#i also gotta analyze more of his text for certain cards

[crimson-cassowaries]

Ooo anyone want to see something real cringe, at like the PEAK of my Sebek phase I made a doc about me over analyzing his ass and making a whole bunch of (mostly depressing) headcanons and its was lowkey just me projecting like EXTREMELY HARD but if anyone wants to see it feel free to ask, I'll probs post the link later lol

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

--

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

--

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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[chibinightowl]

Clowns of the Corn

For my friend @spazzterror, who has been waiting for this story for well over a year. Can be read as a sequel to The Great Minivan Escape, but that’s up to you. 

~*~*~

“Jesus fucking Christ! I swear to fuck, Dickie, when we get outta here, I’m gonna kill ya.” Jason emphasizes his point by firing into the dark corn field again, the hushed laughter of the yet to be determined creatures rising into a shriek as one of them collapses. Dick isn’t normally one for killing but whatever these things are, they’re hell on the livestock and are creepier than anything he’s seen in a while, so he’s more willing to make an exception. Small wonder Clark asked if he would come out to visit his parents and poke around while he was off-world. At this point though, he thinks Zatanna would been a better choice. “Why blame me? You came of your own free will.” He cracks another glow stick and holds it high. The creatures don’t like the light at all, even lurid green that it is, and scramble back a couple of rows. There’s barely a moon at all tonight, and if it weren’t for the starlight lenses in their masks, they’d be completely blind. “Come to Kansas, he says. There’ll be pie, he says,” Jason snorts mockingly. “Fuck this shit and fuck your mother.” “Language,” Dick tries but Jason laughs at him and releases a stream of profanity that would make even a sailor sit down and take notes. Okay, so maybe he was a little too eager for some one on one time with Jason. They rarely see each other except for patrol and the last time they did meet up, it was after their adventure with that minivan where Dick made his brother watch the movie he’d borrowed some moves from. Needless to say, Jason loved it. And so did Dick. Time with Jason is a treat, so when he randomly tossed out the invite to join him in Smallville, it surprised him that the other man said yes. Clearly, he’s regretting this now. The vitriol slows down and Dick takes a chance. “These things have to hide somewhere during the day. They completely avoid the light.” It works. “Gotta be somewhere other than a barn. A tunnel? One of those grain stacks?” “You mean a silo?” “Yeah, that.” Dick wishes he’d thought to ask Uncle Jon about possible places to scope out before he and Jason wandered out into the cornfield earlier. This is so much more than he signed up for. “You know what this means, right?” “We’re pulling an all-nighter that would make the Pretender proud?” 

“No. We need to capture one of these things and stick a tracker on it.” 

Jason laughs again. It’s a good villain laugh, really. “If they’re in one of those grain thingies, I’m gonna light that sucker up and send it to the motherfuckin’ moon.” Dick can’t help but notice the more stressed his brother gets, the more his original lower Gotham accent makes a reappearance. “You know what this kind of reminds me of?” he asks instead. “What?” Jason asks warily. “Children of the Corn.” “I already died once, I doubt He Who Walks Behind the Rows will want me.” The chittering laughter around them quiets completely. Not a sound can be heard in the cornfield aside from their ragged breathing. Instinctively, Dick and Jason press closer.

“That can’t be good,” Jason murmurs. “No shame in a strategic retreat.” “That’s what you’re calling it?” Jason is already moving, shouting and shooting as he charges back down the row. Dick is hot on his heels, still holding up the glow stick. The laughter starts up again, louder than before. In the rows beside them, small dark shapes keep pace. It’s now or never. Dick slips a tracking device out of a compartment in his gloves and throws it hard to his left. This one is designed to catch hold on any surface and he utters a quiet prayer that it does what it’s supposed to. “I see the lanterns!” Jason shouts. The Kent’s have taken to leaving torches and camp lanterns around the barn, the chicken coop, and their house since these things appeared. If Clark hadn’t been on his way to mediate a peace treaty between two planets when his parents called him about the strange happenings, Dick doubts this would have escalated the way it has. As it is, he needs to call Raven.  

Something catches hold of Dick’s foot, yanking hard. He stumbles and twists, trying to spin and regain his momentum, but the weight on his leg grows heavier. The ground is hard beneath him as he slams into it with a loud grunt. Dick spits the dirt out of his mouth and doesn’t stop moving, rolling and kicking hard at the dark little... he raises the glow stick he still grips tightly and blinks.  

Clown.  

It’s a little clown the size of a garden gnome. One with sharp pointy teeth and a dark stain around its mouth.  

Dick does not want those teeth on him. Nope. Not happening.

He doesn’t have to worry. The creature’s head disappears in a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter from Jason’s well-placed shot.  

“Get up,” he snarls, and Dick is back on his feet in a flash, scooping up the little body to analyze from the safety of the patio.  

“Did you see that?”  

“Yeah and I can never unsee it. Now move your fat ass!” Jason shouts and shoves Dick in front of him, snatching the glow stick. “My ass is not fat!” Dick puts on a final burst of speed and launches himself out of the cornfield and onto the mowed lawn of the Kent farm. In his arms, he can feel the body of the little whatever it is disintegrate as the light from Jonathan Kent’s lantern hits it. So much for his evidence.

“What on God’s green earth was that?” the old farmer asks, holding the lantern high against the dark and angry laughter that emanates from his cornfield. A few steps back and to his left is Martha Kent, shotgun in hand and covering him.

“Fucking demon clowns,” Jason swears as he lurches out of the field. Dick spots a bloody gash on the outside of his brother’s leg that hadn’t been there before.

Well, this is a rather ignoble ending to their adventure tonight. Sighing, Dick flops down by Uncle Jon’s feet. “Your cornfield is infested with little demonic clowns.”

“That’s new,” Aunt Martha comments blandly. “How do we get rid of them?”

Jason turns and takes another shot into the darkness. The laughter crescendos before disappearing with an angry hiss. “I don’t know what Dickie has planned, but I’m headin’ to church in the morning to stock up on holy water.”

~*~*~

After a long night of keeping watch, the sun finally rises and Dick is able to grab a few hours of some well-earned sleep. When he comes stumbling down the stairs just before noon, he spots Jason on the sofa in a pair of shorts that probably belong to Clark or Kon with his leg carefully propped up on the coffee table with the help of a few throw pillows. The white bandage runs almost the length of his thigh, ending just above his knee.

“Are you supposed to be sitting like that?” Dick asks around a yawn.

Jason lowers his book and glares. “It gave Aunt Martha something to do.”

There is no way either of them can refuse a request from the old woman and they both know it. She fussed mightily over the wound last night even as she calmly stripped Jason out of his pants last night to get a better look at it. Dick is pretty sure he’s never seen his brother’s ears get that red before and wishes he’d dared to take a picture and send it to Alfred for posterity.

Rather than pick a fight that Jason is clearly itching for, Dick tries a different tact. “The tracker move at all since dawn?”

The little bug he’d tossed into the darkness last night stuck. Just before sunrise, the creatures surrounding the farm retreated, leaving to protect their own hides from the sun.

Jason picks up the tablet sitting beside him and swipes at the screen. “Nope. Same spot. You hear from Raven yet?”

“Yeah. Got a text saying she’ll be here in a few hours.” Dick sits down next to Jason. “Where are Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon?”

“Town. I gave them Bruce’s black card from your wallet and said to have fun with it.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “You do know they’ll use their own, right?”

“They better not be considering how much ammo I asked them to get for me.” It’s plain to see the thought of Bruce’s card being used for this amuses Jason immensely.

This is an argument to save for later. “How much sleep you get?”

“About the same as you.”

“Still need to go to church?”

“Just waitin’ on you.”

There are a number of small churches in the community, but Dick drives their rented SUV to a very specific one. He’s never been all that religious, so it comes as a surprise that Jason kind of is. Vaguely, he remembers reading in Jason’s file that Willis Todd was raised Irish Catholic, so he supposes this is where it comes from.

Considering what Jason lugs into the small church with him, Dick can’t blame him. Holy water versus demon. He’s seen the effects that the power of belief holds over creatures of hell, at least in the hands of the right person. Whether Jason’s belief is firm enough, Dick isn’t certain, but he can tell right away as Jason makes his way out of the church about half an hour later that his brother is at least happy with what he’s got on him now.

The gym bag with the six gallons of holy water is carefully placed in the backseat and Jason gingerly takes his seat next to Dick up front. From the pocket of his dark gray hoodie, a strand of beads peeks out.

“You know the rosary?” Dick asks out of reflex and instantly wishes he hadn’t.

But Jason doesn’t lash out like he expects. “Yeah. Misspent youth.” He’s quiet for a time as Dick drives back toward the Kent farm, idly fingering the wooden beads. “I know it’s kinda stupid, the fact that I believe this shit will work. Especially since that also means I’ve got a one way ticket to Hell when I kick it a second time, but some things just stick with you, whether you want them to or not.”

This is something Dick knows all too well. “For what it’s worth, I believe the holy water will work. Better than your bullets.”

Jason grins sharply. “Well, then that means you get to help me stockpile a bunch of little holy hand grenades.”

“Only if they’re from Antioch.”

From the way Jason laughs, Dick knows this is one movie reference he gets.

~*~*~

The tracker leads them to an old, decrepit barn a few miles away from the Kent farm. Crumbling foundations of a demolished farmhouse are nestled in the tall grass, leading Dick to suspect the home may have been abandoned after a tornado and the land sold off to the surrounding landowners. Well, it just means there is no one here to witness what’s about to go down or to get caught in the crossfire.

In the late afternoon light, the red from Jason’s helmet shines darker than what Dick is used to. Then again, it’s not often either of them are dressed in full gear during daylight hours.

“Can’t I just set off a few pounds of C4 in there?” Jason is saying as they pile out of the SUV. Raven had met them at the Kent’s a short time before. “That’ll solve most of our problems. Let in some light and whoosh. No more clown gremlins.”

“If only it were that easy,” Rave replies, her attention already on the creepy barn.

The disgruntled noise from Jason is answer enough. “If the Pretender were here, he’d let me. Timmy likes a big boom.”

There’s the faintest hint of a smile on Raven’s face. “He does,” she agrees. “But I think your explosion would just be a waste if we set it off too soon. A portal has been opened here.”

“To where?” Dick asks. The thought of some underworld gateway so close to the Kent’s makes his skin crawl.

“I’m not sure yet.” Raven starts walking through the high grass.

Jason pops open the trunk and hands Dick one of the buckets full of their holy hand grenades. His wounded leg seems to be giving him some trouble, but he refused to stay behind. Wordlessly, they follow after Raven.

The barn door doesn’t close properly anymore, the painted wood splintered and cracked from the elements and neglect. At a signal from Raven, Dick sets down his bucket and grabs hold of the door, sliding it open on rusted tracks that resist less than they should considering the state of disrepair. A foul scent of rotting meat drifts out.

Dick has unfortunately smelled worse. “I hope that’s the missing cow.”

Raven is already shaking her head, even if she hasn’t set foot into the barn yet. “Look,” she says, pointing inside.

Jason peers over her shoulder and shakes his head. “This is right out of a bad horror movie.”

Peering in, Dick has to agree. Blood and gore and bone are everywhere, too much for just the cow. It could be a trick of the light that gives the floor an illusion of moving, but he knows better. The warmth and the rot is a breeding ground for maggots and flies.

“Those symbols on the wall…,” Raven says, trailing off as she levitates into the air and enters the hellish space to get a better look. “I’d hazard a guess and say that not all is well here in Smallville.”

“A cult?” Dick asks, standing in the doorway, but not yet willing to walk inside. There is plenty of daylight, so he’s not worried about the creatures sneaking up on them, but the wariness of a trained detective has been instilled in him since he was a child. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Jason hefting a couple of his water balloons to cover them.

Raven shrugs, floating toward a darker smudge on the floor. “Or just a bunch of kids who got their hands on the wrong kind of book.” She points at an object that is surprisingly clean of blood. “Like that.”

Dick has a feeling that as soon as this particular case is over, he’s going to burn this particular uniform entirely. Blood magic. It never ceases to amaze him how powerful it is and the kind of evil that can be wrought when used by the wrong person. He removes a large evidence bag from a compartment in his boot and enters the barn, stepping carefully. The air is thick with the metallic tang of old blood with an undercurrent of old hay that’s been left to rot.

“Where are the garden gnomes hiding?” Jason calls out as Dick carefully picks up the book and bags it for Raven. She makes it disappear in the folds of her dark blue cloak.

“They’re in the storm cellar,” Raven replies. “Waiting for us.”

“Geez, like that’s not creepy at all.”

“They’re creatures of utter darkness,” the young sorceress answers. “Light of any kind is an anathema to them.”

“Is the portal down there too?” Jason asks.

“Yes.”

Dick sighs and gags silently as he gets hit with a fresh wave of decaying flesh. “Let’s get to work then.”

They all have their parts to play. Raven prepares herself for the magics she’ll need to unleash while Dick takes copious amounts of pictures of the interior of the barn and tries to preserve any evidence that could provide a clue as to the identities of the people who died in here. He finds five skulls and bags each one, hoping dental records will reveal their names. Jason makes his way around the perimeter of the barn, carefully avoiding the entrance to the storm cellar, and sets his bombs. This place is going up in smoke as soon as that gate is gone.

It's almost sundown by the time they’re done and gather at the wooden slats covering the stairs leading into the storm cellar.

“This is gonna be great,” Jason chortles as he hefts his water balloons again. “A little light, a little holy water, some magic, and then it all goes boom.”

“You were singing a different tune last night,” Dick says, standing as he finishes lighting the camping lantern Uncle Jon purchased for them earlier in the day.

“We didn’t have holy hand grenades last night.”

Raven chuckles in that quiet way of hers. “I like that movie.”

“It’s a classic.”

“Are we ready?” Raven asks, holding her hands up.

“Let’s kill some clowns.”

The wood covering is torn away with a sweep of Raven’s hand and Dick holds the lantern high even as mage lights race down the stone steps to light the way. Familiar laughter and hisses echo up and around them as they make their way down into the storm cellar. In the center of the floor is a swirling pit of darkness that seems to swallow anything that touches it.

Just as it was last night, the creatures are difficult to make out as they dart from shadow to shadow, hiding from the light. Jason takes careful aim and throws one of his water balloons into a dark corner. A piercing wail meets their ears, even louder than the ones they’ve heard previously.

All hell breaks loose as the pit emits a pulse and more of the miniature clowns appear. Most disintegrate immediately under the powerful camp lantern and Raven’s mage lights, but a few manage to sneak away into the shadows. Dick’s one job is to keep the light steady and that’s what he does, covering Raven as she works her magic and Jason as he lobs colorful water balloons into all corners of the cellar.

“They just keep coming!” Jason shouts over the loud laughter that circles around them, shrieks and cries from over a dozen different little mouths, each one wanting nothing more than to tear them apart. One bucket is empty and the other is getting dangerously low. “What’s Raven doing?”

Dick knows better than to distract her unless she’s directly under attack. “Working, just like you.”

“While you just get to stand there all nice and pretty.” Jason tosses a water balloon directly at the inky portal and Dick swears it hiccups.

“Anytime you want to switch…” Dick knows his brother won’t. Jason has better aim and loves to lord it over him.

“Hard pass.” Another water balloon is thrown into the portal and Raven’s eyes blaze.

“One more, Jason. And then we need to get out of here.”

Jason picks up his bucket and throws the rest of his holy hand grenades into the gaping maw.

“Shit,” Dick swears as the portal erupts, strands of searing cold wind lashing out and whipping against anything that moved. It reverses in a heartbeat and the suction is strong, causing the three of them to stagger under the force. Even the remaining little clown demons aren’t exempt, and their chittering laughter turns into wails of despair as they’re dragged back into the darkness.

Raven grabs hold of Dick and envelopes him in the folds of her cloak, using her soul-self to protect him. The cold is numbing, worse than anything Mr. Freeze could ever come up with, and tears at his very soul. When Dick falls into the grass outside, he can’t help but be grateful once again that Raven is on his side.

Next to him, Jason is curled up in a little ball and mewling. This must have been the first time he’s ever felt the full force of Raven’s magic before. There isn’t time to comfort him though, and Dick scrambles for his brother’s belt where he’d tucked the detonator before. Destroying a crime scene goes against every instinct he has, but Dick refuses for the good folks of Smallville to see this.

A heavy glove lands on his and Jason sits up, detonator in hand. “I fucking hate clowns,” is all he says before the barn goes up in a flash, wood and hay igniting from the explosives and raining down around them.

Raven’s shield drops once the worst has passed. “Well, that was fun,” she says dryly. “Thanks for the invite.”

Dick laughs weakly. He’s pretty sure that was a piece of scorched bone that just landed next to him. “Anytime. Want to come back to the Kent’s for some pie?”

“I’m good. I have a paper to finish tonight.” With that, Raven disappears.

“Well, fuck.” Jason sighs heavily as he leans back in the grass and watches the fire. “Why didn’t you ask her if the gate was closed?”

“Because I trust her. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t have left.”

“Fair enough.”

They watch the fire for another minute or so before Dick hauls himself up. His whole body hurts and all he wants is to soak in a tub full of hot water until he passes out. “We need to get gone too.”

He offers a hand to Jason, who accepts it without a word. His leg is bleeding again, Dick notices as the younger man limps back to the SUV.

As they drive away, Jason removes his helmet and gloves and tosses them into the backseat, rubbing blearily at his eyes a moment later. “I’ve decided something,” he announces.

“What’s that?” Dick asks neutrally. This could be anything considering Jason’s penchant for the dramatics.

“I hate the country. Gimme the city any day of the fucking week.”

“What about all the fresh air and sunshine? And the pie?”

“Fuck the air. Fuck the sun… And I can make my own damn pie.”

Dick laughs loudly. “Yeah, sure you can.”

“I’m serious. You’re never getting my ass out here ever again.”

His retort is on the tip of his tongue when the deer jumps out of nowhere and Dick swerves hard to avoid hitting it. “Son of a bitch!” he swears as the SUV spins wildly. His ears start ringing as both the deer and Jason scream at the same time. It’s hard to say which is louder.

The deer disappears into the field on the other side of the road and Dick gets the vehicle back under control, heart pounding loudly in his chest. He’s had enough adrenaline today, thank you very much. Jason is clearly just as done with everything as he flops back against the passenger seat, breathing heavily. “Jesus fuck, get us outta here, Dickie. My city boy ass wants back where it belongs. Where there’s no cornfields anywhere.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to watch Children of the Corn with me tonight?”

“I fucking hate you.”