for them.”

 “Damn straight,” he bit out, resisting the urge to flinch as the swab brushed a more tender region. It was easier to deal with when he was the one patching himself, but Jack had insisted. Distracting himself, Brock scanned the kitchen, his eyes jumping from the clean plates in the dishrack to the sparse but organized counters. There was something ridiculously domestic about Jack despite his hulking frame. No doubt there was a frilly apron hidden somewhere here, and Brock chuckled darkly at the thought.

 Jack raised a brow at the sight but said nothing as he started to wrap a long, cloth bandage around his arm. He pulled tight with each round, almost enough to cut off circulation but not quite. “Maybe…”

 When he trailed off, saying nothing, Brock turned back to him. “What?”

 “Just…” Jack bowed his head, his shoulders hunched as he focused on bandaging. Hesitantly, he suggested, “Tomorrow’s mission, getting the Pym particles—maybe we should delay it.”

 It was the most asinine thing Brock had ever heard. He snorted, not sure if he should be insulted or just amused. “As if. Think Hydra would stop for something like this?”

 “Then what if you—”

 Now he was insulted. “Think I would stop for something like this?” Brock snarled, yanking his arm out of Jack’s grip. The still untied bandage started to unravel, loosening around his forearm.

 “Hey!” Jack protested, trying to snatch back the bandage.

 “Do you?” Brock repeated, keeping his arm away. With his good hand, he grabbed Jack by the collar and pulled him down till they were at eye level.

 Jack was good at many things, but eye contact was not one of them. He looked away. “No.”

 “This is nothing.” Not quite satisfied, he let go and held up his forearm once more. “Don’t be such a fucking mother hen.”

 “I’m not,” Jack shot back, tugging on the bandage harder than necessary.

 Brock wanted to laugh. For someone with Hydra, he was a poor liar. No longer insulted, he eyed his subordinate, amused. Part of him wanted to needle Jack more, to push his buttons; he’s seen Jack scared, worried, hurt, but never angry.

 At the very least, the sex would be amazing.

 Maybe he could try after the mission.

 -x-

 “This it?” Standing in front of a tall, dilapidated building, Brock frowned. The place looked like an apartment on the verge of being torn down rather than a secret hiding place of a superhero. Sure, Hank Pym was an ex-hero at this point, but that sort of stench never really washed off. The government always paid them off one way or another.

 “Yeah.” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, antsy. Dressed entirely in black, he blended in with the shadows save for his green night-goggles. The street was darker than it ought to be at midnight, the streetlights here dead so Brock didn’t have to break them. “Thought it’d be nicer.”

 “Guess it doesn’t pay to retire no matter what side you’re on.” Brock shook his head, feeling mildly disappointed.

 “Retire?” Jack gave him a look, before looking at the rest of their squad spread out around them. Half a dozen men dressed in black, tensely studying the building in front of them, ready for a fight. “That’s not even an option, is it?”

 Brock didn’t bother to answer. Jack was right—Brock couldn’t even name some of the newer guys, they’ve cycled through so many. He had no illusions about his place in Hydra—they’d use him until they couldn’t, and then they’d dispose of him the first chance they got. Unless he rose to the top or saved a good nest egg, he wasn’t going to make it past 40. 50, if he were lucky.

 Not that Brock needed luck. He made his own and in a place like Hydra, he thrived.

 Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost time to start.”

 “Have two guys come down from the top.” Brock pulled on his mask as he shifted to a commanding tone. His shoulder ached from the movement but he bit back a wince; he was here to do a job. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. He liked that about him, it was hard to find a professional sometimes. “We’ll go in through the front and pin him in.”

 “What if he shrinks?” Jack asked, pulling down his goggles and readying his gun.

 “Doesn’t matter. We’re not here for him, but for the particles.” Brock gestured to two members of his squad. They nodded and quietly slinked toward the front door. One of them stood to the side, gun cocked, while the other forced the door open.

 Nothing happened. Brock jogged forward, his gun drawn and goggles on. Scanning his surroundings, he commanded, “Catch him if you can. But I don’t mind if he’s bloody or dead.”

 The inside of the building was surprisingly clean and empty. Someone lived here, even if it wasn’t Pym. For a lobby, the area was sparsely decorated, a wide square room with a single chair on side and a board full of keys on the other. Not bothering to grab them, Brock headed to the apartment rooms. “Everyone take a floor,” he barked, already making his way to first floor rooms.

 He kicked in the first door he found and rolled in. Just like the lobby, the apartment room was empty, the walls all newly painted white. Signs of people without the people. His goggles indicated no signs of Pym, small or otherwise.

 As he exited back to the hallways, he bumped into Jack coming out from the opposite room. “Not here, unless he’s small,” Jack griped, glaring at the carpet as though Pym was hiding in its fibers.

 Maybe Pym was. As good as his equipment was, it wasn’t that good. Brock stepped more forcefully. “If he is, his fucking equipment has to be around.  If I’m chasing him a second time, he’s dead.”

 It was easy to keep up the energy as he burst into the next apartment. And then the one after that. The entire first floor was cakewalk.

 By the fifth floor, however, it was just getting tedious. Even with the fact that his team had split up, dividing and conquering the fifty-storey building, it still took time to investigate each room. The results were the same each time—no Pym, no particles, no equipment. Occasionally, the empty rooms had furniture, indications of their previous tenants, but Brock wasn’t sure if it was just a red herring or if there was some meaning in it. He wasn’t a detective, he’d leave that work for the cleanup team after.

 “The teams above are almost done,” Jack relayed to him, standing stock still as he listened to his earpiece.

 Brock shot open a door half-heartedly, tired of it all. “Fucking finally. Can’t wait to leave.”

 “After we finish this hall, we’re done.” Jack checked the room across the hall with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

 “He wasn’t here at all,” Brock grumbled, checking the last room in the hall. “Who thought he was?”

 Jack shrugged, already leading the way to the stairwell. “Dunno, one of the intelligence units.”

 “When we get back, I’m having their head.” As Brock descended down the stairs, he ground his teeth. Their steps echoed through the stairwell. “Waste of a night.”

 “Yeah. Everyone’s out now.” Jack opened the door to the first floor lobby and headed toward the front doors.

 “Your house,” Brock stated shortly, still pissed.

 Jack smiled. “I thought you didn’t like my house.”

 “I’m not breaking my bed.” Brock snorted. There was only one kind of distraction he needed after this, and it was going to be rough.

 “I don’t know why I bother to repair it,” Jack muttered, opening the glass door. He lingered at the entrance, looking back at him. “Coming?”

 “One sec.” Brock scanned the lobby one last time. Just like when he’d arrived, there was nothing here that caught his eye, no sign of the man or the particles they were after. The door closed in front of him and he sighed before following after Jack. “What an utter was—”

 As he exited the building, his body started to tingle. Brock stared at his hands as a fuzzy, glowing light enveloped him and the building. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was half-asleep and listening to Jack go to the bathroom.

 He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the glowing lights were gone but he still felt fuzzy. Maybe his arm had been poisoned yesterday. Maybe it was blood loss.

 “Brock?” Jack yelled, his voice sounding way too loud. His shadow fell on Brock, looking like it could eclipse the sun.

 “What?” As usual, Brock looked up at his subordinate. And then he craned his neck back and looked up even more.

 Fuck, Jack was always a tall man, but he was a fucking giant now.

[male-reads]

Dean Winchester: Return

Part 1

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Dean x Male!Reader Summary: Dean won’t stop until you’re back. Request: Umm, yes can I request part 2 of your recent fic...   (btw I’m not that handsome guy who quote reblogged it)

Dean was suffering. Sam could see it, Cas could see it. Hell, the whole world could. He wasn’t doing good.

You were gone.

Cas had lost count on how many times Dean had asked him if he knew what had happened. He’d never seen the markings on your arm, the patterns that had prophesised what would happen to you. Cas had visited Heaven, trying to find your family, the ones who had gone, just like you. He had thought that their souls would come to rest in Heaven.

It had shocked Cas to realise how wrong he had been.

Your family didn’t have any places in Heaven. He hadn’t wanted to tell Dean that you didn’t have a place either.

They didn’t have any idea as to where you were.

It wasn’t what you expected.

You expected something like heaven, where you could be reunited with your parents.

It really wasn’t.

It was gruelling, hard work. It was worse than being a hunter. There was no rest, no peace. No way for you to take a break. If something killed you, it wouldn’t be the end. It was weird and confusing. If you died, surely you’d go to heaven?

It was a constant cycle and it was a wonder on how you hadn’t gone insane.

Your parents didn’t recognise you. Neither did any of the family members there. All they did was fight the monsters. And you thought being a hunter had been hard. This was the worst. It was worse than Hell or Purgatory. There were no words to describe where you were. It didn’t have a name.

There was no-one else there to be with you. You hadn’t burdened Dean with the markings. Hadn’t condemned him. He needed his brother more; you couldn’t take him away from Sam.

So you had to go through with it all alone.

You hoped you wouldn’t forget Dean’s face; you were already forgetting his voice.

Dean thought he found something. After drawing the markings so many times, memorising it all, he thought he found something.

No, he had. He knew he had.

“Dean, are you sure?” Cas asked, looking over Dean’s shoulder to look at the ancient book on the table. “This is incredibly risky. If we get it wrong, we’ll blow a thousand mile radius hole in America,”

“Cas, I don’t care,” he said. Dean’s voice was rough and broken. “I … I need to find him.”

Dean knew that Cas and Sam were worried; this was worse than when he’d lost Lisa and Ben. They needed Dean back.

“Do you know the spell?” Sam asked, looking at his brother. “The letters aren’t anything I’ve ever come across. I think it’s a dead language.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean said, eyes on the book in front of him. “We have to.” Dean fell silent once more, poring over the book.

Fifteen weeks later, he had a translation.

“We need to do this tonight,” he told Cas and Sam. “We need a half moon and it has to be a minute to midnight.”

“Why a minute before?” Sam said, confused.

“To release the pixies - I don’t know! Because the book says so!”

It was evident to the others that Dean was losing it. The closer they got to the time, the more antsy Dean became.

You couldn’t count how many times you had died in this place. If it even was dying. You had been shot, stabbed and torn apart, among other things. It was tiring. Time wasn’t coherent wherever you were. It was just the constant kill-the-bad-things that surrounded you.

You knew that years had passed, yet you hadn’t aged. No-one aged once the light took them, it seemed. Your parents hadn’t, their parents hadn’t, and all the aunts and uncles, cousins and distant relatives were all the same. The age left you somewhat immortal. Able to come back after dying again and again. But it chipped away at your humanity.

If you were to hazard a guess, you’d say it had been four hundred years, give or take. It never ended and it never stopped. There were bad things in this place that needed to be stopped. They could get out, to the place you couldn’t quite remember. All you knew was that you had to stop them. It would end that old place if they were released.

It was up to your family to stop them. They needed as many as possible to stop them for the rest of time and beyond.

The markings on your arm had faded over the incoherent time. The colour had faded into something like purple bruising. You barely had time to really look at it; in this ethereal place, it was a constant fight. But with each passing day, or with each kill (because each kill was easier to count than the days that passed by), you realised yours looked different because you hadn’t come with anyone.

You were the only one alone in this godforsaken place. Every other relative had a partner or a friend. Someone who had their back. It was no wonder why you died more times than them. You were alone. You hadn’t condemned someone to your fate.

But something happened.

You didn’t really notice at first, trying to kill a nasty faceless ghost that really wanted to get free, or do a good job of mutilating you. But there was something happening behind you. Once the faceless ghost had met its end, you noticed how the ground was rumbling and it felt like the world was shaking. You looked around and saw a vaguely familiar light. It had been so long you had forgotten how it had looked.

It was weird, maybe nostalgic. You had long forgotten the words that would best describe what the light was. But it wasn’t happening like you knew it had. Although you couldn’t quite remember what had happened, you knew the light definitely didn’t come at you and engulf you.

You felt that you were flung through the air. It was icy cold and felt like it tore your skin apart. That hadn’t been the first time your skin had been removed from your body. As much as it hurt, you had grown used to it.

There was a whooping noise when you landed on the floor.

You were quick to gather your bearings. Your Gáe Bulg was raised and aimed at the three in front of you. You thought you recognised them.

“Y/N?” one of them asked. His face and voice brought back faded memories, patched and altered from years of fights. You had tried to hold on to your memories, but they had become discordant.

“I know you,” you said, frowning. You didn’t lower your Gáe Bulg. “But I forgot.”

The man’s face broke, his joy and shock fading to hurt and sadness.

“Y/N,” the angel said. For two hundred years, you had been given the sight to see angel wings. This one’s was broken and the feathers bare. “Where were you?”

“Ethereal land,” you said. You weren’t sure why you trusted this angel. “Beyond anywhere. The old myths live there.”

“Where did you get that?” the tallest of the three asked. His hair was stupidly long. “That’s a Gáe Bulg, right? Or rather, the Gáe Bulg. It’s from Irish mythology, right?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you lowered the Gáe Bulg, holding it away from them. “Where am I?”

“You’re home,” the first one said. He was crying and was refraining himself from coming near you.

You’d forgotten about the word home. Somehow, this place felt like it. And then it clicked. “You’re Dean.”

“And you came home, Y/N.”

[anorakofavalon]

Complications in Calcutta Chapter 3

Also on AO3 and FFN

Summary:

Natasha’s been sent to collect or protect the good Doctor a little earlier than intended, whichever comes first. With her luck, it’s no surprise that it’s the latter.

To evade capture and get him to SHIELD, Bruce and Natasha go on the run as the US Military pursues them and the threat of the Hulk looms like a shadow. All things considered, though, Natasha doesn’t mind too much. The Doc is pleasant company - when he’s around, that is.

Chapter 3: Tanks and Trains

Gotta get up,

Gotta get up,

Move!

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

"This one here, Banner."

"Oh, my bad." He turned around and squeezed into the carriage she nodded towards. Natasha followed after and shut the door. They were surrounded by a bountiful amount of empty seats, all paid for by SHIELD. No one would bother them.

She took one by the window on the left side of the train, and Bruce took the aisle. "Leg room," he explained.

They didn't bring much in the way of luggage. Bruce traveled light, and she wasn't expecting to be in Calcutta for more than a few hours.

It was around 8 AM, and the trip to Dhaka would be about 9 hours. Natasha was somewhat annoyed that Fury couldn't pick them up with one of those handy-dandy quinjets of his, but she understood why he didn't. They had been compromised in a big way, and Ross would be on the lookout for just about everything.

She leaned her head back into her chair and closed her eyes, only for a little. "Maybe we should invest in teleportation."

Bruce lifted his head away from his headrest and looked at her. "Huh?"

"You know, teleportation. You're here one second and then there the next. It'd make life easier." She made a little motion with her hands. It must have looked ridiculous, but she wouldn't know. Her eyes were closed.

Bruce chuckled. "Is that a proposition? I make you a, uh, teleportation machine and you don't involve me in this mess at all?"

Natasha opened her eyes and faced him. A smirk. "I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like me."

He grimaced slightly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. It's just…" He waved his hands, pointing out the distinct absence of other people. "The spy games…" A shrug.

She'd made some progress with him last night, and Natasha wasn't about to squander that by letting him think too much about what he was giving up to help them.

"It's not what you'd think, really."

"Oh? Tell me what I think Agent Romanoff."

"Well it's not nearly as exciting as you'd like to imagine. You've got the fighting and the intrigue and the dispatching of enemies, sure. That's true. We've got plenty of toys and gizmos and stuff. The hierarchies are mostly right. Bosses that clue you in on everything but tell you nothing? Check."

"It's like they've watched all the movies."

"That's right. But the movies don't tell you about this." She nodded towards the train's ceiling. "All the waiting between the fun stuff."

The narrative about spies was one that was masterfully woven by people who understood that it was more palatable to show it as it really wasn't: fast paced, exciting. If you showed the waiting and all the in-between, people would come to see something they'd much rather not - espionage is just like any other job. You work, and then you take some time off and then you work again.

Nobody wants to believe that some people betray, kill, spy, and steal with the same ease, the same bored resignation that your IT guy updates the office computers.

Bruce leaned his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes again. "So that's what it's like being a spy? A lot of waiting and a little bit of fun?"

She indulged him. "Got it in one, Doc. Your definition of fun might vary, though."

He hummed, as though actually contemplating it. Maybe he was. "So what's this? The waiting or the fun?"

She side-eyed him and a smile played on her face. The train started to move.

"Is there any particular reason you chose Calcutta, Doc?"

"It's really far."

Natasha groaned. "You're doing nothing for my curiosity, Bruce."

He shifted his position, sat up and faced her completely. One of his legs came up under an arm rest, which he tapped at with his fingers. "Well, distance was a factor. It's easier to go off the grid here, too. It's not war-torn, but there's enough room for me to help. To be… to do something nice for people."

"Where would you have gone after?"

"Who says I would have gone?"

She kept her gaze on him, amused.

He gave in. "Maybe Tokyo."

"Interesting choice."

"Not too long though, maybe just to visit. For a while."

She nodded, watched the train pass the city limits.

"Why'd you come?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well it seemed pressing."

"You could've said no."

He evaluated that statement. "I could have… but you said something about a lab?"

Natasha laughed. "Ha! Should have known I got dressed up for nothing. It was the science you wanted."

Bruce blushed a little. It was charming. "Not that I didn't appreciate the outfit, but I did miss the science."

"Didn't know you could have cravings for the Scientific Method."

His voice took a teasing tenor. "Well, it's not what you'd think, really."

She played her part. "Oh? Tell me what I think Dr. Banner."

"Well it's not nearly as boring as you'd like to imagine. You've got the paperwork and the sleepless all-nighters, sure. That's true. The snotty colleagues are there, too. Plus the lingo."

"Wow, it's like they've watched all the movies."

He smiled. "That's right. But the movies don't tell you about the excitement of making a breakthrough. The, uh, the rush of switching your perspective to approach a problem in an innovative way. The thrill of getting a project funded, of being on the vanguard of world-changing developments."

"Y'know, I think I'm starting to see some parallels between spying and science."

He snorted, and leaned back into his chair.

She had an idea, for a moment. It slipped out before she thought better of it. "I have a colleague you might like to meet."

"Is their first name Agent?"

"He wishes. Ever heard of Tony Stark?"

"Rings a bell."

"You'd get along great."

"I doubt it. I'm not very…" he smiled ruefully. "I'm not very good at getting close to people."

She nodded. The train kept moving.

"Get some rest, Doc. There's going to be plenty of sleep-less and science-y days ahead for you to exhaust yourself on."

Bruce shook his head, cast his eyes around the carriage. "Anything can happen."

"I'll keep watch."

"It's fine, I can stay up until we get there."

She touched his forearm and looked into his eyes. "Trust me, Bruce."

Natasha kept her hand there until he tore his eyes away from hers and nodded.

He removed his glasses, put them inside his shirt pocket, and soon she was alone. The train kept moving.

/-\

The train stopped in Darshana for twenty minutes. Or that was what the schedule said. It's been about twenty five.

She nudged at the sleeping scientist, whose hair was a mess of darkness on his head. He curled into himself a little in his sleep.

"Bruce, I'm going to need you to wake up now. Something's wrong."

He was up and moving faster than expected. "They're here?"

She wasn't sure, but she gave him her hypothesis. "Train's been stopped five minutes too long."

"Maybe they're over-crowded?" He didn't sound hopeful.

She guided him to the middle row of seats, made him sit. "It's awfully quiet for an over-crowded train isn't it?"

The electricity went out. Light filtered in through the windows and given that it was only about 10AM Natasha wasn't too concerned about visibility, but Bruce looked antsy.

"Alright big guy, we've got this."

He nodded, and she knew he didn't quite believe her. Oh well. She could work with that.

Natasha walked towards the window she was nearest to. The station was completely empty, and it was completely quiet.

She moved towards the carriage door in the front and found it was locked. "They're trying to draw us out."

"So what do we do?"

Natasha mulled it over. She moved towards the back door, and checked the knob. It was open. They were the last carriage, so walking through that door would lead them right out.

She turned to Bruce and her lips took an ironic form. "We wait."

She took a seat right next to Bruce in the middle row. "I'm pretty sure they cut off air conditioning so hang tight, Doc."

"Are we…." He trailed off. "So the plan is to have them come to us?"

Bruce didn't like that plan.

"Well that's half the plan."

"That's the waiting half. What's the fun half, Agent Romanoff?"

She had no clue, but she was starting to put one together.

"Oh, you know," her voice was husky, her volume low, "just spy stuff."

She tapped away at her phone while Bruce started doing some breathing exercises. "Does it work?"

He continued his exercise. "Somewhat. Are you getting back-up?"

"I'm trying, but Fury is hesitant to take on the US Armed Forces."

"Yeah? Me too."

She snorted and put away her phone. She listened. It was silent save for Bruce's breathing, and the air was perfectly still. She could hear leaves rustling just outside. And then… a click.

She turned to him. "Get ready. Follow my lead. Got it?"

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

Natasha found herself dearly wishing for her tactical suit as she pulled out her gun. She kept low, and motioned for Bruce to do the same. Anybody who looked into the train carriage would see nothing.

She kept to the middle in order to minimize visibility, but ultimately they were probably surrounded. They'd have to take a risk.

"Bruce," she said, "we're going to have to make some choices. From what I know, we're surrounded. They've locked the front carriage exit, but the back is open. They're expecting us to go through there.

"See that hatch over there?" She pointed up at the roof from between two seats. Bruce spied it faintly.

"I see it."

"That's our best option. They could still fire at us, but right now things aren't looking great anyways."

Bruce smiled. "Things never go great." He started getting up.

"Wait." She put a hand on his shoulder, watched the windows. The soldiers were getting closer. She needed them close enough that they couldn't clearly see anything that would be on the roof, but not close enough they could see through the windows of the train.

"My mission is to deliver you to Fury safely, Doc. Don't be a hero."

"No worries there, Agent Romanoff. I'm just a scientist. Ready to go?"

She looked outside one more time. "Lab-coats first."

Bruce made his way just under the hatch, keeping low to the ground until he was right under it. He jumped up and pulled it down. A small ladder unraveled and hit the floor with a muted thunk.

He began his climb up, carefully, and she moved close as well. She kept her gun up, watched the back door. She could see the soldiers approaching the train faster now, guns drawn.

"I'm up." Banner's face looked down at her from the hatch, daylight silhouetting him.

She worked her way up the rope ladder deftly, and pulled it back up as soon as she was on the roof. She closed the hatch gently, careful not to make noise.

She could hear the soldiers just beneath them, getting ready to attack the carriage. Bruce was a small ways ahead of her, crouched and waiting for her. Natasha came up next to him, careful not to touch the roof too much. The metal sizzled with heat at contact.

Natasha spoke quietly. "Watch, and do the same."

The gap to land on the next carriage wasn't that big, but she'd have to jump a little.

She didn't make much noise as she landed, and she moved forward far enough to give Bruce space to jump.

Sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes were scrunched up in the face of sunlight. He jumped across, and failed to land with as much grace as she did. That said, he did land, which counted for something.

The noise of his impact was masked by the sound of glass breaking as the soldiers tried to smoke them out. They'd be waiting a little bit.

"Let's move, Banner."

They moved across one carriage and then the next. Soon enough, sweaty and with bright red hands, they made it to the very first carriage. The soldiers were inspecting the carriage they had abandoned. Getting back on the ground was a matter of jumping off the roof, which wasn't too bad. Bruce didn't complain.

Natasha kept her gun handy and checked the conductor's cabin. Empty. She smiled a little. Thank God for small graces.

The train station was an empty field, more or less. There was a building with some soda machines, a bathroom, and a ticket stall, but that was just about it. The rest of it was long blades of grass for at least a mile, up to where the town of Darshana lay.

"I've got a plan." She entered the cabin completely, locked all the entrances as Bruce followed.

"You didn't have one before?"

"I'm going to start the train, and then we're jumping off."

Bruce's face was picture-worthy. "We're jumping off?"

"Yes."

"While it's moving."

"Actually," she said, looking over the control board, "change of plan."

"Well that's good."

"You're starting the train, and then we're jumping off."

He sighed, and started inspecting the console. "I'm turning green today, aren't I?"

She paused to look at him. "No. You're not."

He glanced at her, briefly, and started the train. Or something like that. It began moving slowly.

"Can it go any faster?"

Bruce raised his eyebrow. "It's a train."

Natasha eyed soldiers starting to run their way, even as the train picked up speed they were gaining.

One of them yelled something and bullets started whizzing past them. "What a waste of bullets."

"Don't tell them that," Bruce said. He watched the console, silently willing it to pick up speed.

Natasha palmed the hilt of her firearm. The train was picking up speed, and soon enough the soldiers couldn't quite catch up. She looked through the window into the carriage on the inside. Soldiers were approaching from inside the train. That wasn't good.

She took a position right by Bruce on the console and looked for any button that looked like a door. She found it, and clicked it experimentally. The soldiers approaching were locked three whole carriages down. The train was moving quickly now, and it would be time for them to jump soon.

"Now's the fun part, Bruce."

"I think I've decided that any parallels you've come up with between science and spying are total bullshit, Agent."

"Really? What's the difference?"

"This is more dangerous."

"And here I was thinking that experimenting with a super-serum and gamma radiation were pretty risky tasks."

"That's… that's actually a fair point."

She opened up the door on the right. Wind rushed into the cabin, going straight for her hair. And his, for that matter. "Ready?" She offered a hand.

Bruce took it. They jumped.

Everything considered, it wasn't her worst landing. Except that it probably wasn't one of Bruce's finest, and given she was holding his hand, they both shared in the pain of the landing. It wasn't terrible, since they landed on grass, but it wasn't particularly fun.

Her arm was bloody from a scrape with some pebbles, and Bruce's nice purple shirt was probably out of commission too. He was bleeding lightly from the side of his abdomen, where the shirt was ripped.

They stayed there for a little, staring up at the sky and catching up on breathing before she got up and pulled Bruce further into the grass fields. His eyes were flecked with green.

He joked anyways, "I've always wanted to do that."

She chuckled, but it was dry. She wanted some water. "Weird thing to have on your bucket list."

"Well I watched a lot of westerns as a kid, so…"

They walked on, Bruce limped ever-so-slightly. Her leg hurt too, now that she thought about it. "You're full of surprises, Doc."

He huffed as they trekked towards Darshana's town center. "I've got a really compelling reason to keep my cool."

"Yeah?"

"You promised me a nice lab."

She really did chuckle then. They began moving towards Darshana.

They reached it by noon. It took them a little longer than it would have if they followed the main road, but on account of the fact that they were trying to out-maneuver the US Army, they had to take a rough path.

Bruce got them both a water bottle, for which she was grateful. She could have used some food too, but they were a little too pressed for time to be picky about those things. Though she did manage to swipe some pastries.

The scientist munched on his. "Do we try to find a place to stay until Fury comes to get us?"

Natasha shook her head. She guided him to an alley, keeping an eye out as she ate. "We keep moving. Fury's not coming to collect us here. He's arranging for a town a few miles from here."

"So we take a bus?"

"I don't think that's quite the plan."

He considered that. "Do you think they'll find us here?"

"I'm sure they know. Right now, the guys on the train have probably figured out no one's conducting. And regardless, Ross would do a sweep of the area. They're just collecting themselves. We have to go."

He finished his pastry. "I'm ready when you are."

She pulled up a map on her phone. She'd be out of battery soon enough. "We're going to that little town over there."

Bruce nodded. It was far away, but he wasn't precious about walking long distances. That helped.

/-\

It was around six in the afternoon, and they were about fifteen minutes away from the town Fury had selected for their escape to happen. So far, nothing had gone amiss.

There wasn't much around them except for the occasional house. There were a few abandoned industrial buildings, though, and it was just as they were coming up on one right ahead that they heard the helicopters.

"Shit." Bruce said, looking up at the sky. The sun was still up, but it was mellow, beginning a quick downwards descent.

They started jogging, then running towards the abandoned structure as the helicopters approached.

It was made of cement bricks, reaching two stories tall. There was no light, or furniture. There wasn't even a concrete floor on the ground level, just dirt. Weeds managed to sparsely decorate a few nooks here and there, but plant-life still hadn't made its way inside. Mostly it was dark and humid. Banner's glasses fogged up as they scouted the place for a hiding spot in case they had been seen by the helicopters.

Rusted machinery replaced furniture, and Natasha wished they had somewhere to sit. Just for a minute, at least. She kept moving.

"Natasha," Bruce whispered, "I think we should go upstairs." His voice echoed. He was probably right, but she worried about the presence of a ceiling on the second floor. Would they be visible?

They stepped carefully towards the stairs. They definitely looked like a safety hazard, but getting rushed by a unit of soldiers was also generally considered a safety hazard, so she took it.

The steps were wooden, and creaked as she climbed them. Natasha cringed, but kept going up. Bruce followed.

It was dark, and so quiet that she could hear his clothes scrape against the wall. Finally, they reached the top. Light filtered in through the windows, windows that were just square holes in the wall. Any glass that once existed there was gone.

"I think we should stay here for a bit. Until they pass us by."

Mercifully, there was a ceiling.

Bruce nodded and sat down by a wall that wasn't covered in graffiti, just under a window. She took one opposite of him. She faced the stairs.

It was a relief to finally sit down. She offered Bruce a weak smile. It wasn't the toughest mission she's been on, not by a long shot, but walking for miles and miles without very many breaks would test anyone's patience.

Also, the shoes she was wearing wouldn't have been her first choice. She really missed her tac suit.

"And now, the waiting again." Bruce's voice was low, ironic, and pleasant. There hadn't been much speaking for most of the way. She wasn't used to being with a… target? Well, for lack of a better word, Natasha wasn't used to being with a target for this long on a mission. Even when she was partnered with Clint, there were long expanses of comfortable silence as they focused on the mission. For the most part, they could cue each other without speaking.

Banner wasn't used to talking much period, but somehow the silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable either. Maybe target wasn't quite the right word. He'd turned out to be more of a partner in this whole ordeal. Or maybe a trainee.

"Y'know, if we manage to get out of this one Doc, I think you'll officially qualify for Spy School."

He chuckled softly. "Well, I-"

Bruce was interrupted by the sound of a loudspeaker. "Dr. Banner, this is Sergeant Arnold speaking, on behalf of the Army of the United States. I'm going to ask that you exit the building with your arms raised. You're under arrest by the directive of General Ross. You have five minutes."

Bruce's eyes met her, and she caught his panic. "It's okay, we'll figure this out, Bruce. Just like last time."

He shifted onto his knees and waited for her call. She didn't need to take his pulse to know his heart rate was elevated.

She took a moment to check her phone. One percent battery. She shot off a text to Fury before it shut down on her. She clenched her jaw and got up. She moved right by the side of a window and peeked out. The Sergeant was in the front with a squad of men. Surely they couldn't have just come with a team?

Natasha checked the window on the other side and said "Shit."

"What is it?" Bruce was on his feet.

There were three tanks stationed in the back of the building. She would bet that there were two more on either side. The helicopter circled overhead. Where'd they even get tanks?

"Jesus Christ." Bruce was getting antsy.

Natasha defaulted to a joke, but she knew that wouldn't do anything for him now. "Hey Bruce, listen to me. You're going to be okay, alright? I promised you. But we should evaluate our options."

Half of her job was evaluating options. Confronted with any situation, the amount of responses she could offer were limitless. If she didn't limit them fast enough, the price was death. Sometimes it felt like an eternity in her head, weighing every scenario, even if it only took a second.

This time it didn't feel like an eternity at all. The options had been limited for them.

He nodded, rubbed his hands together. Didn't trust himself to speak. She was close to him, kept contact with his forearm. "It might be prudent to surrender and recoup."

That wasn't an offer. It was the only viable choice.

Bruce shook his head, removed her hand and started pacing. "Agent Romanoff, I don't think you understand… that's not a good idea."

The fear in his eyes, the pain, the utter terror of what he expected gave her all the explanation she needed. Natasha understood. Maybe better than anyone.

But it was still the best option. "Bruce…"

"Please."

"I don't know if we have a choice."

She thought about it. That wasn't strictly true. There was one more, but…

Bruce caught her train of thought. "If I Hulk out you'll be a casualty, Agent. He doesn't care what side anybody's on."

She said nothing, watched him decide.

"If I surrender, you'll come get me?"

"If we surrender, Doc. I don't really trust anybody else at SHIELD to break us out competently. The only guy I would trust for that is currently playing bodyguard to a blue cube. So if you go in, I go in."

The loudspeaker crackled again. "Dr. Banner, we're sending in a unit of men to arrest you. Any hostile action will result in reciprocal treatment."

Guns loaded outside.

She tried for a smile. "We'll be out in no time, okay?"

Bruce nodded, his head bowed down.

Natasha heard the stairs creak and came to stand by Bruce. She went to take his hand, but it was shaking. She looked up to his eyes again and saw green, kept under iron-clad control. Bruce's entire being rebelled at the idea of surrendering. Frankly, she was afraid for him.

If he turned into the Hulk, he would be spared experimentation. If he turned into the Hulk... she would die.

There would be no way to convince him to let go. She'd come to know that much about him over the past few days. He'd keep the rage boiling under his skin until there wasn't any skin left if it meant sparing her life.

She had half a plan and it was stupid and risky and it would get her killed. Damn Banner and his stupid eyes. She'd have to trust him in order to trick him into saving his own ass.

And if it did work, maybe she'd survive the Hulk too. If the plan didn't work… at least she was in control.

A soldier appeared, gun pointed at them.

She pulled her gun out and shot at the wall next to him.

He fired back. His aim was perfect.

"Natasha!"

She was on the ground, her gun a few feet away. In front of her was Bruce, lying in a pool of blood on the floor. A bullet hole marked his chest.

"Bruce?" Her voice cracked. For a flicker of a moment, she was afraid that he was dead. Then the screams started. It was horrifying, and the soldier who shot Banner widened his eyes, started backing away. His unit kept their heads though, and began firing at the form that started twisting from what would have been Banner's corpse.

Natasha scurried away, made herself as small as possible by a corner, away from the gunfire.

The screaming settled into a growling. The ground shook with the weight of lumbering steps.

"Back away now! Get downstairs! Somebody give the order to fire!"

Hulk roared and she felt it in her bones, her heart accelerating to match. He leapt towards the soldiers. Their bullets didn't even pierce skin.

Hulk's hand broke through the concrete wall and he snatched a soldier that was about to escape, threw him against the opposite wall. Natasha heard the crack from where she was.

The others started screaming, and the one nearest Hulk was on the receiving end of a ferocious kick. He flew right out the window and onto a tank. He didn't live either.

Hulk roared at the idiots still firing at him and jumped up. The back of his neck dented the ceiling and the floor gave out under his weight when he landed. The surrounding section of the second level collapsed.

A moment of quiet stillness. Dust decorated the air, and even the particles held perfectly still.

Then he roared again. There was firing, but not from guns. The tanks had started their assault.

Natasha watched as the armored vehicles did their very best to fend him off, but their projectiles only hindered him. His skin was a forest green, covered in blood and debris, which would have made him an easy target if he wasn't moving so damn fast. He jumped around with vigorous agility, assaulting the vehicles. He grabbed one by the gun, and lifted it up. He threw it - oh shit.

Natasha dove for the other corner as the tank came flying towards her building. She didn't have too much room to move, given that Hulk had collapsed half the floor, but it'd have to be enough. The tank crashed through the wall she had just abandoned, and right out the other. The building shook and part of the roof on the other side of the room gave in.

She heard the tank explode as it landed right in front of the Sergeant, who was quickly preparing an evacuation. He fired up his vehicle and hauled ass back to Darshana. Hulk was too busy playing with the tanks to notice him, and she didn't care enough to fire at his fleeing form.

She took the time to collect herself, and she couldn't help the laugh that came out of her. It had worked.

She laughed until there were tears in her eyes. This was one story she couldn't wait to tell Clint and Laura. Banner would hate it. And speaking of Banner… she moved to the front of the building, where there was a tank-sized chunk of bricks missing. Hulk was down there, grunting and kicking at metal.

Her heart picked up as the Hulk felt her gaze. Maybe she laughed too soon. He roared at her, and Natasha flinched a little, her hand going to her hip, when she realized her gun was gone. Probably somewhere in the rubble downstairs.

The Hulk moved closer to the building, looking up at her. She crouched down, and put her hand up. She said the first thing that came to mind. "Hey big guy."

Her voice came out lower than she hoped, but she was still a little shaken. He heard her anyways. Hulk narrowed his eyes, took a step closer to the building, then grunted. He turned around and roared.

He looked back at her one more time before grunting again, and leaping off into the distance. Natasha watched him go, letting herself sink down to the floor. Her legs dangled on the edge of the second floor. Only then did she notice the pain on her left side. One of her ribs was broken. Maybe Banner pushed her away from the bullet a little more strongly than he had meant to.

She saw Hulk's silhouette flash once more as the last remnants of the sun's light withdrew. Then he was gone, at least a mile away.

"Yeah, sure, big guy. You can go. I'll just be here. Sun's getting real low anyways."

Natasha held her abdomen as she walked downstairs. She ignored the bodies, sidestepped the debris of torn-apart tanks.

The quinjet was waiting on the outskirts of town.

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Controlling a marionette Part 1

Co-written/edited by @blog-griffin-me

Summary: Just a normal day at Septic Inc.

All Chase could see was the faint outline of the walls and the area of floor before him; illuminated by a light coming from seemingly nowhere. It was right to call this place the void. The only thing that could be heard was the erie ticking of a clock on the wall; other than that even his own heartbeat was silenced.

 Is this what it was like for Henrik all that time? Deafening silence, except the clock reminding him of the passing time. Even after only being here a few hours Chase understood why the doctor hadn’t wanted a say a word about this place, and he wasn’t in even the worst of it yet.

 There was a figure in front of him, standing in the shadows past the light. He wasn’t sure if they’d just shown up or it they’d been here the whole time.

 “Who are you? Speak!” Chase cried.

 There was more silence until a voice cut through the darkness. It didn’t sound human, more like a cheap text-to-speech robot. It only added to the creepiness.

 “Chase Brody,” they, no it said. “It’s so good to see you.”

 “What the fuck?”

 “Language.” No emotion or anything in it’s voice.

 “What are you? Do you work for Anti?”

 “Ha ha ha,” it laughed, sounding even more robotic. “Guess I played the character too well.”

 It threw something into the light. A detailed puppet, strings and all. Even though Chase had never seen the demon the others called Anti, he recognized the puppet.

 “Wh-a what?” Chase was dumbfounded.

 “I was hoping to make the doctor part of my collection, sense he needed a friend,” Another dry laugh, “but I got too wrapped up in toying with him that I didn’t notice the days passing by.”

 “You sick fuck!” He screamed loud enough that it hurt his throat.

 “Didn’t I say something about language? We ought to shut that mouth of yours.”

 For a split second he could see the light reflect off of something. A sewing needle.

 A spool of thread landed on the floor in the light and he could hear the snip of scissors.

The ticking of the clock got noticeably louder then it stopped. The sound of static filled the void and there was a loud sound similar to a whip being cracked.

 The clock bagan ticking backwards at an increased speed.

 Negative three hours, eight, ten. Days went by backards.

   T̨h̶͡ r̶ ̡͝ ̡͜ ̀ e̸̢͠e̕ ̢ ̴̡ ̨͝͝ ́ ̴҉̕d͠͏a ́͜ ̡͢ ̨ ̨̨́ y̧͞͠ş̀͢ ͢͠ear ̢̧l̀ ͠ ҉ ̕͘ie̛r ̴͜

There is an old saying, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Well it’s bullshit. Well only half-bullshit.

 Chase has been in many a long distance relationship, and he can tell you “Out of slight, out of mind,” is more fitting. That is until someone you’ve relied on for so long suddenly goes missing. Then it’s more like “I haven’t seen you in nine months and if I saw you now I’d hug you and never let go.”

 The the moment Chase was stapling missing posters to every phone pole, tree, wall, bench, and anything else he could. Three months ago the police told him it was a loss cause. Two months ago Marvin took the sign off of Henrik’s door marking it was his. Even after that Chase refused to let him move anything inside the room.

 It seems silly to have gone to the police. Everyone knew who took Henrik and the police would be no help getting him back. It was most likely a spur of the moment thing, maybe to give everyone a slight bit of hope before it came crashing down.

 The only other person who hasn’t given up hope yet was Jackie, or Greyson, his actual name. He would swoop around the city everyday searching for any sign of him. He still somehow kept a smile even when it came to delivering the news that there was no sign of him.

 It was nice though, even though Henrik’s disappearance tore everyone else apart, it seems like the two of them have gotten even closer. Guess that’s the weird thing about tragedies, sure life sucks but you still got to live it.

 He’d finished putting up the posters and was heading back home to Septic inc. when through the glass door he saw an old timey man standing around, looking a bit lost.

 “Need a hand, or a guide?” he asked, letting himself in. The man jumped and stumbled a bit.

 The stranger, most likely a new ego since no one else could enter this building, wore a white button-up shirt and a black vest over it. He also wore black dress pants and shoes and his right eye was slightly darker shade of blue than his left. He also had mint green hair and a bowler hat.

 “You new here?”

 Marvin also appeared in a the doorway, looking tried and a bit disheveled. He brightened up at the stranger.

 A black-and-white slide appeared in the stranger’s hands, reading: ���I am new. I am not sure how I got here.”

 “Cool slides. Are they magic or something?” Marvin asked, examining them closer.

 The slide changed. “Magic? I don’t know, I can just summon them without much thought. I use them to communicate.”

 “Cool, bro!” Chase winked, giving awkward finger guns.

 “You got a name or do you just wanna be Dapper man?” Marvin jokes.

 The dapper stanger looks almost offended for a split second, or maybe it was just Chase overreacting. Next second he’s smiling again and the slide says something different.

 “Jameson Jackson. Pleased to meet you!” He holds out his hand, holding the slide in his other.

 “Marvin. And this is Chase.” He tips his cap at his name.

 “Why don’t I take Jameson here on a tour. Greyson’s waiting for you on the roof,” Marvin said, grabbing the newer ego by the arm.

 “Alright, just don’t freak him out,” he replied, noticing a slight look of distress on the dapper ego’s face.

 “I won’t.” The magician gave him a sinister smile that didn’t help Chase’s paranoia.

 With that the two disappear through the doorway Marvin just appeared from, pushing the button on the elevator first.

 On the roof, standing at the edge stood a man in jeans and a bright red hoodie. The hood was down relieving a head of grass-green hair and a blue mask.

 “Grey!” he called, a grin forming on his face. The man spun around a grin also painted on his face, but weaker.

 “So I’m guessing no new news?” The man’s expression drops and he turns back towards the edge.

 Chase would step closer but he doesn’t trust himself not to tumble right over the side. It’s only a three story drop to the ground, so he could survive but who’s gonna take the chance.

 “It’s been almost ten months and still not even a ransom note or something!” He draws in a long, shaky sigh.”I’m thinking… what if An- you-know-who didn’t take him and he just left.”

 Chase felt like he was just stabbed. For a second the tumble to the ground didn’t sound so bad.

 “How could you say that! Henrik would never do that, and even if he did he would’ve told someone or left a note!” He had to stop himself from going into an angry rant.

 Greyson held his hands up in defence. “I know, I know. It was just a theory, he would’ve also taken some of his stuff as well.” He audibly gulped and wiped the sweat from his brow.

 “I’m just saying,” he continues looking down at the street, “that if you-know-who did take him, he would probably be de-” he suddenly cuts off, his eyes growing wider.

 “I know he could be dead right now but you can’t really be giving-” Greyson punches him lightly and frantically points at someone below, stuttering to get anything out.

 There on the sidewalk, marching forward like he was hired to kill ironman, was Henrik Von Schneeplestein in the flesh. From here he looked normal but they could see large purple marks peppering his skin.

 They scramble for the elevator before silently deciding the rush down the stairs. They made it to the bottom just as Henrik opened the door.

 His eyes were bloodshot, his nails and hair long and dirty, his coat torn to shreds, his glasses cracked, overall he looked close to passing out or just straight up dying on the spot, yet he still held himself up.  

 They were too stunned to speak. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point tears started spilling from Chase’s eyes.

 Greyson moved forward to hug him put he raised his arm up to stop him.

 “I’m sorry, I’d love to hug you but if I do my legs will give out or I’ll start bleeding again.” He hissed with pain just from moving his arm. It was taking a lot of energy and concentration just to keep from falling over right now.

 “It’s been nine months,” Greyson squeaked, barely a whisper. He himself felt like he was about to pass out, he’d already joined Chase in crying.

 “I’m aware.” Nine months of seemingly being tortured and he’s still a smart-ass. Chase could help giggling a bit, which soon dissolved into full on laughter.

 Greyson soon joined him and so did Henrik, but for him it turned into a coughing fit. There was blood on his hands and none of them were sure if he coughed it up or if a cut on his hand reopened.

 “There’s a new guy isn’t there?” the doctor asked.

 “How did you know about that?”

 He didn’t respond, instead he pushed pass them and stepped into the hallway. The two glanced at each other before following.

 Right as they stepped in, Marvin rounded the corner holding onto Jameson. Jameson was holding his hand over his right eye. Chase could see blood soaking through his fingers.

 “Jackie! Chase! Henrik?!!” the magician panted. “I ah- wait- I didn’t. Henrik!”

 He let go of the dapper man and stared dumbfounded.

 “Marv,” he stated quietly, his voice cracking.

 The magician swooped him into a hug without a second thought, forgetting the newer ego clearly in need of some help.

 “I umm.” He clears his throat. “I thought you were dead.” Tears ran down his face.

 “I thought I was dead to.” The doctor mumbled, barely a whisper, before he fell apart and collapsed into Marvin’s arms.

 Jameson on the other hand was looking more and more antsy. He tapped on Marvin’s shoulder and another slide appeared.  

 “Hate to break up whatever’s happening here but I have a little problem.” The slide floats as he points to his eye.

 “Oh right. Ah, Chase! Jackie! Take JJ here to the hospital wing and have Dr. Septiceye patch him up,” Marvin commanded.

 “Doctor who now?” Henrik groaned.

 “Not important right now,” he hushes, carrying him off to his room.

 As much as they want to stay with the doctor, Jackie and Chase obey and lead Jameson up stairs.

 Chase had only ever been the the hospital wing once after Henrik’s disappearance and that was just to show Dr. Jack Septiceye around. Now it looked nothing like the old E.R. Henrik ran.

 Everything had been replaced, everything that made the room homey, everything that made the room Henrik’s. The cozy pull-out couch that he would sleep in often was replaced with another hospital bed and the vintage wooden desk was replaced with a cold, metal, new one.

 Just opening the door to this place sent a shiver down the father-of-two’s spine.

 Dr. Septiceye himself was currently hunched over said desk. He was trying to look like he was doing work, but from what Chase knew about the man, he was probably doing a coloring sheet.

 Greyson cleared his throat and the “totally-real-doctor” spun around while stuffing whatever paper he was working on under a pile of other papers.

 Chase smiles half-heartedly, guestering to Jameson’s problem.

 “Ah, yes leave him over there.” He points to a hospital bed, not seeming too interested in doing his job.

  They comply. The doctor sighs before getting up and grabbing some disinfectant and bandages.

 “Can you tell me when and why your eye started bleeding?” he asks, carefully cleaning the blood off his hand and face with a small cloth.

 The dapper ego shook his head.

 “You two can leave,” he says offhandedly.

 ***

“Today's been pretty chaotic hasn’t it?” Greyson asked. The two were now sitting back on the roof, Greyson with his feet dangling over the edge of the building and Chase sitting a safe distance away.

 “It most certainly has.” He lets out a deep, tired sigh.

 “Something up?”

 “I just… feel like I should be a bit happier about Henrik returning and JJ showing up, but instead I’m just scared.”

 “Scared? How?” The hero scoots a bit closer to him.

 “Now with Henrik back you-know-who is going to try and get him back or attack JJ here and…” he trails off, putting his head in his hands.

 “I might have a solution!” Marvin said, appearing from seemingly nowhere.

 “Solution? What do you mean?” Greyson asks. The two of them now standing up.

 “Well I can’t put my idea into effect till tomorrow nor can i really explain without it sounded really bad, but with a bit of magic I can get us some help.” He twirls his finger in the air. “Of course I’ll need one of you to help me.”

 Chase and Greyson glance at each other before either of them spoke.

 “I’ll help you out. Grey’s gotta do hero work anyway.”

 Marvin clapped his hands together. “Alright, meet me at the cemetery tomorrow at eleven a.m. sharp.” With that he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

 “D-did he say the cemetery?”

 Greyson noded.

[unityghost]

Perception

Promised my readers a holiday-themed installment of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Sorry it's a little late; I, too, wound up at a Christmas party and got distracted by a dinner comprised entirely of black coffee and homemade M&M cookies.

As I've said before, this series isn't always in order. If there's a special part of the story or a request or something, I'll jump forward or back in time. This takes place just a year after Gabriel's rescue (which I always figured took place in the fall, but I'm not fastidious about the timeline).

Anyway, happy holidays and thanks for reading!

Gabriel really thought he’d been ready. But the air was thick with perfume, spices, meat, wine - and he needed to find an exit.

Mary Winchester’s friends were throwing a holiday party several miles north of the Men of Letters bunker. Just over a year had passed since Gabriel’s rescue from Hell, and he’d insisted to Sam - who had shown skepticism - that he could handle a crowd, and that he would probably enjoy seeing somewhere new. After all, Gabriel had accompanied them on a few hunts here and there and, for the most part, been fine.

Except that that was partly because his grace was now often at full strength. When Gabriel had enough of it on hand, he could shut out smells and sounds that drudged up bad memories. And while it was harder to ignore things that he could see in front of him, his grace gave him access to a clearer head and more self-control.

Yet even as his grace remained mostly steady, there were days when it fluctuated for no apparent reason. Gabriel had had moments when he would try and protect himself against things that upset him, only to find that he couldn’t. Inevitably, now and again he was compelled to eat to maintain his grace levels, or to get a few hours of rest.

After almost a thousand years of having it clawed out of him, perhaps Gabriel should have expected this quasi-gracelessness - this never knowing whether he would be at full power, or some power, or no power. But he’d been so desperate to get his grace back that he hadn’t once stopped to think that it might not be the same as it had been before.

It was exhausting. He simply wanted the random ebb and flow of grace to stop - even if it meant leaving him with no grace at all. That was better than wanting his grace and sometimes having access to it, then having it torn out of his grasp within a matter of hours.

Now, swallowed up by the crowd of strangers, he wove his way towards the door, all the while snatching glimpses of unfamiliar forms and faces. The Christmas jazz playing in the background flowed in and out of his ears - a brass rendition of Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.

It suddenly struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sung anything. He had once had a good voice, but hated to think what centuries of silence might have done to it.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel jumped and whirled around, but relaxed when he saw who it was. “Cas. What’s up?”

Castiel frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

“No - I just needed a second of the outside world, that’s all.”

“Is something wrong?”

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “My grace is acting up. I was feeling a little too warm.”

Castiel looked closely at him. “Then why are you so white?”

“Oh my god Castiel, you can’t just ask people why they’re white.”

Cas looked at him blankly.

“Ask Dean; he loves that movie. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“May I come with you?”

Taken off-guard, Gabriel considered. One he got outside, he wasn’t sure what to expect from himself: there were things he may not want Castiel to see. On the other hand, Castiel had already witnessed some of Gabriel’s darkest moments, so perhaps there was no good reason to resist.

“All right,” said Gabriel. “Let’s go.”

They pushed through the remainder of the crowd, and Castiel opened the front door so that they could step outside together. Gabriel immediately regretted leaving his coat behind - he’d brought it to the gathering because iffy grace made him sensitive to cold - but didn’t dare go back inside to retrieve it.

“May I touch you?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel cast him a quizzical glance. “Okay.”

Castiel laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Gabriel looked away. “Long night. Funky grace. Leaves me feeling kind of antsy.”

“No, I recognize the look on your face. Something’s upset you.”

Gabriel swallowed.

“Tell me,” Castiel said softly.

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Cas; I - there’s this feeling I get, this awful feeling. It screws with how I see the whole world. It makes things seem … perverted. Dark. Sick. People, places, whatever's in front of me. And it happens when I get wound up because of some stupid noise or smell or whatever. So I just … I needed to come out here and cool off.”

Castiel clutched his shoulder more firmly. “What made you feel that way just now?”

Gabriel’s stomach turned. “Don’t. Don’t make me talk about it.”

“Gabriel, if - ”

“Guys?”

They both looked up to find Sam leaning out the door, looking puzzled.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel acknowledged.

“What’re you doing out here? I saw you heading toward the door and tried to follow but, uh …” He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “One of Mom’s friends had a few too many glasses of champagne and was getting a little close for comfort.”

“Gross,” said Gabriel.

“Why are you out here?”

“Gabriel was feeling uneasy,” Cas explained before Gabriel could respond.

Sam’s face fell. “What happened?”

“I, uh …” Gabriel scratched the back of his neck. “Thought I’d clear my head. Nothing crazy.” Except me, he added silently.

Sam stepped closer, examining him. “You look like you’re going to puke.”

“I’m not. Seriously - just a few minutes and I’ll be okay. Now get back inside; Mary’s bachelorettes are waiting for you.”

“No, I think I’m having more fun out here.”

“Then Cas, go check on Dean and make sure he doesn’t need a liver transplant. At least one of you needs to be off angel-sitting duty.”

Castiel glanced between the two of them before meeting Sam’s gaze, and Gabriel recognized their unspoken agreement: He needs you, Sam, but I’m close by if you need me.

Gabriel’s insides twisted with guilt.

Castiel went back into the house and Sam, who’d had the sense to wear a coat, turned back to Gabriel. “So you weren’t up for it after all, I guess.”

“Welp,” said Gabriel, “I’m big enough to admit when I’m wrong. Normal life is beyond my league. Why’d you even listen to me in the first place? Clearly my judgment’s every bit as whacked out as I am.”

“What’s going on?”

Gabriel sighed, looking away. “My grace is wonky tonight. So I couldn’t block out all the smells and the music and the voices and I ... I started to feel sick.”

Sam nodded. “You want me to tell Dean and Cas it’s time to head out?”

“No way! Let them have their fun. Ignore me and my passive-aggressive constitution.”

“All right. How are you feeling now?”

Gabriel hesitated, and considered telling Sam that he felt better. But Sam had a frustratingly keen eye for the truth, so perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort. “Pretty bent out of shape, I guess. I … it’s that gross feeling I get where everything seems …”

“I think you’ve described it as ‘grotesque.’”

“Yeah. That.”

“Huh.” Sam thought. “You want me to ride it out with you?”

Gabriel shrugged.

“You know I don’t mind,” Sam insisted. “Especially with Lorelei in there trying to get me into the corner.”

“If you want to.” A gust of wind whipped against Gabriel’s face, speckling it with snow.

“You’re freezing,” Sam observed. “What happened to your - ”

“Inside.”

“I can go get it for you.”

Now that Sam had offered to stay, Gabriel squirmed at the notion of being left on his own again. “No. Don’t. I have a nice cozy sweater.”

“A sweater and limited grace.” Sam shrugged off his own jacket and offered it to Gabriel.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a martyr. The last thing I need on my conscience is a Samsicle.”

“Take it,” Sam insisted. “Even at full stock you haven’t gained enough weight to keep you warm. I have three times the insulation you do. Here.”

“You’re annoying,” Gabriel replied, but accepted the coat and slipped it on. It was like being draped in a duvet. “Good, this’ll bulk me up a solid ten pounds.”

“Gabriel,” said Sam, “Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Obviously because you were busy getting it on with Lorelei.”

“I’m serious; what made you decide to run out into the cold by yourself?”

Gabriel shifted his feet on the damp driveway. “I don’t know. I guess … I guess I started to panic a little. For a second there I thought I would vomit on some innocent partygoer. And I’m not interested in looking like the town drunk.”

“What about now?”

“Now? I just feel stupid.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know, Sigmund. Just overall pretty disgusting.”

“It’ll pass.” Sam tried to sound reassuring, but Gabriel could hear the concern underneath.

“I could feel it coming on all night,” Gabriel admitted, lowering his gaze to his feet. “But I was hoping it’d wear off once I got used to being here.” He shivered, huddled inside Sam’s jacket, trying to quell the nausea raking at his throat. “I really thought I was on my way out of this. And my grace … sometimes it fluctuates by the hour.”

“I know. Give it some time. I’m sure it’ll get back to normal sooner or later.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully in less than another eight and a half centuries.”

“Your grace is stronger than that.”

“Maybe. Used to be, anyway.” Gabriel looked up, watching the snow swirl down more heavily. It made him dizzy. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Gabriel’s voice trembled. “It’s not letting up. I feel …”

Sam reached out and touched his shoulder. “Is it something particular or you can’t really figure it out?”

“They were about to have a whole feast in there. The meat, it’s … you know.”

“Right. I remember.”

One of the lowest points of recovery, at least in Gabriel’s mind, had been set off by the powerful odor of Dean’s lamb recipe. Gabriel’s response was to lose awareness of his surroundings so that Sam practically had to drag him out of the kitchen. Secure in Sam’s bedroom, Gabriel had admitted to confessing in detail how Asmodeus had torn out his viscera and forced it down his throat. Once the truth was in the open, Gabriel lapsed into a fit of panic. The only good to come out of that episode had been an increased faith in Sam’s willingness to deal with Gabriel at his worst.

“And,” Gabriel went on, still avoiding eye contact, “There was perfume all over the place, and body heat, and … I just couldn’t stay in there.”

Sam creased his brow. “Perfume bothers you?”

“Hell has a robust inventory of succubi. And they smell like rose gardens until it comes time to rip their victims open and you can just about tastethe shredded organs in the air.” He struggled to get a full breath. “Being surrounded by all those people I didn’t know … everyone close enough to touch … the music …” He grimaced. “I don’t know what it was about the music. Reminded me of better days and somehow made everything worse at the same time. So all of that and now I feel like I’m not here.”

“No, hey, you’re okay.” Sam spoke gently. “Nothing is going to hurt you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “That was too much.”

“Yeah, I know, but we’re outside now.”

“It isn’t going away on its own; it - sometimes it last for hours. I can’t do that tonight. I can’t. Not again.” Gabriel opened his eyes and hugged himself, a protective reflex that still refused to die even after all this time.

“Then let me help,” Sam answered. “What can I do to keep you from getting caught up in that feeling, Gabriel? Here - ” Sam reached down and took Gabriel’s hand. “That feels safe, right? It doesn’t feel like that messed-up world you see around you, does it?”

Gabriel looked down at their hands. His was small and pale. “No.”

“Good. So. I want you to focus on that, all right? Just hold on. You’ll get both feet in the present, I promise.”

Gabriel nodded.

“And if you don’t think you can do anything about it, that’s okay too. All right? No one’s mad. No one’s going to be angry if you have a little trouble keeping it together.”

“Okay.”

There were a few moments of quiet. Then Gabriel said, “I feel sick.”

“You haven’t had anything to eat over the last few days. Your grace was fine, right?”

Gabriel shook his head, suddenly feeling panicked. “Yeah, well, now it isn’t. And I think I have to throw up. Crap Sam, I’m sorry - ”

“No, no, hey, we’ve talked about that. It’s all right.”

Gabriel let go of Sam’s hand to bend double over the snowy pavement. “You’re supposed to be inside enjoying yourself. And I - ”

“Calm down,” Sam placed a hand on Gabriel’s back. “Just calm down.”

Gabriel spat onto the pavement, trembling. Once he began gagging he found that Sam was right: there was nothing in his stomach except bile. Once he got that out, he retched over and over, bringing up nothing; and yet his body was desperate for release, for proof that some part of him was not locked in place.

“Easy, Gabe,” Sam said softly.

Gabriel heaved again, then grated out, “Sorry. Gross and pointless.”

“Don’t talk about Dean that way.”

Gabriel didn’t smile. “That hurt like a bitch.”

“Because you had nothing to throw up.”

“In that case I shouldn’t have been sick to my stomach in the first place.” Tremulously, he straightened back up. “But I guess psychosis doesn’t play fair, does it?”

“You’re not psychotic, Gabriel. It makes sense that you’d get scared by something that’s indicated a real threat before.”

“Sam, I - ” Gabriel huddled deeper inside Sam’s coat, trying to keep warm but also making a vague attempt to hide. “Sometimes I think - I think I’m borderline hallucinating.”

Sam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Like …” Gabriel tried to figure out just how he wanted to explain. “Like sometimes I think he’s in the room with me. Feels like he’s standing there. My skin crawls, Sam. As if he’s breathing down my neck.” He shook his head. “But of course it’s always just my mind playing filthy tricks.”

“Gabriel, that still doesn’t sound anywhere near psychotic. You’re just on edge all the time because you weren’t allowed to let your guard down when you were with Asmodeus. It’ll go away. I used to get that too - Lucifer standing right next to me.”

But Sam looked uncertain, and Gabriel knew what he was thinking: things were different now, because eventually Lucifer really was at his side.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel went on, trying not to think about how Asmodeus, too, could come back to him. “Maybe it’ll stop someday. Maybe my grace’ll return. Maybe Castiel will learn how to play Cards Against Humanity without trying to be logical instead of hilarious. Who cares anymore, Sam? You guys - you’re lucky. Lucky you have such short lives. Must make things a hell of a lot easier.”

There was a long silence, broken only by a harsh gust of wind and a burst of laughter from inside the house.

“Whoops,” said Gabriel.

Sam took a deep, slow breath, then exhaled a silvery cloud of air.

“What can I say to deflect a diatribe?” asked Gabriel.

Sam didn’t reply, and Gabriel couldn’t read his expression.

“Maybe you should go back in,” Gabriel suggested.

But instead, Sam spoke. His voice was low, almost foreboding. “I thought you’d moved on from that. But I guess you just haven’t brought it up.”

Gabriel stiffened. “Well, it doesn’t exactly make for uplifting conversation.”

“And how many of our conversations qualify as ‘uplifting’?”

Gabriel shrugged. “You take a very zen approach to most things. ‘You’ll get better.’ ‘Nothing is permanent.’ ‘Be patient with yourself.’ So I’m pretty sure you go for uplifting. But me? I’m hopeless, Sam. We both know that; I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it until one of us dies.”

“Gabriel, you just have to wait for your grace to - ”

“Even if my grace levels even out, there’s no guarantee that the rest of this won’t last forever. And you, your brother, your mom - every one of you has a definite end. For me, the only surefire stopping point is an archangel blade where it hurts.”

Sam’s eyes brightened with terror. “I can’t have you thinking that way.”

“Me neither.” The calmness of Gabriel’s voice surprised even him. “That’s the problem. It’s torture, Sam. Sometimes I think I’m no better off without Asmodeus than with him. The only difference is at least when I was down there, I got what I deserved. But pulling the emergency brakes would be a double win: I get what’s coming to me, and after that I don’t even have to think about it.”

Reflexively, because he didn’t want to watch Sam’s reaction, Gabriel turned away and stared into the snowfall, letting his eyes trace the patterns of individual flakes as they fell to the ground.

As a full minute went by without a response, Gabriel realized that Sam must be furious. In the past, Sam had reacted with rage to such words.

Gabriel’s heartbeat picked up, and he felt dangerously close to another round of dry-heaving. Was it really a good idea to stay facing away from Sam? Should Gabriel even try to defend himself? After all, what was the point of protection when his behavior - his entire existence - warranted every moment of whatever was coming next?

Gabriel whimpered, body tight with anticipation.

But when nothing happened, when the silence stretched on, he slowly turned around.

“Sam!” Gabriel was so startled that he forgot to be afraid. “Sam, what the hell?”

Sam didn’t say anything, just stood still and watched Gabriel through eyes flooded with tears.

Gabriel stared in horror. “Sam?”

“What am I supposed to expect from you, Gabriel?” Sam’s voice was strangled. “Am I just supposed to start bracing myself for a dead body every time I step into your room?”

Gabriel shrunk away. “I guess not as long as you keep the blade locked somewhere I can’t find it.”

Sam snorted. “Oh yeah? Sure sounds like you’re determined to find it one way or another.”

“I’m not! I just …”

When Gabriel didn’t continue, Sam’s gaze hardened. “You just what?”

Gabriel felt a sudden urge to dart away from Sam, into the liberty of darkness; into a gaping, unfamiliar space; into dangers he knew should have already been thrown in his path; into a broad, cold world in which he would never have to make anyone look at him ever again. “I just … sort of keep my eyes open for it.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “You don’t need me to tell you that it amounts to the same thing! Besides, Gabriel - where’s the line? When does ‘I just keep my eyes open’ become ‘sometimes I move things out of the way to see if the blade’s there’? You’re not going to realize when this changes into something you can't stop. And I won’t see it until it’s too late because you won’t let me! You know what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen is you’re going to let this grow and grow until one day you look at it and realize it’s not the ‘maybe’ that you used to play around with.”

Gabriel took a step back, terrified by the light in Sam’s eyes. “Sam, you’re wrong; it’s not the same thing. This - this is a more, ah ... casual approach.”

“Well then how about no approach, Gabriel? What do you expect me to do with this? Am I gonna have to put you on lockdown just to make sure you don’t throw a whole year of work down the toilet?”

Gabriel gave a choked cry. “No, don’t lock me up. Don’t. Don’t do that, please. You haven’t wasted your time, Sam; I promise you haven’t - I’m still working on - ”

“It’s not my time, Gabriel; it’s yours! You gave just as much as I did and I know you know that! Somewhere in you, some part of you that Asmodeus never touched, you know that!”

From within the house, the Christmas music grew louder. God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.

Gabriel lowered his head and clutched his hair in both fists.

“Gabriel, say something!” Sam snapped. “Or I’m taking you back to the bunker now whether you want me to or not!”

“Sam, stop,” Gabriel whimpered.

“Then tell me what you expect me to do with what you just told me!”

Gabriel tightened his grip. “No, stop! Sam, I believe you!”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! I have no reason not to trust you on this! You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you!” His breathing quickened and he could feel tears forming in his own eyes as he made a frantic attempt to deflect Sam’s rage. “I’m sorry I don’t trust you. That’s on me. Because I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t trust anyone; I can’t. But if you think Asmodeus didn’t totally demolish me, maybe - maybe you’re right; I don’t know.” He let out a sob. “I’m trying, Sam! I’m really trying!”

Sam shook his head. “If you’re trying, how can you still be on the hunt for the blade?”

“I’m trying not to be!”

“Then why haven’t you told me what’s going through your head?”

“Because I keep hoping it’ll go away!” Gabriel began to cry more forcefully, still clutching his hair. “I’m sorry, Sam! I’m not expecting you to fix what’s wrong with me, but I’m not ready for you to change your mind. I know, I know, Sam, that I have no right to make you into the difference between me trying and me giving up, but - ” Gabriel let his hands slide from his hair to cover his face. “But you are.”

He felt Sam studying him from a few feet away. It was like being stripped, not quite in the way Asmodeus had done it but more as though someone were searching him for a bruise or infection.

“Gabriel.”

This time, when Gabriel looked into Sam’s face, he saw more resolve - more of the firm conviction that Gabriel could and would escape the worst possible damage.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sam’s voice was quiet and gentle now. “So I guess neither are you.”

Gabriel thought of all the reasons Sam would choose not to stay and help - thought of all the blunders that might lead to the same penalties inflicted every time Asmodeus spotted the wrong movement, heard the wrong turn of phrase, spotted the wrong place to stand or sit or lie down; thought of how Sam was standing in a sweater, snowflakes gathering in his hair, while Gabriel had not earned the privilege of warmth.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. “I just don’t want you to do anything to yourself. I don’t want you to hide from me, Gabriel. Because the longer you stow it away like this, the bigger it’s going to get. The harder it’ll be to move past it. So I’m not going to punish you if you let me know you’re feeling like you might do something serious, okay? I won’t. But you have to give someone a heads up. Even if you don’t want to.” He paused. “Especially if you don’t want to.”

Gabriel lowered his face again, letting the tears freeze against his cheeks.

“It’s cold,” Sam pointed out.

Immediately, Gabriel started to wriggle of out Sam’s coat.

Sam grabbed his wrist. “I’m fine. I just noticed that you were shivering.”

Gabriel shook his head. “That’s not why.”

“Oh. Got it. Okay, let me help.”

Gabriel didn’t try to fight when Sam pulled him into a hard, warm grip. It was strange to feel the snow at his back and the gentle beat of Sam’s heart against his ear. He trembled, letting the fear and the shame envelop him and no longer trying to force down the sense that he was still with Asmodeus.

As though reading his mind, Sam said, “You’re right here. I’m right here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Gabriel sucked in a jerky breath. “Takes - takes just a little Christmas cheer and suddenly I’m a basket case with no eggs in my basket.”

“Hey, I think you’ve still got one or two.”

“No thanks to me.”

Sam squeezed tighter.

“Flaky grace,” Gabriel murmured. “It’s a bitch.”

“It’ll get back to normal.”

“But how long am I going to have to wait?”

“I guess there’s no telling. Just let it go at its own pace.” Sam made to pull away, but Gabriel held on.

“Don’t,” Gabriel moaned. “Don’t do that.”

“Okay.” Sam pulled him close again. “Okay, sorry. I’m right here.”

Gabriel shut his eyes again. He could have fallen asleep standing up. This, being held like this, might be the only way to stop the nightmares.

“I hate being so freakin’ scared,” Gabriel said thickly. “It’s like a house of horrors. I wish I could describe it better, but I don’t know how to explain what a bad dream feels like. No control. No escape. This riles me up in a way nothing else can.”

“Ssh, it’s okay. Just let yourself breathe. Let it wear off.”

Gabriel turned his head so that his face was buried in Sam’s chest. He was long past caring about humiliating himself. “I can’t take this. I need it to stop.”

“I know,” Sam said softly. “I know, Gabriel. Let’s wait for it to quiet down together.”

“I think I’m going to start throwing up again.”

“No you’re not. Hold onto me, okay? Just focus on that. Block out everything else and just try to feel safe.”

Before Gabriel could reply, the door opened once more and Castiel stepped outside. “Sam, is everything all right?”

“We’re okay,” Sam said.

“How is he?”

“Taking a breather.”

“Does he need to lie down?”

Gabriel jerked his head up. “No.” He didn’t want to go inside.

Castiel looked him up and down, then nodded. “It’s late. Gabriel, if your grace is low, you must be tired. Let’s go back to the bunker.”

“That’s true,” Sam muttered to Gabriel. “It’s at least ten o’ clock and it takes three hours to get home even when it’s not snowing.”

“All right.” Gabriel’s voice was hoarse.

This time, when Sam released him, Gabriel didn’t try to hold on.

“You’re with us, right?” Sam asked under his breath. “You’re here?”

“Mostly.”

Sam turned to Castiel. “How far gone is my brother? I’m going to to stay in the back with Gabriel, so you’ll have to drive if Dean can’t.”

“Dean doesn’t want anyone else at the wheel even in the best of circumstances. The second he saw the snow, he decided it was better to refrain from overindulgence.”

“You ever want to see Dean exercise self-control, just threaten him with his car.”

“I’ll find him. Wait here.”

Once Castiel had gone back in, Gabriel collapsed against Sam again.

“Hey,” said Sam, surprised, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Sam,” Gabriel replied. “I’m just sorry I thought I could do this. I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s okay. You tried.”

“I took you away from all the fun.”

“You took me away from a swarm of people I’ve never met and who I’ll probably never see again. The only time I’d do that voluntarily is if I were on a case. And besides, you know I want to help you.”

“I know.”

“Do you actually?”

“I’m not sure. But like I said, I’m trying.”

There were a few moments of silence, and only as the door re-opened to usher Dean and Castiel back into the snowy darkness did Sam answer, “I believe you.”

[feroluce]

TatST - Ch 1: Secrets

For Day 1: Secrets of Ritshou Summer Week by @shouritshou! Please enjoy the first chapter of Together at the Same Time!

Warnings: Major character death, violence, injuries, blood, concussions

Shou is acting weird. Like, weird even for Shou.

Ritsu wakes up to the smell of meat cooking in his nose. 

He fumbles for his phone, something that's become the first part of his daily routine since he convinced his parents to get it for him last year. A quiet chime plays as it unlocks, Ritsu sleepily rubbing at his eyes until his ceiling looks less blurred. He can already see out his glass door that it's going to storm later...maybe he'll just stay in bed for a while longer. He can still smell breakfast cooking and it's making his stomach growl, but he doesn't want to leave his warm bed yet. Ritsu pulls the blankets up to his ears as he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore the little pang in his heart when there are no new messages from Shou. Because really, it shouldn't be that much of a let down. He's probably not even awake yet. Shou tends to stay up late and sleep in late, doubly so on weekends. So it's completely normal to not have a new message and he shouldn't be so disappointed. Ritsu's phone signals a new text message and he snatches it up to check his notifications in record time. Dammit. Damn Shou and his handsome face and his cute freckles and the new pang in Ritsu's heart that is the exact opposite of disappointment but just as unwelcome and painful. Shou: We're going somewhere today! I'll come pick you up! Shou: And don't skip bfast it's bad for you The first one isn't unusual. Shou is restless and he is always finding something to do. The second text, though, is...oddly specific. Ritsu widens out his psychic senses just to make sure Shou isn't hiding somewhere with his invisibility (which also isn't unusual). He can't Feel Shou sneaking around anywhere, although that doesn't always mean anything. His ability to hide his presence rivals Shigeo's and supposedly Reigen's.

Reinvigorated with the promise of an adventure, Ritsu rolls himself out of bed and drags his feet across the carpet. He wonders if he should bother to bring an umbrella or not. It might just be in the way.

Shou: Don't bring your umbrella btw you'll just lose it

Shou: And wear shoes without laces

Ritsu sticks his head into Shigeo's room on his way by, just to make sure Momozou hadn't come by to visit without him knowing. There's only one futon on the floor, though, with one head of black hair poking out. Telepathy and invisibility make for a horrifying stealth combo.

Me: Why are you being so specific.

Shou: Just a feeling

Shou: Don't worry about it

Ritsu is torn between not worrying about it and knowing better until he walks in on Shou in the middle of picking his outside door’s lock.

“Ricchan! Lemme in, we're going somewhere today and we need to get going!” Shou looks up at him from where he's kneeling and his stupid grin is so bright that Ritsu wonders for a moment if the storm clouds cleared up. And he considers it, he really does…

“Why should I?” But sometimes Ritsu feels like being difficult.

“C'mon, I came all the way out here! Don't be a dick.”

“Impossible. I'm always a dick.”

Shou snorts at him. The sound doesn't carry through the glass, but Ritsu knows the face he makes when he does it. “Yeah, well, y’are whatcha eat, I guess.”

Ritsu pulls the curtain shut.

The indignant “Awww, c’mon, it was funny,” is muffled by the thick fabric. Ritsu had just recently reset that lock, he reasons he has at least a couple minutes before Shou gets it figured out. He's just barely finished stepping into his shoes, though, when the door slides open and Shou breezes in, bringing in the smell of rain. He's getting too good at that.

"So where exactly are we going?" Ritsu always asks when Shou just shows up to whisk him away like this, but he had stopped caring about an actual answer over a year ago. Shou can make even mundane, boring things exciting. He could say they were just going to the corner store and it would still be fun. So it doesn't matter what the answer is, because Ritsu will follow along regardless.

"Places." Ritsu side steps to make room for the eventual circuit that Shou will make through his room. Even though they see each other almost every day now, Shou always walks by his bookshelf to look at the framed pictures sitting there. Or maybe he just scans the book spines, trying to figure out which one might be Ritsu's journal. "I found some pretty cool abandoned stuff past Mud Boat Mountain. Like they just half bulldozed some tourist places and then left them!" Shou stops in front of Ritsu's desk, leaning back against it with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He doesn't pace, doesn’t play with any of the pens on Ritsu's desk, doesn’t even look at the shelves.

The sudden break in routine is more than enough to remind Ritsu of the strange text messages from that morning. 

Shou is acting weird. Like, weird even for Shou.

And he only realizes it more and more as Shou babbles about whatever he's found out in the mountain ranges. There's something off about his rhythm, about the way the words roll off his tongue. And Ritsu isn't sure of exactly what it is, but he can pick out that it's wrong. It maybe wouldn't be wrong coming from anyone else, but it's wrong for Shou and at least to Ritsu, Shou isn't just anyone else, he's Shou.

And Shou does eventually move, but it's only to steal a jacket out of the closet. The one that's changed hands so many times between the two of them that Ritsu can't even remember who it belonged to first.

Something like unease settles into Ritsu's gut, twisting up his insides.

It only gets worse from there. When they both leave the house, Shou keeps finishing Ritsu's sentences or answering questions before he's even done asking them. And this isn't unheard of, Shou can read Ritsu like an open book after so much time, but it's never been to this extent. Part of it makes Ritsu nervous simply because it's something new with no obvious explanation, but the other part worries that this means Ritsu is just that obvious. How much as Shou figured out about him recently? Does he know about Ritsu's Secret and that's why he's acting strange? Does Shou know that he likes him? "Yo, Earth to Ritsu!" Right. The convenience store. Snacks for on the way. It's not until they're back on the route to Mud Boat that Ritsu realizes he hadn't grabbed the salt water taffy he always brings home with him. He really is preoccupied. "Hey...Shou, hold on, I forgot Nii-san's candy." "Eh? Isn't he gone for the weekend, anyway?" Ritsu has just opened his mouth to answer that no, where did Shou even get that idea, when his phone trills in his pocket. Shige: I'll be gone when you get home. Shishou needed help and Serizawa is still out of town. Be back Monday. Ritsu's blood chills, bits of it clogging up his brain and trapping his thoughts in a clotted-off loop. Something is wrong. Something is really, really, wrong.

"Shou... Shou, how did you-?" "Peach ring?" When he looks up from his phone, Shou is suddenly a lot closer, holding a piece of candy up to his face. His eyes have gone from warm to overbearing, something that burns so hot and bright the flame has gone blue. Ritsu knows when he's being told not to ask. He opens his mouth again only to bite the peach ring out of Shou's fingers. ○●●○●●○ Now that he knows Shou is keeping Secrets, too, Ritsu goes on high alert, his feeling of everything being off-kilter only multiplied from before. "And so then- Then I told this guy that if he didn't speak- If he didn't start talking, I was really gonna light a fire under him-" "Shou, oh my god." It's a little hard to concentrate on that, though, when Shou is holding his hand because touching makes it easier to keep them both invisible. This didn't used to rile him up nearly as much as it does now. His only comfort is the fact that Shou can't see him, either. When the bus finally pulls up to the last stop at the base of the mountain, they both drop down to the ground without breaking hold, Shou kicking against the window and cackling when the people inside startle. Ritsu wonders if Reigen is going to get a call on Monday about evil spirits riding on top of public transport and messing with the passengers. The bus pulls away and Shou drops the invisibility and Ritsu drops their hands and turns before Shou can notice if his face is as unbearably red as it feels.

"...C'mon, it's not too much farther now." Ritsu is pretty sure he's just imagining the disappointed tone in his voice. Shou guides him up the mountain side, occasionally grabbing his sleeve to stop him from taking specific paths because trust me, Ritsu, you'll just give yourself a concussion like a dumbass. Ritsu bites his tongue and doesn't argue against it. When they float up the last bit of cliffside, they're greeted by a few run down old buildings, sides caved in and toppled by time and creeping vines. Their walls spill out like entrails, littering the ground with wood and glittering broken glass. "Pretty cool, eh?" Ritsu has to admit, it is pretty cool. They both walk forwards and it takes Ritsu a moment to place why the act itself is so weird. He's grown familiar with the sight of Shou's back, he could redraw the freckles on the nape of his neck almost as well as he could the ones on his face. Because Shou is always leading and Ritsu is always content to follow wherever Shou might lead him. But now Shou is all but glued to his side, shorter legs working to keep pace. He's keeping him close, keeping an eye on him, and Ritsu doesn't know what to think about that. And the longer they go on exploring their new discovery, the more antsy Shou seems to get. He's always energetic, always doing something, but it's never with this uncharacteristically nervous or paranoid feel to it. Shou keeps checking the time on his phone, he turns towards any sound that he can't immediately see the source of. His nerves are fraying like old rope. "Ritsu." He startles, because Shou hadn't said anything in a while and his jumpiness is starting to rub off on him. "Be quiet a sec. Don't move." They both go perfectly still until Shou's head whips towards the ceiling. Ritsu's eyes follow and then he can hear it, too, creaking along the old rubble. Footsteps. "Ok..." Shou's voice drops to a whisper. "Ritsu, put up a barrier. Thick as you can. On my mark. Three..." Ritsu tenses up, aura manifesting around them both in refractile bluepurplepink. "Two..." Shou drops his stance, reaching out and grabbing Ritsu to pull him closer until his concentration nearly stutters. "One!!" Ritsu's barrier balloons around them and too many things happen all at once for him to keep track of them all. Something drops in from the ceiling and something else swings in from the window and- Shou suddenly has Ritsu behind him backed in a corner and the desk near them flies open and stuff comes pouring out the drawers- And the entire desk goes hurtling across the room and someone screams and glass shatters and wood splinters- Something collides with his barrier and it pops like a bubble and then- And then Shou is being ripped screaming out of his hands- And suddenly there's a fist in his face and it isn't Shou’s because Ritsu knows what Shou’s fists look like, especially when they're right in his face, and this one isn't Shou's- Ritsu is dragged out and away through a hole in the wall and halfway through the woods all at once before he can get his bearings, but he lashes out as soon as he does. Practiced weak spots, eyes, nose, throat, solar plexus, hands wreathed with aura and one fist shoved up under the ribs before both hammer down onto the back of the person's bowed head. Ritsu sends them flying, maybe into a tree, maybe over a fucking cliff, he doesn't care, it doesn't matter as long as they're not in the way because he needs to get back to Shou. He races back to the old building and Shou is standing close to where they'd been before, visible through a massive hole blown in the wall of the second floor, Ritsu isn't even sure it was there before, but oh thank god he's still standing and he's alright. Shou pulls the hood of their jacket up one-handed right before he sways backwards and plummets. It's such a short fall that Ritsu only barely manages to grab him with telekinesis right before he crashes into all the debris below and that in itself scares him even more, because Shou doesn't even try to catch himself, he just falls and he's completely limp as he dangles in the air. Ritsu eases him down as gently as he can, but he can feel his heartbeat in his ears and it's making his control shaky. It isn't until he has him laying flat on the ground that Shou's eyes peer open again. "Shou! What happened, did you get hit? Are you bleeding? Where does it hurt? Is your head alright?" And Shou just blinks up at him like he's trying to recalibrate, turquoise irises rolling like compass needles until they realign with their true north and settle on Ritsu's face. "Ritsu...you did it. I knew you'd pull through on your end." When he smiles, his teeth are stained pink. "They have a bad habit of...of underestimating you." Shou's arm comes up and pats his cheek, but it's only the left one. His right stays crooked on the ground. Ritsu's eyes catch on the red starting to pool under his back, under his head, and the sight tangles in the spokes of his brain until the wheels grind. "Don't." Shou's hand, the only good one left, grabs Ritsu's wrist before he can reach the zipper to get a look at where the jacket is soaked to his skin. "Ritsu, just...just trust me. Don't." He doesn't stop Ritsu from calling an ambulance at least, even though he's starting to fear there's no point in it. Shou's teeth are starting to chatter and Ritsu's heart and lungs are starting to spasm and he's bleeding out all over the ground and- "Listen to me. L-Listen. Ritsu." Shou stops to grit his teeth and spit blood. "Ricchan. It's all...everything's gonna be ok. I can do this. I'll do...I'll get i-it right next time. I was so close this time. Ricchan, it's gonna be ok." "...You knew." Shou had been acting weird all day long. Like he already knew everything that would happen. "Shou, you asshole, you were keeping Secrets, you knew, and you still- You still...!" "Which is why...I know that everything's gonna...gonna be ok." Ritsu finally makes himself look Shou in the eye. He still looks dazed, his pupils mismatched in size. Concussion. "C'mere. My head is...it hurts. I...pillow." Ritsu manages to get Shou's head on his lap, desperately trying to ignore the sticky wetness seeping into his jeans. He figures it's the least he can do. "Ricchan. Tell me-e-e...tell me a, uh, a story." "You seriously want...?" "Mm. Tell me...haha, tell me about the time...about when Kamuro and, and Tokugawa tried to...catch Momozou ditching." "I...Shou, you already know that story. You were there for some of it." "I know... It's, uh...a good memory. I love...like the way you, you tell it." Shou settles in while Ritsu recites something from back in middle school, Kamuro and Tokugawa deciding tardiness was their new target and Momozou was the worst in Salt Mid. "So Shinji is still hanging halfway out the window and... Shou. Sh-Shou, stay awake." "Mm." He doesn't open his eyes again. "Keep...going. Still listening..." Ritsu closes his eyes, too, because that way he can almost pretend this is just another night where one of them had a nightmare and went crawling into the other's bed and he doesn't have to watch his vision swim. "And...and Hikaru is trying to, to pull them both back in, but Momozou is so d-damn big and heavy that...th-that..." Ritsu squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He's not sure he wants to see.

"Shou...?" Nothing answers him but his own hiccuping breaths. "Shou, c'mon, you shouldn't...you're not supposed to sleep with a concussion. You can't..." He can't do this to him is what he wants to say, but he already knows it's pointless because there's no one there to hear it, because Shou is a fucking liar and he had said that everything was gonna be ok and Ritsu didn't even get to tell him his own Secret and nothing about this is even remotely ok. One hand clenches in the sleeve of their shared jacket and the other clamps over his eyes until it makes kaleidoscope patterns on the inside of his eyelids. He and Shou weren't supposed to be separated, they did everything together, they were a pair, he doesn’t want to imagine having to look forward and not seeing Shou's back like always because Ritsu is the only one he trusts to watch his back. They weren't ever supposed to be apart. Something bright burns beyond his eyelids and it's the only reason Ritsu peeks out between his fingers. Orange, yellow, and pink, an aura he knows almost as well as his own, but now in the shape of a person. Two wide white eyes slowly open across its face, meeting his gaze head on. Shou's ghost is sitting in front of him, staring at him. Ritsu watches, partly mesmerized and partly horrified, as he cups his hands together and something builds there, crackling with energy. Shou's eyes crinkle up like they do when he smiles and suddenly everything starts to pull. Nothing looks like it's moving, but Ritsu can feel it, like he's being sucked in, like his very soul is being forced out of him through a straw. Everything is compressed, crushed, crumbled down to crumbs as it's drawn into the tiny black hole held carefully in Shou's cupped hands. He can feel the world condensing into a single point, the preparation for a new universe because the best thing about this one was dead and gone. And Ritsu swears, just at the last possible second before the big bang, that he feels Shou's heart jolt beneath his fingertips.

[ohmytheon]

title: someone to ride the river with

summary:  While on a mission where she has been relegated to a back up position, Jyn gets distracted by her own emotions and finds herself in a bad situation. She's always had to fight her own battles and Cassian's done things by himself for so long; it's both new and a relief to find that they aren't alone anymore.

notes: So, funny story, this was supposed to be a fluffy and humorous fic about Jyn being jealous over Cassian while on a mission since I wrote a fic about Cassian being jealous. And then...this happened. Uh, it turned into more of an intense and angst fest instead. I literally wrote the first half with the former in mind, then came back to write it after five chapters of the Miss Congeniality AU and it changed into that. Sometimes, writing has a life of its own and that’s my only excuse. Warnings for attempted assault, but nothing actually happens.

Undercover missions were decidedly not her thing. For one, she lacked the patience for them; and two, she didn’t have what it took to slip into a completely different skin. Sure, she’d gone by a variety of different names over the years, but they had all essentially been her. She changed what she could for what she needed, but at the end of the day, Liana Halik was just as ready to get into a fight as Jyn Erso.

One upside about her was that she was a quick learner. She’d had to be even before Saw had taken her under his wing in the Partisans. Living a life on the run meant that she had to listen and understand fast, no matter what, and when she was working with Saw’s group, it was a life or death situation. She had to figure out how to use a blaster, make a bomb, fight with her fists, blend in and hide before she was ten or she would be dead. It didn’t matter what it was; if it meant living and it was for a mission, she would learn quickly.

So Jyn could learn to do undercover work. That was fine. The most difficult part, however, was learning how to handle the many different identities that Cassian wore like a jacket.

It was disconcerting. One second, Cassian was himself, the man she had come to know, respect, and actually grown comfortable with. He was never easy to read unless he let himself be, but that made all the times he allowed himself to be open to her all the better. There were moments when he seemed to retreat into himself when they were around one another, which made things strange, but she knew him when she thought very few did.

And then on a mission, he would become someone else, sometimes someone completely different, and he did it with such ease that it threw her for a loop every time. How could he do that? How could he toss away everything that made him Cassian Andor so easily? There was no regret in his eyes when it came to those types of missions. If she didn’t know his profile by heart, she swore even she wouldn’t have recognized him. Even the way he held himself was entirely different. The way he walked, the way he spoke, even his accent -- all gone.

She didn’t much enjoy seeing him like that. It reminded her of Scarif when he’d put on that Imperial uniform. He’d become a different man -- commanding, arrogant, cold -- though she had known that he had to have been a livewire of nerves underneath that steel. She still didn’t know how he’d managed to school his face so thoroughly as they’d walked through the Imperial base. If not for the helmet over her head, she wouldn’t have been able to fool anyone they’d crossed paths with.

However, now that it was on her mind, Jyn thought that she might have preferred that cover over whatever the hell Cassian’s cover identity was today.

Jyn’s mind was a tangled mess of emotions as she sat at the end of the bar on her own. It was difficult to shut them all down when she felt torn between downing her drink, storming off, or throwing something -- and she couldn’t even figure out why. The dress she was wearing was by no means modest, but it was fairly conservative and bland compared to the dress draped on the beautiful woman that Cassian was chatting up.

Unlike her, he looked like he was having a grand time. The woman was nearly in his lap, sitting on the very edge of her barstool, her legs peeking out of the high slit of her deep red dress and resting in between Cassian’s. She was smiling and laughing brightly at whatever Cassian had whispered in her ear, shoving him back playfully with one hand as the other rested on one of his thighs at a near inappropriate place. He grinned back at her, looking not a hint ashamed as he mock-apologized. Everything about his body language said that he was completely enraptured by her. He focused on her face, his eyes often dropping to her lips, and one of his hands hanging off the edge of the bar so that he could lazily drag a fingertip over the skin of her bare arm.

And then there was Jyn sitting all by herself, looking like a grump. Granted, her cover didn’t involve her looking happy. It was best that she stay alone so that she could keep an eye on their surroundings while Cassian was involved with the woman, so she’d been playing the role of girl waiting on her date who had most likely stood her up. It was just a cover, but for some reason, glancing over at Cassian, it felt as if she really had been.

She did not like whatever this new feeling was and was determined to squash it.

Despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing the most stunning outfit -- a simple blue dress and practical heels that practically screamed first date -- not everyone was deterred by the unapproachable air surrounding her. A man leaned against the open spot next to her and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

Her eyes flickered away from Cassian -- she didn’t want to watch that woman running a finger along the smooth skin of his jaw anyways -- and landed on the man speaking to her. He was good-looking in an absurd sort of way, the kind of attractive that said he was used to getting what he wanted. With looks like that, he could’ve probably walked up to any woman in this bar and convinced them to spend the night with him, but for some reason, he’d chosen her.

When she took a look at the bartender, who had done a good job at swooping in when he thought her date might have finally arrived, the man just shuffled away awkwardly like he was ignoring her.  The sharp, intent way the attractive newcomer was staring at her and the predatory grin on his face hit her like a rock and she knew exactly what he was doing talking to her. She looked like an easy target. He was trying to have fun with the poor girl who had been stood up by her date.

Jyn stiffened and sipped the rest of her drink. “I’m waiting for someone actually.”

“Sweetie,” the man told her in a mixture of a condescending and sympathetic tone, “you’ve been waiting for over an hour now. He’s not coming.”

“Have you been creepily watching me this entire time?” Jyn questioned, feeling her hackles raised. She didn’t think that he would’ve been able to connect her with Cassian. Even if this guy had noticed her glancing over at Cassian’s direction, he probably assumed that she was filled with jealousy over the couple at the other side of the bar.

“It’s hard to miss a beautiful girl all by her lonesome,” the man informed her. When he snapped his fingers, the bartender returned with a refill of her drink and one for him as well, before making a hasty retreat. This creep must either be a regular, well-connected, or someone important. “Let me at least keep you company while you continue to wait.”

Quite frankly, Jyn wanted no such thing, but having him around would only bolster her cover. He wouldn’t require much of her attention seeing as how he was so obviously full of it. If she got him talking about himself, then she wouldn’t barely have to pay attention to him. Men who believed they were important loved talking about themselves. It made them terribly boring and predictable. A little mystery was good, in her opinion.

And maybe he would be a slightly welcomed distraction from the fact that Cassian’s hand was almost under that woman’s dress. Were they going to get frisky right out in the open? Kriff, Jyn could gag. Instead, she took a sip of her new drink and waved a hand at him, so that he could sit down next to her, which he did so eagerly.

It turned out that his name was Marcus Dyer and he was just as predictable as Jyn expected. Although he wasn’t in the Imperial military, he was the son of the man who owned the company built many of the ships for the Empire, destined to one day run the company, and very wealthy to boot. She knew men like him. Profiteers and leeches, the lot of them, but they would be around even if the Empire fell. There was always need for ships and men like him wanting to make a profit. It was an ugly truth.

She was able to listen to him while also checking on Cassian and the woman every now and then. She could tell that while he remained at ease, the woman was getting antsy. He had to wait for her to make the move and it appeared as if it would be soon. Leaning close to him, she ran her hands up and down the front of his suit, giving him a pout that made him chuckle. When Jyn’s eyes moved back to Dyer, he hadn’t even noticed. He also had not asked a single question about her, making things a lot easier. He didn’t care about her as a person. He wasn’t like Cassian, who knew how to charm a woman into telling him everything without her even realizing it.

The moment Cassian and the woman stood up, Jyn’s heart leaped in her chest, but she forced herself not to react. She ignored them and instead paid attention to the other people in the bar, making sure that they weren’t being followed or watched. Besides the older woman who had been next to them visibly sniffing in disgust and a younger man looking disappointed at not catching a show, no one else seemed to care or made a move to follow them as they made their way to an elevator that would take them to the hotel rooms.

She couldn’t exactly follow them either. Instead, she was forced to wait until she was given a signal for Kay and would meet up with Cassian on the third floor near the service elevator, which meant that she was stuck with Dyer for who knew how long. She almost laughed. Her life was a joke.

Normally, even though she wasn’t one for patience, Jyn was fairly good at staying in her spot until she was given the all go, but she was starting to feel funny after thirty minutes. She couldn’t tell if maybe a headache was coming on from having to listen to Dyer’s prattling or maybe she hadn’t eaten enough earlier, but she was having trouble concentrating and was feeling a little dizzy. If Dyer noticed the change in her demeanor, he said nothing, only kept on talking while she rubbed her temples and blinked a few times.

Lifting the glass to her lips, she paused for a second and glanced down at the drink. It was the second one that he’d bought her. Now that she thought about it, she had never seen the bartender make it. Slowly, she set the glass down on the bartop, her eyes never leaving it. To be fair, it looked completely innocent, but despite the sluggishness of her brain, she knew that it wasn’t. Alarms went off in her fuzzy head.

I’m an idiot, Jyn thought viciously to herself. She could not believe that she’d made such a rookie mistake, but she had underestimated Dyer. Her eyes went around the room, but no, Cassian had left a while ago. It was just her out here now. But it had always been just her before, hadn’t it? Even when she had been in the Partisans, a part of her had always known that only she could look out for herself. Members could turn on each other quickly if it meant gaining a pair of nice boots or a warm blanket.

“It appears as if you’re right and he’s not coming,” Jyn announced, using every bit of her concentration to not sound like she was close to passing out. The last time she’d felt like this, she had been dizzy with pain on Scarif, half-limping and half-dragging Cassian to the ship Bodhi had found. “I’m going to leave.”

Dyer was quick, jumping off the stool to place a hand on the small of her back to catch her when she stumbled. It might’ve been whatever he put in her drink or maybe the heels she was wearing. “Let me at least walk you to your room, just to be safe.” She went to pull away from him, but he had a hand on one of her arms now and she didn’t want to cause a scene in public. It could ruin their cover.

In her ear, K-2 hissed, “Jyn, what are you doing? This is against the plan. You’re supposed to stay at the bar until Cassian gives us the signal--”

It hurt and distracted her even further to have the droid complaining in her ear. Already she couldn’t concentrate on keeping herself together; having both K-2 and Dyer competing for her attention just made things worse. When she tried to step away from Dyer, he held on tight and easily guided her through the crowd towards the elevators. To anyone else, it would look like he was merely being a gentleman, but she didn’t like the look in his eyes. Her heart raced wildly, but her brain couldn’t keep up.

Why had she allowed herself get distracted by something as stupid as Cassian flirting with another woman? It wasn’t like he was even interested in her; he just needed the information that she had on her. How much of an idiot could she be?

“That drink tasted off,” Jyn grumbled as he shuffled her onto an elevator, no doubt sounding delirious.

Over the earpiece, she heard K-2 make an irritated whirring sound. He knew what that meant. If either her or Cassian said anything about their drinks not being good, it meant that something had gone wrong. A dark chuckle slipped out of her as she fell against the wall of the elevator. It was a code, but it was always the truth. There had been something off with her drink.

Once the doors shut, Dyer’s demeanor changed immediately. Gone was a gentleman. Instead, he was a predator, callous and dismissive. He leaned in close, his eyes roving over her, clinical and cold. “Strong, little thing, aren’t you? Most girls fold with typically half the dose. You’re a potent one.”

Jyn tried to glower and snarl, but it didn’t seem very effective in her weakened state. It took everything in her not to lash out when Dyer grabbed her by the chin and turned her face to examine her, but she knew that she had to conserve her energy. This wasn’t her strong point. Cassian would know what to do. He’d probably been in tricky situations like this, half-compromised yet not giving up on the mission. She couldn’t ruin this. Draven would have her head on a pike. But deep down, she was panicking. The elevated pulse and short, quick breaths through her nose could attest to that.

It was a struggle to talk, but somehow she managed to slur the question, “What are you going to do?”

“We’re just going to have a bit of fun,” Dyer told her as he let go of her chin, a cheeky grin on his face. It didn’t fit his intent at all. “No harm in that, right?” Her eyes flickered to the elevator floors, each ding sounding weaker, and then to Dyer who patting his pockets. “Now where did I hide that key of mine?”

Just before they reached the eighth floor, Jyn lunged at him. She was horribly off balance and could barely control herself, but if there was one thing she learned, especially after being abandoned by Saw, it was how to fight with every last bit of breath and strength in her. She wasn’t about to go down without a fight. No, she wasn’t supposed to cause a scene and bring attention to herself, hence why she had to get this finished with while in the privacy of the elevator, but if anyone found them, she’d at least have an excuse for her brawling.

Dyer must not have ever experienced a woman that fought back. He was caught off guard and slammed into the wall as she used all her body weight to throw herself into him. His head hit the wall, bouncing, but there was no time to celebrate as he surged back. Bigger than her, stronger, wearing more comfortable clothes,and not under the influence of drugs, he had every advantage on her. He grabbed her by the face, but she bit down as hard as she could, causing him to yelp and jerk his hand away. The back of his hand that he slapped her with though knocked her right down and she crumpled into the corner like a broken doll.

“What the hell!” Dyer hissed furiously, holding his bleeding hand. He reached down to drag her back up, but she could barely stand on her feet now. Her toes dragged the ground. Not only had the slap and fall nearly knocked her out, but the drugs were kicking in hard. Her vision was beginning to blacken. Everything in her was screaming, but her body felt weak and unresponsive despite the roaring in her mind. “You’ll pay for that, you little--”

The words were cut right out of his mouth when she pressed a small vibroblade to the inside of his thigh. Her grip was entirely too loose and she wasn’t sure if she’d actually be able to stab him with it. At any second, she was going to pass out and drop the thing, but it was all she’d had left. On the floor, she’d been able to pull it out from where she’d hid it under the skirt of her dress, a small comfort on a mission where she had to be visually unarmed. Now it was all she had left.

“Let...go,” Jyn practically panted.

Dyer’s lips twisted into a sneer. “You don’t have it in left in you.”

Her grip on the vibroblade weakened and it started to tip forward out of her hand. She didn’t think she could push it forward. Fight! Run! Struggle! They all kept blaring in her head, but she couldn’t do any of them. She should never have let herself get distracted. This was why she didn’t go on as many undercover missions. Cassian would be embarrassed by her.

The door opened and a distant voice queried, “Excuse me, sir?”

A look crossed Dyer’s face, one torn between worry and relief, and she knew that he was about to explain the situation to make himself look good, but right when he turned his head, a fist slammed into it. As he stumbled back, he let go of her and both of them dropped painfully to the ground. Though her vision was swimming, she saw Cassian’s face hovering above hers as he bent down to carefully help her up.

“I had it...under control,” Jyn slurred. The vibroblade had fallen out of her hand the second the door opened. He scooped that up as well before pulling her up completely. She had to lean against him in order to stay standing.

“I know,” Cassian replied, patiently as ever. Not in a condescending way either. “Can you walk?”

Jyn tested one of her feet and collapsed again. She had to have blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing she knew, she was being carried bridal style by Cassian. If she’d had the energy, she would’ve blushed furiously. A part of her wished that she hadn’t come to yet and just stayed unconscious.

“…can’t come back yet,” Cassian was saying in a low, agitated voice as he walked down the hallway. “I know it’ll be dangerous to stay here, but she’s incapable of--” He rolled his eyes, despite the fact that the droid he was talking to couldn’t see him. “It won’t look good if we’re seen together, yes, but it’ll look worse if I’m seen carrying her out of here unconscious. Laying low is the best option.”

Her earpiece must’ve fallen out. No doubt Cassian had found that as well. He would want to leave no trace behind that might suggest she was anything other than a woman sitting at the bar. K-2 was probably arguing extraction details, but none of them had accounted for a situation like this happening. Coming out hot was one thing, but coming out knocked cold was quite another.

She wanted to pull on him, insist that she was fine, tell him to leave her in her room while he went to the ship. They weren’t supposed to be seen together. But she couldn’t even grip his jacket. Her arms hung uselessly at her sides, dangling about, and anger swirled around her. She’d never been incapacitated like this before. It made her feel terribly awful and even ashamed. What a hassle she had turned this relatively easy mission into. Even worse, through the fog of the drugs and her anger, she couldn’t help but think of how protectively Cassian was carrying her, holding her against his chest.

Opening her mouth, Jyn tried to speak, but nothing came out. The last thing she saw before blacking out again was Cassian looking down at her. He said something, but she didn’t hear it, and then she was out.

Only Cassian would know how long she was actually unconscious, but when Jyn came back, she was lying on a soft bed, tucked in like a child. She was still in the dress, but her heels had been taken off and her hair undone. Despite the fact that she still felt very much weak, she tried to sit up in the bed. The noise pulled Cassian back into the room, who rushed to her side and pushed her back down with little effort.

“Hey, you’re not ready for that,” he murmured.

“I was drugged, not shot with a blaster,” Jyn grumbled in return.

Cassian arched an eyebrow. “The shiner on your face would suggest otherwise.”

Oh, that was right. Dyer had backhanded her. Jyn scowled, but sank back into the bed. She let Cassian prop her up with some pillows, but just barely without snapping at him. Truth be told, she didn’t have the strength yet, but didn’t want to admit it either. He brought her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully, having felt as parched as if she’d been stranded on Jakku. Must’ve been the side effects of whatever Dyer had put in her drink.

Once she was finished, Cassian took the glass, set it aside, and sat down in a chair by the blocked out window. She could tell by the way that he was sitting that he was going to question her, but she didn’t want to answer. Now that she was out of the situation, she felt an absurd amount of humiliation, the fear being taken out of the equation. She did not like being on the opposite end of Cassian’s interrogation skills.

“What happened?” Cassian finally asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

Jyn picked at the blanket. It was softer than anything she could remember owning. “I got sloppy. That’s it.”

“Sloppy?” Cassian frowned. “Were you compromised?”

“No,” Jyn sighed. Of course the mission came first. It always came first. “I was just...a bit of fun for him.”

Despite not wanting to look at him, her eyes flickered to him and she caught a glimpse of his eyes darkening and a shadow crossing his face. He looked as if he wanted to punch Dyer all over again. It was gone in a flash though, replaced by an impassive expression.

“So you got caught in the crossfires of his...fun.”

“A homely girl stood up at a bar, waiting for her prince charming to never show, yeah, that about sums it up,” Jyn replied, more bitterness in her voice that intended. It was directed more towards herself than Cassian. He had been doing his job. They both had been doing their jobs. She was the one that had messed up. He’d probably never take her on a mission again.

“Jyn, you’re far from homely,” Cassian scoffed.

She was not going to look at him this time, no matter how her body and mind reacted to that.

“Did you finish your fun?” Jyn asked, going for a cool tone. No bitter, no bite. She felt sour, embarrassed, and angry, but now she was the target. Such an idiot.

“I had to wrap it up quicker than intended, but yes,” Cassian replied, sounding much more like she’d tried to. He was better at it than her though. He could shuffle all of his emotions out of his voice and face at the drop of a hat while she had to either transform them into something else or bottle them down for as long as she could.

There was a lull in the conversation, one that felt larger than anything she could imagine, before both of them said at the same time, “I’m sorry.”

Jyn whipped her head in his direction and ignored how dizzy that made her feel. “Why are you sorry?”

Cassian furrowed his brow. “I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him when I saw how scummy he was at the bar. I should’ve--”

“Completed the mission, which you did,” Jyn cut him off heatedly. He blinked at her. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not by the fire in her voice or her words. Why did he have to be so damn hard to read? “I’m the one that nearly kriffed up this mission. I’m the one that got in over my head with some stupid man that I should’ve been able to take care of myself easily. You should’ve just let me go.”

“Let you go?” Cassian exclaimed, nearly rocketing out of his chair. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I jeopardized the mission.” Jyn turned her face away from him. “It would’ve been better to cut your losses.”

“You’re not a loss, Jyn; you’ll never be a loss.” Cassian learned forward in his seat, fire in his eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him directly. “You don’t think I ever messed up on a mission?  Ever kriffed up so bad we couldn’t recover? I can assure you: I did, especially when I first started doing Intelligence work. And because of my mistakes, people died -- good people, our people.”  He fell back in the chair, as if physically exhausted from recalling the past, and rubbed the bottom of his face with his hand. “I’m not going to let that happen to you, Jyn. You’re not a loss.”

Jyn’s eyes dropped to her hands in her lap while Cassian’s turned to look at the window, even though the curtains were closed. She could feel him closing off, like he was somehow embarrassed or irritated that he’d opened himself up to her too much. She wanted to tell him that she cherished every, little peek of himself he gave to her, but she could never quite get the words out. He hid so much of himself from everyone. It had to be hard on him, but he would never admit that either.

Bodhi would say that they were too stubborn. Neither one of them would deny it.

“What happened to Dyer?” Jyn finally asked, unable to stand the terse silence any longer.

“The bastard in the elevator?” Cassian shrugged his shoulders, but she thought he was still a little tense. “Hotel security found him carrying illegal substances.”

“He’s got connections in the Empire,” Jyn replied emotionlessly. “Probably be out before the day is over.”

Cassian grumbled unhappily. “I should’ve shot him.”

“Good thing you weren’t carrying then,” Jyn pointed out. Their eyes connected and smiles briefly flickered on both of their faces before both of them looked away again. She was slowly beginning to feel stronger, but whatever Dyer had dosed her with had done a serious number on her, especially since he’d given her more than most. Her high tolerance had finally come in handy for something other than winning drinking games in sketchy bars on Outer Rim planets.

Finally, Cassian sighed, running his fingers through his hair and returning it back to the naturally haphazard look she was so fond of, and leaned back in the chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him. “I was scared.” His voice was so quiet that she almost didn’t hear him, but she did and his words rang loudly in her head. Her throat constricted and nothing came out. “I got used to doing ops on my own, you know, or just with Kaytoo. It was easier that way. The only person I could lose was myself. I’d forgotten… The responsibility you feel when you’re on an op with someone else -- and it was you. I was flying blind and didn’t know what to do.”

“You did everything you could,” Jyn told him. “You completed the mission and got back to me just in time.”

“But what if I hadn’t?” Cassian tilted his head up to gaze at the ceiling. “Is a mission a success when you fail to have your partner’s back?”

“Draven would say yes. Complete the mission at any cost.” They both knew that very well. Eadu was a long time away, but it still burned brightly in Jyn’s mind whenever she glanced at the General.

“There has to be a line,” Cassian said, so simple, so straight-forward, but somehow, she knew that it wasn’t all he meant.

You’re the line for me, were the unspoken words.

He was difficult to read, but not always impossible. Sometimes, he allowed a little bit of the truth to bleed through, just for her to see when they were alone. Still, it felt like a lot of pressure to be that for someone, especially a soldier like Cassian who had done a lot of things during his stint in Intelligence work, but also a monumental shift as well. It was slow at first, but she could see a difference between the spy she’d first met and the man he was now.

Jyn tugged at her dress, feeling confined with it still on and with the blanket over her. “How much longer do we have to stay here?”

“I told Kaytoo that we’d be ready for extraction tonight,” Cassian said, “so only a few more hours.”

“Ugh.” Jyn flopped back against the pillows. “I want out of this dress.”

Cassian glanced at her. “I think it has a certain appeal.” There was an amused tilt in his voice, but something more intent in his eyes. His lips quirked into a faint grin. “I wouldn’t have stood up the person wearing it.”

When Jyn narrowed her eyes at him, he made himself busy, but the grin didn’t leave his face. The next time that they had to do an op like this, she was going to be the lead and he’d be the one acting as backup. She was going to make sure of it. He’d pay then. He liked to hide it, but Jyn rather thought he had a slight jealous streak that he just hadn’t been made aware of yet. Oh, she was going to make it very clear.

[missblanchette]

Birds of Paradise [2/5]

Series: Joker Game

Characters: Amari/Tazaki; Miyoshi is there for (tough) moral support

Rating: G

Summary: Tazaki never found a reason to talk to the shopkeeper with the chestnut brown hair and god-like jawline – that was, until his pigeons attacked the flower display. (AKA The Flower Shop AU no one asked for)

Words: 2514

Notes: Modern AU/Flower Shop AU; I’m so tired of looking at this LOLOL but here’s chapter two~ More cliches and cheesiness coming ya way *finger guns*

Ch.1 | You can read this on AO3! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy~!╰(*´︶`*)╯

Ch 2: Handyman

Tazaki had always been hyper aware of Persephone's ever since he first saw Amari and right now was no exception. Today, however, he considered actually entering the shop. It'd been a week since the incident, giving Kaminaga enough time to keep his end of the deal (he did get a text from containing only a winking smiley, though that could've been about anything). Then again, there was also the possibility that Kaminaga didn't and Amari would just remember him as the Flower Murderer (even if it technically was his pigeons, he owned them, so by extension he was one).

Whatever the case was, he needed to make his choice quickly --

Coo!

Or maybe not. It seemed that his pigeons made the decision for him, if the flapping wings and scattered petals meant anything. Tazaki heaved a sigh as the remains of the flowers swirled around him. Very aesthetic, he thought, but he had other matters to prioritize.

"You guys..." Thankfully, the damage wasn't as big as last time's, but he still rushed to rein in his darlings before Amari came out.

"Back again?"

Dammit.

"I'm really sorry." Tazaki gave him a sheepish smile. "I don't know why they do this."

"Like I said, no worries," Amari reassured him as he stepped forward to help. "I'll take it as a compliment. There must be something they love about my flowers if they're this wild over them.”

"That's one way to look at it," Tazaki said, heart skipping as Amari neared him. Slowly, his pigeons climbed onto his arms though a few loitered around, having taken interest in Amari. Kazuaki, in particular, seemed to be quite taken with him if his tail flaring out was anything to go by. Knowing how Kazuaki got when excited, Tazaki hurried to get him back. "I-I'll pay again, for everything."

"You really don't have to."

"I want to."

After some coaxing, Kazuaki finally hopped onto his arms and with him, that was the last of his pigeons. Meanwhile, Amari tapped his chin as if debating his offer.

"I'd feel bad that if you keep spending so much on the flowers," Amari said. "But I have another way that you could pay me back."

Tazaki perked up, his pigeons following suit with their wings fluttering.

"What is it?"

"Sorry if this comes off as kinda weird, but you're friends with Kaminaga right?"

Tazaki nodded his head.

"Well, our faucet broke the other day and I haven't had the chance to call a repairman yet. Kaminaga said you were good with your hands --" Tazaki pursed his lips. He didn't want to know what else Kaminaga said about him. "-- so I was thinking that maybe you could fix it?"

"Uh, sure!" Tazaki said, a little more enthusiastically than he should have. "Ahem, I mean. Yeah. That's fine."

"Great." Amari grinned. "Just follow me."

Upon entering Persephone's, Tazaki was once again greeted with the sight of flowers upon flowers and the sounds of Frate's barking. After giving Frate a nice pat on the head, Tazaki placed his own darlings on the counter.

"Don't do anything bad, okay?" he said, pointing at each one of them. They chirped their agreement.

Shooting his pigeons one last warning, Tazaki caught up with Amari. He opened his mouth to ask what exactly was the problem, but then caught sight of the sink and grimaced.

"What happened here?"

Both of the handles had been torn off and tossed to the side and the leakage dripped into the sink. The faucet itself was in no better condition, dented and bruised beyond recognition. At least the sink wasn't clogged, so he didn't have to deal with that mess.

"Our other employee got a bit... heated," Amari said, rubbing the back of his neck. He chuckled nervously as he brought over the toolbox and replacement parts. "He's a lot stronger than he looks."

"I... see..." Tazaki didn't know who this other employee was, but he didn't plan on messing with him anytime soon.

"Anyways." Amari handed him a wrench and clapped his shoulder. "Have at it."

Dumbstruck, Tazaki took the wrench from him and stared at the sink. If it was just the leak, that'd be fine, but those handles looked pretty beat up and he wasn't sure if he could fit them back in. The faucet needed replacing, too, by the looks of it. As daunting as it seemed, Tazaki refused to do no less than perfect in front of Amari. In the background, his pigeons trilled and Amari moved about, and so he figured it was time to get to work.

"Not to get too personal," Amari said. The snipping of scissors filled the pause. "But why all the birds?"

Over the years, Tazaki had prepared a speech for whenever he got asked that question; "just because" never satisfied people, but they typically got off his case when given a long-winded answer. Even then, they usually talked about him behind his back, but he'd learned to accept it. Amari’s question, however, sounded genuinely curious. Tazaki couldn't tell what he was thinking, whether he was putting on an act or not, but his gut told him he could be trusted.

"No special reason," Tazaki said as turned off the water supply. "I like them. They're easy to be around."

Amari let out a hum, light and playful as if his answer answered everything.

"That's fair," he said with a cheery tone. "They're cute, too."

Hearing wings flapping, Tazaki allowed himself to glance back. He nearly dropped the wrench at the sight of Amari playing with his pigeons with such gentleness. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to continue working.

"T-They sure are," he said, inspecting the faucet's seats and springs. "And you? Why all the flowers?"

Amari chuckled, the rustling of cellophane wrapper accompanying his laughter.

"I suppose it's the same as you. I just like them. And It's nice to cheer people up with flowers."

"That's very noble of you."

"I try my best," he said, and Tazaki could practically hear the smile in his voice.

They continued like that, talking about everything and anything as they worked. Little by little, he was let in on Amari's life. He learned that Amari was five years older than him; he preferred bitter foods but had taken a liking to sweet things; he'd even taken a trip to Hawaii two years back, something he said was a memorable experience. Talking to Amari was so easy, he found, that he regretted not doing anything about it sooner. Though, he supposed, better late than never. Despite not knowing each other too long, there was a sense of comfort and bliss being with Amari.

Unfortunately, their time together had to end -- though hopefully it wouldn't be the last. Tazaki wished he could stay there and get to know Amari better, but he'd just about finished fixing the sink and for some reason, he'd agreed to be Miyoshi's model for the afternoon.

"Oh, done already?" Amari asked.

"Yep," Tazaki said, checking over the faucet once more. Setting the wrench down, he turned the handles and watched as water flowed out seamlessly with no leaks. "All done."

Whistling, Amari came over to his side.

"Quick and efficient. Maybe I should just call you over whenever we need repairs."

Tazaki nearly choked on his own saliva.

"I-I wouldn't mind at all. And free of charge, just for you."

"Well, don't I feel special~"

If his face wasn't red before, it sure was now. God, he must've looked weird. Trying to play it off, he glanced down at his watch and figured now was better than ever to pop the question. All right, he thought, go time.

But when he opened his mouth, he found that his tongue had gone dry and his words were stuck in his throat. Thankfully, Amari didn't notice, or if he didn't, he didn't comment. Nonetheless, Tazaki closed his eyes and licked his lips. Okay, now was go time.

"Just, uh, just one more thing." Tazaki spoke quickly, as if racing against his nerves. "I was wondering if --"

Before he could finish that thought, a coo interrupted him, followed by the flapping of wings. Kazuaki had flown over, though he bypassed Tazaki and went straight for Amari.

"Hey, little guy~" Amari said as Kazuaki landed on his shoulder.

"Ah, Kazuaki!" Tazaki reached for him, though Kazuaki seemed to be enjoying Amari's shoulder a lot more. "I'm really sorry."

"It's fine!" Amari waved him off. Coaxing Kazuaki off, he handed him back to Tazaki. "At least these guys weigh less than Frate; that dog'll tackle you down."

"At least there's only one of Frate." After some resistance, Kazuaki eventually climbed onto his shoulder though he seemed ready to fly off at any moment. Odd, considering Kazuaki was one of his more well-tempered birds. "These guys are practically a murder."

At that, Amari laughed and Tazaki would've joined in had he not been distracted by how wonderful it sounded.

"Anyways," Amari said. "You were saying?"

"Oh, right." Tazaki coughed. "I was wondering if --"

Kazuaki clicked his beak, hopping over to his other shoulder. That was the second interruption, and Tazaki couldn't help but wonder if something was up. Kazuaki never got this antsy for no reason. Even so, with dread creeping up in his stomach, Tazaki tried once more.

"Uh, if --"

Suddenly, Kazuaki spread his wings and good Lord, where did he think he was going? Before he could jump off his shoulder, Tazaki held him back, petting him in an attempt to calm him down. Amari stepped forward, as if to help him, but Tazaki just continued speaking.

"-- if you, uh, had those same flowers you gave me week," Tazaki said, mind scrambling to find something else to say. Perhaps, with Kazuaki acting up like this, he should just ask some other time. The mood wasn't right. At least, that was what he told himself. "My birds really liked them."

"Oh," Amari said, nodding slowly. "...Is that so? 'Liked them' is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" he said, a teasing lilt in his tone. "But actually, now that you mention it..."

He turned around and grabbed a bouquet from the counter.

"These are for you, as a thanks for helping me," he said, handing the bouquet to Tazaki. "They're not the same flowers as last week, but your birds seem pretty crazy about them too."

Tazaki's mouth dropped, finding himself unable to speak. Though the bouquet was a bit bare due to some petals and leaves missing, the presentation made up for it. The bouquet consisted of white primroses and the gaps were filled with baby's breath. In the center were flowers he didn't recognize, though the petals peaked up like a bird's beak and were bright oranges and blues. Wrapped in clear baby blue cellophane, they were tied together with a pearl white ribbon.

"I just fixed these up from the display, if you were worried about anything."

When his senses finally came together, Tazaki took the bouquet from Amari's hand, sending those familiar waves of goosebumps throughout his body as their fingers brushed against each other. On his shoulder, Kazuaki leaned forward as if to get a glimpse of the flowers.

"Right," he said, catching his breath. "Thank you. They're very lovely."

"Glad to know I'm doing my job well."

And as Amari smiled at him, Tazaki wondered just how many bouquets he could fit in his tiny apartment.

Chin resting in his palm, Tazaki stared at the bouquet of primroses that sat in front of him. They were a contrast to the magenta zinnias he received last week, the unidentified flowers in the center the one thing the bouquets had in common (and even after some googling, he couldn't figure out what they were), but he didn't doubt that they would look good placed together. He had to admire Amari's handiwork, honestly, to be able to arrange such beautiful displays and fix up bouquets so quickly. Not to mention, the flowers he used were ones he didn't typically see at other flower shops. Speaking of which, he'd never seen these flowers on display before recently --

"Kaminaga was right." Miyoshi's voice broke his thoughts. "You're really head over heels over this guy."

"I'm sorry." Tazaki's head snapped towards Miyoshi. "But did you just say Kaminaga was right?"

"Don't move," Miyoshi said, eyes narrowing, and Tazaki did just so as he mumbled an apology. "I stand by statement though, but we're keeping that between you and me."

"How do you even know? I didn't tell you."

"Kaminaga came home one day with this idiotic grin on his face, saying something about how you were going to get lucky." Tazaki fought the urge to slam his face onto the table. "Besides, you've been staring at those flowers with this dumbstruck look."

"I-I have?"

Miyoshi turned the canvas towards him, but it might as well have been a mirror. As expected, Miyoshi captured his likeness perfectly, and that meant glassy eyes and furrowed eyebrows as he gazed at the flowers. His lips were slightly agape, too, as if sighing in reminiscence. Damn. What the hell.

"It wasn't exactly the image I had in mind, but it works." As he turned the easel back, he said, "Maybe I should add more red to your cheeks to match your blush."

Tazaki hands flew to his face, earning him a "tsk" from Miyoshi.

"Don't move."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Anyways, how did it go?"

"What do you mean?" Tazaki said, returning to his original position. In the very depths of his soul, he knew what Miyoshi was talking about, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for this conversation.

"You asked that Amari out, didn't you?"

"Er, no..."

Just as his paintbrush pressed against the canvas, Miyoshi paused.

"No?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because..." I got too nervous, It was too overwhelming, and Amari is literal perfection and I'm not worthy were all applicable answers, but Tazaki went with "Kazuaki interrupted me." In his defense, it wasn't false.

There it was -- Miyoshi’s face of neutral displeasure. It was amusing when Kaminaga was on the receiving end, not so much when it was him.

"That's why you didn't ask him out? Because of your pigeon?"

"My pigeons are important to me! I can't make decisions that might upset them."

"Who's in charge of your life: you or the birds?"  

Silence.

"Tazaki. "

"M-Me."

"And now that we've established that, you need to do what makes you happy -- regardless of what your birds think."

"But --"

"No but's," Miyoshi said, the tone in his voice leaving no room for arguments. "It doesn't hurt to try, doesn't it?"  

It certainly didn't hurt to try, but the worst possible outcomes would always pop up every time Tazaki thought about it. Strange, considering he wasn’t this much of a wreck when asking others out. Maybe he'd fallen harder for Amari than he thought, the sight of him tending to his flowers from behind Persephone's windows coming to mind. Rejection would sting for sure, and there was nothing wrong with being friends, but the idea of not seeing Amari's smile everyday hurt harder than he'd like to admit.

"Anyhow, if you're really that worried about what your birds think, I'm sure they'll warm up to him sooner or later."

"...Maybe you're right."

"Maybe?"

"Ah, my bad." He cleared his throat. "You're right."

"That's what I thought."

Next meeting, Tazaki decided he'd try asking Amari out again. That was, after he had a long talk with his pigeons.